UC-NRLF B 3 57A 7MA T ,LIE'S .iNGE NOUCHETTE THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA GIFT OF and all tC^«— ~* — O^^rf? A^JV/W_iZ_ ^^ fyv*^*—- ^ i^ | ^~ Hlovels bg fllllss Caret. ¥ But Men Must Work. The Old, Old Story. Mary St. John. Mrs. Romney. Heriot's Choice. Sir Godfrey's Granddaughters. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. Wooed and Married. Barbara Hbathcotb's Trial. Nellie's Memories. For Lilias. Queenie's Whim. Robert Ord's Atonement. Not Like Other Girls. Uncle Max. Web Wifie. Only the Governess. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00 per volume. Thb Mistress of Brae Farm. Other People's Lives. i2mo. Cloth, gi.25. fHliss Caret's Stories for <3trls. Our Bessie. Averil. Esther. Aunt Diana. Merle's Crusade. 121110. Cloth, $1.25 per volume. Set of five volumes, in box, $6.25. Little Miss Muffet. Cousin Mona. i2mo. Cloth, $1. 25 per volume. Two volumes in a box, $2.50. Doctor Luttrbll's First Patient. Illustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. " This author possesses above all the uncommon gift of being able to write for young people ; we do not mean for children, for there are many charming tales for the little ones, but for girls who are standing ' where the brook and river meet,' and this is perhaps a more difficult task."— Philadelphia Inquirer. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 715 and 717 Market Street. Philadelphia. Mollie's Prince A NOVEL. By ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY. Author of "NELLIE'S MEMORIES^ "THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM;' Etc. <+^+^+^J*fx+?x*i% I PHILADELPHIA J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 1899. Copyright, 1898, BY J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. GIFT CONTENTS CHAPTER I. pagb In the Lime Avenue 9 CHAPTER II. "Monsieur Blackie" 16 CHAPTER III. "King Canute" Comes Back .. 24 CHAPTER IV. The Ward Family at Home 32 CHAPTER V. Fairy Magnificent 40 CHAPTER VI. Queen Elizabeth's Wraith 47 CHAPTER VII. A Humourist and an Idealist 55 CHAPTER VIII. Mollie's Baby-House 62 CHAPTER IX. Rosalind and Celia 71 CHAPTER X. "It is the Voice of Sheila" 79 M85Z383 Contents CHAPTER XI. pack "A Noticeable Man, with Large Grey Eyes" 88 CHAPTER XII. The Pansy-Room and Cosy Nook 95 CHAPTER XIII. Concerning Guardian Angels and Ithuriel's Spear ... 102 CHAPTER XIV. Thursdays at the Porch House 109 CHAPTER XV. Orlando to the Rescue 116 CHAPTER XVI. Sir Reynard and the Grapes 124 CHAPTER XVII. 44 Like Ships that Pass in the Night" 131 CHAPTER XVIII. Joanna Tangles Her Skein 139 CHAPTER XIX. A Check for the Black Prince 146 CHAPTER XX. " Dad's Little Betty" 154 CHAPTER XXI. A Child's Creed 162 CHAPTER XXII. Between the Acts 169 CHAPTER XXIII. Across the Golf Links 177 6 Contents CHAPTER XXIV. PAGE "Lost, Stolen, or Strayed" 184 CHAPTER XXV. A Wet Night and a Difference of Opinion 191 CHAPTER XXVI. A White Vellum Pocket-Book 198 CHAPTER XXVII. An Idealist in Love 205 CHAPTER XXVIII. "But Yet the Pity of It !" 212 CHAPTER XXIX. Barmecide's Feast and a Brown Study 218 CHAPTER XXX. Suspense 225 CHAPTER XXXI. Down by the River 233 CHAPTER XXXII. "I Will Never be Faithless Again 240 CHAPTER XXXIII. A Quixotic Resolution 247 CHAPTER XXXIV. "I Have Wanted My Old Sweetheart" 254 CHAPTER XXXV. "What am I to Say?" 261 CHAPTER XXXVI. "See the Conquering Hero Comes!" 267 7 Contents CHAPTER XXXVII. PAGB A Devout Lover 274 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Mollie's Prince 281 CHAPTER XXXIX. Everard Yields the Point * 289 CHAPTER XL. The Veiled Prophet 296 CHAPTER XLI. The True Story of Lady Betty 302 CHAPTER XLII. M Wooed, and Married, and A'" 309 MOLLIE'S PRINCE CHAPTER I. IN THE LIME AVENUE. " Thou knowest my old ward ; — here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me." — King Henry IV. " An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn." — King Henry IV. In this age of transition and progress, when the pleasure- seeker, like the Athenian of old, is for ever searching for things new and strange ; when old landmarks are ruthlessly demolished, and respectable antiquities are shelved in outer darkness ; then to some conservative minds it is refreshing to stumble upon some old-world corner, fragrant with memories of the past, and as yet untouched by the finger of the de- stroyer. Cleveland Terrace, Chelsea, is one of these spots — the cob- webs of antiquity seem to cling with the vines to the tall, narrow old houses, with their flagged courtyards, and high, iron gates and small, useless balconies. There is something obsolete, old-fashioned, and behind the age in the whole aspect of the place. One could imagine some slim, demure damsel in a short- waisted gown, not long enough to hide the dainty shoes and sandals, with a huge bonnet disguising a pyramid of curls, tripping down the few worn steps and across the road, on her way to join her friends at Ranelagh. Just opposite is Chelsea Hospital, with its scarlet and blue- coated pensioners, basking in the sunshine ; grand old veterans who have grown grey with service, their breasts decorated with the medals they have won — some in a hale, green old age, Mollie's Prince others in the sear and yellow leaf, toothless, senile, tottering slowly but surely towards their long home. One reads a whole page of history as one gazes at the worn, wrinkled old faces ; ah ! they have been young once, but now the battle of life is nearly over for them ; the roll-call will only sound once more in their ears. Let them sit in the sun- shine and tell their old stories, and fight their battles over again in the ears of some admiring recruit. How their dim eyes sparkle with senile enthusiasm ! " There were two of the black devils, but I bayoneted them one after another — spitted them like larks ; and serve them right, too. That's where I got this medal ;" and here a fit of asthmatic coughing impedes the bloodthirsty narrative. One can imagine the thrilling tales told round the fire to- wards night as the grim old warriors nestle cosily in the high wooden settle, while envious comrades watch them from afar. How heavily the poor wooden legs stump through the long, echoing corridors ! Grey hairs, old wounds, the chill stiffness of decrepit age — well, thank God for their peaceful harbourage, where the weary limbs can rest in comfort. There is a sweet old spot just where the long Lime avenue leads to old Ranelagh, adjoining the little plots of garden ground cultivated by the pensioners. One golden afternoon in September, when a fresh, pleasant breeze was rippling the limes, a girl in brown came down the avenue, and, as she tripped past the gnarled and twisted tree-boles, the slanting sunbeams seemed to meet and envelop her, until her shabby frock became like Cinderella's robe, and the green and golden banners overhead were a canopy of glory above her. Who does not know the beauty of a lime avenue in the early autumn, when the very air is musical with faint sough- ing, and every leaf adds its tiny, vibrating voice to the universal symphony — when children and birds and sunshine, and all young living things, seem to have their own way, and play in unison. The girl was coming up from the river in the direction of old Ranelagh, and she was walking with so light and airy a step that one could have imagined it set to music — for her feet, which were very small and pretty, though, alas ! shabbily shod, seemed scarcely to touch the ground. She was small, almost childish in stature, with a thin, erect little figure, and a pale oval face, framed in short, curly hair, and at first sight people always called her plain : " an insig- 10 In the Lime Avenue nificant, puny little thing" — that was what they said until they saw her eyes — and they were the most wonderful and spirituelle eyes in the world. And after that they were not so sure of the plainness. For comparisons are odious, and there is no hard and fast rule with respect to feminine beauty; at least, tastes differ, and here and there a Philistine might be found who would be ready to swear that dark spirituelle eyes, brimful of intelli- gence and animation, with a mirthful sparkle underneath, were worth a score of pink-and-white beauties, in spite of their fine complexions and golden hair. Just at the end of the avenue two old pensioners were sitting ; and at the sight of them, and at the sound of their raised voices, the girl began smiling to herself. Then she stepped quietly across the grass, picking her way daintily, until only a tree divided her from the old men; and there she stood shaking with silent -laughter. "I tell you it is a lee, Jack; there were three of them, as sure as my name is Fergus McGill. Look here ' ' — and here the speaker rose stiffly to his feet. He was a tall old man, with a long grey beard, and the pinned-up sleeve and the filmy look of the sightless eyes told their own tale. His breast was covered with decorations and medals, and in spite of his high cheek-bones, his massive, almost gigantic, figure and grand face would have become an Ajax. His companion was a short, sturdy man, with a droll physi- ognomy; his light, prominent blue eyes had the surprised look of a startled kitten, and he had a trick of wrinkling his forehead as he talked until his eyebrows disappeared ; and when he took off his cocked hat his stubby grey hair looked as stiff as Medusa's crest of snakes. Wide-awake Jack was the name by which his mates ac- costed him — in reality Corporal Marks. He, too, was deco- rated, and had a wooden leg, which he found useful in con- versation, when emphasizing some knotty point. He was tapping the ground pretty smartly at this moment, as he cut himself another quid of tobacco. " Lees !"he returned, in a huffy voice, " it is the truth and nothing but the truth, and I'll take my oath to that." But here a little peal of girlish laughter interrupted him. These two old men loved each other like David and Jonathan, or Damon and Pythias, or like any other noble pair of friends, and would have died for each other, and yet would wrangle Mollie's Prince and argue and spar fifty times a day ; and the chief bone of contention was a certain episode — on an Indian battle-field half a lifetime before. Human nature is sadly faulty — and even in Chelsea Hos- pital there were mischievous spirits ; and on cold, windy nights, when old bones ached, and there was general dullness, and the draughts made one shiver and huddle round the fire — then would one or another slyly egg on Sergeant McGill — or Corporal Marks — with some such question as this : " Was it three of them Sepoys that McGill bayoneted before he got that sword-thrust — or only two ?" Or perhaps more cunningly and artfully, — " I wish I had nabbed two of those dratted Sepoys like McGill. Marks can tell that story best " "Two, John Perks!" interrupted McGill, wrathfully, "it was three that I killed with my own hand, and the third was so close to me that I could see the whites of his eyes — and the devil's smile on his wicked lips — and I laughed as I ran him through, for I thought of those poor women and children — and it is the goot English I am speaking, for I have forgotten the Gaelic, I have lived so long in the land of the Sassenachs — not but what the Gaelic is milk and honey in the tongue that speaks it." When that little mocking laugh reached their ears, both the old men reddened, like children discovered in a fault. Then they drew themselves up and saluted gravely ; but the girl's eyes were full of mirth and mischief. "Aren't you ashamed of yourselves, you two, quarrelling over a silly old battle, that every one else has now forgotten ? One would think you were heathens, and not Christians at all, to hear you talk in that sanguinary style." The girl's voice was deep, but very clear and full, and there was a curious tim- bre in it that somehow lingered in one's memory — it was so suggestive of sweetness and pathos. "Are you fery well, Miss Ward? Ah, it is always a good thing when one has the joke ready," — and Sergeant McGill's tone was full of dignity, — "but it is not quarrelling that we are after, Miss Ward — only a little difference of opinion." "Yes, I know. But what does it matter, McGill, how many of those poor wretches you killed?" But she might as well have spoken to the wind. "It was three, Miss Ward," returned McGill, obstinately; "and if you had seen the sight that Jack and I saw you In the Lime Avenue would not be calling them poor, for they were the devil's sons, every one of them, and their hearts was black as sin, and it was the third man that I got by the throat ; and when Jack came up ' ' But here the girl shrugged her shoulders, and a little frown came to her face. " Yes, I know, but please spare me those horrible details," and then she laughed again ; but there were tears in her eyes. "I daresay there were more than three if the truth were known. Corporal, why do you vex him with contradiction ? If you were in another part of the field how could you know what he did?" " Ah, it is the goot English that Miss Ward speaks," mur- mured McGill ; but Corporal Marks struck in. "Hold your tongue, McGill — you are like a woman for argifying— argle-barking, as Sergeant Drummond calls it — from noon to night. This was how it was, Miss Ward. Our company was scattered, and I found myself suddenly in the corner of the rice-field where McGill was. There was a bar- ricade of dead Sepoys round him, and he had his foot on one of them, and had got another by the throat ; and then ' ' But a peremptory gesture stopped him. " Thank you, I have heard enough ; but I am inclined to take McGill's part, for how could you see clearly in all that smoke and crowd ? Come, let us change the subject. I owe you sixpence for those flow- ers that you brought yesterday, for my sister tells me that she never paid for them." " No, Miss Ward, and there was no sixpence owing at all. I left the flowers with my duty." "Ah, but that is nonsense, Corporal," returned the young lady quickly. " I will not rob you of all your lovely flow- ers." "It's not robbing, Miss Ward," replied McGill, in his soft thick voice. "It is a pride and pleasure to Jack that you take the flowers, for it is the goot friend you have been to us, and the books you have read, and the grand things you have told us, and what are roses and dahlias compared to that?" "Well, well, you are a couple of dear old obstinate mules, but I love you for it; but please do not argue any more. Good-bye, Sergeant. Good-bye, Corporal," and the girl waved her hand, and again the old men saluted. "They are two of the most pugnacious, squabbling old dears in the whole hospital," she thought, as she walked 13 Mollie's Prince quickly on. "I wonder which of them is right? Neither of them will yield the point." And then she smiled and nodded to a little group that she passed ; and, indeed, from that point to Cleveland Terrace it was almost like a Royal progress, so many were the greetings she received, and it was good to see how the old faces brightened at the mere sight of the girl. Presently she stopped before one of the tall old houses in Cleveland Terrace, and glanced up eagerly at the vine- draped, balconied windows, as though she were looking for some one ; but no face was outlined against the dingy panes. Then she let herself into the dim little hall, with its worn linoleum, from which all pattern had faded long ago, and its dilapidated mahogany hat-stand with two pegs missing, and an odd assortment of male and female head-gear on the re- maining ones, and then she called out, "Mollie! Mollie!" finishing off with a shrill, sweet whistle, that made an unseen canary tune up lustily. And the next moment another whistle, quite as clear and sweet answered her, and a deliciously fresh voice said, " I am in the studio, darling." And the girl, with a wonderful brightness on her face, ran lightly up the stairs. "Oh! what an age you have been, Waveney ! You poor dear, how tired and hungry you must be?" and here another girl, painting at a small table by the back window, turned round and held out her arms. When people first saw Mollie Ward they always said she was the most beautiful creature that they had ever seen ; and then they would regard Waveney with a pitying look, and whisper to each other how strange it was that one twin should be so handsome and the other so pale and insignificant. But they were right about Mollie's beauty; her complexion was lovely, and she had Irish grey eyes with dark curled lashes, and brown hair with just a dash of gold in it ; and her mouth was perfect, and so was her chin and the curves of her neck ; but perhaps her chief attraction was the air of bon- homie and unconsciousness and a general winsomeness that cannot be described. "Where is father, Mollie?" asked Waveney ; but her eyes looked round the room a little anxiously. "Ah, I see the picture has gone ;" and then a look of sorrowful understand- ing passed between the sisters. "Yes, he has taken it," almost whispered Mollie, "but he 14 In the Lime Avenue will not be back yet. Ann is out — she has gone to see her mother; so I must go and get your tea. Noel is downstairs ;" and, indeed, at that moment a cracked, boyish voice could be heard singing the latest street melody, and murdering it in fine style. Mollie rose from her chair rather slowly as she spoke, and then — ah, the pity of it ! — one saw she was lame — not actually lame so as to require crutches ; but as she walked she dragged one leg, and the awkward, ungraceful gait gave people a sort of shock. Mollie never grew used to her painful infirmity, though she had had it from a child ; it was the result of accident and bad treatment; a sinew had contracted and made one leg shorter than the other, so that she lurched ungracefully as she walked Once in the night Waveney had awakened with her sob- bing, and had taken her in her warm young arms to comfort her. "What is it, Mollie darling?" she had asked, trembling from head to foot with sympathy and pity. "It means that I am a goose," Mollie had answered. "But I could not help it, Waveney. I was dreaming that I was at a ball, and some one, quite a grand-looking man, in uniform, had asked me to dance, and the band was playing that lovely new waltz that Noel is always whistling, and we were whirling round and round — ah, it was delicious ! And then something woke me and I remembered that I should never, never dance as long as I live, or run, or play tennis, or do any of the dear, delightful things that other girls do;" and here poor Mollie wept afresh, and Waveney cried too, out of passionate love and pity. Mollie did not often have these weak moments, for she was a bright creature, and disposed to make the best of things. Every one had something to bear, she would say with easy philosophy — it was her cross, the crook in her lot, the thorn in her side ; one must not expect only roses and sunshine, she would add ; but, indeed, very few roses had as yet strewn the twins' path. When Mollie had lumbered out of the room, Waveney folded her arms behind her and paced slowly up and down, as though she were thinking out some problem that refused to be solved. It/was really two rooms, divided at one time by folding-doors ; but these had been taken away long ago. i5 Mollie's Prince It was a nondescript sort of apartment, half studio and half sitting-room, and bore traces of family occupation. An empty easel and several portfolios occupied one front window; in the other, near the fireplace, was a round table, strewn with study books and work-baskets. Mollie's painting table was in the inner room. A big, comfortable-looking couch and two easy chairs gave an air of cosiness and comfort, but the furniture was woefully shabby, and the only attempt at decoration was a picturesque- looking red jar, in which Corporal Marks' flowers were ar- ranged. Presently Waveney stopped opposite the empty easel, and regarded it ruefully. " It will only be another disappointment," she said to her- self, with a sigh. " Poor father, poor dear father ! And he works so hard, too ! Something must be done. We are getting poorer and poorer, and Noel has such an appetite. What is the use of living in our own house, and pretending that we are well off and respectable and all that, and we are in debt to the butcher and the coal-merchant \ and it is not father's fault, for he does all he can, and it is only because he loves us so that he hates us to work." And then she sat down on the couch as though she were suddenly tired, and stared dumbly at the vine-leaves twinkling in the sunshine ; and her lips were closed firmly on each other, as though she had ar- rived at some sudden resolution. CHAPTER II. MONSIEUR BLACKIE.' a It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest forever." " A Corinthian, a lad of metal, a good boy." — King Henry IV. A shrill, ear-piercing series of whistles, of a peculiarly excruciating description, broke in upon Waveney's meditation. She shook herself, frowned, ran her fingers through her short, curly hair, thereby causing it to wave more wildly than ever — then ran downstairs. The ground floor room corresponded with the one above 16 " Monsieur Blackie." — only the folding doors had not been removed, and over them, in a schoolboy's round hand, roughly painted in red and gold, was " Noel Ward, His Study," with a pleasing and serpentine ornamentation embellishing the inscription. In vain had Mollie, with tears in her eyes, implored her father to obliterate the unsightly record. An amused shake of the head only answered her. " Leave it alone," he would say. "It is only a nursery legend, and does no harm — when Noel evolves another orig- inal idea it will be time to erase it." And so " Noel Ward, His Study," still sprawled in ungainly characters over the lintel. As Waveney entered the room with rather an offended air, she saw the youthful student standing in the doorway. He was a tall, thin stripling of fifteen — but looked older, per- haps because he wore spectacles and had classical, well-cut features, and an odd trick of projecting his chin and lifting his head as though he were always on the look-out for celestial objects. But notwithstanding this eccentricity and a cracked and somewhat high-pitched voice, the heir of the Wards was certainly a goodly youth. " Well, old Storm and Stress," he observed, with a derisive grin, as he balanced himself skilfully on his heels between the folding-doors, "so the pibroch roused you?" "Pibroch !" returned his sister, wrathfully. "How often have I told you, you bad boy, that you are not to make this horrible din. Caterwauling is music compared to it, or even a bagpipe out of tune." " It was my best and latest work," returned Noel, regard- ing the ceiling disconsolately. " A farmyard symphony with roulades and variations of the most realistic and spirited de- scription, and would bring the house down at a Penny Read- ing. At present we had only reached the braying solo — but the chorus of turkeycocks, with peacock movement, would have created a sensation." "They have," returned Mollie, stealing softly behind him and treating him to a smart box on the ears ; but Noel merely pinned her hands in a firm grasp and went on with his sub- ject : little interruptions of this sort did not disturb him in the least ; he rather liked them than otherwise. Nothing pleased him better than to get a rise out of his sisters, for, whatever virtues he possessed, he certainly lacked the bump of veneration. a 17 Mollie's Prince Dear, sweet Mollie, with her angelic face, was often ad- dressed as "old Stick-in-the-mud," " Pegtop," or "the wobbly one," while Waveney, his special chum, the creature whom he loved best in the world next to his father, was " Storm and Stress," a singular soubriquet, evolved from her name and her sudden and sprightly movements. " For one is nearly blown away," he would say. "There is always a breeze through the house when that girl is in it ; it is like playing a scale upside down and wrong side outwards to hear her coming downstairs;" and very often he would come to his meals with his collar up, and flourishing a red silk handkerchief ostentatiously, and speak in a croaking, nasal voice, until his father asked him mildly where he had caught such a cold ; and then Waveney would nudge him furiously under the table. On the present occasion poor Mollie was kept in durance vile until Noel had finished his disquisition on his novel symphony ; then he released her, and contemplated the tea- table with a fixed and glassy stare, which conveyed mute re- proach. " Noel, dear, it is a fresh loaf," she said, hastily and appre- hensively, " and it is beautifully crusty, and the butter is good — a penny a pound dearer, and at the best shop." " Where are the shrimps?" asked Noel, and he so length- ened the word that it sounded almost as terribly in Mollie's ears as Mrs. Siddons' " Give me the dagger!" for so much depends on expression, and if one is only melo-dramatic, even the words " shrimps" can be as sibilant and aggressive as the hissing of snakes. " Oh, dear, how tiresome you are, Noel !" returned Mollie, quite sharply for her, for she was housekeeper, and the strain and responsibility were overwhelming at times, especially when her poor little purse was empty. "I could not afford them, really, Noel," she continued, welling into tenderness at the thought of his disappointment. "There were some nice brown ones, but I dared not get them, for I had only two- pence left, so I bought watercresses instead." "Ask a blessing, my child, and I will forgive you;" and then, much to his sister's relief, Noel subsided, and began cut- ting the bread, while under cover of the table-cloth, Waveney slipped sixpence into Mollie's hand, and made a movement with her lips suggestive of " to-morrow ;" and Mollie nodded as she poured out the tea. 18 "Monsieur Blackie." Noel had a volume of " Eugene Aram" propped up before him as he ate, but it did not engross him so utterly that he could not interpolate the conversation whenever he pleased, and it pleased him to do so very often. Mollie was giving a graphic and heart-breaking account of the way in which she and her father had packed the precious picture, " and how it had been bumped three times while they carried it down the narrow stairs." " I quite missed the dear old thing, Wave," she went on, "and the studio looked so dull without it. Noel was so absurd ; he threw an old shoe after it for good luck, and it nearly knocked father's hat off — and then he bolted indoors, and there was father looking at me so astonished, and he was not quite pleased, I could see that, so I said, ' It is not me dad, it is the other boy.' " " Yes, and it was real mean of you," grumbled Noel ; " but there, what are you to expect from a woman? Poor old padre, he will be precious tired with hauling along ' King Canute,' and it will bump all the worse going up-stairs." "Oh, Noel!" exclaimed both the girls, in a shrill cres- cendo of dismay. "You don't really believe that the dealers will refuse ' King Canute' ?" ejaculated Mollie. " Father has worked so hard at it, and it is really his best picture." Noel shrugged his shoulders ; then he pointed his chin in an argumentative way. " The dealers buy awful rubbish sometimes, but they won't buy this. Every kid knows how the old buffer gave his cour- tiers a lesson, but no one wants to be always looking on while he does it ; the public hates that sort of thing, you know. I told father so, over and over again, but he would not listen. 'Why don't you try something lively and less historical?' I said to him. '"The Two Grave-diggers" in Hamlet, or " Touchstone and Audrey." We might get Corporal Marks to sit for " Touchstone" — the public would think that fetch- ing.' But no, nothing but that solemn old Dane would suit him — the Wards are terribly obstinate. I am my father's son, and speak feelingly;" and then Noel shouldered his book and marched back to the study. " Do you think Noel is right ?" whispered Mollie. " He is very clever, for all his ridiculous nonsense, and I am not quite sure whether ' King Canute' will really interest people." "Oh, don't ask me," returned Waveney, in an exasperated tone. "If only dear father would stick to his schools, and his drawing-classes, and not try to paint these pictures ! They 19 Mollies Prince seem grand to us, but they are not really well done. Don't you remember Mr. Fullarton said so ? We were in the back room, but we heard him plainly. 'You are too ambitious, Ward' — that was what he said ; ' the public is tired of these old hackneyed subjects. Why don't you hit on something pathetic and suggestive — some fetching little incident that tells its own story?' «" Child and St. Bernard Dog," for example,' returned father, grimly, 'and write under it, "Nel- lie's Guardian." Would that do, Fullarton? But I suppose anything would do for pot-boilers.' " "Oh, yes, I recollect," returned Mollie, with a long-drawn sigh. " Poor old dad ! How low he seemed that day ! And this evening, if " But Waveney would not let her finish the sentence. "Never mind that just now. It is no use crossing the bridge till you come to it ; let us go upstairs and be cosy, for I have a lot I want to say to you ;" and then they went up arm-in-arm — Mollie was almost a head taller than her sister — and sat down side by side on the big couch; and then Waveney began to laugh. "Oh, Mollie, I have had such an adventure; I did not want Noel to hear it, because he would have teased me so un- mercifully. Don't you recollect that horrid note-book that we found?" And then, at the recollection, Mollie began to giggle, and finally both she and Waveney became so hysteri- cal with suppressed mirth that they had almost to stifle them- selves in the cushions for fear Noel should hear them. For it was only lately that they had become acquainted with the dark and Machiavellian policy of that artful youth. Evening after evening, as they had exchanged their girlish con- fidences, Noel had sat by them with a stolid and abstracted look, apparently drawing pen-and-ink devils — a favourite amusement of his ; but it was Mollie who found him out. "The Adventures of Waveney Edna Ward, alias Storm and Stress," was scrawled on the title-page, and thereupon followed a series of biographical sketches, profusely illus- trated. "Storm and Stress with the Bull of Bashan" — a singularly graphic description of Waveney' s terror at meeting an angry cow in the lane. «No. II. — Storm and Stress. Saving an Orphan's Life — the Orphan being a deserted, half-starved kitten, now an elderly cat rejoicing in the name of Mrs. Muggins;" and so 20 "Monsieur Blackie" on. Every little incident touched up or finely caricatured in a masterly manner. Pere Ward had been so charmed with this manifestation of his son's talent that he had carried off the note-book and locked it up amongst his treasures. " That boy will make his mark," he would say, proudly. "But we must give him plenty of scope. ' ' And, indeed, it could not be denied that Noel had a fairly long tether. As soon as Waveney could recover herself, she sat up and rebuked Mollie severely for her levity ; "for how is a person to talk while you are cackling in that ridiculous manner? And it is really quite an interesting adventure, and" — with an im- portant air — "it is to be continued in our next." And this sounded so mysterious that Mollie wiped her eyes and con- sented to be serious. "Well, you know," began Waveney, in a delightfully colloquial manner, "father had told me to take the omnibus that would put me down at King's Street. All the outside places were taken, but there was only the usual fat woman with bundle and baby inside ; and presently a gentleman got in. You know I always make a point of noticing my fellow passengers, as dad says it helps to form a habit of observation ; so I at once took stock of our solitary gentleman. " He was a little dark man, very swarthy and foreign looking, and he wore an oddly-shaped peaked sort of hat — rather like Guy Fawkes' without the feather — and he had a black moustache that was very stiff and fierce, so of corpse I made up my mind that he was a Frenchman, and probably an artist; for, though his clothes were good, he had rather a Bohemian look. ' ' Here Waveney paused, but Mollie gave her a nudge. " Go on, Wave. I am beginning to feel interested. Was he really French?" " Not a bit of it, my dear, for he talked the most beautiful English ; and directly he opened his mouth I found out he was a gentleman, for his voice was perfectly cultured and so pleasant. I rather took to him because he was so kind to the fat woman ; he held her bundle while she and her baby got out, and he scolded the conductor for hurrying her. I thought that rather nice of him ; so few young men trouble themselves about fat women and babies." " Oh ! he was young?" in an appreciative tone. "Well, youngish; two or three and thirty, perhaps. But Mollie's Prince now I am coming to the critical point of my story. Directly we were left alone the conductor came to ask for our fares ; he was a surly-looking man, with a red face, and his manner was not over civil ; most likely he resented the scolding about the fat woman. " Well, no sooner had Monsieur put his hand in his pocket than he drew it out again with a puzzled look. " ' Some one has picked my pocket,' he said, out loud, but he did not look so very much disturbed. ' My sovereign purse has gone, and some loose silver as well. ' And then he searched his other pockets, and only produced a card-case and some papers ; and then he began to laugh in rather an embarrassed way. ' My good fellow, you see how it is ; the beggars have cleaned me out. Five or six pounds gone. Confound those light-fingered gentry ! If I had not left my watch at the maker's it would have gone, too.' " ' That is all very well,' returned the conductor, in a disa- greeable voice, ' but what I wants to know, sir, is how am I to get my fare ?' " ' Oh, you will get it right enough/' replied Monsieur (but he was not Monsieur at all, only the name suited him) ; ' but for the present I can only offer you my card;' and then he held it out with such a pleasant smile that it might have softened half-a-dozen conductors. But old Surly Face was not so easily mollified. " 'I don't want your bit of pasteboard," he growled. ' Do you call yourself a gentleman to ride in a public conveyance without paying your fare?' "Then the motto of the Wards flashed into my mind, 'Open hand, good luck,' and the next minute I produced a sixpence from my purse — there were just two sixpences in it. "'Will you allow me to offer you this?' I said, in my grandest manner; but I felt a little taken aback when he lifted his hat and beamed at me. I say beamed, for it was really the most friendly, jovial smile ; his whole face quite crinkled up with it. "'I could not refuse such a good Samaritan. A thousand thanks for your kind loan. There, sir,' handing over the sixpence, sternly, ' give me the change and next time keep a civil tongue in your head.' And then, greatly to my sur- prise, he pocketed the threepence. " 'I am in your debt for a whole sixpence,' he continued, 22 "Monsieur Blackie" * and I am as grateful to you as though you had returned my missing sovereigns. Is it not Kingsley who points out the beauty and grace of helping "lame dogs over stiles?" Now will you add to your kindness by informing me of your name and address?' "I stared at him blankly, and I am afraid I blushed. " ' There is no occasion,' I said, feebly, at last. ' Sixpence is not a great sum, and I was very glad to be of service ; ' for I could not help feeling how absurd it was, making so much of a trifle. But Monsieur seemed indignant at this. " ' I could not be in debt to any young lady even for six- pence, ' he said, severely. i I was too well brought up for that. ' And then of course I was obliged to tell him where I lived ; and he actually made me repeat it twice, he was so anxious to remember it. " ' Miss Ward, 10 Cleveland Terrace, Chelsea,' he observed. ' Why, that is just opposite the Hospital. I know it well. Strange to say, I am staying in Chelsea myself.' Then he took out his card-case, hesitated, and grew rather red, and finally put it back in his pocket. ' My name is Ingram,' he said, rather abruptly; and then the omnibus stopped, and he handed me out. " ' I must be in your debt until to-morrow, I fear,' were his parting words — and oh, Mollie, do you really think that he will actually call and pay the sixpence ?' ' "Of course he will, and of course he ought," returned Mollie, excitedly. " Oh, Wave, what an adventure ! It was just like a bit in a novel when the hero meets the heroine — only an omnibus is the last place for a romance." Then Waveney made a face. " No, no, Mollie, little dark Frenchified men are not my taste, even if they have nice voices. My private hero must be very different from Monsieur Blackie." Then a crackling laugh from behind the sofa made both the girls jump up in affright, and the next moment Waveney looked not unlike her soubriquet, as, uttering dire threats of vengeance, she flew round and round the room after the treacherous eavesdropper, until Noel, exhausted by laughter, subsided into a corner and submitted to be shaken. " 'Monsieur Blackie, to be continued in our next,' " ex- claimed the incorrigible lad, when Waveney grew weary with her punitive exertions. " My word, there must be a new note-book for this. ' Storm and Stress enacting the part of 23 Mollie's Prince Good Samaritan';" and here Noel fairly crowed himself out of the room. " He has heard every word," observed Waveney, in a de- jected tone. " I am afraid we laughed too loud, and that roused his curiosity. Oh, dear, what a boy he is ! And none of us keep him in order;" but Mollie was too exhausted to answer her. CHAPTER III. "king Canute" comes back. "Care to our coffin adds a nail no doubt. And every grin, so merry, draws one out." John Walcot. " And Nature swears, the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O ; Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, O." Burns. As the soft September twilight stole over the room, the girls became more silent. Waveney seemed buried in thought, and Mollie, tired out with laughing, nestled against her com- fortably, and very nearly went to sleep. But she was roused effectually by Waveney' s next speech. " Sweetheart" — her pet name for Mollie — " I am going to make you miserable, I am afraid, but I have been telling myself 'all day long that we must face the situation. If father does not get a good price for his picture, what are we to do?" "But he must sell it," returned Mollie, in a distressed voice. "Barker is getting disagreeable about his bill, and his man says nasty things to Ann when he leaves the meat. And we owe Chandler for two tons of coal." "Yes, I know;" and Waveney sighed heavily. "Those two tons have been on my mind all day." "You poor dear, no wonder you looked tired. Ah, how hateful and mean it is to be poor ! Ah, you are not as wicked and rebellious as I am, Wave. I sometimes cry with the long- ing for the pretty things other girls have. I cannot resign 24 "King Canute" Comes Back myself to the idea of being shabby and pinched and careworn all my life long. If this goes on we shall be old women be- fore our time; when I am ordering dinner I feel nearly a hundred." Waveney stroked the glossy brown head that rested against her shoulder, but made no other answer: she was thinking how she could best break some unwelcome news to Mollie. Mollie was emotional, and cried easily, and her father always hated to see one of his girls unhappy. " Father would cut the moon up into little pieces and give them to us, if he could," she thought; "nothing is too good for us. But when Mollie frets he takes it so to heart. Oh dear, if only doing one's duty were made easier ; but there is no ' learning or reading without tears' in the Handbook of Life;" and then she set her little white teeth together firmly, as a child does when some nauseous medicine is offered. " Mollie, dear, I cannot keep it back any longer — it makes me miserable to have a secret from you. I have been to Har- ley Street to-day, and talked to Miss Warburton, and she has something on her books that is likely to suit me." Then the sob she dreaded to hear rose to poor Mollie' s lips. " Ah, Wave, you can't really mean it ! This is worst of all. It is positively dreadful. How am I to live without you ? And father, and Noel, what are they to do?" and here the tears rolled down her face ; but Waveney, who had been schooling herself all day, refused to be moved from her stoi- cism. " Mollie, please listen to me. It is childish to cry. Do you remember our last talk — the one we had in the Lime Walk, and how we agreed that we must do all we could to help father!" "But I do help him," returned Mollie, in a woe-begone voice. " I keep the house and mend things, and look after that stupid, clumsy Ann ; and the fine-art publishers seem to like my little drawings, and I am never idle for a single instant." " No, darling, you put us all to shame. Do you think I am finding fault with you ? But you must not do it all, that is just it ; and as Mrs. Addison no longer requires me, I must look out for another situation" — for during the past year Waveney had acted as secretary to a lady living near them in Cheyne Walk. It had only been a morning engagement, and the pay had not been much, but Waveney, and Mollie too, 25 Mollie's Prince had found immense pleasure in spending the scanty earn- ings. "Of course, I know you must do something," returned Mollie, rather irritably, for even her sweet nature resented the idea of losing Waveney as an insufferable injury; "but you might find something in Chelsea." "No, dear," returned Waveney, gently. "I have tried, over and over again, and I can find nothing suitable. I can- not teach — I have never been educated for a governess ; and no one near us seems to want a secretary or reader, or com- panion." "Are you quite sure of that, Waveney?" " Quite sure. I have been wasting two whole months wait- ing for something to turn up, so this morning I made up my mind that I would see Miss Warburton. She was so nice, Mollie. She is such a dear woman ; a little quick and de- cided in her manner — what some people would call abrupt — but when she gets interested in a person she is really quite soft and kind. She heard all I had to say, asked me a few questions, and then turned to her book. "'It is rather a lucky chance you came in this morning, Miss Ward,' she said, ' for a lady who called yesterday is in want of a young person who can read well. ' And then she ex- plained to me that this lady's sister was troubled at times with some weakness in her eyes that prevented her from reading to herself, especially of an evening, and that they required some pleasant, ladylike girl, who would make herself useful in little ways." "And the name, Waveney?" " The name is Harford, and they live at the * Red House,' Erpingham. They are very nice people, but at the present moment she is staying with some friends in Berkeley Square, and she will interview me there." " Oh, dear, you speak as though everything were settled." " No, indeed, no such luck. Miss Warburton was very kind, very sympathetic, and anxious to help me ; but she advised me not to set my heart on it for fear I should be disappointed. ' Miss Harford may think you too young, — yes, I know,' as I was about to protest indignantly at this, — ' you are really nine- teen, but no one would think you were over seventeen.' Isn't it humiliating, Mollie, that strangers will always think I am a child ? If only my hair would grow and not curl over my head in this absurd way. People always take you for the eldest." 26 "King Canute" Comes Back "And you are to see Miss Harford to-morrow?" " Yes, dear; and you must get Noel to throw another old shoe after me for luck." Then her lip trembled and her eyes grew misty. " Dear, do not make it harder for me than you can help. Don't you know how I hate to leave my old Sweetheart? I would rather stay at home and live on bread and water than fare sumptuously in other folks' houses ; I feel as though I should die with home-sickness and ennui. Oh, it is no cry- ing matter, I assure you ; it is the rack and the thumb-screw and the burning faggots all in one, and if you want a new martyr for the calendar, and have any spare halos on hand, I am your woman. ' ' And then, of course, Mollie did as she was expected to do, left off crying and began to laugh in the manner that often made her father call her " his wild Irish girl." And, indeed, there was something very Irish in Mol- lie' s mercurial and impressionable temperament. The next minute their attention was attracted by strange noises from below. Something heavy was being dragged along the passage, ac- companied by extraordinary sibilant sounds, resembling the swishing and hissing of an ostler rubbing down a horse. Both the girls seemed to recognise the sounds, for Wavenly frowned and bit her lip, and Mollie said, in a troubled tone, — "Oh, it is poor old ' Canute' come back;" and then they ran into the passage and looked over the balusters. Noel and a little fair man in a shabby velveteen coat were hauling a large picture between them, with much apparent difficulty. One end had got jammed in the narrow staircase, and Noel's encouraging " swishes" and " Whoa, there — steady, old man ! Keep your pecker up, and don't kick over the traces," might have been addressed to a skittish mare. Then he looked up and winked at his sisters, and almost fell backwards in his attempt to feign excessive joy. " Hurrah ! three cheers ! Here we are again — large as life, and as heavy as the fat woman in Mrs. Jarley's wax-works. But what's the odds as long as you are happy, as the lobster said as he walked into the pot." "Hold your tongue, Noel," returned his father, good- naturedly. "It is your fault the confounded thing has got wedged. Keep it straight, and we shall manage it well enough ;" and then he looked up at the two faces above him. " There you are, my darlings," he said, nodding to them. 27 Mollie's Prince "You see I am bringing our old friend back; we will have him up directly if only this young jackanapes will leave off his monkey tricks." And then in a singularly sweet tenor voice he chanted, — " You hear that boy laughing? You think it is fun, But the angels laugh too at the good he has done. The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all." " Oliver "Wendell Holmes," whispered Mollie ; but Waveney made no answer ; she only ran down a few steps and gallantly put her shoulder to the wheel, and after a few more tugs " King Canute" was safely landed in the studio, where Noel executed a war-dance round him, with many a wild whoop, after the manner of Redskins. " Father, dear," whispered Mollie, in a delightfully coaxing voice, "sit down on Grumps while I make your coffee ;" for the Ward family, being somewhat original, gave queer names to their belongings ; and since they were children the old couch had been called " Grumps," tired hands and tired limbs and aching hearts always finding it a comfortable refuge. "So I will, dear," returned Mr. Ward; and then both the girls hung about him and kissed him, and Mollie brushed back his hair, and put a rose in his buttonhole ; but Waveney only sat down beside him and held his hand silently. There was no difficulty in discovering where Noel got his good looks. In his youth Everard Ward had been considered so handsome that artists had implored him to sit to them ; and for many years well-principled heads of girls' colleges feared to engage him as drawing-master. And even now, in spite of the tired eyes and careworn ex- pression, and the haggardness brought on by the tension of over-work and late hours, the face was almost perfect, only the fair hair had worn off the forehead and was becoming a little grey — " pepper and salt," Mollie called it. But the thing that struck strangers most was his air of refinement, in spite of his shabby coat and old hat ; no one could deny that he was a gentleman ; and in this they were right. Everard Ward was a man who if he had mixed in society would have made many friends. In the old days he had been dearly loved and greatly admired ; but just when his prospects were brightest and the future seemed gilded with success, he suddenly took the bit between his teeth and bolted — not down 28 "King Canute" Comes Back hill; his mother's sweet memory and his own dignity pre- vented that — but across country, down side roads that had no thoroughfare, and which landed him in bogs of difficulty. For in spite of his soft heart and easy good-nature Everard was always offending people ; his wealthy godfather, for exam- ple, when he refused to take orders and to be inducted into a family living ; and again his sole remaining relative, an uncle, who wished him to go into the War Office. "Life is an awful muddle," he would say sometimes; but in reality he made his own difficulties. His last act of youth- ful madness was when he left the Stock Exchange, where an old friend of his father had given him a berth, and had joined a set of young artistic Bohemians. At that time he was supposed by his friends to be on the brink of an engagement to an heiress, he had seemed warmly attached to her, until at a ball he met Dorothy Sinclair, and fell desperately in love with her. This was his crowning act of madness ; and when he mar- ried her his friends shook their heads disapprovingly, and said to each other that that fool of a Ward had done for himself now. Why, the fellow must be imbecile to throw away a for- tune and a good sort of woman like that, to marry a pretty little girl, without a penny for her dower ! And, indeed, though Dorothy was a lovely young creature, and as good and lovable as her own Mollie, she was the last woman Everard ought to have married. The heiress would have made a man of him, and he would have spent her money royally and been the best of husbands to her ; but Dorothy lacked backbone. She was one of those soft, weak women who need a strong arm to lean upon. And so, when the children came, and the cold, cold blast of adversity began to blow upon them ; when Everard could not sell his pictures, and poverty stared them in the face; — then she lost heart and courage. " Everard, dearest, I have not been the right wife for you," she said once; for that long, fatal illness taught her many things. "Oh, I see it all so much more clearly now. I have disheartened you when you needed encouragement, and when our troubles came I did not bear them well." " You have been the sweetest wife in the world to me," was his answer ; and then Dorothy had smiled at him well pleased. Yes, he had been her true lover, and he was her lover to the last ; and when she died, leaving three young children to his 29 Mollie's Prince care, Everard Ward mourned for her as truly as any man could do. Those were terrible years for him that followed his wife's death ; his twin girls were only ten years old, and Noel a pale- faced urchin of five. He never quite knew how he lived through them, but ne- cessity goaded him to exertion. He worked doggedly all day long, coming home whenever it was possible to take his meals with the children. Sometimes some kind-hearted schoolmis- tress would tell him to bring one of his little girls with him, and this was always a red-letter day for Waveney and Mollie, for the poor little things led a dull life until Everard was able to send them to day-school ; and after that they were quite happy. He used to watch them sometimes as they went down the street with their satchel of books. Waveney would be dancing along like a fairy child, with little springy jumps and bounds, as though the sunshine intoxicated her, and Mollie would hurry after her, limping and lurching in her haste, with her golden brown hair streaming over her shoulders, and her sweet, innocent face lifted smilingly to every passer-by. "My sweet Moll, she is her mother's image," Everard would say to himself, and his eyes would be a little dim ; for, with all his faults and troubles and idiosyncrasies, no father was more devoted. His twin daughters were the joy and pride of his heart. When he came home at night, tired out with a long day's work, the very sound of their voices as he put the latchkey in the door seemed to refresh and invigorate him. "Here's dad! here's dear old dad!" they would cry, running out to meet him ; and then they would kiss and cuddle him, and purr over him like warm, soft young kittens. Noel would pull off his boots and bring him his slippers, and then "Grumps" would be dragged up to the fire, and Ann would be ordered to bring up the tea quick, and then they would all wait on him as though he were a decrepit old man ; and Noel, w r ho was a humorist even at that early age, would pretend to be a waiter, and say, "Yessir," and "No, sir," and " Next thing, sir," with an old rag of a towel on his arm to represent a napkin. "I saw Ward the other evening," a friend of his said one day to a lady; "he teaches drawing at Welbeck College, where I take the literature classes, so I often see him ; and " King Canute" Comes Back one evening be took me home with him to Cleveland Terrace. Poor old Ward ! he was not cut out for a drawing master ; he was always a bit nighty and full of whimsies, and used to fly his kite too high in the old days ; but he made a fool of him- self, you know, with that unlucky marriage." "Indeed," returned the lady, quietly. "Ah, well! that is all ancient history. He has made his bed, poor fellow, and must just lie on it ; but I do so hate seeing a man's career marred, especially if he is a good sort, like Ward!" "And you went home with him?" observed his hearer, in the same quiet tone. "Yes; and upon my word it was really a pretty little family picture. There was Ward, looking like a sleepy Adonis with his fair hair rumpled all over his head, and two sweet little girls hanging on each arm, and cooing over him ; and that fine boy of his lying on the rug with a picture. I declare my snug bachelor rooms looked quite dull that night." When anything ailed one of the twins, Everard's misery would have touched the most stony heart. When Mollie had measles, he nursed her night and day, and when Waveney and Noel also sickened, he was so worn out that if a kindly friend had not come to his assistance, he would soon have been on a sick-bed. Happily it was holiday time, and there were no schools or classes ; Miss Martin was a governess herself, but with the divine self-abnegation of a good-hearted woman she gave up a pleasant visit to a country house to help poor Mr. Ward — women were always doing that sort of thing for Everard Ward. But her little patients gave her a great deal of trouble. Mollie cried and would not take her medicine from anyone but father, and Waveney was pettish ; but Noel was the worst of all. Miss Martin was plain -featured, and wore spectacles, and Noel, who inherited his father's love of beauty, objected to -her strongly. "Go away," he said, fretfully; "we don't want no frights in goggles;" and he began to roar so lustily that Everard was roused from his sleep and came, pale and weary and dishevelled, to expostulate with his son and heir. But Noel, who was feverish and uncomfortable, repeated his offence. " We don't want no frights here, dad. Tell her to go." " For shame, Noel," returned his father, sternly. " I am 3i Mollie's Prince quite shocked at you. This kind lady has come to help us.: and don't you know, my boy, that to a gentleman all women are beautiful ?" " Please don't scold him, Mr. Ward," returned Miss Mar- tin, good-naturedly ; but her sallow face was a little flushed. " Noel and I will soon be good friends; it is only the fever makes him fractious." And as tact and good temper gen- erally win the day, the children soon got very fond of their dear Marty, as they called her ; and as they grew up she became their most valued friend and adviser until her death. It was Miss Martin whose sensible arguments overcame Everard's rooted aversion to the idea of his girls working. "As long as I live I will work for them," he would say; but Miss Martin stuck to her point gallantly. " Life is so uncertain, Mr. Ward. An accident any day might prevent you from earning your bread — you will forgive me for speaking plainly. Let them work while they are young." But though Everard owned himself convinced by her arguments, it was a bitter day to him when Waveney be- came Mrs. Addison's secretary. " Father would cut the moon up in little bits and give them to us," Waveney had said to herself. And, indeed, to the fond, foolish fellow, no gift could have been too precious for those cherished darlings of his heart. Everard always told people that he loved them just alike, and he honestly thought so ; and yet, if Waveney's finger ached, it seemed to pain him all over ; and all the world knows what that means ! CHAPTER IV. THE WARD FAMILY AT HOME. "And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away." Longfellow. As soon as Mollie had left the room, on household cares intent, Waveney lighted a small, shaded lamp that stood on the table. It was a warm evening, and both the windows 3 2 The Ward Family at Home were thrown up. The moon had just risen, and the vine- leaves that festooned the balcony had silver edges. As Wave- ney turned up the lamp she said, cheerfully, " Now we can see each other's faces," and then she sat down again and slipped her hand in her father's arm. " Tell me all about it, dad, directly minute." And then a smile came to Mr. Ward's tired face, for this was one of the family stock jokes that were never stale, never anything but delightful and fresh, and whenever one of his girls said it, it brought back Waveney in her baby days, a tiny despot in red shoes, with a head " brimming over with curls," stamping her little feet and calling out in shrill treble, " Directly minute ! Miss Baby won't wait nohow." " There is nothing good to hear, little girl," returned Mr. Ward, with a strained laugh. " When you spell failure, spell it with a big F, my dear; that's all." But another skilful question or two soon drew forth the whole story. He had had a harassing, disappointing day. The dealers who had sold one or two of his smaller pictures refused to give " King Canute" house-room. They could not possibly dispose of such a picture, they said ; it was too large and cumbersome, and there were serious defects in it. One or two of the figures were out of drawing ; the waves were too solid, looking like molten lead. There was no finesse, no delicacy of execution, the colouring was crude ; in fact, the criticism had been scathing. " They were so rough on me that my back was up at last," went on Mr. Ward, " and when Wilkes said I might leave it if I liked, and he would try and get a customer for it, I saw he was only letting me down a bit easier, and that he did not believe it would sell, so I just called a cab and brought it back." Waveney winced. All this cab hire could not be afforded. And then, what were they to do ? But the next moment she was stroking the worn coat-sleeve tenderly, and her voice was as cheerful as ever. "Dad, it is a long lane that has no turning — remember that ; and it is no use fretting over spilt milk. To-morrow we will get Noel to hang up dear old King Canute in that blank space, and if the stupid, cantankerous old dealers will not have anything to say to him, Mollie and I will admire him every day of our lives. Molten lead, indeed !" jerking her chin contemptuously. 3 33 Mollie's Prince But Mr. Ward, who had been too much crushed to revive at once, only shook his head and sighed. In his heart he knew the dealers were right, and that the work was not really well done. The stormy sunset looked blotchy and unreal, and the solidity of the water was apparent, even to him. The whole thing was faulty, mawkish, amateurish, and futile. He had been in a perfect rage against himself, the dealers, and all the rest of the world as he clambered into his cab. He had had a rap upon the knuckles once too often. Well, he had learnt his lesson at last ; but what a fool and dunce he had been ! " Take your punishment, my boy," he had said to himself, grimly. " Write yourself Everard Ward, U.A., unmitigated ass ; and wear your fool's cap with a jaunty air. " You wanted to paint a big historical picture ! to be some- thing better than a drawing-master. Oh, you oaf, you dotard, you old driveller, to think that you could set the Thames on fire, that you could do something to keep your memory fresh and green. Go back to your water-colour landscapes, to your water-wheels and cottages, your porches smothered in wood- bine ; you are at the bottom of your class, my lad, and there you wiil be to the end of the chapter." And then — for his imagination was very vivid — he saw himself, an elderly man, in his shabby great-coat, going out all weathers to his schools — a little shrunk, a little more hopeless, and his girls, his twin blessings — but here the hot tears rose to his eyes, and he bit his lips. Oh, it was hard, hard — and it was for their sakes he had worked and toiled. Just then Mollie came with a little tray. There was a tall, curious old china cup on it which was known in the family as " Dives," and was considered one of their choicest treasures. When any one was ill, the sight of Dives, filled to the brim with fragrant coffee or delicious chocolate, would bring a smile to pale lips. As she placed the tray beside her father, Mollie's face wore a triumphant air, as though she would have said, " If any one could beat that cup of coffee or make better toast, I should like to see her, that's all." "Thanks, dearest," returned her father, gently; "but you have scorched your face, my sweet Moll." "Oh, that is nothing," returned Mollie, hastily, putting up her hands to her hot cheeks; she had been through all sorts of vicissitudes during the last half-hour. The water would not boil, or the fire burn properly, though she and The Ward Family at Home Noel had put a whole bundle of sticks into it, and at every stick he had asked her a fresh conundrum. " Have you told dad about Monsieur Blackie?" she asked ; and then Waveney smiled. " No, but I will, presently, when father has had his supper. Come out on the balcony a moment, Mollie. Is not the moonlight lovely !" "Yes, I do love these 'white nights,' " returned Mollie, ecstatically. "We used to call them silver nights when we were wee children. Those roofs look as though they were covered with snow. And just see how nice our shabby old courtyard looks ; those privets are quite grand. What an old dear the moon is, Wave ! She covers up all little defects so nicely, and glorifies all common things." But Waveney did not hear this little rhapsody, neither had she called Mollie out to watch moonlight effects. " Moll, just listen to me a moment : you must not say a word to father about Harley Street — not one word." Mollie looked at her blankly. "And why not, Wave?" "Oh, dear, not for worlds," returned Waveney, earn- estly. " He is so low, so unlike himself to-night ; he had so set his heart on that poor old thing being a success, but they have all been throwing stones at him, and he is so hurt about it. Don't you know what Noel always says: 'You must not hit a man who is down.' Those are school ethics, but it is true. Dad is just like the brere rabbit to-night, — ' him lies low,' — and we must just talk to him and make him laugh." "But Wave, surely" — and Mollie, who was nothing but a big, beautiful, simple child, looked quite shocked — ''surely you cannot mean to see that lady without speaking to father!" " But I do mean it, Mollie. Of course I want to tell father — I always long to tell him everything, — but it would be rank selfishness to-night ; it would be the last straw, that terrible straw that breaks the camel's back. And I know just what he would do ; he would not smoke his pipe and he would not sleep a wink, and he would be like a wreck to-morrow when he goes to Norwood. No : when it is settled it will be time enough to tell him ;" and, as usual, Mollie submitted to her sister's stronger will. " Waveney was the clever one," she would say ; ' ' she saw things more clearly, and she was gen- 35 Mollie's Prince erally right;" for Mollie thought nothing of herself, and was always covered with blushes and confusion if any one praised her. So Waveney had her way, and as Mr. Ward smoked his pipe she told him all about Monsieur Blackie ; and then Noel shut up his lesson-books and came up stairs, and the three young people sang little glees and songs unaccompanied. And presently Mr. Ward laid down his empty pipe and joined too. And the girls' voices were so fresh and clear, and the man's tenor so sweet, that a passer-by stood for a long time to listen. Every now and then an odd boyish voice, with a crack in it, chimed in like a jangling bell out of tune. " Oh, Noel, please do not sing so out of tune; you are as flat as a pan- cake, and as rough as a nutmeg grater, isn't he, Moll ?" and then Waveney made a face at the unfortunate minstrel. "Don't come the peacock over me," began Noel, wrath- fully, for any remark on his cracked voice tried his temper. " Hit one of your own size, miss." "Hush, hush, Noel!" observed his father, good-humour- edly. "You will do well enough some day. ' Drink to me only with thine eyes' — let us sing that, my pets." And then the voices began again, and the listener underneath the win- dow smiled to himself and walked on. It was late, and Mollie was yawning before the little con- cert was over ; but when Mr. Ward went to his room that night the weight of oppression seemed less heavy. Yes, he had been a fool, but most men made mistakes in their lives, and he was not so old yet — only forty-four, for he had married young. He would leave off straining after impossibilities, and take his friends' advice — paint pot boilers in his leisure hours, and devote his best energies to his pupils. "Cincin- natus went back to the plough, and why not Everard Ward ?' ' And then he wound up his watch and went to sleep. But long after the heavy-footed Ann had climbed up to her attic, breathing heavily, and carrying the old black cat, Mrs. Mug- gins, in her arms, and long after Mollie had fallen into her first sleep, and was dreaming sweetly of a leafy wood, where primroses grew as plentifully as blackberries, a little white figure sat huddled up on the narrow window-seat, staring out absently on the moonlight. Waveney could see the dim roofs of the Hospital ; the old men were all now asleep in their cabin-like cubicles — some of 36 The Ward Family at Home them fighting their battles over again, others dreaming of wives and children. " After all, it must be nice to be old, and to know that the fight is over," thought the girl, a little sadly. ''Life is so difficult, sometimes : when we were children we did not think so. I suppose other girls would have said we had rather a dull life ; but how happy we were ! what grand times we had that day at the Zoological Gardens, for example ! and that Christmas when father took us to the pantomime ! I remem- ber the next day Mollie and I made up our minds to be ballet- dancers, and Noel decided to be a clown ;" and here Waveney gave a soft little laugh. " Dear father, it was so good of him not to laugh at us. Most people would have called us silly children, but he listened to us quite seriously, and recom- mended us to practise our dancing sedulously ; only he would not hear of shortening our skirts — he said later on would do for that. Oh, dear, oh, dear, was it not just like him? And of course by the next Christmas we had forgotten all about it." But even these reminiscences, amusing as they were, could not long hinder Waveney' s painful reflections. The idea of leaving home and going out into the world was utterly repug- nant to her ; she had told Mollie in playful fashion that it was the rack and the thumb-screw and the faggots combined ; but in reality the decision had cost her a bitter struggle, and nothing but the strongest sense of duty could have nerved her to the effort. Waveney's nature was far less emotional than Mollie's, but her affections were very deep. Her love for her father and twin sister amounted to passion. When she read the words, " Little children, keep yourselves from idols," she always held her breath, made a mental reservation, and went on. "If only people liked father's pictures !" she sighed, and then another pang crossed her, as she remembered his tired face, how old and careworn he had looked, until they had sung some of his favourite songs, and then his eyes had become bright again. "Dear old dad, how he will miss me!" But when she thought of Mollie the lump in her throat seemed to strangle her : they had never in their lives been parted for a single night. "And yet it is my duty to go," thought poor Waveney. " We are growing poorer every day, and it will be years before Noel can earn much. I am afraid the schools are falling off 37 Mollie's Prince a little. Oh, yes ; there is no doubt about it, and I must go ;" and Waveney shed a few tears, and then, chilled and de- pressed, she got into bed ; and Mollie turned over in her sleep and threw out her warm young arms. "It was delicious," she murmured, drowsily; "and oh, Wave, why are you so cold, darling ? What have you been doing?" But Waveney only shivered a little and kissed her. The next morning both the girls rose in good time to pre- pare the early breakfast. Noel always left home at half past eight — long ago an unknown friend of Mr. Ward's had offered to pay his son's school fees, and, acting on advice, he had sent the boy to St. Paul's. He was a clever lad, and in favour with all his masters ; he liked work and never shirked it. But his pet passion was football ; he was fond of enlarging on his triumphs, and gloried in the kicks he received. It was understood in the family circle that he was to get a scholarship and go to Oxford ; and of course a fellowship would follow. "'The veiled Prophet' will expect it, my dear," Mollie would say, at intervals, when she was afraid he was becoming slack ; for under this figure of speech they always spoke of their unknown benefactor. The whole thing was a mystery. The solicitor who wrote to Mr. Ward only mentioned his client vaguely — " an old friend of Mr. Ward's is desirous of doing him this service;" and in succeeding letters, "My client has desired me to send you this cheque;" and so on. The girls and Noel, who were dying with curiosity, often begged their father to go to Lincoln's Inn and see Mr. Duncan — the firm of Duncan & Son was a good old-fashioned firm ; but Mr. Ward always declined to do this. If his old friend did not choose to divulge himself, he had some good reason for his reticence and it would be ungrateful and bad form to force his hand. " He is a good soul, you may depend on that," was all they could get him to say ; but in reality he secretly puzzled over it. " It must be some friend of Dorothy's," he would say to himself. " There was that old lover of hers, who went out to the Bahamas and made his pile — he married, but he never had any children ; I do not mention his name to the young- sters — better not, I think ; but I have a notion it is Carstairs ; he was a melancholy, Quixotic sort of chap, and he was des- perately gone on Dorothy." " Dad's a bit stiff about the Prophet," Noel once said to his sisters, " but if I am in luck's way and get a scholarship, 33 The Ward Family at Home I shall just go up to Lincoln's Inn myself and interview the old buffer;" and this seemed so venturesome and terrifying a project that Mollie gasped, and said, " Oh, no, not really, Noel !" and Waveney opened her eyes a little widely. "You bet I do," returned Noel, cocking his chin in a lordly way. " I shall just march in as cool as a cucumber, and as bold as brass. ' I have come to thank my unknown benefactor, sir,' I would say with my finest air, ' for the good education I have received. I have the satisfaction of telling you that I have gained a scholarship — eighty pounds a year — and that, with the kind permission — of — of my occult and mysterious friend, I wish to matriculate at Balliol. As I have now attained the age of manhood, is it too much to ask the name of my venerable benefactor?' " "Oh, Wave, is he not ridiculous?" laughed Mollie; but Waveney looked at her young brother rather gravely. "Don't, Noel, dear; father would not like it." But Noel only shrugged his shoulders at this. He had his own opinions about things, and when he made up his mind it was very diffi- cult to move him. Never were father and son more unlike ; and yet they were the best of friends. Mr. Ward always had a hard day's work on Tuesday. He had two schools at Norwood, and never came home until evening. The girls always took extra pains with the break- fast-table on the Norwood days, and while Mollie made the coffee, boiled the eggs, and superintended the toast-making, Waveney made up dainty little pats of butter and placed them on vine-leaves. Then she went into the narrow little slip of garden behind the house and gathered a late rose and laid it on her father's plate. Waveney was in excellent spirits all breakfast-time. She laughed and talked with Noel, while Mollie sat behind her coffee-pot and looked at her with puzzled eyes. "How can Wave laugh like that when she knows, she knows ! ' ' she thought, wonderingly ; but at that moment Waveney looked at her with a smile so sweet and so full of sadness, that poor Mollie nearly choked, and her eyes brimmed over with tears. 39 Mollie's Prince CHAPTER V. FAIRY MAGNIFICENT. " Leave no stone unturned." Euripides. " What is useful is beautiful." Socrates. " Wish me good luck, and do not expect me until you see me," were Waveney's last words, as Mollie stood at the door with a very woe-begone face. "Cheer up, Moll. Care killed the cat, you know;" and then she waved her hand and vanished. It was still quite early in the afternoon when she reached Berkeley Square. In spite of her assumed cheerfulness, her courage was at a low ebb. The imposing appearance of the houses awed her ; she knocked timidly, and the butler who opened the door looked like a dignified and venerable clergy- man. He received her affably, as though she were an expected guest. Miss Harford was out driving, but would be back shortly ; his mistress, Mrs. Mainwaring, had desired that Miss Ward should be shown into the drawing-room. Waveney never felt so small and insignificant in her life. For the first time she was conscious of a wish to be tall, as she followed him down the corridor. Then the thickness of the carpets distracted her, and the cabinets of china. Then a door was opened, and she heard her name announced, and a soft little voice said, " Certainly, Druce. Show the young lady in." For one moment Waveney hesitated. The owner of the voice seemed invisible. It was a beautiful room, grander than anything that the girl had ever seen, and it was full of sunshine and the scent of flowers. Tall palms were every- where, and china pots with wonderful Japanese chrysanthe- mums, and there were screens and standard lamps, and a curtained archway leading to an inner room ; and here Wa- veney at last discovered a tiny old lady, half buried in an immense easy chair. She was the prettiest old lady in the 40 Fairy Magnificent world, but as diminutive as a fairy ; her cheeks were as pink as Mollie's ; and she had beautiful silvery curls under her lace cap. A mass of white, fleecy knitting lay on her satin lap, and the small, wrinkled fingers were loaded with costly bril- liants. " Fairy Magnificent," Waveney named her when she was retailing the account of her visit. She looked up with a pleasant smile, and pointed to a chair. "You have called to see my niece, Miss Harford — oh yes, she is expecting you, but she was obliged to pay a business visit ; my nieces are busy women, Miss Ward — perhaps you will find that out for your- self some day." Waveney began to feel less shy; she looked round the room that she might describe it properly to Mollie. How Mollie revelled in that description afterwards ; it was like a page in a story book — flowers and statues and palms, and that beautiful old lady in her satin gown. Fairy Magnificent was evidently fond of talking, for she rippled on, in her soft voice, like a little purling brook, knitting all the time. " Oh, we all have our gifts, my dear, but I am afraid in my day girls were terribly worldly ; it was not the fashion to cultivate philanthropy or altruism, as they call it. I recollect a young man asking one of my nieces if they went in for ' slumming.' I wonder what we should have thought of such a question when I was young. ' ' "Does Miss Harford do that sort of thing?" asked Wa- veney, with something of her old animation. She was such a dear little old lady — like a piece of Dresden china. "Oh, not slumming exactly — they are too sensible to take up every passing craze ; but they do an immense deal of good. They have a Home for governesses and broken-down workers very near them at Erpingham, and they have a room in the garden where they do all sorts of things. They have Thursday evenings for shop-girls, regular social evenings — tea, and music, and talk ; and the girls are as nicely behaved as possible." " Oh, what a grand idea !" and Waveney' s eyes began to gleam and sparkle. "I have always been so sorry for shop- girls. I think they have such a hard, pushing sort of life. The poor things are often so tired, but they have to look pleasant all the same." Mrs. Mainwaring looked amused at the girl's energy, but before she could reply there were quick, decided footsteps in 4i Mollie's Prince the outer room, and the next moment a tall, dark woman in walking-dress entered. When Waveney rose from her chair, the lady looked at her with extreme surprise. "Miss Ward, I suppose;" and her manner was a little brusque. "Please sit down again, and I will speak to you directly. Aunt Sara, may I have the carriage, please. Morris says the horses are quite fresh. I find the letter that I ex- pected is at the Red House, so it will be better for me to talk it all over with Althea." "Do as you like, Doreen," returned Mrs. Mainwaring, tranquilly ; " but you must attend to this young lady first, you know ;" and then Miss Harford took a seat near Waveney. The girl was suffering from a sense of painful disillusion. Mrs. Mainwaring' s talk had given her a favourable idea of Miss Harford, but when she saw her, her first thoughts were "What a grievous pity that such a good woman should be so plain!" But the next moment -she added, "Plain is too mild a term; she is really quite ugly;" and it could not be denied that Dame Nature had treated Miss Harford somewhat churlishly. Her figure was angular, and a little clumsy, and not even her well-cut tailor-made tweed could set it off to advantage. Her features were strongly marked, and her complexion sal- low, and her low forehead and heavy eyebrows gave her rather a severe look. She could not be less than forty, probably a year or two over that, but there was no affectation of youth, either in dress or manner. Perhaps the only point in her favour was a certain frank- ness and sincerity in her expression that, after a time, ap- pealed to people ; and yet her eyes were a light, cold grey. Strangers seldom took to her at first — her quick, decided manners were rather too brusque, and then her voice was so harsh and deep ; but they soon found out that she was to be trusted, and by-and-by they grew to love her. Doreen Harford always spoke of herself as the " ugly duck- ling," who would never change into a swan in this world. " I never do anything by halves," she would say, laughing, and her laugh was as fresh and ringing as a child's, though, perhaps, a little hard. " I am as ugly as they make them, my dear," — for she was too happy and busy a woman to fret over her lack of beauty, though she adored it whenever she found it, and petted all the pretty children and animals. 42 Fairy Magnificent "There's Aunt Sara," she would go on, " is she not like one of Watteau's Shepherdesses? Did you ever see anything so fine and pink and dainty ? — and she is seventy-three. She has had lovers by the score, and she was only a young woman when General Mainwaring died ; but she would never marry again, bless her !" When Miss Harford sat down she pulled off her gloves in rather a disturbed manner. " I was sorry to keep you waiting, but I had to go out on urgent business. You are very young, Miss Ward — younger than I expected, and than Miss Warburton led me to sup- pose." She spoke in a slightly aggressive voice, as though Miss Ward were somehow to blame for her youthful aspect. "That will mend in time, Doreen, my love," observed Mrs. Mainwaring, kindly. " I think Miss Ward seems a very sensible young lady." And then Waveney longed to hug her. "I am nineteen," she said, looking Miss Harford full in the face. "That is not so very young, after all; and I have acted as secretary to a lady in Cheyne Walk. It was only a morning engagement, certainly, but Miss Warburton knows all about me, and she thought this situation would just suit me. I am fond of reading aloud, and I never get tired, and " " Doreen, if you do not engage this young lady, I think I shall." But Mrs. Mainwaring was only joking, as her niece knew well, for it would have been more than her life was worth to do such a thing. For Fairy Magnificent had a faithful maid who simply wor- shipped her, and would have fought any woman who offered to do her service. Her mistress wanted no paid companion as long as she was in the house, she would say ; and as Rachel ruled her mistress — and, indeed, the whole household, there was little probability of her indulging in this luxury. Miss Harford's face brightened. She understood the pur- port of her aunt's little joke : she liked Miss Ward, and wished her niece to engage her. " Althea will not mind her being young," she said, signifi- cantly ; and then Miss Harford turned to Waveney. " Miss Warburton will have given you some idea of the duties required" — and now her manner had decidedly soft- ened. " We are very busy people, and we lead two lives, the working life and the social life ; and as we are fairly strong, 43 Mollie's Prince we manage to enjoy both. Unfortunately, my sister has had a little trouble with her eyes lately — the doctors say it is on the nerves. Sometimes when she reads or writes she has pain in them, and has to close her book, or shut up her desk. If she were to persevere the pain would become excruciating ; it is certainly on the nerves, for sometimes she is not troubled at all." " I understand," returned Waveney, in a low voice. " Our doctor is an old friend and a very sensible man," continued Miss Harford, "and he proposed that my sister should find some young lady with a good voice and pleasant manner who would read to her, especially in the evenings, when nothing is going on, and to whom she could dictate letters." "Oh, I am sure I could do that," returned Waveney, eagerly ; and then Mrs. Mainwaring chimed in again. "My dear, I am an old woman, so you may believe me. My nieces are the best women I know, and they make every one happy at the Red House. ' ' "Now, Aunt Sara," returned Miss Harford, good humour- edly, " how are Miss Ward and I to understand each other if you will keep interrupting us ? You see, Miss Ward, the duties are very light, and you will have plenty of time to yourself. We want some one young and cheerful who will make herself at home and be ready for any little service. Are you musical ?" "I can sing a little but my voice has not been well trained." " That is a pity. Now should you mind reading us a page or two?" And she handed her a novel that was lying open on the table. Waveney flushed, but she took the book at once. For the first few minutes her voice trembled ; then she thought of the new gown she wanted to buy for Mollie at Christmas, and then it grew steady. "Miss Ward reads very nicely, does she not, Aunt Sara?" was Miss Harford's approving comment. "I think Althea will be pleased." Then turning to Waveney with a pleasant smile that lit up her homely features as sunshine lights up a granite rock, " I really see no reason why we should not come to terms. I do not know what we ought to offer you, Miss Ward, but my sister thought fifty pounds a year. Waveney gave a little start of surprise. The terms seemed magnificent. 44 Fairy Magnificent "Oh," she said, impulsively, "I shall be able to help father. What happiness that will be!" And then her face fell a little. " Will you tell me, please, is it very far to Erpingham?" " Do you mean from here?" " No, not exactly. I am thinking of my own home. We live in Cleveland Terrace, Chelsea." Then Miss Harford seemed somewhat taken aback. "Is your father's name Everard Ward?" she asked, abruptly. "Oh, yes, — have you heard of him?" returned W T aveney, naively. " He is an artist, but his pictures do not sell, and he has only his drawing lessons. That is why I want to help him, because he works so hard and looks so tired ; and Mollie — that is my sister— is a little lame, and cannot do much." "Is that all your family? You do not speak of your mother." Miss Harford was looking at the girl a little strangely. "She is dead," returned Waveney, in a low voice; "she died when Mollie and I were ten years old, but there is a young brother, Noel." Then Miss Harford turned to her aunt. "Aunt Sara, I really think it would be best for Althea to see Miss Ward herself. You know I have to drive over to Erpingham now. It is quite early in the afternoon," she continued, looking at Waveney. " Can you not come with me ? We shall be at the Red House in three-quarters of an hour. I could drop you at Sloane Square station by seven. It will be a pleasant drive, and the evenings are still light until eight." Waveney hesitated. What would Mollie say to her long absence? But then, her father never returned home before eight on his Norwood days. The drive tempted her, and then, the idea of seeing Erpingham. " If you are sure that I shall be back by seven," she said ; and then Miss Harford rang the bell and ordered the carriage. "Althea will give us tea. Come, Miss Ward." And then Mrs. Wainwaring held out her soft, little hand to the girl. " Good-bye, my dear. You will be as happy as a bird at the Red House. Give my love to Althea, Doreen, and tell her to rest her poor eyes." Waveney thought of Cinderella and the pumpkin coach as she stepped into the luxurious carriage. The novelty of the 45 Mollie's Prince position, the enjoyment of the swift, smooth motion, and the amusement of looking out at the crowded street, completely absorbed her, and for some time Miss Harford made no attempt to draw her into conversation But presently she began to talk, and then Waveney found herself answering all sorts of questions about herself and Mollie — how they amused themselves, and why her father's pictures did not sell ; and then Waveney, who was very girlish and frank, told her all their disappointment about "King Canute," and Miss Harford listened with such kindly interest that Waveney felt quite grateful to her. " Father was so low and cast down about it last night, he said he should never have the heart to paint a picture again, because the dealers were so hard on him ; and I am afraid he meant it, too. Oh, what a nice grey church ! And actually, we are coming to a river. Oh, how picturesque those reddish- brown sails look in the sunshine !" "This is Dereham," returned her companion. "It is not such a very long drive, is it? In little more than ten minutes we shall have reached our destination ;" and then she began pointing out various objects of interest — another church, the shops in High Street where they dealt, then a high, narrow house, very dull and gloomy-looking. "Some dear old friends of ours live in that house," she said. "It is not very inviting-looking, is it? Once they lived in such a beautiful place, until old Mr. Chaytor lost his money. I am always so sorry for them. I think troubles of this kind fall very heavily on some natures." Waveney assented to this, but the subject did not much in- terest her. They had left Dereham behind now, and before them lay a wide, green common, with pleasant roads inter- secting it. A little clear pool by the roadside rippled in the sunlight. Near it was a broad, grassy space shaded by trees. Two or three nurses sat on benches, and some children were dancing hand in hand, advancing and retreating, and singing in shrill little voices. " Here we go gathering nuts in May," they were chanting, and then one child fell down and began to cry. Across the common there were soft blue distances and a crisp wind, laden with the perfumes of firs and black- berries, fanned their faces. Then they drove through some white gates. A lodge and a long, shady lane were before them, with long, parklike meadows on one side. It was all so sweet, so still, and peace- 46 Queen Elizabeth's Wraith ful, in the evening light, that Waveney was half sorry to find that their journey was at an end ; for the next moment the carriage stopped, and the lodge-keeper opened some more gates, curtsying with a look of pleasure when she saw Miss Harford. "I have not come home to stay, Mrs Monkton," observed Miss Harford, with a friendly nod, and then the horses began frisking down a winding carriage drive. The shrubbery was thick, but every now and then Waveney had glimpses of little shut-in lawns, one with a glorious cedar in the middle, and another with a sundial and peacock. An old red brick Elizabethan house was at the end of the drive, with a long sunny terrace round it. At the sound of the wheels two little Yorkshire terriers flew out to greet their mistress with shrill barks of joy. "Oh, what pretty little fellows !" exclaimed Waveney. "Yes, they are great pets. Fuss and Fury, that is what we call them," returned Miss Harford, smiling, "and I think you will allow that the names suit them. ' ' CHAPTER VI. queen Elizabeth's wraith. "... Life indeed must always be a compromise between common sense and the ideal, — the one abating nothing of its demands, the other accommodating itself to what is practicable and real." — Amiel. As they entered the large square hall with Fuss and Fury frolicking round them, a tall respectable-looking woman came forward to meet them. "I suppose my sister is in the library, Mitchell?" asked Miss Harford, quickly. " Yes, ma'am. Parker has just taken in the tea." "Then will you please give this young lady some : take her into my room, and make her comfortable. I must ask you to excuse me for a short time, Miss Ward, as I have to talk over one or two things with my sister j but Mitchell will look after you." 47 Mollie's Prince " Oh, please do not trouble about me !" returned Waveney ; and then she followed Mitchell down a long passage, full of beautiful plants, to a pleasant sitting-room with a deep bay- window overlooking the lawn with the sundial; the peacock was strutting across the grass with the mincing, ambling gait peculiar to that bird, the peahen following him more meekly. Through green trellised arches one looked on a tennis lawn, and beyond that was a large red brick cottage with a porch. When Mitchell brought in the tea-tray, Waveney asked her who lived there. The woman looked a little amused at the question. " No one lives there, ma'am," she answered, civilly. "My mistresses built it, for their winter evening entertainments. There is only one room, with a sort of kitchen behind it. It is always called the Porch House." Waveney longed to ask some more questions, but Mitchell had already retired, so she sat down and enjoyed her tea. How happy she could be in this lovely place if only Mollie were with her ! And then she thought of the fifty pounds a year. After all, Erpingham was not so far away. Perhaps they would let her go home once a week. If she could only have her Sunday afternoons and evenings to herself! And then her heart began to beat quickly. How delicious that would be ! How Mollie and she would talk ! And after tea they would sing their old hymns, and then they would all go to church together, and her father and Noel would walk to the station to see her off. And then she wondered if she should mind the long walk across the common ; it would be rather lonely, she thought, on a dark winter's evening, and perhaps Miss Harford would not approve of it. While Waveney indulged in these surmises and cogitations, Miss Harford had walked briskly across the inner hall, and, tapping lightly at a door, opened it and entered a beautiful long room fitted up as a library. It had a grand oriel window, with a cushioned seat, and a tiny inner room like a recess, with a glass door leading to the lawn with the cedar-tree. A lady writing at a table in the centre of the room uttered a little exclamation of surprise. "Why, Doreen, I was just writing to you; but it is the unexpected that always happens." And then the two sisters kissed each other affectionately. "You can put away your letter and give me some tea in- stead," Doreen said, laughing; and then Althea smiled and 48 Queen Elizabeth's Wraith walked to a little tea-table that had been placed in the window, with two inviting-looking easy chairs beside it. "Sit down, Dorrie, do, and tell me what has brought you over like a flash of lightning on a summer evening," she said, as she took up the tea-pot. Althea Harford was a better-looking woman than her sister, but she could never have been handsome. She was very tall, and her figure was decidedly graceful ; she walked well, and carried her head with the air of an empress. Her eyes were expressive and even beautiful, but her face was too long and thin, and her reddish auburn hair and light eyelashes gave her rather a colourless look. She had a long, aquiline nose, and some people said that she reminded them of Queen Eliza- beth, though it may be doubted whether that Tudor princess had Althea' s air of refinement and gentleness. She was evidently a year or two younger than her sister, but her dress, like Doreen's, was very sedate, and suitable to her age. She had a style of her own, which certainly suited her. When excited, or under the influence of some strong emotion, a faint pink colour would come to her cheeks, and a vivid light to her eyes ; at such moments she would be almost beautiful. The sisters were very unlike in disposition ; but in spite of their dissimilarity they were the best of friends, and under- stood each other perfectly. Doreen took life more lightly ; she had a robust cheerful- ness that seldom failed her. Althea had a greater sense of humour, and far more intellect ; but there was a veiled melan- choly about her, as though early in life she had suffered dis- illusion ; and she would speak sometimes as though human existence were a comedy where the players wore masks and performed the shadow dance at intervals. Both sisters were Ladies Bountiful, and gave nobly of their substance, but Althea could never be brought to acknowledge that she gave enough; she had scruples of conscience, and would sometimes complain that they were like Dives, and had their good things in this life. " And as though we were not rich enough," she would grum- ble, "Aunt Sara is actually going to leave us her money" — for Mrs. Mainwaring had lately made another will in her nieces' favour. Doreen would have a large sum of money, but Althea, who was her favourite, would be the chief legatee, and Althea had groaned in spirit when she heard it. 4 49 Mollie's Prince "It is such a responsibility," she sighed; but Doreen would not listen to this. "It is such an enjoyment," she retorted. "I do so love spending money, and so do you, Althea, in spite of your grumbling. And as to Aunt Sara's will, we need not make ourselves miserable about that, for she will probably live until she is ninety." And this view of the case cheered Althea greatly. Althea' s temperament was by no means pessimistic, but like all deep thinkers she had to pay the penalty of her own acute perceptions. The unsolved problems of life sad- dened her, and at times disturbed her comfort. She envied Doreen her capacity for putting troublesome questions out of her mind. "I wish I had your mind, Dorrie," she said once. "It is such a comfortable, nicely padded mind. When disagreeable things happen, you just let down your curtains and keep yourself snug." "Upon my word, Althea," returned Doreen, good-hu- mouredly, " I am glad no one but myself heard that speech. You make me out a nice selfish sort of person." " No, no, you are not selfish at all, you are far more ready to help people than I am. You are a good woman, Doreen, and you know I did not mean that. ' ' " Then what did your riddle mean ?" " Well, just what I said. That you never worry and fret yourself over troublesome questions — social questions, I mean, difficult problems that meet one in this world at every corner ; I often make myself quite unhappy over them, and go to bed with a heartache, but I do not believe that you ever lose an hour's sleep over them." "I daresay not. In that sense I suppose I have a nicely padded mind ; but, Althea, it is not that I do not realise the difficulty. But, my dear child, what is the good of sitting down before a mountain and waiting for it to open. Earth- quakes of that sort won't happen. I put it by until I am grown up ;" and as Althea stared at her she nodded her head. " Quite grown up, I mean ; we are only children here, and we are not likely to get all our lessons perfect." And then, in a low voice, she said, a little solemnly, " ' What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter;' " and as Doreen said this her plain, homely features were transfigured and Althea looked at her with reverence ; for in her simple faith Doreen had passed her and taken the higher place. "Well, Doreen, what has brought you over this evening?" 50 Queen Elizabeth's Wraith asked Althea, as she handed her sister a cup of tea. " I was thinking of driving over to-morrow to see you and Aunt Sara. ' ' "Well, I wanted to see you about two or three things, Miss Ward amongst them. I have brought her over, and she is at present partaking of tea and cake in my room." " Oh — do you think she will do?" asked Althea, quickly. "Well, that is for you to decide. You shall see her pres- ently and judge for yourself. At first sight I confess that I was not favourably impressed — she is such a childish-look- ing little thing, with fluffy, babyish hair curling over her head. But for her eyes, and expression, I should never have thought her grown up. She is rather like Laura Ridgway, only paler." " Laura has very pretty eyes, Doreen." "So has Miss Ward; they are quite out of the common. Aunt Sara took rather a fancy to her. ' ' "Aunt Sara is a very good judge of character," her sister observed. " Well, I liked her better myself after a time ; her voice is deep, but I somehow admire it, and she read very nicely. She seems anxious to come to us. They are evidently rather poor. But " Here Doreen hesitated in rather an em- barrassed way. " Out with it, Dorrie : there is something behind, I see." " Well, it is for you to judge. I shall leave the decision in your hands. I think Aunt Sara is right, and that Miss Ward is a nice little thing; but she is Everard Ward's daughter. ' ' Althea started; she was evidently quite unprepared for this. She changed colour slightly. "Are you sure of that, Doreen?" she asked, in a low voice. "You know how many Wards there are — dozens and dozens." " Yes, and I never for a moment imagined that it could be Everard's daughter ; but directly she mentioned her address — Cleveland Terrace, Chelsea — of course I recognised her? Wait a minute" — as Althea seemed inclined to interrupt her — "let me make it all clear to you. I put the question to her, ' Is Everard Ward your father?' That was plain enough, was it not ? And when she said yes, I managed to glean two or three particulars, that we already know." " Yes, but tell me, all the same ;" and Althea' s manner was a little eager. 5i Mollie's Prince "Well, she told me that her mother was dead — we knew that — and that she had a twin sister who was rather lame, and a brother Noel." Then, at the mention of Noel's name, Althea looked a little amused. " What a strange coincidence !" she murmured. " Strange enough, but rather embarrassing. Miss Ward was very naive and frank. It seems the poor man cannot sell his pictures; he has one on hand now. 'King Canute,' she called it, and none of the dealers will look at it. She says her father is very low about it, and that they want the money badly. Well, what now, Althea?" pretending to frown at her; for Althea' s face was suffused with colour, and her eyes were very bright. "Poor Everard !" she said, softly. "There is room for another picture in the Porch House." And then a queer little smile came to her lips. " It will be a valuable lesson to the girls." Then Doreen shook her head at her. " It could not be done, you foolish woman. You would be found out." "We must discover another way, then," returned Althea, who was quite in earnest. " Perhaps Thorold will give it house room." "But you must be prudent, dear." "I will be discretion itself. The picture will not be pur- chased in my name, you can depend on that. I begin to think my nature is not straightforward, I do so love little plots, and underhand schemes. I should have made a good secret conspirator. Now about this girl : if she pleases me, I can see no objection to our engaging her. It is perfectly simple, Dorrie ; they are poor, and the girls have to work. Fate, or rather — for it is no joking matter — Providence, has brought her to us. Is it too superstitious to say that I feel that I dare not refuse to take her. It may be another way of helping them." "Yes, but in my opinion Everard ought to know to whom he is sending her." "Ah, I agree with you there, in spite of my subterranean and complicated schemes. I did not propose any fresh mas- querade, as far as the girl is concerned. I am willing to be as open as the day. Now, as we have finished tea, shall I go to your room?" And Doreen smiled assent. Waveney was standing by the window, crumbling some 52 Queen Elizabeth's Wraith sweet-cake for the peacock. She turned round at the sound of the opening door. The evening sun was shining into the room, and perhaps the light dazzled Waveney a little ; but certainly she gave a very droll description of Althea to Mollie afterwards. " The door opened, and a very tall woman in a grey gown seemed to glide in, for she walked so quietly that I could not hear a footstep; and lo and behold, it was Queen Elizabeth's Wraith." " Oh, Waveney, what nonsense ! And I do hate that horrid old Elizabeth." " Well, so do I ; but, all the same, Miss Harford is remark- ably like her — such a long, thin face and nose, and reddish hair ; and she had a sort of ruff of lace round her throat, and such a stately manner, it was quite queenly. And, I think, really, that I should have made my curtsy, only she came up to me in the kindest way and took my hand. ' I am so sorry that you have been alone all this time,' she said, in such a sweet voice, ' but my sister and I had so much business to discuss. She has told me all about you, so I am not going to trouble you with needless questions. You can just tell me anything you like about yourself. I have a great respect for workers, and always love to help them.' " " It was nice of her to say that." " Yes ; it quite won my heart. I like both the Miss Har- fords, Mollie ; but Miss Althea — or Queen Bess, as I prefer to call her — is more to my taste. She interested me directly, and we had such a nice talk, just as though we were old friends ; and she said at once that I could have my Sunday afternoons — think of that, sweetheart ! I shall be with you every Sunday." Althea' s sympathetic nature had at once grasped the girl's trouble at leaving home. " I think I could arrange for you to spend the greater part of your Sundays at home," she observed, "that is, if you are a good walker, for we never use our horses on Sundays, unless the weather is very bad. We dine early, for I always have a busy afternoon in the Porch House, and I could spare you easily." " But the long walk back in the dark," faltered Waveney, who knew well that her father would make objections to this. Then Althea considered the point. " Yes, you are right. You could not walk alone on dark 53 Mollie's Prince evenings, and the winter is coming. There are houses, of course, but they stand so far back, and the gates are locked. Oh, no, my dear, that would never do. Neither my sister nor I could permit you to walk alone." Then her face brightened, and she continued with more animation, " I have an idea. My maid Peachy always goes to see her mother on Sunday afternoons ; she lives near Victoria, and she always takes the same train back. We will find out which that is, and then you can walk up the hill together." At this the girl's joy was so evident that Althea had been quite touched. Just at the close of the interview she had said a few words that greatly surprised Waveney. " And now, my dear, I should like you to go home and talk things over with your people, and then you can write me a line saying whether you wish to come to us. We must not decide things finally until your father gives his consent. He will know our names." And, as Waveney seemed puzzled at this, " When we were young he visited at our house. Oh, not here; we lived in Surrey then." " But when shall you want me," asked Waveney, anxiously. " Oh, I am sure father will give his consent. He is dread- fully unhappy at the idea of our working, but he knows it must be done." " Still you must consult him," returned Althea, gently, and her manner was a little stately. "As for my wanting you, I shall be content if you could come to me in about ten days. Now I hear the carriage coming round. Good-bye. I think I will add au revoir /" and then she shook hands very cordially, and the next moment Doreen joined them. There was very little conversation during the drive back. Miss Harford was busy with her letters and note-book, and Waveney leaned back on the cushions, and thought over her talk with Althea. " How strange that father should have known them !" she said to herself. " He often talks of his old friends, but he has never mentioned their name. Harford — no, I am sure I never heard it until Miss Warburton spoke of them. If I go anywhere it shall be to the Red House — I have made up my mind to that. I like both of them — they are different somehow from other people ; but I like Queen Bess far the best." 54 A Humourist and an Idealist CHAPTER VII. A HUMOURIST AND AN IDEALIST. " The world was very guilty of such a ballad some three ages since ; but, I think, now 'tis not to be found." Love's Labour's Lost. " A merrier man, Within the limits of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal." Act LI. While Waveney was doing her very best to make a favour- able impression on the Misses Harford, an interview of a far different character was taking place at Number Ten, Cleve- land Terrace. Mollie, who was conscientious and strictly truthful, having been taught from childhood to abhor the very whitest of white lies, was trying laboriously to carry out a certain programme drawn up by Waveney. She was not to cry or to think of anything disagreeable, and she was only to look at the clock twice in an hour, and there was no need for her either to be always standing on the balcony and straining her eyes after every passer-by. It was sheer waste of time, and it would be far better to finish one of her pretty menu-cards ; and Mollie, who was docile and tractable, had agreed to this. "It shall have a spray of golden brown chrysanthemums," she said, quite cheerfully ; and when Waveney left the house she arranged her painting- table and selected the flowers from Corporal Mark's nosegay. But, alas! " The best-laid schemes of mice and men Gang aft agley." Scarcely had Mollie wetted her brush before Ann the heavy- footed came up with an inflamed face and red eyes. "The pain was horrible," as she expressed it, "and was not to be borne. Would Miss Mollie spare her for half an hour, and she would get Mr. Grainger's young man to pull the tooth out?" 55 Mollie's Prince "Oh yes, Ann, certainly," returned Mollie, who was ten- der-hearted. But when Ann had withdrawn with a snorting sob, she mused with some perplexity over all the ills to which maids-of-all-work were liable. Ann had looked so strong when they had engaged her, and yet she was always complaining of something. She was ad- dicted to heavy colds in her head, and to a swollen face, sometimes diversified by an earache. She was a good-tem- pered, willing creature, but her infirmities were great, and more than once Waveney had advised Mollie to send her away. " But she is so honest," Mollie would plead, " and she is so devoted to Mrs. Muggins," and so Ann had been suffered to remain. Noel took her off to the life. He would tie up his face with a wisp of flannel and sit hugging the cat for ten minutes at a time. "Was it a poorty leddy, then, and did she want the poor little chickabiddies?" Ann would choke with suppressed laughter when she came in to lay the table. " Ain't it natural, Miss Mollie? and it is just what I did say to Mrs. Muggins." Mollie was studying the chrysanthemum pensively when Annie put her head in again. "The fire must not get low, Miss Mollie, because of the cake." Then Mollie jumped up in dismay. Ann was going out, and leaving that precious cake — Noel's birthday cake — and it was such a nice one ! She had made it herself, and it had beautiful pink-and-white icing on the top. That her cake should be spoilt was a thought not to be en- dured for a moment. She knew what Ann's fires were— black, smoky concerns. As Mollie rushed into the kitchen the front door bell rang, and Ann, with her hat on, admitted a visitor. "A gentleman, Miss Mollie, and I have shown him up in the studio." But Mollie, whose face was in the oven, did not hear this ; her whole attention was absorbed by her cake — menu cards were forgotten. She stirred the fire, put on coals, and then sat down on the rug to, watch the oven. Meanwhile, the visitor walked briskly into the studio. He was a small, dark man, and his dress was somewhat Bohemian ; he had a brown velveteen coat, and a yellow rose in his button- hole, and he had bright, clear eyes, that saw everything worth seeing, and a good deal that ordinary folk failed to see — not that people always found this out. He had plenty of time for observation, and when he had grown a little weary of his soli- 56 A Humourist and an Idealist tude, he made a tour of the room. He stood for some time by Mollie's painting table. The menu cards struck him as very pretty and graceful in their design. "My good little Samaritan is artistic, I see," he said to himself; "but there was no need for her to put on her best frock because a stranger called. But vanity and women are synonomous terms." And after this atrocious sentiment — which all women would utterly repudiate — he looked curiously at a framed picture standing on the floor. " ' Canute and his Courtiers.' Yes, I see ; rather stale, that sort of thing. ' Canute' decidedly wooden, ambitious, but amateurish — wants force and expression. ' ' And then he shook his head. " Hulloa, what have we here?" and he stepped up to the easel. It was a roughly executed sketch in crayon and was evidently a boy's work; but in spite of considerable crudeness, it was not without spirit. A young lady was stepping down from an omnibus, and a queer little man in a peaked hat, and a huge moustache, was handing her out. He was grinning from ear to ear, and in his other hand was a sixpence. "Your eternally obliged Monsieur Blackie," was written under the picture. The visitor seemed puzzled ; then a light dawned. Finally he threw hack his head and laughed aloud. "We have a humourist here," he said to himself; and to restore his gravity, he began walking up and down the room ; but every time he passed the easel he laughed again. "This is clearly not my little Samaritan," he said to himseif. He had brought in a beautiful bouquet, and had laid it down on the round table. Every few minutes he took it up and looked at the door. The household was certainly a peculiar one. An extraordi- nary young female, with her face tied up in flannel, had shown him upstairs after telling him that Miss Ward was in. He had been waiting nearly twenty minutes. Should he ring the bell ? But there was no bell — not a semblance of one. Then he thought he would leave the flowers and the sixpense, with his card. Yes, perhaps that would be best. And then he hesitated. It was very absurd, but he rather wanted to see the little girl again ; there was something so bright and piquant about her. Perhaps she was keeping out of the way on purpose. Perhaps Monsieur Blackie — and here he laughed afresh — was not to her taste. No sooner did this idea come 57 Mollie's Prince into his head than, with manlike perversity, he determined to persevere. He walked downstairs and into the dining-room. Here fresh amusement awaited him in the inscription, " Noel Ward, his Study." " My friend the humourist again," he said softly; and then he pricked up his ears, for in some back premises he could dis- tinctly hear a very clear, sweet girlish voice. He stole into the passage to listen. And this is what he heard : — " Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen ; Here's to the widow of fifty; Here's to the flaunting extravagant queen And here's to the housewife that's thrifty, Let the toast pass; Drink to the lass — I'll warrant she prove an excuse for the glass." " School for Scandal" muttered the stranger. "A very good song and very well sung. I should like to clap. Let me see : that is what they used to do in the Arabian Nights enter- tainment — clap hands, enter beautiful Circassian slave, with a golden dish full of jewelled fruits. I will knock instead at the mysterious portal." "Oh, is that you, Ann!" exclaimed a voice, cheerfully. "However did you get in? Fetch me some coals, please. And oh, I forgot your poor tooth. Was it very bad ?" " Pardon me," observed the young man, hurriedly. Then, at the strange voice, Mollie turned round. Once, many years ago in a foreign gallery, Ingram had stood for a long time before a little picture that had capti- vated his fancy ; it was the work of an English artist, and a very promising one, and was entitled " Cinderella." A little workhouse drudge was sitting on a stool in the chimney corner of a dark underground kitchen ; a black, cindery fire was cast- ing a dull glow ; a thin tabby cat was trying to warm itself. The torn, draggled frock and grimy hands of the little maid- of-all-work were admirably rendered, but under the tangled locks a pair of innocent child's eyes looked wistfully out. A story book, with the page opened at Cinderella, lay on the lap. Ingram thought of this picture as Mollie turned her head and looked at him, and, man of the world as he was, for the moment words failed him. 58 A Humourist and an Idealist He was standing in a dull little kitchen — a mere slip of a place — looking out on a long straggling garden, very narrow, and chiefly remarkable for gooseberry-and-currant bushes; and sitting on the rug in front of the fire, like a blissful sala- mander, was a girl with the most beautiful face that he had ever seen. Then poor Mollie, blushing like a whole garden full of roses in her embarrassment, scrambled awkwardly to her feet. " Oh, dear ! I thought it was our Ann. Will you tell me your name, please ? Father is out, and we do not expect him home until eight." "My business was with your sister," returned Ingram, re- gaining his self-possession as he saw the girl's nervousness. " Your servant let me in exactly five-and-twenty minutes ago, and as I thought the household was asleep I was endeavouring to discover a bell ; and then I heard singing, — " ' Let the toast pass ; Drink to the lass,' Awfully good song that." " Oh, dear," faltered Mollie — she would have liked to sink through the floor at that moment, to avoid that bright, quizzi- cal glance ; " that was father's song, not mine. Oh, I know now who you are. You are the gentleman whose pocket was picked yesterday." "Exactly. Monsieur Blackie, at your service;" and then Mollie turned cold with dismay. Ann had let him in, and he had been in the studio, and Noel's absurd sketch was on the easel. He had recognised himself. And Mollie's con- fusion and misery were so great that in another minute she would have disgraced herself for ever by bursting into tears ; only Ingram, fearing he had taken too great a liberty, hast- ened to explain matters. " You see, Miss Ward, I was anxious to pay my debts, and thank your sister. If I remember rightly, I told her that I should call." " Oh, yes; at least, Waveney was not sure that you would, and she had to go out. ' ' "I should like to have seen her. Perhaps another time you will allow me ' ' Ingram reddened and hesitated. " She may not be long. She has gone to Berkeley Square on business. Ah," as the bell rang, "that is Ann, so please will you go upstairs. ' ' 59 Mollie's Prince Mollie was not quite equal to the situation ; she wanted to get rid of Monsieur Blackie, but he did not seem inclined to go ; and Ingram took a mean advantage of her inexperience. " I have left my hat upstairs," he said, hypocritically, " and there are some flowers which I brought for your sister, and I think they ought to be put in water. ' ' This appealed at once to Mollie. "Oh, certainiy," she said; and as she limped down the passage before him, a pained look came in Ingram's eyes. " Oh, what a grievous pity," he thought, " that lovely face to be allied with such a cruel infirmity." "Oh, what flowers!" exclaimed Mollie, burying her face in them ;" and then she glanced at the card shyly. " Moritz Ingram." What a nice name ! Yes, he was rather nice, too. In spite of his droll looks, she liked his voice ; but, all the same, if he would only go ! He ought to go — and Ingram evidently shared this opinion, for he was hunting sedulously for his hat ; and as his efforts were unavailing, Mollie was obliged to go to his help. "I brought it upstairs," he kept saying. "'Manners makye man,' and I was always remarkable for my good man- ners. Why, even your sister took me for a Frenchman." And at this Mollie broke into a merry laugh, and Ingram's eyes twinkled sympathetically. The next minute the door-bell rang again, and Mollie, who had just discovered the hat underneath the sofa — though how it got there, no one knew — was just going to dart to the door, when a cracked voice called out, "Cat's meat!" and the faint mewing of Mrs. Muggins was clearly audible in the distance and then Noel strolled in. He looked at Ingram in unfeigned amazement ; then, being an acute lad, he grinned. " Noel, this is Mr. Ingram, the gentleman Waveney saw in the omnibus yesterday." "I recognised myself," returned Ingram, with an airy wave of the hand towards the picture, "though perhaps it is not a speaking likeness — a sort of cross between Mephistophiles and Daniel Quilp, with perhaps a soupfon of the Artful Dodger. I prefer to sit for my own portrait, don't you know." Then Noel grinned again, rather sheepishly. For once he was reaping the just reward of his impudence. "You are a humourist, my young friend," continued In- gram, blandly. " I am an Idealist. All my life — and I am 60 A Humourist and an Idealist exactly thirty seven— I have been seeking 'the impossible she.' That does not mean" (interrupting himself, as though he feared to be misunderstood ) "any individual woman. Oh dear, no; originality is my favourite fetish." Mollie looked bewildered, but she was rather impressed by this fine flow of words, but Noel's eyes brightened. "Was this not a man and a brother ?' ' " Women don't understand that sort of thing," he observed, confidentially; "they never laugh at the right jokes unless you label them ;" and here Noel threw up his head and cocked his chin. "That is why I have taken to drawing— a picture pleases the poor things, and the funnier you make it, the more they like it." " Indeed ! ' ' remarked Ingram, mildly. And then he looked at the handsome lad with unfeigned approval. "It is for your sister's benefit that you do these clever sketches? I am an artist myself— an embryo artist, I ought to say, for I have never sold a picture — but I recognise a brother in the art." Then Noel, who detected irony in the smooth voice, looked a little sulky. "It is not clever a bit," he growled; "it is beastly rot. I did it to get a rise out of Waveney — Waveney is the other one, you know." "Did you say Waveney? I never recollect hearing the name before." " No. It is a queer sort of name. Father had a great- aunt Waveney. When I want something short and handy, don't you know, I call her Storm-and -stress." "Upon my word, Miss Ward, your brother is _ perfectly dangerous. If I stay here any longer I shall take the infection. I told you my special and particular fetish was originality. I seem to have met it here. Thank you"— as Mollie meekly handed him his hat—" I have trespassed on your kind hospi- tality far too long already. With your kind permission I will call again, in the hope of seeing your sister." "What could I say?" asked Mollie, anxiously, when she related the account of the afternoon. The sisters were safely shut up in their own room — a large front room over the studio. Mr. Ward slept in the little room behind. " I could not say, < No, please do not come, I am sure Waveney does not want to see you ! ' " "Why no, of course not. You did quite right, Mollie dear. Did not dad say he showed his gratitude in a very 61 Mollie's Prince gentlemanly way. And as for Noel, he has been talking about him all the evening." " Yes, Noel took a fancy to him; and Wave, I do think he must be nice ; he says droll things in a soft, sleepy sort of voice, and I am afraid I was rather stupid and did not always understand ; but his eyes looked kind and gentle. I was not afraid of him after the first few minutes." " Poor little Moll. Well, it was rather embarrassing to have to interview a live stranger all alone, and in the kitchen too !" — for Mollie had drawn a highly colored and graphic de- scription of her first meeting with Monsieur Blackie. Waveney had laughed mercilessly at first. " Mollie Ward enacting the part of Cinderella or Cinder Maiden — enter the Black Prince with the glass slipper. Mol- lie, dear, I grieve to say it, but your feet are not as pretty as mine;" and Waveney, who was excited with her eventful day, kicked off her shoes, and began dancing in the moon- light, her tiny feet scarcely touching the floor. And behold the spirit of mischief was in her ; for, as Mollie sat on the bed and watched her with admiring eyes, she sud- denly broke into a song ; and this is what she sang : " Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen, Here's to the widow of fifty, Here's to the flaunting, extravagant quean, And here's to the housewife that's thrifty. Let the toast pass, Drink to the lass, I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass." CHAPTER VIII. mollie's baby-house. ** Within 'tis all divinely fair, No care can enter my retreat; 'Tis but a castle in the air, But you and I are in it, sweet." Helen Marion Burnside. It is necessary to retrace our steps a little ; for it was not until much later that Waveney executed her pas-de-seul in the moonlight. Miss Harford had kept her word, and Waveney was deposited at Sloane Street Station punctually at seven ; 62 Mollie's Baby-House and before the quarter had struck she was walking quickly up Cleveland Terrace. Mollie, whose state of mind by this time baffled description, was on the balcony watching for her, and had the door opened before Waveney was at the gate ; a few hurried questions and answers had been interchanged, and then they had heard their father's latchkey in the door. " Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! Why is father so dreadfully early, this evening ?' ' exclaimed Mollie, in a lamentable voice. " Never mind," returned Waveney, philosophically. " We must just wait until bed-time; and then won't we make a night of it, Moll?" "But father will hear us, and rap on the wall," observed Mollie, fretfully, "and tell us to go to sleep like good chil- dren." " Oh, no, he won't, if we curl ourselves on the window- seat ; it is a big room, and our voices won't reach him. Mollie dear, remember, nothing is to be said to father to- night; he is far too tired for fresh worries. To-morrow I will take him for a prowl, and talk to him severely. No;" as Mollie looked at her wistfully. "I must have him all to myself; I can manage him more easily so. Run down to him now, dear, while I take off my hat, and then I will join you." Mollie did as she was told ; and, thanks to Waveney' s management, they had another merry evening. Monsieur Blackie was the leading topic. Waveney was quite touched when Mollie handed her the bouquet with a little speech; but Noel entirely spoilt it by croaking out in an absurd voice, "Your much and eternally obliged Monsieur Blackie." "Hold your tongue, you young rascal," returned Mr. Ward, in high good-humour. " Mr. Ingram is a gentleman, and shows that he knows what good manners are." " Manners makye man," observed Mollie, slyly; and then Noel exploded again. " He was the coolest hand I ever knew," he replied. "If he were his Grace the Duke of Wellington, he could not have lorded it better. ' You are a humourist, my young friend.' I should like to have given him one for his im- pudence ! And then the cheek of telling ' the wobbly one' that he would call again. ' ' Mr. Ward frowned. " Noel, I will not have you call Mollie by that name. A jest is a jest, but it must not be carried too far." *3 Mollie's Prince "Pegtop, then," returned Noel, unabashed by this rebuke, for behind his father's back he winked at Mollie. " But he was not a bad sort of chap. He would be rather useful on an east-windy, dismal sort of a day — he would make you feel cheerful. I like a fellow who can take a joke without turning rusty over it" — and from Noel this was high praise. Mollie thought the evening dreadfully long, and she fidgeted so much, and looked at the clock so often, that her father called her drowsy-head, and begged her to go to bed ; but this made her redden with confusion. And then, when they were safe in their room, Waveney chose to be ridiculous and cut capers. But as soon as her little song was finished she produced an old shepherd's plaid rug, which was known in family annals as "the Lamb," and they both crept under it, and tucked up their feet on the window-seat, and felt cosy. And if an artist could have drawn the picture, it would have made his fortune, for the rough old plaid set off Mollie's exquisite face and glorious golden brown hair to perfection, while Waveney' s looked fair and infantine in the moonlight. Waveney was the talker now, and Mollie was the listener, but every now and then there were little interjections of sur- prise and admiration. At the description of " Fairy Magnifi- cent" Mollie drew in her breath and said "Oh!" Miss Harford's ugliness rather shocked her; she said "It was a great pity, and Waveney had never been used to live with ugly people" — which was perfectly true. She thought Queen Elizabeth's Wraith a rather far-fetched description. She could not endure Queen Bess; she was such an unladylike person, and boxed gentlemen's ears. And if Miss Althea were like her " But here Waveney interposed. "Don't be a little goose, Moll. She is like Queen Eliza- beth, and you would say the same yourself if you saw her ; but she is so nice and gentle that I am sure I shall soon love her. Well, let me go on. I want to tell you about the Red House." Then Mollie sighed with satisfaction, and com- posed herself to listen. Mollie, with all her sweetness and goodness, was a little Sybarite at heart. She loved pretty things, fine house, gems, beautiful dresses. Mr. Ward had been almost shocked when he had taken her one day to Bond Street to look at the shops. It was impossible to get her away from the jewellers' ; the diamond tiaras and necklets riveted her. " Who buys them, 64 Mollie's Baby-House dad?" she had asked, in quite a loud voice; "dukes and earls, and those sort of people?" "Yes, of course," returned Mr. Ward, a little impatiently, "and the Prince of Wales, I daresay;" for he was rather pro- voked at the attention the child was exciting. Two gentle- men who were passing, and had overheard Mollie's remark, smiled at each other. " What a beautiful child !" observed one ; he was a tall, old man, with a fine, benevolent face. "You are right, Duke," returned the other, with a super- cilious laugh. " Some little rustic come to town for the first time." "Come, Mollie," observed her father, rather crossly, "we must not take up the pavement in this way or the Bobby will be telling us to move on;" and then Mollie had limped on until another shop- window attracted her. Mr. Ward had felt a little perplexed by Mollie's unsatiable appetite for pretty things, and on their return home he un- bosomed himself to Waveney. "All girls like shops," he said, seriously, "and I knew Mollie would be pleased, but I never expected her to glue her face to the glass for half an hour at a time. She made her- self quite conspicuous, and several people laughed at her." "Mollie must be better behaved next time," returned Waveney, smiling. " Father, dear, I don't think it matters really. Mollie is young, and she leads such a quiet life, and sees so few things, that when she goes out she just loses her head. I think," she continued, calmly, "that she does care for pretty things more than most people, — she would love to be rich, and dress grandly, and have pictures and jewels and beautiful things. When we were tiny children she always would make me read the story of Cinderella ; nothing else pleased her." "Don't you care for pretty things, too, Waveney?" asked her father, a little sadly. " Oh, yes, dad ! All girls care a little, I think ; but I am not always longing for them like Mollie. She makes up stories to amuse herself. Some one is to leave us a fortune, and we are all to be rich suddenly. She has actually imagined a house and fitted it up bit by bit ; and just for the fun of the thing I have helped her — it is our playhouse, you know. But Mollie thinks it quite real. If you say to her, ' Let us go down to Kitlands,' her eyes brighten, and she looks quite happy." 5 6 5 Mollie's Prince "You are foolish children," observed Mr. Ward, fondly. " Who would have thought that my sweet Moll had been such a little worldling at heart !" "No, dad, you must not say that. Worldly people are selfish, and Mollie has not a selfish thought. It is just a pretty, childish fancy. I sometimes believe in Kitlands my- self, we have talked about it so often. On windy nights I have seen the oaks tossing their branches in the park, and the deer huddling under them, and the west room where we al- ways sit of an evening, with the bay window. And how the red firelight streams out on the terrace? And there is a delicious couch by the fire with a lovely Japanese screen be- hind it, and ' ' But here Mr. Ward put his hand over the girl's mouth. 4 'Do you think I am going to be entertained by a descrip- tion of your baby-house?" he said, in mock wrath. "Tell Mollie she ought to be grown up by this time." But when he was left alone, he said to himself, " Now, why in the world should they have hit on that name Kitlands? Don't I recol- lect that sunny evening when I walked up the terrace, and the red light streamed from the west room ! ' ' He sighed, then roused himself. " Bless their dear, innocent hearts. Now if only their mother could have heard all that !" Mollie was perfectly ravished with the description of the Red House, and as soon as Waveney paused to take breath, she said, " Why, it is almost as nice as Kitlands, only there is no park and no deer. But I wish I had thought of a pea- cock." Then she put her head on one side and reflected deeply. "There is the Italian garden, you know, Wave, a sundial would do very nicely there, and we could choose an inscription." But Waveney gave her a little push. " Don't be such a baby, Mollie. We are getting too old for Kitlands. We must put our play-house away with the dear old dolls. But, seriously, is it not perfectly delicious to think we shall be together every Sunday ?' ' "Yes, that will be nice, of course. But is it really settled, Wave?" and Mollie's voice was full of melancholy. " I think so, dear ; but, of course, I must talk to father. Darling, promise me that you will try and make the best of it. The week will pass so quickly, and then, when Sunday comes, we shall be together. I daresay 1 shall be with you by half-past three, just after father and Noel have started for their afternoon walk." 66 Mollie's Baby-House "I shall come to the station and meet you," interrupted Mollie. " Will you? How nice that will be ! And we shall have a cosy hour on Grumps, and you shall tell me all your worries — every one of them ; and I will tell mine. Then, when father comes in, you and Noel shall get tea ready, and dad and I will have a little talk. And after tea we will sing all our favourite hymns, and then we will go to St. Michael's together, and I will have my old place by father." "Yes; and then we will all go to the station with you. But oh, Wave, how I shall hate Monday mornings ! I shall never feel cheerful until Wednesday is over ; ' ' but Waveney would not hear of this — she preached quite a little homily on the duty of cultivating cheerfulness ; but her eloquence died a natural death when she saw Mollie nod, and ten minutes later they were both asleep. It was a free morning with Mr. Ward, and he was not at all surprised when Waveney invited him to take a prowl. "Won't Mollie prowl, too?" he asked, as he noticed her wistful expression. But Waveney shook her head. " Mollie was an idle girl yesterday," she remarked, severely ; "she must stay in and finish her menu card. There, you shall have the Black Prince's flowers to console you;" and Waveney placed them on the painting-table. " ' Sweets to the sweet' — they are as much yours as mine, Mollie." Then Mollie blushed a little guiltily. More than once the thought had passed through her mind — how nice it would be if she had a Monsieur Blackie to bring her hothouse flowers. For Mollie was very human, and certainly " A creature not too bright and good, For human nature's daily food," and she had her girlish weaknesses. Not that she envied Waveney her flowers ; but, as she sniffed them delightedly, her imagination conjured up numberless bouquets for Miss Mollie Ward ; only the donor must be tall and fair, not a little dark Frenchified artist like Monsieur Blackie. Waveney chatted to her father quite gaily until they had crossed the lime avenue, and had reached the landing-stage. Then they walked a little way down the embankment, and sat down on a bench under a shady tree. It was still early, and there were few passengers ; only now and then a river steamer 67 Mollie's Prince passed, churning the blue water into light, foamy waves. Two or three children were bowling their hoops, followed by a panting pug. Waveney cleared her voice rather nervously ; then she slid her hand into her father's arm. Everard could see the worn little glove fingers on his coat sleeve; he stared at the white seams dreamily as he listened. He was a man who noticed trifles ; there was a feminine element in his character. That little shabby grey glove appealed to him forcibly. " Father, dear, I have something to tell you — that is why I did not want Mollie to come ; it is so much easier to talk about difficult things to only one person." Waveney's voice was not as clear as usual. " Will you promise to listen, dearest, with- out interrupting me?" Mr. Ward nodded, but his face was a little grave. What could the child have to say? Waveney told her story very fully. She gave her father a description of the Red House and Fairy Magnificent, but she never mentioned Miss Harford's name ; she spoke of them vaguely as " the ladies." "And you have settled all this without speaking to me?" and there was a hurt look on Mr. Ward's face. Then Wave- ney nestled closer to him. " Father, dear, I wanted to tell you — I want to tell you everything ; but you were so tired, and I thought it would be kinder to wait until I had spoken to the ladies." "The ladies. What ladies? Have they no name?" he asked, irritably. "Yes, dear, of course they have," returned the girl, gently. "Their name is Harford." Then he turned round a little quickly. " Harford. Oh, I daresay there are plenty of that name. I know Erpingham — Noel and I walked there one Sunday afternoon ; but I do not remember the Red House." " No ; it stands in a lane. You have to go through some white gates. They have not always been at Erpingham ; they used to live in Surrey." Then she felt him start slightly. "I suppose you did not hear their Christian names?" he asked a little anxiously. " Oh yes, dad, I did. The ugly one — she was very nice, but she is terribly plain — was called Doreen ; and the pale, fair one, like Queen Elizabeth, was Althea." Then it was evident that Mr. Ward was completely taken aback. "Doreen and Althea," he muttered. "It must be the 68 Mollie's Baby-House same. With a singular coincidence ! Waveney, my child, tell me one thing. Was the name of their house in Surrey Kitlands?" "1 don't know, father; they never told me. But stay a moment : there was a picture in Miss Harford's sitting-room of an old Elizabethan house standing in a park, and under it was written Kitlands Park. I meant to tell Mollie about that. ' ' "It is the same — it must be the same," he returned, in a low voice. " The names are too uncommon. Yes, and it is true, Althea was a little like Queen Elizabeth. I would have given five years of my life that this had not happened. It is one of the little ironies of fate that my girl should have gone to them." "Oh, why, father?" asked Waveney, piteously; her father's look of bitterness filled her with dismay. Why was he so dis- turbed, so unlike himself? He did not even hear her question. He got up from the bench quickly and walked to the railings. Another steamer was passing. Mr. Ward looked after it with vague, unseeing eyes. Everard Ward was a proud man, in spite of his easy-going ways. He had had his ambitions, his aspirations, and yearn- ings. He had set his ideal high, and yet, for want of ballast, he had suffered shameful shipwreck. At the beginning of life he had had his good things— health, good looks, talents, and friends. Doors had opened to him, kindly hands had been held out to him, and one of them a woman's hand ; but he had turned away in youthful caprice, and had chosen his own path. He had meant to have carved his own fortunes, to have painted pictures that would have made the name of Everard Ward famous ; and he was only a drawing-master who painted little third-rate pot-boilers. How Everard loathed his poverty ! His shabby coat, and Mollie' s pitiful little makeshifts and contrivances, were all alike hateful to him. Too well he remembered the flesh-pots of Egypt — the Goshen of his youth, where he had fared sumpt- uously, when he had money to spend and the world smiled at him ; and then, like a fool — the very prince of fools — he had flung it all away. He had made a mess of his life, but he was not without his blessings ; and in his better moments, when the children were singing their hymns, perhaps he would tell himself humbly that he was not worthy of them. 69 Mollie's Prince But as he stood by the river that morning, it seemed to him as though the cup of his humiliation was full to the very dregs. He had so broken with his old life that few ghostly visitants from the dim past troubled him ; and now there had started up in his path the two women whom he most dreaded to see. And one of them he had wronged, when, hot with a young man's passion, and tempted by Dorothy's sweet eyes and girl- ish grace, he had drawn back, suddenly and selfishly, from the woman he had been wooing. Well, he had dearly loved his wife ; but the disgrace of that shameful infidelity was never effaced from his memory. It was a blot, a stain upon his manhood, a sore spot, that often made him wince. Would he ever forget that day they were in the old walled garden, gathering peaches, and Althea had just handed him one, hot with the sun, and crimson-tinted, and bursting with -sweetness ? " You always give me the best of everything, Althea," he had said ; but he was thinking of Dorothy as he said it, and of her love for peaches. "I like to give you the best — the very best," Althea had answered sweetly, and her eyes had been so wistful and tender that he had felt vaguely alarmed. How he had made his meaning clear to her he never could remember. He had spoken of Dorothy, and perhaps his voice had trembled, for all at once she had become very silent, and there was no more gathering of peaches. " I must go in now," she had said, suddenly, and he noticed her lips were pale. " Doreen wants me. Yes, I understand, Everard, and you have my best wishes — my best wishes." And then he had stood still and watched her, a tall, slim figure in white, moving between the fruit-trees and carrying her head proudly. " And it is to Althea Harford that my daughter has applied for a situation," thought Everard, sadly. And again he told himself that he was draining the cup of humiliation to the very dregs. Rosalind and Celia CHAPTER IX. ROSALIND AND CELIA. " A hero worshipped and throned high On the heights of a sweet romance, A faithful friend who was * always the same' Till the clouds grew heavy and troubles came. But this is life, and this is to live, And this is the way of the world." Gertrude Carey. Waveney sat on the bench feeling very forlorn and de- serted until her father came back to her. He had evidently pulled himself together, for he looked at her with his old kind smile, though perhaps his lips were not quite steady. " Come, little girl, don't fret," he said, tenderly. " Least said is soonest mended, and we must just go through with it." "But, father, are you sure you do not mind?" she re- turned, eagerly. "We are very poor, but I would rather please you, dear, than have ever so much money — you know that, do you not ?' ' Waveney' s eyes were full of tears, and her little hands clasped his arm appealingly. Mr. Ward's laugh was a trifle husky. "I know I have two good children," he returned, feel- ingly. " Look here, my child, things have got a little mixed and complicated, and I find it difficult to explain matters. It is my ' poverty and not my will consents,' don't you know — and we must just pocket our pride and put a good face on it. ' ' "Do you mean that I am to go to Miss Harford? Are you very sure that you mean that, dad ?' ' "Yes, certainly" — but his face clouded. "Did you not tell me that Miss Althea suffered with her eyes, and needed a reader and companion ? We were good friends once, so why should I put an affront on her by refusing her my daughter's services?" Waveney sighed; she felt a little oppressed: her father took a reasonable and practical view of the case, but his 7i Mollie's Prince voice was constrained ; he was a proud man, and at times he chafed sadly at his limitations. He could not forget that he had come of a good old stock ; he used to tell his girls to carry their heads high, and not allow themselves to be shunted by nobodies. "Your mother was a gentlewoman," he would say, "and your great-grandmother had the finest manners I ever saw ; she was a Markham of Maplethorpe, and drove in a chariot and four horses when she went to the county ball. It was your grandfather who ruined us all ; he speculated in mines, and so Maplethorpe was sold. I saw it once, when I was a little chap : I remember playing on the bowling green. ' ' Everard Ward thought he was doing his duty in teaching his girls to consider themselves superior to their neighbours, but sometimes Waveney would joke about it. She would come into the room with her little nose tip-tilted and her head erect, and cross her mittened hands over her bosom. "Am I like my great-grandmother Markham?" she would say. ' ' Stand back, Mollie ; I am going to dance the minuet ; ' ' and then Waveney would solemnly lift her skirts and point her tiny foot, and her little performance would be so artless and full of grace that Mr. Ward would sit in his chair quite riveted. "Father, I wish you would tell me how you first came to know the Misses Harford ?" asked Waveney, rather timidly. Mr. Ward had relapsed into silence, but he roused himself at the question. "It was in my Oxford days, child. I was quite a young fellow then. There were a good many pleasant houses where I visited, but there was none I liked so well as Kit- lands. " Mrs. Harford was alive then; she was rather an invalid, but we all liked her. I always got on with elderly women ; they said I understood their little ways. I knew your Fairy Magnificent, too ; she was a great beauty. We young fellows used to wonder why she had never married again." "Oh, father, this is very interesting. My good little Fairy Magnificent." Then he nodded and smiled. "When Mrs. Mainwaring came down to Kitlands there would be all sorts of gaieties going on — riding parties and archery meetings in the summer, and dances and theatricals in the winter." 72 Rosalind and Celia " Once we acted a pastoral play in the park — As You Like It. It was very successful, and the proceeds went to the county hospital. I remember I was Orlando." " Was Miss Althea Rosalind?" "No, your mother was Rosalind. She acted the part charmingly ; it was her first and last appearance. Althea' ' — his voice changed — "was Celia; her sister Doreen insisted on being Audrey, because she said she looked the part to perfection. ' ' "Then mother knew them, too?" observed Waveney, in surprise. "Well, no, dear, one could hardly say that. We were in great distress for a Rosalind, and the Williams heard of our difficulty, and they said they knew a young lady who had studied the part for some private theatricals that had never come off. I had already met your mother at the county ball, and I was very glad to see her again. Rosalind" — he laughed a little — "and Orlando clenched the business." "But, father, why have you dropped such nice friends?" It was evident that Mr. Ward had expected this question, and was prepared for it. "Well, you see, my child, when I married your dear mother I was supposed by my friends to have done a foolish thing. It was difficult enough to hold our heads above water, without trying to keep in the swim. People quietly dropped us, as we dropped them. It is the way of the world, little girl." And then in a would-be careless tone, he quoted, — " A part played out, and the play not o'er, And the empty years to come ! With dark'ning clouds beyond and above, And a helpless groping for truth and love, But this is life and this is love, And this is the way of the world." It was a habit of Mr. Ward's to quote poetry; he often read it to his children ; he had a clear, musical voice. But Waveney was not content to have the subject so summarily dismissed. ' ' Father, dear, do you really mean to say that the Harfords gave you up because you were poor?" and her tone was a little severe. "No, dear, it was I who gave them up. By the bye, 73 Mollie's Prince Waveney, I wonder why they left Kitlands?" and as the girl shook her head, he continued, thoughtfully, "It was a big place, and perhaps they did not care to keep it up after their mother's death; they always wanted to live nearer town. Well, have we finished our talk?" and then Waveney rose reluctantly. He had not told her much, she thought regret- fully ; but, all the same, her girlish intuition went very nearly the truth. There was something underneath; something that con- cerned Miss Althea. Why had her father looked so pained when she had mentioned the name ? But with a delicacy that did her honour she was careful not to drop a hint of her sus- picions to Mollie. Mr. Ward thought he had kept his secret well. He was impulsive and reckless by nature, but his care for his mother- less girls was almost feminine in its tenderness. They were too precious for the rough workaday world, so he tried to hedge them in with all kind of sweet old obsolete fashions, for fear a breath should soil their crystalline purity. " Father would like to wrap us up in lavender, and put us under a glass case," Waveney would say, laughingly, and it must be owned that neither she nor Mollie were quite up to date. They did not talk slang; they were not blase; and they had fresh, natural ideas on every subject, which they would ex- press freely. Waveney was the most advanced ; Mollie was still a simple child, in spite of her nineteen years. Mollie was very curious on the subject of her father's inti- macy with the Harfords, but Waveney managed to satisfy her without making any fresh mysteries. " It is all in a nutshell, Mollie," she said, quietly. "When father was a young man he went to a lot of nice houses, and Kitlands was one of them. They were rich people and very gay, and gave grand parties, and he had quite a good time of it ; and then he and mother married, and they were poor ; and then, somehow, all their fine friends dropped off." " Oh, what a shame !" interrupted Mollie, indignantly. "Well, the Harfords did not drop him, but somehow he left off going there ; and he has never even heard of them for twenty years. I think it upset him rather to have his old life brought up before him so suddenly; it made him feel the difference, don't you see !" and Waveney's voice was a little sad, she could so thoroughly enter into her father's feelings. What a change from the light-hearted young man of fashion, 74 Rosalind and Celia acting Orlando and making love to Rosalind in the green glades of Kitlands, to the shabby, drudging drawing-master, with shoulders already bowed with continual stooping. Waveney wrote her little note of acceptance the next day. It brought a kind answer from Miss Althea ; she was very glad that Miss Ward had decided to come to them. She and her sister would do their best to make her feel at home. Erping- ham was so near, and they so often drove into town, that she could see her people constantly. " Please give our kind re- membrances to your father, if he has not quite forgotten his old friends," was the concluding sentence. Waveney handed the note silently to her father ; he red- dened over the closing words. What a kind, womanly letter it was. The faint smell of lavender with which it was per- fumed was not more fragrant than the warm-hearted generosity that had long ago forgiven the slight. Had he really wounded her by his desertion, or had her vanity merely suffered ? How often he had asked himself this question. They had only met once, a week before his wed- ding, and she had been very gentle with him, asking after Dorothy with a friendliness that had surprised him; for, man- like, he never guessed how even a good woman will on occa- sion play the hypocrite. " She is a kind creature," he said, giving back the letter; but his manner was so grave that even Mollie did not venture to say a word. The girls had a good deal on their minds just then. Wave- ney' s scanty wardrobe had been reviewed, and Mollie had actually wept tears of humiliation over its deficencies. " Oh, Wave, what will you do?" she said, sorrowfully. "And we dare not ask father for more than a few shillings !" "No, of course not;" but Waveney's forehead was lined with care as she sat silently revolving possibilities and impos- sibilities. What would the Misses Harford think of her shabby old trunk, that had once belonged to her mother? Then she threw back her curly head and looked at Mollie resolutely. " Molly, don't be silly. Life is not long enough for fretting over trifles. The Misses Harford know we are poor, so they will not expect smart frocks. I have my grey cashmere for Sundays, and I must wear my old serge for everyday. I will get fresh trimming for my hat, and a new pair of gloves, and " 75 Mollie's Prince "And boots," ejaculated Mollie. "You shall have a pair of boots if I go barefoot all the winter; and your shoes are very shabby too, Wave." " Yes, I know. I will talk to father and see what is to be done. If he would advance me a couple of pounds I could repay it at Christmas. Is it not a blessing that I have one tidy gown for evenings?" — for some three months before they had gone to some smart school party, and their father, being flush of money just then, had bought them some simple evening dresses. The material was only cream-coloured nun's- veiling, but Mollie had looked so lovely in her white gown that all the girls had been wild with envy. The dresses had only been worn once since, and, as Wave- ney remarked, were just as good as new. " Shall you wear it every evening, Wave ?' ' Mollie had asked in an awed tone ; and when Weaveney returned, "Why, of course, you silly child, I have no other frock. In big houses people always dress nicely for dinner; I found that out at Mrs. Addison's," Mollie regarded the matter as quite decided — her oracle had spoken. Mr. Ward had advanced the two pounds without any demur, and the sisters made their modest purchases the following after- noon. As Waveney was re-trimming her hat, and Mollie painting her menu cards, Ann flung open the door somewhat noisily. "Mr. Ink-pen, miss," she announced, in a loud voice ; and the next minute Monsieur Blackie entered. He looked trim and alert, as usual ; his face beamed when he saw Waveney. "It is the right Miss Ward this time," he said, shaking hands with her cordially. Then he looked at Mollie, and his manner changed. " Will you allow your maid to hang these birds up in your larder?" and he held out a superb brace of pheasants to the bewildered girl. Mollie grew crimson with shyness and delight. "Do you mean they are for us?" she faltered. "Yes, for you and your sister, and your father, and my young friend the humourist. And please remember" — and now his smile became more ingratiating — " that they are from Monsieur Blackie. No, please do not thank me. They were shot by a friend of mine. I rather object to the massacre of the innocents myself, and I prefer doing it by deputy. By the bye, I find I have a new name — your maid is a humourist too. * Ink-pen' — there is something charmingly original and 76 Rosalind and Celia suggestive about that. It makes Ingram rather 'common- place." "Oh, I think you have such a beautiful name!" returned Mollie, artlessly. " It is ever so much better than Ward." Then Waveney nudged her. "I think the pheasants ought to be hung up," she said, rather brusquely ; and at this broad hint Mollie limped off, with very pink cheeks. "Whatever made you say that, Mollie ?' ' was her comment afterwards. "I don't think it is quite nice to tell gentlemen that they have beautiful names. I am sure I saw an amused look on Mr. Ingram's face." But Mollie only looked puzzled at this. "Ann is very stupid about names," remarked Waveney, as she took up her work again. " She always calls me Miss Waverley and Noel, Master Noll. Somehow she does not seem to grasp sounds." "Was your sister christened Mollie?" he asked, quickly; and he looked at the menu cards as he spoke. " Yes; it was mother's fancy, and I do so love the name," returned Waveney, in her frank way. i * I daresay you would not guess it — people seldom do — but we are twins. Strangers always think Mollie is the elder." "I should have thought so myself," returned Ingram ; and then he took up one of the cards. Waveney thought he was a little nervous — his manner was so grave. " These are very pretty," he said, quietly. " I thought so the other day. The design is charming. May I ask if your sister ever takes orders for them?" "Yes, indeed; 1 a lady has commissioned Mollie to paint these. She is to have twelve shillings for the set." "Twelve shillings!" and here Ingram's voice was quite indignant. "Miss Ward," he continued, turning round to Mollie, who had just re-entered the room, "it is a shame that you should be so fleeced. Why, the design is worth double that sum. Now there is a friend of mine who would willingly give you two guineas for a set of six. She is very artistic, and fond of pretty things, and if you are will- ing to undertake the commission I will write to her to- morrow." Willing ! Mollie's eyes were shining with pleasure. If she could only earn the two guineas ! They should furnish sop for Cerberus — alias Barker. Waveney' s earnings would 77 Mollie's Prince not be due until Christmas, and the constant nagging of the aggrieved butcher was making Ann's life miserable. " 'Master says if meat's wanted it must be paid for, and he does not hold with cheap cuts and long reckonings.' Drat the man! I hates the very sight of him," remarked Ann, wrathfully, to her usual confidante, Mrs. Muggins — for with toothache, a swollen face, and an irascible butcher, life was certainly not worth living. " Then I will write to my — to the lady to-morrow." Both Mollie and Waveney noticed the little slip. " I wonder if he is married," Waveney said to herself. But Mollie's in- ward comment was, ''Very likely Mr. Ingram is engaged, but he does not know us well enough to tell us so." Mr. Ingram was trying to regain his airy manner, but a close observer would have detected how keenly he was watch- ing the two girls as he talked. Nothing escaped him — the new hat trimmings, and the faded hat ; Waveney's worn little shoe, and the white seams in Molly's blue serge. Cinderella — he always called her Cinderella to himself — was no whit smarter than she had been the other day ; her hair was rather rough, as though the wind had loosened it. And yet with what ease and sprightliness they chattered to him ! Their refined voices, their piquante, girlish ways, free from all self-consciousness, delighted the young man, who had travelled all over the world, and had not found anything so simple, and artless, and real, as these two girls. It was Waveney to whom he directed his conversation, and with whom he carried on his gay badinage ; but when he spoke to Mollie, his voice seemed to soften unconsciously, as though he were speaking to a child. 78 " It is the Voice of Sheila" CHAPTER X. "it is the voice of sheila." *' In the grey old chapel cloister I sit and muse alone, Till the dial's time-worn fingers Mark the moment when we twain Shall in paradisal sunlight Walk together, once again." Helen Marion Burnside. There was no doubt that both Waveney and Mollie found their guest amusing. His views of life were so original, and there was such a quiet vein of humour running through his talk that, after a time, little peals of girlish laughter reached Ann's ears. It was Mollie who first struck the keynote of discord. Mr. Ingram had been speaking of a celebrated singer whom he had heard in Paris. "She is to sing at St. James' Hall next Saturday week, " he went on. " They say the place will be packed. A friend of mine has some tickets at his bestowal if you and your sister would care to go." As usual he addressed Waveney ; but Mollie 's face grew very long. "Oh, dear, how nice it would have been!" she sighed; "but Waveney is going away;" and her eyes filled with tears. " Going away !" he echoed in surprise. "Yes. She is going to be a reader and companion to a lady living at Erpingham, and she will only come home on Sundays;" and then a big tear rolled down Mollie's smooth cheek and dropped into her lap. "And we have never been apart for a single day !" She finished with a little sob. "Dear Mollie, hush," whispered Waveney. "We ought not to trouble Mr. Ingram with our little worries. Erping- ham is a nice place," she continued, trying to speak cheer- fully. " Do you know it?" " Oh, yes," he returned, quickly. "Most people know it. 79 Mollie's Prince There is a fine common, and some golf links, and there are some big houses there." "Yes; but the Red House is in Erpingham Lane." Then Mr. Ingram started. "I think some ladies of the name of Harford live there," he said, carelessly. " Two si " > are very much given to good works. ' ' "Oh, do you know them veney, eagerly; but it struck her that he evaded "We have mutual friends, > he replied, rather stiffly. "They are excellent women, and do an immense amount of good. They have a sort of home for broken-down governesses, and they do a lot for shop-women. I have an immense respect for people who do that sort of thing," recovering his sprightli- ness. "I tried slumming once myself, but I had to give it up ; it was not my vocation. The boys called me ' Guy Fawkes,' and that hurt my feelings. By the bye," as they both laughed at this, "I have never explained the purport of my visit. I understood from your sister," and here he looked at Waveney, "that Mr. Ward had a picture for sale. ' King Canute,' was it not? Well, a friend of mine has a picture- gallery, and he is always buying pictures. He wants to fill up a vacant place in an alcove, and he suggested some early English historical subject. He has an 'Alfred toasting the cakes in the swine-herd's cottage,' and a 'St. Augustine look- ing at the Saxon slaves in the market-place/ and it struck me that 'King Canute' would be an excellent subject." " What lots of friends you seem to have !" remarked Mollie, innocently. " There is the one who shoots pheasant, and the one who buys menu cards, and now another who buys pictures." Ingram looked a little embarrassed, but he was amused too. "One can't knock about the world without making frienr 1 he said, lightly. " Do you recollect what Apolinarius savs : 'for I am the only one of my friends I rely on.' *9 Chinese have a better maxim still : ' There are plenty of acquaintances in the world, but very few - v nl friends.' " "Is the picture friend only an acquaintance?" asked Mollie, rather provokingly. "No, indeed," returned Ingram, energetic "We are like brothers, he and I, and I have known my life. Well, Miss Mollie, do you think your father \ willing So " It is the Voice of Sheila" to let my friend have ' King Canute' ? It is a famous subject, and brings back the memories of one's school days;" and then he walked to the picture and stood before it, as though he were fascinated ; but in reality he was saying to himself, " Now, what am I to offer for this very mawkish and stilted performance?" And ' - 'stion was so perplexing that he fell into a brown st Mollie looked w She was brimful of excite- ment. But Wave^ /head. "Would it not be bet ^ fur your friend to see the picture first?" she said, in a cool, business-like tone; but inwardly she was just as excited as Mollie. Ten pounds would pay all they owe to Barber, and Chandler would wait. {< I am sure that father would be pleased to see any one who cared to look at the picture," she finished, boldly. Mr. Ingram regarded her pleasantly. " You are very good, but there is not the slightest occasion to trouble you. I am my friend's agent in this sort of thing. I have been abroad a good deal, and have served my appren- ticeship to art. I am an art critic, don't you know. Now, would you mind telling me, Miss Ward, how much your father expected to get from the dealers?" "I don't know," returned Waveney, doubtfully. "There was no fixed price, was there, Mollie? Father told us that he would be content with ten pounds." "My dear Miss Ward," returned Ingram, in a tone of strong remonstrance, " your father undervalues himself. Ten pounds for that work of art ! Heaven forgive me all the fibs I am telling," he added, mentally, and then he cleared his throat. "I am no Jew, and must decline to drive a hard bargain. If Mr. Ward will let my friend have ' King Ca- nute,' I shall be willing to pay, on his behalf, five-and-twenty pounds: I mean" — looking calmly at the girl's agitated face -" five-and-twenty guineas." They were too overwhelmed with surprise and pleasure .swer him; and just at that moment — that supreme moment — they heard their father's latch-key. Ingram described the little scene later on to a dear friend. "It was Atalanta's race, don't you know. They both S3ftted to v each their father first ; he was the golden apple, pro tern. , " Tl iss Ward had long odds, but my little »friend of the beat her hollow. Can you fancy Titania 6 81 Mollie's Prince coming down her ladder of cobwebs ? Well, you should see Miss Ward number two, running downstairs — it would give you a notion of it. And there was the golden apple on the door-mat waiting for her." "You are very absurd," returned his hearer, laughing, "but your description amuses me, so please go on." "There is something very refreshing in such originality," he murmured, languidly. " I have an idea that Gwen would love those girls. Gwen is all for nature and reality. Con- ventionality might have suggested that it was hardly mannerly to leave a guest in an empty room, even for golden apples, but no such idea would have occurred to the Misses Ward. They even forgot that sound ascends, and that I could hear every word." " Dear me, that was very awkward !" But the lady spoke maliciously. "I could hear every word," he repeated, and then his eyes twinkled ; but he was honourable enough not to repeat the little conversation. "Father, Monsieur Blackie is upstairs!" and here Mollie giggled. " His real name is Ingram, but Ann calls him Mr. Ink-pen." "All right, my pet ; so I suppose I had better go upstairs ;" but Waveney pulled him back. " Wait a moment, father dear. What a hurry you are in ! And your hair is so rough, and your coat is dusty. Give me the brush, Mollie. We must put him tidy. Dad, such a won- derful thing has happened. Mr. Ingram wants to buy King Canute ' for a rich friend who has a picture-gallery,' and he will pay you five-and-twenty guineas." "Nonsense, child!" But from his tone Mr. Ward was becoming excited too. "Let me pass, Mollie; you are for- getting your manners, children, leaving a visitor alone;" and Everard Ward marched into the studio, with his head un- usually high. " The ' golden apple/ alias Ward pere, was a shabby, fair little man with a face like a Greek god," continued Ingram. " He must have been a perfect Adonis in his youth. He had brown pathetic eyes, rather like a spaniel's — you know what I mean, eyes that seemed always to be saying, 'lama good fellow, though I am down on my luck, and I should V*.e to be friends with you.' " " It was evident that the two men took to each other If once. 82 " It is the Voice of Sheila" Ingram's pleasant manners and undisguised cordiality put Mr. Ward at his ease, and in a few minutes they were talking as though they were old friends. The subject of ' King Canute' was soon brought forward again, and Ingram explained matters with a good deal of tact and finesse. Everard Ward reddened, and then he said bluntly, "You are very good, Mr. Ingram, to offer me such a handsome price, but sheer honesty compels me to say the picture is not worth more than ten pounds. I have not worked out the subject as well as I could wish." And then he added, a little sadly, " It is a poor thing, but my own." " My dear sir," returned Ingram, airily, "we artists are bad critics of our own work. My friends regard me as an opti- mist, but I call myself an Idealist. I am a moral Sisyphus, for ever rolling my poor stone up the hill difficulty. ' ' Then, as he noticed Mollie's puzzled look, he continued blandly, " Sisyphus was a fraudulent and avaricious king of Corinth, whose task in the world of shades is to roll a large stone to the top of a hill and fix it there. The unpleasant part of the business is that the stone no sooner reaches the hill-top than it bounds down again. Excuse this lengthy description, which reminds me a little of Sandford and Merton. But, revenons a nos moutons, I am ready, Mr. Ward, to take the picture for my friend at the price I mentioned to your daugh- ters; and as I have the money about me" — and here he pro- duced a Russian leather pocket-book — " I think we had better settle our business at once." Everard Ward was only human, and the bait was too tempting. His conscience told him that the picture was a failure, and hardly worth more than the cost of the frame ; and yet such is the vanity innate in man that he was willing to delude himself with the fancy that the stranger's eyes had detected merit in it. And, indeed, Ingram's manner would have deceived any one. "It is the very thing he wants for the alcove," he mur- mured, stepping back a few paces, and regarding the picture through half closed eyes. " The light will be just right, and" — here he appeared to swallow something with difficulty — "the effect will be extremely good." And then he began counting the crisp bank-notes. Waveney's eyes began to sparkle, and she and Mollie tele- graphed little messages to each other. Not only the insolent 83 Mollie's Prince Barker would be paid, but the much-enduring Chandler. When Mr. Ward went down-stairs to open the door for his guest, Waveney threw her arm round her sister, and dragged her down upon Grumps. u Oh, Mollie, I quite love that dear little Monsieur Blackie !" she cried, enthusiastically. " Think of ten whole pounds to spend ! Father can have a new great-coat, and Noel those boots he wants so dreadfully, and you must have a new jacket — I insist on it, Mollie; I shall do very well with my old one until Christmas." But Mollie would not hear of this for a moment : if any one had the new jacket, it must be Waveney. What did it matter what a poor, little Cinder- ella wore at home ? And they both got so hot and excited over the generous conflict that Mr. Ward thought they were quarrelling until he saw their faces. "I like that fellow," he said, rubbing his hands; "he is gentlemanly and agreeable; he told me in confidence that, though he calls himself an artist, he only dabbles in art. ' If a relative had not left me a nice little property, I should long ago have been in Queer Street,' he said, in his droll way." " Oh, then he is not poor as we are?" observed Mollie, in a disappointed tone. " No, he is certainly not poor," returned her father, laugh- ing. " I should think he is tolerably well-to-do, judging from appearances, and certainly he has rich friends. He has asked my permission to call again when he is in the neighbourhood ;" and both the girls were pleased to hear this. Waveney had not seen her old friends at the Hospital for more than a week, so one morning she went across to wish them good-bye. She had a little cake that Mollie had made for them, and some tobacco that she had bought with her own money. It was a wet day, and most of the pensioners were in the big hall. One of them told Waveney that Sergeant McGill was in his cubicle with the corporal, as usual, in attendance. "They do say the sergeant's a bit poorly," continued her informant. And a moment afterwards she came upon Cor- poral Marks, stumping along the corridor with a newspaper in his hand. The little man looked dejected, but he saluted Waveney with his usual dignity. " I hear the sergeant is not well. I trust it is nothing serious." Then the corporal shook his head, and his blue eyes were a little watery. 84 " It is the Voice of Sheila" " Well, no, Miss Ward, not to say serious — we are none of us chickens, so to speak, and we have most of us cut our wis- dom teeth a good many years ago. The sergeant has been poorly for a week now. He is down in the mouth, and I can't rouse him nohow. Would you believe it, Miss Ward, I was trying to argify with him this morning about that there Sepoy. ' For it stands to reason, McGill,' I said to him, ' that there could only be two of them ;' and he fairly flew at me, lost his temper, and told me I was an infernal liar. Why, you might have knocked me down with a feather, I was so taken aback;" and the corporal's droll face was puckered up with care. " Never mind, Corporal," returned Waveney, soothingly. " McGill was ill and not himself, or he would not have been so irritable with his old comrade. Look here, I have come to bid you all good-bye, because I am going away ; and my sister has made you one of those cakes you like, and I have brought you some tobacco." Then the corporal's face cleared a little. They found the old soldier lying on his bed, with a rug over his feet ; his face looked drawn and pallid. At the sound of Waveney's light step he turned his sightless eyes towards her, and a strange expression passed over his features. " There was only one step that was as light," he murmured, in his thick, soft voice, "and that was Sheila's, and hers hardly brushed the dewdrops from the heather. ' ' Then, as Waveney took hold of his great hand, " and it was her small fingers, too, the brown little hands that carried the creel of peat, and stacked it underneath the eaves ; and it is Sheila that has come to me — Heaven bless her sweet face ! — before I take the long journey." " My dear old friend, do you not know me?" and Waveney looked anxiously at him. "It is not Sheila, it is Miss Ward who has come to wish you good-bye." Then the old man looked bewildered, and raised himself on the pillow. "And are you ferry well, Miss Ward? And it is I who have made the mistake, like the old fool that I was. It may be I was dreaming — I was always clever at the dreams, as the corporal knows. But it seemed to me as though I could see the blue water of the loch, and the grey walls of our cottage, and the shingly roofs, and even the cocks and hens pecking in the dust. And there was Sheila coming up from the beach, with her bare feet, and red kerchief tied over her dark hair ; and her smile was like sunshine, and her hands were full of S5 Mollie's Prince great scarlet poppies. And if it was a dream, it was a good dream." "Was Sheila your sister?" asked Waveney, softly. For she knew that Sergeant McGill had never been married, though the corporal was a widower. Then, at the beloved name, McGill roused to complete consciousness. " No, Miss Ward. I had no sister, only six brothers, and Sheila was the lass of my heart ; and when 1 had got my stripes we were to have married. But it was my fate, for when I came from the wars, there was the loch, and the purple moors, and the grey walls of the cottage ; but Sheila, she would never come to meet me again with the poppies in her hand, and the wild rose in her cheek. She lay in the graveyard on the hill- side, where the dead can hear the bees humming in the heather. But it is not the goot manners to be telling you of the old troubles, and very soon it is Sheila herself that I shall see." "Tell Miss Ward the message that Sheila left with her mother, McGill." " It was this that she said," he continued, in a proud tone, " ' You must bid Fergus McGill not to grieve ; he is a grand soldier and a good lad, and dearly I would have loved to have been his wife. But God's will be done. Tell him I will be near the gates ; and that if the angels permit, that it is Sheila who will be there to welcome him.' " " That message must have made you very happy," returned Waveney, tenderly. 1 ' They were goot words, and I do not deny that they have given me comfort," replied McGill, solemnly. "But for years I had a heavy heart ; for when a Highlander loses the lass of his heart, the world is a barren place to him. But it is the truth that Sheila has spoken, and it is herself that I shall see, with these dim old eyes." He sank back a little heavily on the pillows. Waveney leant over him and spoke gently in his ear. "McGill," she said, in her clear, girlish voice, "do you know you have hurt the poor corporal's feelings. You were angry with him this morning, and called him names." Then there was a flush of shame on the grand old face. " It was myself that was in fault, Miss Ward, for I lost my temper. But it is not the corporal who will quarrel with his old comrade. It was the liar that I called him, but it was I who disgraced myself." 86 " It is the Voice of Sheila" "Never mind, old mate, I was wrong to argify, and so we are quits there. For it stands to reason," continued the corporal, " that when a man is poorly, he is not in a condi- tion for fighting. ' ' " Still, it was the bad manners to be calling any one a liar," returned Sergeant McGill. "But a Highlander's temper is not always under control. So I ask your pardon, Marks, but it was three Sepoys that I killed with my own hand, and I had the third by the throat. ' ' "Dear Sergeant," interposed Waveney, softly, "Corporal Marks quite understands all that ; and what does it matter? — a little difference between two old friends ! ' ' Then a strangely sweet smile lighted up the wrinkled old face. "It is the voice of Sheila. And what will she be saying again and again : * Blessed are the peace-makers' — and they are grand words." "Shall I read to you a little?" asked the girl, timidly. Then the corporal took down an old brown Testament from the shelf, and Waveney read slowly and reverently, passage after passage, until the heavy breathing told her that McGill was asleep. Then she closed the book and went out into the corridor. " He is very ill," she said, sorrowfully ; "so feeble and so unlike himself. ' ' But the corporal refuted this stoutly. " McGill is but poorly," he returned, so gruffly that Waveney did not venture to say more. "When he has taken a bottle or two of the doctor's stuff, he will pick up a bit; he sleeps badly, and that makes him drowsy and confused," and then he saluted, and stumped back to his comrade. Waveney heard a different story downstairs. " Have you seen McGill ?' ' two or three said to her. "The poor chap, he is breaking fast. The corporal won't believe it, but it is plain as a pike-staff;" and so on. "Mollie, dear," observed Waveney, sadly, "I have such bad news to tell you : dear old Sergeant McGill is very ill, and I fear he is going to die ; and what will the corporal do without him ? And it is so strange ;" she went on, "he thinks he is a lad again, in his Highland home, and that his sweetheart Sheila is coming to meet him. He calls her the lass of his heart, and it is all so poetical and beautiful;" and Waveney' s voice was so full of pathos that Mollie' s eyes filled with sympathetic tears. 87 Mollie's Prince CHAPTER XI. "a noticeaele man, with large grey eyes." 11 As high as we have mounted in delight In our dejection do we sink as low." Wordsworth. After all, Mollie had her way, and Waveney, in spite of piteous pleading and remonstrance, became the reluctant pos- sessor of a warm dress and jacket. Mr. Ward had put his foot down in a most unexpected manner ; if Waveney would not buy her jacket he would go without his great-coat ; Barker and Chandler had been paid, and there was sufficient money for everything. And when Waveney understood that any shabbiness on her part would be grievous in his eyes, she yielded at once. "If father wishes it I will get the things," she said to Mollie ; "but I never enjoy anything unless you share it." But Mollie would not listen to this. "What does it matter about me?" she said, gaily. "I am only a poor little Cinderella whose pumpkin coach has not arrived. My old jacket will do quite well until Christ- mas. ' ' And then, when the purchases were made, Mollie was like a sunbeam for the rest of the day. Waveney went twice to the Hospital before she started for Erpingham, but each time she found McGill more rambling and confused; and though he roused at the sound of her voice, he always thought she was Sheila. Corporal Marks looked more dejected than ever, but he maintained that the sergeant was doing finely. Waveney thought it was only the little man's natural pugnacity and habit of arguing, and that he did not really believe his own assertion ; but though he pretended to grumble, he nursed his friend devotedly. "That there corporal never leaves him," one of the pen- sioners remarked to Waveney. "You would think they were brothers to see them — and fight they would, too, about those plaguey Sepoys, that you might have taken them SS " A Noticeable Man, with Large Grey Eyes" for a pair of kilkenny cats. But bless you, miss, it was just for the fun of it." The days slipped away all too fast ; and one morning Mollie awoke with the thought that only one whole day remained before Waveney left home. They were very busy all the morning, packing her box, and in the afternoon Waveney, who felt restless and rather low- spirited at the sight of Mollie' s woe-begone face, proposed they should visit their favourite haunts, the lime avenue, old Ranelagh and the Embankment. ' ' It is so warm, and the house feels so stuffy ! ' ' she added ; for Waveney loved air and exercise, and would gladly have been out of doors the greater part of the day. Mollie willingly assented to this, but she was languid and out of spirits, and soon grew tired ; so they sat down under an acacia in old Ranelagh and watched the children playing round them. It was one of those golden days of September, when the very air seems impregnated with strange sweet fragrance, when one thinks of waving corn-fields, and how the wheat ripples in the breeze like a yellow sea; and of deep, quiet lanes — with nut copses and blackberry thickets — or, better still, of a hillside clothed with purple heather, as though Nature had flung one of her royal robes aside. A day when the grand old earth seemed mellow and ripe for the sickle of old Time, and a soft sadness and sense of quiet brooding are over everything. "The summer is over," it seemed to say, "and the fleeting shows of youth, and the fruits of the earth are garnered in Nature's storehouse, and the feast of all good things is ready ; so eat and enjoy, and be thankful." The sisters were sitting hand in hand, and Waveney' s small face looked pinched and long from inward fretting, for she was one who took the troubles of life with outward calmness, and chafed under them inwardly ; but the sunshine, and the crisp, sweet air and the soft patter of red and yellow leaves, brought their message of comfort. "Mollie," she said, trying to speak cheerfully, "I am thinking what a beautiful world it is, and how good life is, after all, in spite of worries. Here we are, making ourselves miserable because I have to go away to-morrow. Do you know, we are like those two foolish children we saw that day when father took us in the country. Don't you remember how they cried because their nurse wanted them to go down a 89 Mollie's Prince lane — it was so dark and narrow, they said, and they were sure the wolves would eat them up ; but the nurse knew there was that lovely open meadow beyond. Do you read my little parable, dear?" "Yes, I think so," returned Mollie; but she spoke doubt- fully. Waveney was rather prone to moralise when she found herself alone with Mollie. She called it " thinking aloud." Mollie was her other self. She could tell her things that she would not have breathed to any other creature. " Well, you see," went on Waveney, "one has steep little bits of road now and then, like that poor King of Corinth — Sisyphus — was not that his name ? We have to roll our stone up the hill Difficulty ; but one never knows what may happen next. By the bye, Mollie, I rather fancy that Monsieur Blackie only pretends to play at things, and that he is really a clever man. There is something I cannot make out about him. He is mysterious. And then, why did he buy ' King Canute' ?' ' "Because his friend wanted a historical picture," returned Mollie, who always believed what people said. "I know he told us so," replied Waveney, thoughtfully. " Mollie, I have a sort of conviction that you will often see him — that he means to turn up pretty frequently at Cleveland Terrace. ' ' "Whatever makes you think so?" asked Mollie, much astonished at this. " What a ridiculous idea, Wave ! when you told him yourself that you were leaving home to-morrow." " But he does not come to see me," retorted Waveney; and then she added, hastily, "he is a friendly sort of person, and comes to see us all." "Oh, yes, of course," returned Mollie, perfectly satisfied with this view of the case. " Then I daresay he will come sometimes when father is at home. He asked me very par- ticularly when he was likely to be in, and if I went out in the afternoon, and I said, ' Oh, dear no, I always go out early to do the marketing, and then I am too tired to go out again.' Waveney, he did look so kindly at me, when I said that. ' Walking tires you, then. What a pity !' and he seemed quite sorry for me. ' ' " He is a nice little Black Prince," replied Waveney, rather absently. The children had left the gardens with their nurses, and the place was now quite deserted. The next moment a gentleman crossed the lime avenue, and walked slowly down 90 " A Noticeable Man, with Large Grey Eyes" the path. As he passed their bench, he looked at the two girls in a quiet, observant way, and passed on. As soon as he was out of hearing, Waveney said, a little wickedly, " Mollie, we have found him at last, ' the notice- able man, with large grey eyes.' " For this was an old joke of theirs. They had been reading Wordsworth together one summer's day on this very bench, and when Waveney had come to this stanza she had laid down the book. " I like that description, Mollie," she had said; "it gives one a pleasant idea of a person. 'A noticeable man, with large grey eyes. ' Now, I wonder if we shall ever see any one answering to that description." Mollie laughed, and looked interested when Waveney said this ; but a moment later she whispered, " Hush ! he is coming back ;" and then, to Mollie' s alarm — for she was very shy and timid — he stopped and lifted his hat. "Will you have the kindness to inform me," he said, ad- dressing Mollie in a peculiarly clear, mellow voice, " if this path will take me to Dunedin Terrace. I am not well ac- quainted with Chelsea." Mollie blushed and looked confused. Topography was not her strong point. "I think so. I am not quite sure. Do you know, Waveney?" " Yes, but it is rather a roundabout way. Dunedin Terrace is quite half a mile away ;" and then Waveney rose from the bench and considered her bearings, while the stranger quietly awaited her decision. He was a tall man, and though his face was plain, there was something in his expression that attracted notice, an air of unmistakable refinement and culture. The keen grey eyes had already noted Mollie' s lovely face ; now they were fixed on the plainer sister. " I think I can direct you properly now," observed Wave- ney, with her usual brightness ; " but it is just a little compli- cated. You must go out of this gate, and cross Cleveland Terrace, take the second turning to the right, and the first to the left, and you will be in Upper Dunedin Terrace." " Thank you very much ;" and then he repeated her direc- tions gravely and slowly ; and then, lifting his hat with an- other "Thank you," walked quickly away. " Yes, I was right," continued Waveney ; " he is certainly a noticeable man ; and what large, clear eyes." But Mollie shrugged her shoulders a little pettishly. 9* Mollie's Prince "I think he was rather ugly," she remarked, "and he is quite old — five-and-thirty, at least ; and did you notice his shabby coat — why, it was almost as shabby as father's." " No," returned Waveney ; "I did not notice that. I was only thinking what a grand-looking man he was, and he spoke so nicely, too ! " Then, as Moliie was evidently not interested, she changed the subject ; and they sat talking until it was time for them to go home to tea. It was a melancholy evening, in spite of all Waveney's efforts. Mr. Ward was tired and dull, and Noel was out of humour ; but his sisters, who understood him thoroughly, knew that this was only his mode of expressing his feelings. So he drew up his coat-collar and answered snappishly when- ever Waveney addressed him ; and grew red, and pretended to be deaf, when she alluded to her going away. And when she was bidding him good-night, and her fingers touched his rough hair caressingly, he threw back his head with an annoyed jerk. " I hate having my hair pulled," he said, crossly; " so give over, old Storm-and-Stress ;" and then he whistled and walked out of the room with his chin in the air ; but not before Wave- ney saw that his glasses were misty. "Moliie, darling, remember I shall be home on Sunday, and it is Tuesday now," were Waveney's last words as she jumped into the train, and her father closed the door. Waveney stood at the window until the dark tunnel hid them from her sight. Moliie' s sweet face was swollen with crying, and her father's countenance was sad and full of care ; the child whom he had cherished with peculiar tender- ness was leaving his roof because he was incapable of pro- viding for his household properly. He had been a failure all his life, and he knew it ; but it was bitter to him that his old friend Althea should know it, too. Waveney took a cab when she reached Dereham. The driver touched his hat when she told him to drive to the Red House, Erpingham. "I know it," he said, as he took off his horse's nose-bag. " There ain't a cab-driver in Dereham that don't know the ladies at the Red House; they give us a supper in Christmas week, and there is another for the costers that use their don- keys well — and it is a rare spread, too;" and then he smacked his lips and jumped on the box. Waveney looked out and tried to interest herself in the 92 " A Noticeable Man, with Large Grey Eyes" various objects they passed ; but her head felt heavy as lead. The common looked lovely in the afternoon sunshine, and, as before, the children were dancing in and out the trees. Some little boys were sailing a boat on the pond, and a Newfound- land was swimming across it with a stick in his mouth. Some riders were cantering over the grass. Every one seemed gay and animated and full of life ; dogs barked, children laughed, and the cawing of rooks filled the air. As they drove in at the lodge gates the two little Yorkshire terriers ran out barking, and the elderly maid Mitchell came to the door. "My mistresses are out, ma'am," she said, pleasantly, "but Nurse Marks has orders to make you comfortable. Will you please to go in, and I will see to the box and pay the cabman. No, ma'am," as Waveney timidly offered her some money. "Miss Harford always pays the cabmen herself. ' ' "Aye, and pays them well, too," observed the driver, with a complacent grin. "No arguing with a poor chap who has to work hard for his living about an extra sixpence." Waveney felt very strange and forlorn as she stepped into the hall, with Fuss and Fury barking excitedly round her, and then she saw a little old woman with a very long nose, and hair as white as snow bundling down the wide staircase to meet her ; for no other word could describe Nurse Marks' s rolling and peculiar gait. "She is the most wonderful little old woman I have ever seen," wrote Waveney, in her first letter home. "If you were to dress her in a red cloak and peaked hat she would make an excellent Mother Hubbard, or the ' old woman who lived in her shoe,' or that ambitious old person who tried to brush the cobwebs from the sky. To see her poking that long nose of hers into corners is quite killing. She has bright eyes like a dormouse, and a cosy voice — do you know what I mean by that ?— and she wears the funniest cap, with a black bow at the top. But there ! you must see her for yourself. ' ' "My ladies are out, dearie," she began at once, rather breathlessly. "Miss Doreen is at the Home, and Mrs. Mainwaring has sent for Miss Althea unexpectedly, to go to some grand At Home ; but she will be back to dinner, and she begged that you would excuse her absence, and I am going to take you to my room and give you some tea; for 93 Mollie's Prince you are tired, dearie, I know;" and then Nurse Marks led the way upstairs, and Waveney followed, feeling as though she were the heroine of a fairy-story and that some benevolent fairy had her in tow. ' ' My ladies always calls this the Cubby-house, ' ' observed Nurse Marks, in a proud tone, " and to my thinking it is the nicest room in the house, though it is odd-shaped, as Mitchell says, and a trifle low." It was oddly shaped indeed. One corner had been cut off, and the window, a wide one, had been set in an extraordinary angle, so that part of the room was insufficiently lighted. Here there was a large Japanese screen, which hid the bed and washstand. A round table was in the centre of the room, and an old carved wardrobe and a nursery cupboard occupied the wall space. Some comfortable-looking rocking chairs, and a worn old couch, gave it a cosy aspect ; but the chief feature of the room was the number of photographs and water-colour paint- ings that covered the walls, while framed ones stood by dozens on the mantelpiece and chest-of-drawers. One of them at once attracted Waveney. "Why, that is the corporal," she said, in surprise. " Corporal Marks, I mean;" and she spoke in puzzled tones. "Aye, that's Jonadab, " returned Nurse Marks, complacently. " It is a grand picture, and his medals come out finely. Dinah thought a heap of that photo;" and then the bright dor- mouse eyes looked at Waveney, curiously. "Well, it beats me that you should know brother Jonadab. After all, the world is not so big as we think it. ' ' "Of course I know Corporal Marks," returned Waveney, excitedly ; but there was a lump in her throat, too, at the sight of the little corporal's familiar face, with its round, sur- prised eyes and shock of grey hair. "And I know Sergeant McGill, too." Then, at the mention of McGill, Nurse Marks sat down and indulged in a hearty laugh. "Well, now, if that is not like a book ! And you are the young lady that Jonadab is always telling about ! Is it not comfortable to know that ' their good works do follow them' ? That's true, even in this world, for it stands to reason that things can't be hidden for ever. Sit down, dearie, and I will pour you out some tea. You are a bit homesick and strange, but that will pass, so keep up your heart, dear 94 The Pansy Room and Cosy Nook lamb ;" and Nurse Marks poked her long nose into the tea- pot, for she was short-sighted ; and Waveney watched her a little anxiously ; but she need not have feared : Nurse Marks was a clever woman, and could always measure her distances accurately. " Aye, he is a grand man, McGill," she remarked, as she cut some delicate bread-and-butter with a practised hand. " But he is not long for this world. Jonadab will miss him sorely, I fear; they are a queer pair to look at them, but they are just bound up in each other. They are like a couple of old children, I tell them ; they quarrel just for the sake of making it up. But there, as Dinah used to say — poor thing ! — her man was fine at argifying." "Was Dinah your brother's wife?" "Aye, dearie, and Jonadab thought a deal of her, and grieved sore when the dear Lord took her. You will be wondering at his name, maybe, for it is out of the common, is Jonadab ; but mother used to tell us that when the boy came, father was so proud and pleased that he went at once to the Bible for a name. And presently he came to mother, looking as pleased as possible, as though he had found a treasure. ' Rachel,' he says, in a loud voice, * there is not a finer fellow to my thinking than Jonadab, the son of Rechab, and he was dead against the drink, too, and it is Jonadab that we will call him;' and so Jonadab it was," finished Nurse Marks, complacently. CHAPTER XII. THE PANZY ROOM AND COSY NOOK. " There is rosemary, that is for remembrance. . . . And there is pansies that's for thoughts." Shakespeare. "That way madness lies; let me shun that." King Lear. It was impossible for Waveney not to be amused by Nurse Marks' quaint tales ; her sense of humour was too strong, and the atmosphere of the Cubby- house was so full of comfort that, in spite of herself, her sad face began to brighten. 95 Mollie's Prince " If you knew Sergeant McGill," she said, presently, "per- haps you knew his sweetheart, Sheila, too." Then Nurse Marks smiled and nodded, as she cut another appetising slice of bread-and-butter, and laid it on Waveney's plate — such sweet home-made bread and fresh, creamy butter ! "Aye, dearie, I knew Sheila McTavish well, for when I was a slip of a girl I had a bad illness, and my mother's cousin, Effie Stuart, took me back with her to the Highlands to bide with her for more than a year. The McTavish cot- tage was next to ours, and not a day passed that I did not see Sheila coming up from the loch-side with her creel, with her bare feet and red petticoat, and maybe a plaid over her bonnie brown hair. I was always a homely body, even in my young days, but never before or since have I seen a lovelier face than Sheila McTavish, * the Flower of the Deeside' — that was what they called her." "Was she engaged to McGill then?" " Aye, my dearie. She had broken the sixpence with him, but he was away in India then. I remember one day, as I sat on the churchyard wall, Sheila came over the moor, and she had a sprig of white heather in her hand. She held it up to me with a smile. ' It is good luck, Kezia,' she said, and her eyes seemed full of brown sunshine, ' and this morn- ing I have heard from Fergus McGill himself, and it is he who is the guid lad with his letters. He is coming home, he says, and then we are to be wed, and it is the white heather that will bring us luck.' Ah, dearie, before three weeks were over, Sheila, our sweet Flower of the Deeside, lay in her coffin, and they put the white heather on her dead breast ; and when Fergus McGill came home there was only the grave under the rowan tree. There, there, it is a queer world," finished Nurse Marks, " and there is many a love-story left unfinished, for 'man' (and woman, too) 'is born into trouble,' and I know that the women get the worst of it sometimes ; for it stands to reason," continued the old woman, garrulously, "that they think a deal more of a love tale. Now, as we have finished tea, shall I take you to your room, my dearie ? It is called the Pansy Room, and is close to mine. Miss Althea is a grand one for giving names. All the bedrooms are called after flowers, to match the paper and cretonne. There is the Rose Room and the Forget-me-not and the Pink Room, and the Leafy Room, and the Marigold Room, where they put gentlemen." 96 The Pansy Room and Cosy Nook " Which is Miss Althea's?" asked Waveney, quickly. "Oh, the Rose Room. Miss Althea has a passion for roses. Miss Doreen sleeps in the Forget-me-not Room; everything is blue there. The other rooms are for their guests, but near the servants' quarters there are two pretty little attics called ' Faith' and ' Charity,' where they put shop- girls who have broken down and need a rest ; and these are never empty all the year round. There is a little sitting- room attached, where they take their meals. There, they are crossing the tennis-lawn this moment from the Porch House. The tall one is Laura Cairns ; she has had an operation and has only just left the hospital, and the little fat one is Ellen Sturt; there is not much the matter with her except hard work and too much standing." "Oh, how good they are!" thought Waveney, as Nurse Marks bundled down the passage before her. "Everyone seems to have something to say in their praise, even the cab- driver ; ' ' and then she looked round the Pansy Room well pleased. It was so fresh, and dainty, and pretty, and, after her room at Cleveland Terrace, so luxuriously comfortable. For there was actually a cosy-looking couch, and an easy- chair, and beautiful flowers on the toilet-table, and some hanging book-shelves full of interesting books. The window looked over the tennis-lawn with the Porch House, where the girls were pacing arm-in-arm. One of them looked up at the window, and smiled a little as Waveney gazed down at her. Nurse Marks, who was already beginning to unpack, went on talking briskly. "It was Miss Althea's thought, but Miss Doreen helped her to carry it out. It is always like that with my ladies, they are just the two halves of a pair of scissors, but they work together finely. What one says the other does. It is like the precious ointment, that's what it is, Miss Ward, my dear ! and never a misunderstanding or a contrary word between them. "The girls come for a month, and sometimes they stay longer ; and if they are well enough they wait on themselves, or if not, Reynolds, the under housemaid, sees to them ; and when the weather permits they are in the garden, or on the common the whole day long, and they have the run of the Porch House, too, and help themselves to books from the library ; they are no trouble and fall in with our ways, and the blessing the Red House is to some of those poor things is 7 97 Mollie's Prince past my telling. Now, dearie, shall I hang these things in the wardrobe for you — there is plenty of room and to spare. And then I will go back and finish a bit of mending for Miss Althea." Waveney was not sorry to be left alone ; she wanted to begin a letter to Mollie. She had so much already to tell her. So she sat down at the writing-table, and her pen flew over the paper, until a quick, light tap at her door roused her, and Miss Althea entered. Waveney gave a vivid description of her to Mollie after- wards. " She looked so grand and stately that I felt quite shy ; but her dress was charming. It was a soft, cloudy grey, but it shimmered as though it were streaked with silver, and she had a close little bonnet that looked like silver too, and a ruff of fine cobwebby lace round her long neck. I fancy she always wears a ruff, and she looked more like Queen Bess than ever. Somehow she is oddly picturesque, and makes other people look commonplace beside her. But there, you must see her one day for yourself." Althea came up to the writing-table as Waveney rose, a little confused, and held out her hand to the girl with one of her winning smiles. "I was so sorry to be out when you arrived," she said, kindly, "but my aunt, Mrs. Mainwaring, sent for me most unexpectedly. I hope Nurse Marks took good care of you." " Oh, yes," returned Waveney, shyly, " she was very kind." "Oh, my dear old nurse is the kindest creature in the world. She literally bubbles over with benevolence. Is not the Cubby- house delightful? Did you see the toy cup-board, where all our dear old dolls and toys are stored? Marks won't part with one of them ; she is quite huffy if we propose to give them away. When children come to the house, she lets them play with them under her own eye. One day she came into the library with a long face to tell me that little Audrey Neale had broken Bopeep's arm ;" and Althea laughed quite merrily ; then she looked at the clock on the mantel- piece, and uttered an exclamation: " Half-past seven, and I am not dressed. What will Peachey say? I will come back and fetch you directly the gong sounds;" and then Waveney was left to finish her letter. She did not see Miss Doreen until they entered the dining- room, and then she welcomed her very cordially. To Wave- ney the dinner-table was a revelation. She had never taken 9 S The Pansy Room and Cosy Nook a meal out of her own home, and the soft, shaded lights, the hot-house fruits and flowers, the handsome silver, and the fineness of the damask, excited her wonderment. The ser- vant moved so noiselessly over the thick carpets, and then she thought of Ann stumping round the table in her heavy boots. Ah, they would be just sitting down to supper, and Mollie would be mixing the salad as usual ; for Everard Ward had learnt to enjoy a salad in his Paris days, and would sup con- tentedly on bread-and-cheese or even bread-and-butter, if only he could have a handful of cress, or a stalk or two of endive, to give it a relish. Doreen and Althea were quite aware that the forlorn little stranger was not at her ease. The small, childish face looked subdued and thoughtful, and the dark, spirituelle eyes were sad in their wistfulness \ but with their usual tact and kind- ness they left her alone, and talked to each other in their cheerful way. Althea gave a description of her afternoon party, which was full of gentle humour ; and Doreen had a great deal to say about the Home. She had had tea with old Mrs. Wheeler — and as usual the poor old soul was full of her grievances against Miss Mason. " She is a cantankerous, east-windy sort of body," went on Doreen, with a laugh, as she helped herself to some grapes, " and she leads poor Miss Mason a life. But there ! one must not judge her, she has led a hard, grinding sort of existence. Althea, these grapes are unusuallv fine ; don't you think Laura Cairns would enjoy some? Ellen likes pears better;" and then Doreen heaped up a plate with fine fruit and bade Mitchell take it to the Brown Parlour. When the sisters rose from the table Althea touched Wave- ney's arm. " Come with me to the library," she said, in a kind voice. " We shall sit there this evening. We do not often use the drawing-room — it is a very big room, and we always feel rather lost in it." "I call this big, too," remarked Waveney, in rather an awed voice. She had never seen such a beautiful room in her life ; it was better than any of the dream rooms at Kitlands. The grand oriel window, with its cushioned seat ; the carved oak furniture, and bookcases filled with handsomely-bound books ; the fine engravings on the walls ; — all excited her ad- miration. But when Althea drew back a curtain and showed 99 Mollie's Prince her a tiny room hidden away behind it, with a glass-door opening on the terrace, she could not refrain from an exclama- tion of delight. " Oh, what a dear little room !" she said, quite naturally. " Yes, I call it my cosy nook. But it is not really a room, it is merely a recess." And Waveney thought how well Miss Althea's name suited it. There was a small writing-table prettily fitted-up, an easy-chair, and a work-table. " I am so glad you have taken a fancy to it," went on Miss Althea — and she looked very much pleased — " because this is to be your little sanctum. You see, it would never do for me to have my reader and companion far away from me. And yet I imagine we should both find it irksome to be always together — even my sister and I could not stand that ; but, you see, when the curtain is dropped, you will be quite private." "And it is really for me!" and Waveney's eyes sparkled with pleasure. Then Miss Althea smiled, and put her hand kindly on the girl's arm. "I want you to be happy with us, my dear, and not to look upon us as strangers, because in the old days your father was a dear friend of ours. Last night an idea struck me. Do you think you would feel more at home with us if we were to call you by your Christian name ? You have such a pretty name, and it is so uncommon." "Oh, please do," returned Waveney, flushing with shy pleasure. " It was silly of me, but I was so dreading that * Miss Ward ;' " and somehow a load seemed lifted off her at that moment. " She is such a little childish thing," observed Miss Althea afterwards; "and yet she has plenty of character. We are very unconventional people, Doreen, you and I ; but I never could endure these artificial barriers. My dignity, such as it is, is innate ; it does not need bolstering up. I could not be stiff and proper with Everard Ward's daughter;" and then a strangely sad look came into Althea's eyes, as though some ghost from the past had crossed her path ; "no, certainly not to Everard Ward's daughter;" and Doreen smiled as though she understood her. Doreen's world was inhabited by warm-blooded human beings; no ghostly visitants ever haunted her. "I am a woman without a story," she would say. " Most people have some sort of romance in their lives — even unmarried women The Pansy Room and Cosy Nook have their unfinished idylls ; but my life has been bare prose." But she always laughed when she made these speeches, for there was nothing morbid in Doreen's character. Althea proposed, as the evening was mild and balmy, that they should take a turn in the garden. ** It will be very pleasant on the terrace, and in the kitchen- garden," she remarked, "but, of course, we must avoid the grass. Are not these shut-in lawns pretty? Through that arch, if it were light enough, you would have a glimpse of my flower-garden. I call it mine, because I give it my special supervision. Doreen takes more interest in the kitchen-garden, and when I boast of my roses and begonias, she is dilating on the excellence of her strawberries and tomatoes. ' ' "I think I should care most for the flower-garden," ob- served Waveney. And then, of her own accord, she began telling Miss Althea about the pensioners' little gardens, and the corporal's flowers. Althea listened with much interest, and then, little by little, her quiet questions and sympathetic manner induced Waveney to break through her shy reserve, and speak of her home. Althea soon found out all she wanted to know : the home that was so perfect in Waveney' s eyes, the little warm nest that held all her dear ones, seemed meagre and bare to the elder woman, who had been used to luxury all her life, and had never had a want ungratified. As the girl talked on in a naive way, all at once a vision rose before Althea's eyes of a brilliantly-lighted ball-room, and of a fair, boyish-looking man, with stephanotis in his buttonhole, standing before her with eager looks. "It is our valse, Althea, and I have been looking forward to it all the evening." And then — and then But she started from her reverie with a quick feeling of shame. Why had these thoughts come to her? He was Dorothy's lover, not hers. Had he ever cared for her really? "It was all a mistake. It was not he who was to blame, it was I — I !" and even in the September darkness she smote her hands angrily together. The love had been in her imagination ; it had never existed — never. She had bartered her warm woman's heart for a shadow, and alas, alas ! it was not in Althea's nature to change. " If I love once, I love for ever," she had once said in a bitter moment to Doreen. How she repented that speech afterwards! "No; you do not un- IOI Mollie's Prince derstand, neither do I ; but I think it is my nature to be faithful." When Althea roused from her brooding, she found that Waveney had become silent. "You were speaking of your sister, were you not?" she said, gently. "Some one told me," she continued, a little vaguely, "that she was very pretty." "Oh, yes," returned Waveney, eagerly, "everyone thinks Mollie quite lovely. It is such a pity she is lame. It spoils things so much for her, poor darling ! But people admire her just the same — in the street they turn round and stare at her; but Mollie never seems to notice them a bit. That reminds me of such a funny speech" — and here Waveney be- gan to laugh. "An old Irishwoman who works for us some- times, once said to her, ' It is my belief, Miss Mollie darlint, that the Powers above were after fashioning an angel, and then they thought better of it, and changed it into a flesh- and-blood woman. For the angel still laughs out of your eyes, mavourneen.' And would you believe it, Miss Harford, that Mollie only burst out laughing when Biddy said that, but I think it was beautiful." " I must see your pretty Mollie," returned Althea, thought- fully ; " but we must go in now." " I think I must tell Moritz that," she said to herself, with a smile. " ' The angel still laughs out of your eyes, mavour- neen.' How very like an Irishwoman !" CHAPTER XIII. CONCERNING GUARDIAN ANGELS AND ITHURIEL's SPEAR. " Though many a year has o'er us roll'd Since life's bright momingtide, I'm dreaming still the dream of old We once dreamt side by side." Helen Marion Burnside. It had been a long, trying day to Waveney, and it was a great relief when she found herself again in the Pansy Room. It was still early in the evening ; but as soon as the door had closed upon the girl Althea rose from her chair. Guardian Angels and Ithuriers Spear " I have had a tiring afternoon, Dorrie," she said, in rather a weary voice. "A well-dressed crush always flattens me — so many smart bonnets, and so few brains ! Somehow society always reminds me of a trifle, all sweetness and froth." "Aren't you a little mixed, Althea?" returned her sister, good-humouredly. "There is froth certainly, but in my ex- perience there is plenty of richness and sweetness underneath, if you only dig deep enough." "Oh, I daresay;" and then a droll idea came to Althea, and she laughed softly. "Don't you remember the ginger- bread queens that we used to buy when we were children at the Medhurst Fair, and how angry I was when some one stripped the gilt off. I thought it was real gold — like Nebu- chadnezzar's image. Well, some of those fine ladies reminded me of the gingerbread queens." Doreen looked amused. "You are in a pessimistic mood, dear." Then she put her hands on her sister's shoulders and scrutinised her face a little anxiously. " You are very tired. Are your eyes paining you, Althea ?" " No, dear, but I think I shall go to bed." But when she had left the room Doreen did not at once resume her book. "I wonder what is troubling her," she said to herself. "I know her expression so well, and with all her little jokes, she is not at ease. I hope that we have not made a grievous mistake in engaging Miss Ward — and yet she seems a nice little thing! But there is a look in Althea' s eyes to-night as though she had seen a ghost. When one is no longer young the ghosts will come;" and then Doreen sighed and took up her book. Althea was very tired, but it was mental, not bodily fatigue, that had brought the dark shadows under her eyes. But it was not her habit to spare herself, or to shunt her duties. So, instead of going straight to her room, she turned down the passage that led to the two little chambers where their humbler guests slept, and sat for a few minutes beside Laura Cairns' bed. The girl slept badly, and Althea's sym- pathetic nature guessed intuitively how a few cheering words would sweeten the long night; and she never missed her evening visit. "It is better to lie awake in the country than in Totten- ham Court Roads," she said, presently. Then Laura smiled. " Oh, yes, Miss Harford; it is so heavenly, the peace and silence. But at first it almost startled me. In London the 103 Mollie's Prince cabs and carts are always passing, and there seems no quiet at all ; but here, one can lie and think of the birds in their nests. And how good it is to be free from pain ! Oh, I am so much better, and it is all owing to your kindness, and this dear old place !" And here the girl's lips rested for a moment on the kind hand that held hers. " But you will not leave me with- out my message, Miss Harford?" — for it was one of Althea's habits to give what she called ''night thoughts" to the sick girls who came to the Red House. Althea paused a moment. For once she had forgotten it. Then some words of Thomas a Kempis came to her, "Seek not much rest, but much patience," and she repeated them softly. " Will that do, Laura ?" "Oh, yes — and thank you so much, Miss Harford. 'Not much rest, but much patience.' I must remember that." " I must remember it, too," thought Althea; and then she went to the Cubby-house to bid her old nurse good-night, and to have a little chat with her. Nurse Marks was loud in her praises of Waveney. ' ' I like her, Miss Althea, my dear, ' ' she said, eagerly. " She has pretty manners, and a good heart ; dear, dear, just to think of it being Jonadab's young lady. He thinks a deal of her, does Jonadab. She will be a comfort to you, my dearie. But there, you are looking weary, my lamb, and Peachey will be waiting to brush your hair." And Althea was thankful to be dismissed. She sent Peachey away as soon as possible, and then sat down in an easy chair by the window ; her eyes were aching, but the darkness rested them. She was a good sleeper gener- ally, but to-night she knew that no wooing of the drowsy god would avail her. Doreen was right, and the ghost of the past had suddenly started up in her path. Althea's youth had been a very happy one, until the day when she and Everard Ward had gathered peaches together in the walled garden at Kitlands, and then it had seemed to her as though they were the very apples of Sodom — mere dust and ashes. Everard had judged his own case far too leniently ; he had been eager to clear himself from blame. "A young fellow has his fancies before he settles down finally," he would say, in his careless way. "Oh, yes, you are right, Egerton. I was sweet on Althea Harford — there was something fascinating about her ; she was rather fetching and picturesque — you know 104 Guardian Angels and Ithuriel's Spear what I mean. But Dorothy — well, it was love at first sight, the real thing and no mistake. I wanted to ask her to marry me that very first evening, only I could not do it, you know.' r "I suppose not," returned his friend, dryly. " You are a cool hand, Everard, upon my word. I wonder what Miss Harford thought about it all. Perhaps I am a bit old-fash- ioned, but in my day we did not think it good form to pay court to one girl and marry another." But this plain speak- ing only offended Everard, probably because in his inner con- sciousness he knew the older man had spoken the truth. Through the sweet spring days and the glorious months of summer Everard Ward had wooed the young heiress with the eager persistence that was natural to him. Althea's fascinating personality, her gentleness and bright intelligence, all domi- nated the young man, and for a time at least he honestly be- lieved himself in love with her. He was not fickle by nature, and if Dorothy Sinclair had not crossed his path, and played Rosalind to his Orlando, in the green glades of Kitlands Park, he would to a certainty have married Althea Harford. Hearts do not break, they say ; but when Althea walked down the terrace steps that day, with her basket of peaches on her arm, she knew that the gladness and sweetness of her young life had faded, and that, if her heart were not actually broken, it was only because her unselfishness and sense of right forbade such wreckage. " I shall live through it, Dorrie," she had said to her sister, in those early days of misery, ' ' and, God helping me, it shall not make me bitter ; but it has robbed me of my youth. One cannot suffer in this way, and keep young;" and she was right. "If you could only hate him!" ejaculated Doreen. "In your circumstances I know I should loathe and despise him." But Althea only shook her head. " How could I hate him, when I have grown to love him with my whole heart, when I have regarded myself as his." But here she stopped and hid her face in her hands, with a choking sob. "Oh, Dorrie, that is the worst of all, that I should have believed it, and that he never meant it; that he never really loved me." "I think he was very fond of you, Althea," returned Do- reen, eagerly. " Mother was saying so only last night." " Yes, he was fond of me. We were friends ; but I was not his closest and dearest. Dorrie, we must never talk of this 105 Mollie's Prince again, you and I ; a wound like this, so sore and deep, should be covered up and hidden. I must hide it even from myself. There is only one thing that I want to say, and then we will bury our dead. I cannot hate Everard — hatred is not in my nature — and neither can I ever cease to love him. Oh, there is no need for you to look so shocked" — as Doreen's face ex- pressed strong disapproval of this. "There will be no im- propriety in the love I shall bear him. If I could I would be his guardian angel, and keep all troubles from him." Then she sighed and put her hand gently on her sister's shoulder. " ' Seek not much rest, but much patience ;' that shall be my New Year's motto. We will bury our dead." Those had been her words, and for twenty years the grass had grown over that grave ; and yet, on this September night, the ghost of her old love had haunted her, and the ache of the old pain had made itself felt. Is there any grave deep enough to bury a woman's love? Althea Harford was nearly forty-one, and yet the memory of Everard Ward, with his perfect face, and boyish, winning ways, his gay insouciance, and light-hearted mirth, made her heart throb with quickened beats of pain. All these years — these weary years — she had never met any one like him — never any one whom she could compare with him. People had often told her that he was not specially clever, that his talents were by no means of a first-class order ; but she had never believed them. To her fond fancy he was the embodiment of every manly gift and beauty ; even Dorothy, with all her love for her husband, would have marvelled at Althea' s infatuation. And now Everard' s daughter was under her roof, and the knowledge that this was so had driven the sleep from her eyes, and filled her with a strange restlessness. Waveney's smile, and the turn of her head, and something in her voice, re- called Everard. More than once that evening she had winced, as some familiar tone brought him too vividly before her. Waveney's artless confidence had given her food for thought. She had long known the hard fight that Everard Ward was waging, in his attempts to keep the wolf from the door. On more than one occasion her secret beneficence had lightened his weight of care. If Everard had guessed who was the real purchaser of some of his pictures, he would not have pocketed the money quite so happily; but Althea kept her own counsel. " If I could only be his guardian angel!" she had said, in her girlish misery j and no purer wish had ever been expressed 1 06 Guardian Angels and Ithuriel's Spear by woman's lips; in some ways she had been Everard Ward's good angel all these years. Still she had never realised the extent of his poverty until Waveney had told her about the purchase of "King Canute." A friend of Mr. Ingram's wanted a historical picture, and it was so fortunate that he took a fancy to "King Canute!" — he had actually paid five-and-twenty guineas, and they had paid off the disagreeable butcher ; and now father would have the new great-coat that he wanted so badly. Waveney had said all this with girlish frankness, as she and her new friend had paced up and down the garden path in the September darkness ; but Althea had made no answer. She only shivered a little, as though she were cold; and a few minutes later she proposed to return to the house. "It is a beautiful evening, but we must not forget that it is September," she had observed. But her voice was a little strained. No, she had never really realised until that moment how badly things had gone with him ; that mention of the great- coat had effectually opened her eyes. And then, as though to mock her, a little scene rose before her — a certain golden after- noon spent in an old studio at Chelsea, where Everard Ward and a friend had established themselves. How well she remembered it ! and the balcony full of flowers overlooking the river, with a gay awning overhead. It was summer time, and she had put on a white gown in honour of the occasion, and Everard had brought her a cluster of dark, velvety roses. "They will give you the colour you need," he had said, looking at her admiringly; what an ideal artist he had seemed to her in his brown vel- veteen coat ! The yellow sunshine seemed to make a halo round his fair hair. "You look like a glorified angel, Ward," his friend had said, laughingly. "What do you say, Miss Harford— would he not do for Ithuriel in my picture of Adam and Eve sleep- ing in Paradise, with the Evil One whispering in Eve's ear. Do you remember the passage : ' Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear touched lightly.' Look here, old man, you must sit for me to-morrow." But Everard had only grumbled and looked bored. In those days great-coats had certainly not been lacking. 107 Mollie's Prince And as this thought occurred to her, Althca had shivered and become silent. About four-and-twenty hours later Mollie received the following letter, which she carried off to her bedroom and read over and over again. She had already had the note in which Waveney had described the Cubby-house and her Pansy Room, and Mollie had certainly not expected another so soon. " My own Sweetheart. — Here I am actually writing to you again. But I know what a long, weary day this has been, and how my sweet Moll has been missing me ; and I said to myself, ' A letter by the last post will send her to sleep hap- pily, and make her think that we are not so far apart, after all !' Well, and how do you think I have been spending my first day of servitude ? Why, all by myself on the common ; and if you had been there it would have been simply per- fect ; the common is such a beautiful place, and it stretches away for miles. But you will be saying to yourself, ' Is this the way Miss Harford's reader performs her duties?' My dear child, I have not seen my Miss Harford to-day. At breakfast time, Miss Doreen told me that her sister had had a bad night, and that she was suffering great pain in her eyes. 'It is so severe an attack,' she explained, 'that she cannot bear a vestige of light, and reading would drive her distracted. Her maid Peachey is looking after her, and most likely by evening the pain will have worn itself out.' And then she advised me to take a book out of the library and sit on the common, as she would be absent the greater part of the day. It was rather a business choosing a book, but I took ' Ayala's Angel' at last, as it looked amusing, and angels always remind me of my Mollie. There, is that not a pretty speech ? "The two little Yorkshire terriers accompanied me — Fuss and Fury — they are such dear little fellows, and it was just lovely ! There was a little green nook, with a comfortable bench, a little way back from the road, and there I spent the morning. Miss Doreen was still at the House, so I had luncheon alone, and afterwards I went out in the garden. The two shop-girls were there ; they had hammock chairs under a tree. The tall, pale girl was working, and the other was reading to her. I stopped to speak to them, and then I found a delightful seat in the kitchen garden. It was so warm and sunny that you would have thought it was August. 1 08 Thursdays at the Porch House Mitchell came to tell me when tea was ready, and now I am up in my Pansy Room, writing to you. There is a pillar box quite near, and when I have finished it I shall slip out and post it. ' ' And then a few loving messages to her father and Noel closed the letter. CHAPTER XIV. THURSDAYS AT THE PORCH HOUSE. "And touch'd by her fair tendance, gladlier grew." Milton. When Waveney crossed the hall after posting her letter, the dressing-bell rang, and Mitchell, who encountered her on the stairs, informed her with quiet civility that both her mis- tresses were in the library, and had desired that she would join them as soon as she was ready. It did not take many minutes for Waveney to brush out her curly hair and put on her white dress. It was almost severe in its simplicity and absence of trimming, but in hers and Mollie's eyes it was a garment fit for a princess; and when Waveney had pinched up the lace ruffles, and put in the little pearl brooch — which had belonged to her mother — she was innocently pleased with her appearance. She had rather a shock when she entered the library. Doreen was not there, but Althea was sitting with her back to the light, with a green shade over her eyes. The pale tints of her gown — Waveney discovered she always wore soft, neutral tints — the pallor of her long, thin face, and the dis- guising shade, gave her a strangely pathetic look. She held out her hand with a faint smile. " I am so sorry, my dear, that this should have happened, and on your first day, too ! It is the worst attack I have had for months, and no remedies seemed to have any effect. But the pain has gone now, and to-morrow I shall be myself again." "Oh, I am so glad of that!" " I am glad of it, too," returned Althea ; " for I would not 109 Mollie's Prince willingly miss one of our Thursday evenings. You will be surprised to hear that we have begun a course of Shakespeare readings. Some of the girls are so intelligent, and read so well ! Our old friend, Mr. Chaytor, helps us. He is a bar- rister, but a very poor one, I am sorry to say ; but he is won- derfully clever. He used to read to the girls. Then he got up an elocution class ; and now he has started these Shake- speare readings, and the girls do so enjoy them !" " It sounds very nice." "I think you will say so. We have had Te7?ipest and Twelfth Night, and to-morrow it is to be As You Like It. Mr. Chaytor is to be Touchstone and the melancholy Jacques. Rather contrasts, are they not?" At this moment Doreen re-entered. She looked pleased as she noticed the animation in her sister's voice, and as the gong sounded, she said, — " You will like Miss Ward to come and talk after dinner, Althea, while I write those letters." And Althea smiled and nodded. " She looks very ill," Waveney said, in a low voice, as they walked down the corridor. " Oh, yes," returned Miss Harford, "she always looks bad after one of these attacks ; it is the pain, you see — my sister does not bear pain well ; it wears her out." Waveney felt relieved when dinner was over. Doreen was very kind and pleasant, but she was not a great talker, and hardly knew how to interest her young companion. " Girls were more in Althea's line," she said to herself, "Althea had such marvellous sympathy and understood them so thoroughly. She herself got on better with older women;" and once or twice she smiled in an amused way when she lifted her eyes from her plate and saw the little figure in white opposite her. "She reminded me of one of Moritz's pictures," she said, afterwards to Althea. " Whichever could it be? I have been puzzling myself all dinner-time. The white frock makes her look more like a child than ever j her eyes are lovely, but she is not pretty. ' ' " Not exactly ; but I like her face. I expect you mean that picture of Undine. Yes, she is wonderfully like it, only this Undine has her soul. By the bye, we have not seen Moritz for an age. I shall write to Gwendoline and tell her that her boy is up to mischief." When Waveney returned to the library she found that one Thursdays at the Porch House or two shaded lamps had been lighted, but that Althea was still seated in the darkest corner of the room. She bade Waveney draw up a chair beside her. " My head is too confused to listen to reading," she observed; "so you shall just talk and amuse me. Tell me anything about your- self, or Mollie, or your brother; everything human interests me, and nothing in the world pleases me better than to listen to the story of other people's lives." Waveney laughed ; but she was a little embarrassed, too. "Shall I tell you about my dear old men at the Hospital ?" she said, rather nervously ; and Althea concealed her disap- pointment, and said, "Yes, certainly; tell me anything you like." And so Waveney began; and as usual her narrative was very picturesque and graphic. But lo and behold ! before many minutes were over she had crossed the green sward, and the lime avenue, and was standing in fancy before a certain high, narrow house, with vine-draped balcony, and an old courtyard; and as she talked her eyes were shining with eagerness. And now the beloved names were on her lips — father and Mollie and Noel. Althea almost held her breath as she listened. "Oh, we were so happy !" exclaimed the girl. "I think no one could have been happier — we were never dull, not even when Noel was at school and father away; but, of course, we liked the evenings best !" "Oh, yes, of course," echoed Althea, softly. "I think the winter evenings were best," returned Wave- ney, reflectively, " because we could make up such a lovely fire. Father was often cold and tired, but he always smiled when he saw our fire, and sometimes we would roast chestnuts — that was Noel's treat — and tell stories, and sing. Father has such a beautiful voice, and so has Mollie, and when they sing in church, people look round and wonder who they are." "Your brother is happy at school, then?" "Happy! I should think so ! He is so clever — even his masters say so ; and then, he never shirks his work like other boys. Oh, do you know, Miss Harford, he has set his heart on getting a scholarship ; he is working for his examination now. If he gets it, we hope he will be able to go to Oxford, for he does so want to be a barrister. ' ' " But, my dear, eighty pounds a year would not pay his ex- penses at any university." And then Althea bit her lip as though she had said more than she intended. in Mollie's Prince " Oh, we know that," returned Waveney, eagerly, " but we thought — at least, Noel thought — that perhaps the veiled Prophet " And then she broke into a laugh. "How absurd I am ! As though you could understand ! But Noel is always so ridiculous, and gives such funny names to people ! The veiled Prophet is that kind friend of mother's who has sent him to St. Paul's." "A friend of your mother's, my dear?" Althea' s tone was a little perplexed. " Father always says it is some friend of mother's, but, of course, it is all guess-work. The lawyer, who pays his bills, tells us nothing;" and then, partly to amuse her hearer, and partly because it gave her pleasure to narrate anecdotes of the lad's cleverness and sense of humour, she told her how Noel intended one day to go to Lincoln's Inn and interview the old lawyer. And there was something so racy in the girl's man- ner, and she imitated Noel's voice so well, that Althea, who had been trying to suppress her amusement for some minutes, gave up the effort, and broke into a hearty laugh. "My dear, you have done me good," she said, when they were serious again, "and my evening, thanks to you, has passed very pleasantly. But I am going to send you away now, as I must not talk any more. ' ' And then, as Waveney rose from her chair at this dismissal, she drew her gently to- wards her, and kissed her cheek. " I am your friend ; remem- ber that, Waveney," she said, in her quiet voice, and the girl blushed with surprise and pleasure. The next morning Waveney was summoned to the library. She found Althea looking pale and weak, but she had dis- carded her shade. She was resting in a deep, easy-chair, and her lap was full of letters. Waveney found that her work was cut out for her, and for more than an hour she was busily engaged in writing the an- swers dictated to her. One was to Mrs. Wainwaring, and Waveney felt great pleasure in writing it. She had not for- gotten Fairy Magnificent. She had taken a fancy to the pretty old lady, and longed to see her again. When Althea had finished her correspondence, she put a volume of " Robert Browning's Life" into the girl's hand. "I must not use my eyes to-day," she said, with a sigh, "so if you will be good enough to read to me, I will finish my jersey. Knitting and crotchet are my only amusements on my blind days. We work for the Seamen's Mission." 112 Thursdays at the Porch House And then she added, brightly, "It is such a luxury having some one to read to me. We shall get through so many nice books, you and I." The morning passed so quickly that both of them were surprised when the gong sounded. After luncheon Waveney was told to go out and amuse herself until tea-time, and she spent a delightful afternoon rambling over the common, with Fuss and Fury frolicking beside her. The little terriers evi- dently regarded her as a new playmate, and were on the friendliest terms with her. On going up to her room to dress for dinner, which was always an hour earlier on Thursdays, she noticed a group of girls in the verandah of the Porch House. Some were sitting down, and others standing about with racquets in their hands. Through the open window she could hear merry voices and laughter. Laura Cairns and the other girl were with them. The young housemaid who waited on her volunteered an expla- nation as she set down the hot-water can. " Those are the young ladies from the Dereham shops, ma'am. It is early closing-day with most of them, and they come up early to play tennis." Althea looked amused when Waveney repeated this speech. "They are young ladies to Dorcas," she said, laughing. "But, indeed, some of these girls are so intelligent, and so truly refined, that one need not grudge them the term. One or two of them would grace any drawing-room ; but, of course, we have our dressy smart girls, too. By the bye, Waveney, do you play tennis ?" And as Waveney shook her head, "I thought not. The houses in Cleveland Terrace have only small gardens, and you would have no opportunity of practising ; but I am a devout believer in tennis. ' ' " Mollie and I always longed to play," returned Waveney, with a sigh. " But, of course, it was out of the question for Mollie." " Yes, but it is quite possible for you, and if you like, Nora Greenwell will teach you ; she is our crack player. Even my sister, who is severely critical, allows that she makes wonderful strokes; eh, Dorrie?" "She plays exceedingly well," returned Doreen, looking up from a scrap-book she was making for a children's hos- pital. " But then, Miss Greenwell does everything well. She is to take Rosalind's part to-night, is she not ?' ' Althea winced slightly as Doreen asked the question. To her dying day she 8 113 Mollie's Prince would never hear Rosalind's part read or acted, without secret emotion. She had dreaded this evening ever since the play of As You Like It was decided upon, but none the less she had determined to be present. "Yes," she returned, rather hastily, "of course, Mr. Chay- tor selected that part for her, as Nora is certainly our best reader. Minnie Alston will be Celia." And then she turned to Waveney. "They are my two favourites. When my sister wishes to tease me, she calls them my two paragons. And, indeed, I am proud of them. Oddly enough, they serve in the same shop — that big haberdasher — Gardiner & Wells." " Miss Ward has not passed the shop, Althea. She has yet to make acquaintance with Dereham." "Why do you call her Miss Ward ?" returned Althea, play- fully. " It is far too stiff a name for her. Follow my example and call her Waveney." But Doreen looked a little dubious at this. She was a kind-hearted woman, but an undemonstrative one, and her sister's pretty speeches and little caressing ways often filled her with envy. Dinner that evening was rather hurried, and the moment it was over Althea took up a light wrap and invited W T aveney to accompany her to the Porch House. The girls had finished their tea, and were now arranging the room for their reading. Althea paused doubtfully on the threshold as she heard the commotion. "We are a little early," she said ; "and they never like me to find them in confusion. I will show you the kitchen, Waveney. Is this not a nice little place ? And that room beyond is where the girls wash their hands and brush their hair. There is a store-room, too, where I keep my jams and cake. ' ' v A pale-faced young widow was washing up the tea-cups as they entered. She brightened up as Althea addressed her. "That is my caretaker, Mrs. Shaw," observed Althea, in a low voice. " Come, they are fairly quiet now, and we may as well go in, as Mr. Chaytor is generally punctual." Waveney felt a little shy as she followed Althea. The great room seemed full of girls. There were thirty or forty of them, but Althea shook hands with every one, and had a pleasant word for each. "This is my friend, Miss Ward," she said, in her clear 114 Thursdays at the Porch House voice, to the assembled girls. "Nora," singling out a tall girl, with an interesting face, "lam going to ask you to teach Miss Ward to play tennis. The asphalt court behind the Porch House will soon be ready. Thanks to the early closing movement, some of you will be able to have a game before it gets dark. ' ' "Yes, indeed, Miss Harford." "And we can practise our skating, too," interposed a pretty, dark girl. Waveney found out afterwards that it was Minnie Alston, and that she and Nora were great chums. "That will be charming," returned Althea. She looked more like Queen Bess than ever, as she stood in the circle of girls, with the light shining on her ruddy hair and soft ruffles. "Now, girls, we must take our places;" and then she beckoned Waveney to a long, high-backed settle that stood by the fire. The room was large, and a little cold, so a fire had been lighted. Waveney looked round with intense interest. The Recre- ation Hall, as it was called, was of noble dimensions, and evidently well-lighted, from the number of windows. There was a platform at one end, with a piano ; and two or three easels and half a dozen round tables, with gay, crimson cloths, occupied the centre of the room. These were at once surrounded by groups of girls, some with books in their hands. The floor was stained, and some warm-coloured rugs gave an air of comfort. A well -filled book-case, a few well-chosen prints, and a carved oak chair known as "Miss Harford's throne," comprised the remainder of the furniture. This evening Althea had vacated her throne for the settle, and a few minutes later Doreen entered the room, and with a pleasant nod to the girls, she seated herself by her sister. Althea looked pleased, but she was evidently surprised. Waveney discovered afterwards that it was not Miss Harford's habit to attend the Thursday meetings. The sisters had their different hobbies. Doreen' s active energies found plenty of scope in her "Home for Broken-down Workers," and though Althea had contributed largely to it, and always visited it at least once a week, it was Doreen who was the head and main- spring of the whole concern. The committee of management, comprised of a few personal friends in the neighbourhood, were merely tools in her vigorous hands. "5 Mollie's Prince "I wanted to hear Miss Greenwell's Rosalind," she whis- pered. And then a man's step sounded in the little passage. There was a quick rap at the door, the girls all rose from their seats, and Althea went forward with a smile of welcome. "You are punctual to a minute, Thorold," she said, as she shook hunds. "Miss Ward, this is our old friend, Mr. Chaytor;" but as Waveney bowed demurely, a sudden gleam of amusement sparkled in her eyes ; for lo and behold ! it was "the noticeable man, with large grey eyes" who had enquired the way in Ranelagh Gardens. CHAPTER XV. ORLANDO TO THE RESCUE. Macbeth. " If we should fail !" Lady Macbeth. " We fail ! But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail." Shakespeare. Waveney was secretly piqued to see that there was no sign of recognition in Mr. Chaytor' s eyes. He bowed as though to a stranger in whom he took slight interest, exchanged a few words with the sisters, looked at his watch, and then lifted his hand as a signal for silence, and the buzzing, girlish voices were instantly hushed. The readers had already taken their places round the centre table. Miss Harford's throne and a reading-desk stood beside it. The rest of the girls had grouped them- selves round the tables with their work. A few of them had a volume of Shakespeare in their hands. The moment after Mr. Chaytor's entrance one of the girls had left the room rather hurriedly, and a minute later Althea was summoned. Mr. Chaytor was giving a few instructions in a low voice, and had not noticed the circumstance until Althea returned with a perturbed countenance. "I am so sorry," she said, in a tone of vexation; "it is most unfortunate, but Miss Pierson has one of her giddy attacks, and is obliged to go home. She is in tears about it, but, as I tell her, it is no fault of hers." 116 Orlando to the Rescue Mr. Chaytor looked blank. His audience was impatient ; already he had heard sundry thimbles rap the table, and his readers were eager to begin. But now there was no Orlando, what was to be done? Such failure was not to be borne. He frowned, considered the point, and then looked per- suasively at Althea. "If you will be so good " he began; but Althea shook her head and turned a little pale. Not for worlds would she have read that part. To her relief, Doreen came to her aid. "You must not ask Althea," she said, in her quick, de- cided way. " She was quite ill yesterday, and her head is not right to-day. I wish I could help you, but I am no reader, as you know. But there is Miss Ward ; I think she would do nicely. You will help them, will you not ?' ' turn- ing to Waveney. Poor Waveney was ready to sink through the ground. She grew hot and then cold. " Do try, dear," Althea whispered, coaxingly; and, to her dismay, she found Mr. Chaytor' s grave, intent look fixed on her. The clear grey eyes were somewhat beseeching. " It will be a great kindness," he said. "Your audience will not be critical, Miss Ward. Let me beg you to do us this favour." "It is impossible. I should spoil everthing," stammered Waveney, in great distress. " I have only once read As You Like It, and that was a long time ago." But she might as well have spoken to the wind. Mr. Chaytor evidently had a will of his own. His only reply was to put a book in her hand and offer her a chair. "I have promised that we will not be critical," he said, quietly. ' ' You will soon get into the swing of it. To give you confidence, I will read Orlando's opening speech to Adam." Then, as Waveney took her place, with hot cheeks and downcast eyes, a delightful clapping of hands welcomed her. Althea looked anxious as she returned to the oak settle. "Poor little thing, she is frightened to death," she whis- pered ; " but Thorold was so masterful with her." "I like men to be masterful," returned Doreen, in an undertone; "but I wish he would try it on with Joanna." And then they both smiled, and Althea said "hush!" as Mr. Chaytor' s full, rich tones were audible. Waverley's turn came all too soon. Her voice trembled, 117 Mollie's Prince and was sadly indistinct, at first : but as one girl after an- other took up her cue, she soon forgot her nervousness, and entered into the spirit of the play. Several of the girls read well, but none of them equalled Nora Green well. Celia was passable, and Phoebe certainly understood her role ; but Nora read with a sprightliness and animation that surprised Wa- veney. The girl seemed a born actor. Her enunciation was clear, and the changes of expression in her voice, its mirth and passion, its rollicking, girlish humours and droll witcheries, were wonderfully rendered. But it was Mr. Chay tor's reading that kept Waveney spell- bound. When as First Lord he narrates the story of the melancholy Jacques and the sobbing deer, the pathos of his voice brought the tears to her eyes ; and as Touchstone his dry humour and clownish wit were so cleverly given that once Waveney laughed and was covered with confusion. Twice the reading was interrupted by a charming little interlude, when three or four girls went up on the platform and sang " Under the Greenwood Tree" and "Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind. ' ' At the conclusion of the play, which was shortened purposely, Althea took her seat at the piano, and all the girls joined in an evening hymn. Waveney did not sing, for her heart was full. The evening's performance had excited her, and her imagination, which was always remarkably vivid, seemed suddenly to grasp the full beauty and meaning of the scene. Was not this Christian socialism in its fairest aspect ? she thought. Could any picture be sweeter or more symbolical than that group of young faces gathered round the two dear ladies ; for Doreen was on the platform, too. Some of the faces were far from being beauti- ful — some were absolutely plain ; and one or two sickly-look- ing girls with tangled hair, and decked out with cheap finery, were singularly unattractive. And yet, as Althea's long, slim fingers touched the notes, and the dear old tune that they had loved in childhood floated through the wide hall, each face brightened into new life. " They are all workers," thought Waveney, as she watched them. ' ' Some of them have hard, toilsome lives ; they are away from their homes and amongst strangers, and, though they are so young, they know weariness and heartache. But when they come here, it is like home to each one, and it makes them happy. If I were a shop-girl at Dereham, I should look for- ward to my Thursday evening as I look forward to Sunday;" 118 Orlando to the Rescue and then she said to herself, happily, " To-morrow I shall say the day after to-morrow, and how delightful that will be !" Waveney was smiling to herself, when she suddenly raised her eyes and encountered Mr. Chaytor's amused glance. He had evidently been watching her for some time, for he was leaning back in the carved arm-chair, with the air of a man who felt he had earned his repose. The next moment he came towards her. The hymn was over, but the girls were still gathered round Althea and wish- ing her good-night. Under the cover of their voices he ad- dressed Waveney. " I have not properly thanked you for your kind assistance, Miss Ward, but I assure you that I was most grateful. Miss Pierson's indisposition had placed us in an awkward dilemma, but you came to our help most nobly." " I am afraid I acquitted myself badly," returned Waveney. She would have given much for a word of praise. People generally liked her reading, but she feared that Mr. Chaytor would be no ordinary critic. " You did very well," he returned, quietly. " Indeed, con- sidering you had only once read the play, I ought to give you greater praise. You see, Shakespeare is a sort of divinity to me. I think a lifetime is hardly long enough to study him properly. My reverence for him makes me unreasonable. Orlando did not suit you ; you would have made a better Rosalind. If you were staying at the Red House, and liked to join my Thurs- day evening classes, I could give you a few valuable hints." "I should like to join them," observed Waveney, colouring a little, "if Miss Harford could spare me. ' ' And as he looked a little perplexed at this, she added hastily, "I have come to the Red House as Miss Althea's reader and companion." And this explanation evidently satisfied him. But the next moment, as Waveney was moving away, he stopped her. "Will you pardon me, Miss Ward, if I ask if we have ever met before ? I have a fancy that your voice," — he was going to say eyes, but he checked himself — " is not quite unknown to me. I have been puzzling over it half the evening." "Oh, yes, we have met before," returned Waveney, who was quite at her ease now. "It was in old Ranelagh Gardens, and you asked us to direct you to Dunedin Terrace. I hope you found it;" and he smiled assent to this. "You were with your sister," he hazarded, and Waveney 119 Mollie's Prince nodded; and then Doreen joined them, and Mr. Chaytor said no more. Of course he recalled it now, and it was only last Monday too. But how was he to identify the little girl in her shabby hat with this dainty little figure in white? True, her eyes had attracted him that day, but this evening he had not seen them fully until a few minutes ago. He re- called everything now; the beautiful face of the other girl, and the sweet, refined voices of both. He had wondered who they were, and why they were sitting hand in hand in the sunshine, and looking so sad; and it was only three days ago. Doreen proposed that Waveney should come back with her to the house. "My sister and Mr. Chaytor often stop behind for a little chat about the girls, ' ' she explained. And Waveney, glancing at them as she left the room, saw that she was right. Althea had seated herself on the settle, and was holding up a small screen between her face and the firelight, and Mr. Chaytor was standing with one arm leaning against the man- telpiece looking down at her. u Iaraso glad the reading went off so well," she said, when the door had closed after her sister and Waveney. " At one moment I was terribly afraid, until our little Orlando came to the rescue. She read very nicely, Thorold." "Yes, very fairly, considering all things; but the part did not suit her. I hope you were proud of your pet protegee. I consider Miss Greenwell achieved a striking success to-night. I am not easy to please, but really once or twice I found my- self saying * Bravo ! ' under my breath. ' ' " No ; as a critic you are terribly censorious. Thorold — you will laugh at me — but Nora's cleverness and her undoubted tal- ents almost frighten me. What is the good of her learning all this Euclid and French, and robbing herself of some of her rest to get time for her studies, if she is to spend her life in snipping off lengths of ribbon and tape from one end of the year to the other?" " All the good in the world !" he returned, in a most ener- getic tone. "Why need the snipping of ribbon, as you de- scribe it, interfere with the development of the higher life? Your argument is a weak one. You might as well say that cutting muslin by the yard for so many hours at a stretch interferes with the religious life ; and yet I expect plenty of shopwomen are good Christians." Orlando to the Rescue There was a flash of amusement in Althea's eyes, though she pretended to be indignant. " How absurd you are ! But I will not believe that you have so misunderstood me. Let me explain what I really do mean. I am very proud of Nora, but I am so afraid that all this education and cultivation will make her discontented with her surroundings; no life can be perfect that is out of harmony with its environment. I know a dozen girls from Gardiner & Wells', and only one of them, Minnie Alston, is worthy of Nora's friendship. She is very lonely, and, as you know, her home is most unsatisfactory — a virago of a step-mother, and a lot of boisterous children. Her work does not suit her, but she dare not throw herself out of a situation. ' ' "Yes, I see what you mean," returned Mr. Chaytor, gravely. "Increase of knowledge often creates loneliness, and one member of a family may move on a different plane, where his relations cannot follow him. But if they are sensible people they do not beg him to climb down to them, and leave off his star-gazing. I think we need not disquiet ourselves about Miss Greenwell; perhaps she may have good things waiting for her." Mr. Chaytor spoke in an enigmatical tone — he was grave and reticent by nature, and some up-to-date people would have thought a few of his ideas antiquated. He had a great dislike to any kind of gossip, and never mentioned reports which reached him until they were actually verified. Some one had hinted to him that Nora Greenwell had found favour in the eyes of her employer's son. Robert Gardiner was well edu- cated and intelligent, but his parents, who were very proud of him, wished him to marry well. "I have saved my pennies, Bob, and when you think of taking a wife I shall buy a plot of ground in the Mortimer Road and build you a house." But as Mr. Gardiner said this he was thinking of his partner's only child — Annie Wells. She was a pretty, fresh-looking girl, and when her father died she would have six or seven thousand pounds — for Gardiner & Wells drove a flourishing trade in Dereham. If Mr. Chaytor had mentioned this report to Althea it would have thrown a little light on a circumstance that had come under her observation. There had been a mistake in her quarterly account with Gardiner & Wells, and one Thursday afternoon Robert Gar- 121 Mollie's Prince diner had walked up to the Red House to speak to Miss Har- ford. Althea kept him waiting for ten minutes, as she was enter- taining a visitor ; but on entering the dining-room she found him standing at the window, so intent on watching a game of tennis that she addressed him by name before she could gain his attention. "I beg your pardon, Miss Harford," he said, hastily; he was a fair, good-looking man, and almost gentlemanly in manner. "I was watching the game. You have a capital tennis-court." " So every one says. Miss Greenwell is our best player." " She plays splendidly. I never saw such strokes ;" and all through the brief interview Althea noticed how his eyes were following the girl's graceful movements. "If Nora and Minnie had not been playing, I think I should have invited him to have a game," she said afterwards to Doreen; "but I thought of Gardiner pere, and was afraid I might shock his sense of propriety. ' ' "It would not have been good taste," returned Doreen, sensibly. "You may depend upon it that Robert Gardiner has very little to do with the young ladies of the establish- ment. ' ' And then they both laughed. "By the bye, Althea," observed Mr. Chaytor, when they had finished the subject of Nora Greenwell, "I am so glad you have taken your friends' advice, and have engaged a reader. I am sure Miss Ward will be a comfort to you. ' ' " I think so, too. She is very bright and intelligent, and she talks in the most amusing way. She is so natural and unsophisticated." " So I should imagine. Where did you pick her up?" "Doreen applied to an agency in Harley Street. But Thorold," and here her voice changed, " what singular coin- cidences there are in life ! Is it not strange that she should be Everard Ward's daughter?" Mr. Chaytor was now sitting beside her, and as she said this he turned round and looked at her. He was evidently very much surprised. " I had no idea of that," he said, in a low tone. " There are so many Wards. Such a thought would never have occurred to me." And then he glanced at her keenly. " Is it not a little awkward for you, Althea?" Then a faint flush came to her cheeks. She was five or six years older than 122 Orlando to the Rescue Thorold, but they had been old playfellows and dear friends, and his brother had been one of Althea's lovers in the Kit- lands days ; and he knew all about the Ward romance, and, lad as he was, he had predicted its ending, as he watched Dorothy play the part of Rosalind in the pastoral play. "I do not see why it should be awkward," she observed, quietly. " I have not met Mr. Ward for twenty years, but I should have no objection to do so to-morrow. He is very poor, Thorold, and I am afraid they are often in difficulties. His pictures do not sell well." " Perhaps they are not worth much. I fancy Ward's genius is purely imaginary. None of his friends believed that he would do much as an artist. Well, it is getting late, and I am keeping you up, aud then Doreen will scold me. Let me help you turn out the lights, and then I will walk with you to the house. It is a glorious night, and I shall enjoy my stroll home. ' ' But as they stood in the porch a moment in the starlight, Althea touched his arm. "How is Joa?" she asked, kindly. " She is quite well!" he returned. "Joanna seldom ails anything ; but she is no happier, poor soul. I sometimes think she never will be." Then his voice grew suddenly tired. "I do not profess to understand women, Althea. I suppose some natures are naturally depressed, and live in an atmosphere of worry; but they are scarcely pleasant house- mates. I am afraid that is hardly a brotherly speech ;" and he laughed a little grimly as he shook hands. "Poor Thorold!" Althea said to herself, as she crossed the hall. "Joa is the Old Man of the Mountains to him; she is a dead weight on him. And yet how seldom he utters a word of complaint ! — scarcely ever, and only to me. But he can say what he likes to me ; he knows I am a safe con- fidante." 123 Mollie's Prince CHAPTER XVI. SIR REYNARD AND THE GRAPES. " Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright. And made a sunshine in the shady place." Spenser's Faerie Queene. It is the opinion of certain wiseacres that enjoyment con- sists mainly in anticipation and retrospection, and that the actual pleasure is reduced to a minimum. But to Waveney her first Sunday at the Red House was simply perfect. Not the shadow of a shade crossed her path until she said good- bye to Mollie in the evening. Even the weather was propitious, and when the morning mist had rolled off the common, another of those golden days, peculiar to Autumn, seemed to flood Erpingham with warm, mellow sunshine. The rich brown and amber tints of the bracken excited Waveney' s admiration as they crossed a corner of the com- mon, on their way to church. It was the longest way, Doreen explained, but she had some business that took her to the upper end of the village. Then they walked slowly down the main street past the fountain and the Roman Catholic church, with its old lych-gate. On their way Waveney learned how the sisters spent their Sunday afternoons. Doreen always went to the Home of Rest for Workers. One of the inmates had partially lost her sight, and Doreen generally read to her and wrote her letters. It was her custom to remain to tea; it gave the matron an hour's free- dom, and made a change for the ladies. The Porch House was always thrown open for the girls' use from two to six on Sunday afternoons. There was no meal provided, but some of them liked to come up for an hour or two's reading or study, or to meet their friends. In winter there was always a bright fire and plenty of light, and Althea, stealing down the dark garden paths, would peep, unseen, at the merry group of chattering girls gathered round the fire. Althca's Bible-class was always held in the dining-room of 124 Sir Reynard and the Grapes the Red House. About twenty girls attended it. Waveney discovered later that Althea spent most of her mornings pre- paring for this class ; but when she expressed her surprise at the amount of labour it involved, Althea only smiled. " My dear, it is very necessary labour," she returned. " It is no easy matter, I assure you, to keep ahead of girls like Nora Greenwell and Alice Mitchell. I have to study for dear life, and sometimes their questions are so difficult to answer that I have to apply for help to our good Vicar. "lam very fond of my Sunday work," she said, as she and Waveney walked slowly on until Doreen should overtake them. ' ' Two or three of the girls always remain to tea. I give my invitations on Thursday evening ; and as I make no distinction, and each one has her proper turn, there is no margin for jealousy. I limit the number to four, as I like my Sunday tea-parties to be cosy. We call them library teas, and Mrs. Willis is generally very liberal with her cakes. Well, dear, why do you look at me so ?" " I was only thinking how full your life is, and how happy you must be !" returned Waveney, simply; and a faint flush rose to Althea' s cheek. " All lives ought to be full," she said, gravely. " It always makes me angry when people talk of empty, blighted, or dis- appointed lives ; ' ' and her tone was so severe that Waveney felt vaguely surprised. "But, Miss Harford," she observed, timidly, "a great many women are disappointed, you know." "Oh, yes, of course, life is as full of disappointments as this bush is full of blackberries this morning. But, all the same, they have only themselves to blame if their existence is dull and colourless. There is too much mawkish sentiment talked at the present day," she went on. "I was' only telling my girls so the other day. When trouble comes to a woman — and Heaven knows they have their share of suffering : I suppose, for their soul's good — it is no good creeping along the ground like a bird with a broken wing ; they must sum- mon all their pluck, and fight their way through the thorns. Of course, even the brave ones get a little torn and scarred, but they are too proud to show their wounds. Look, here comes my sister, and we will change the subject." And then, as Doreen joined them, they walked on quickly; but Althea's blue eyes had a strange glow in them. When Waveney reached Sloane Square she found Mollie 125 Mollie's Prince had kept her word, and was on the platform to receive her. She gave a little cry when she saw Waveney, and more than one passer-by looked round with kindly amusement as the sisters rushed into each other's arms. " Oh, Mollie, how lovely you look ! What have you done to yourself?" But Mollie only laughed. And then, like two children, they walked up the stairs hand-in-hand. And to Mollie it might have been the golden ladder that leads to Paradise. Her dearer self, her twin sister, was beside her, and the five blank days were over. " Father and Noel have gone for a walk," she said, as they turned down King Street. " I shall have you to myself for a whole hour. Oh, Wave, how are we to talk fast enough ! — so much has happened even in these five days ! I wish I could write clever letters like you. But I am so stupid !" " Nonsense, sweetheart. Why, I loved your letters, and always slept with them under my pillow. ' ' "Did you, really? Oh, Wave, what a darling you are! But, of course, I did the same. And I was so amused at your meeting ' the noticeable man, with the large grey eyes. ' Father heard me chuckling, and he insisted on my reading your letter to him ; but he was quite startled when I came to Mr. Chaytor's name. I don't think he was quite pleased." "What makes you think that, Mollie, dear." " Oh, he frowned and bit his lip. You know his way. And then he took up the newspaper and cleared his throat. But I heard him mutter, as though to himself, ' Another of them. Now I wonder which of them it is.' But, as you only said Mr. Chaytor, I could not tell him." " It was Thorold," returned Waveney. And then, as they came in sight of the house, she kissed her hand to it in a sort of ecstasy. " Oh, you dear old place, I have dreamt of you every night !" And then, as Mollie used her latch-key, Mrs. Muggins came to meet them, purring loudly, with uplifted tail. " Dear me, I never noticed how steep and narrow the stair- case is!" remarked Waveney, innocently. "And Mollie, dear, you really must cause father to get some new stair- drugget. Crimson felt would look so nice and warm, and would not cost much." But Mollie shook her head. "We must wait for that, I am afraid," she said, sadly. Then she cheered up. "ifcit, Wave, father has got such a lovely new great-coat, and he does louk so nice in it ; and 126 Sir Reynard and the Grapes Noel insisted on his getting a new hat, too. I tell father that he will be ashamed to walk with me, now he has grown such a dandy." And then Mollie broke off in confusion, and began to blush, for Waveney's eyes were fixed on the round table in the studio. A magnificent basket of hot-house grapes stood in the centre. Waveney regarded it with the look of a cat that sees cream. There were three pounds at least, and the purple bloom of the fruit made a rich spot of colour in the room. Waveney's expression was inscrutable. "Mollie," she said, at last, " the Black Prince has been here again." "Yes, dear," stammered Mollie, with the air of a culprit discovered in a fault ; " but I did not expect him — I told you so. I was on my knees darning the stair-carpets, because father caught his foot in a hole that very morning ; and when Ann opened the door, there he was, and, of course, he saw me." " Oh, of course, there is nothing wrong with Sir Reynard's eyes," muttered Waveney. "They are very good eyes, I should say. ' ' But this remark seemed to puzzle Mollie. "Why do you call him Reynard, Waveney? He is not sly, not a bit of it. He was so funny. He wanted to help me with the stair-carpet — he said he was a good hand at darn- ing ; but I would not hear of such a thing, and, of course, I took him into the study." "Well, child, what then?" and Waveney seated herself on Grumps, and patted the sofa gently as an invitation for Mollie to do the same. " And then Sir Reynard presented his grapes. ' ' Mollie stamped her little foot. " I will not have it, Waveney. You shall not call our nice little Monsieur Blackie by such a horrid name. Yes, he offered the grapes with such a droll little speech ; but I can't remember exactly what he said, only that a friend of his had a splendid vinery, and he always sent him such quantities of grapes, and it would be a charity to help him to eat them, and so on. ' ' "Yes, and so on. And you said, ' Thank you, my dear Black Prince. You are very generous to poor little Cinderella.'" "Waveney, if you talk such nonsense I won't love you a bit. Of course I thanked him — and I must have done it nicely, for he looked pleased, almost as though he were re- lieved. « That's right,' he said", heartily. < What a sensible 127 ' Mollie's Prince young lady you are, Miss Mollie ! You take things naturally and as you ought — and I wanted to please you. You know I always want to please you.' " Waveney caught her breath, and there was almost a look of fear in her eyes. " Did he say those very words, Mollie?" "Yes, dear," in a tranquil tone. "And I am sure he meant it, too. He did look so very kind. ' Do you know I wanted to please you the very first day I saw you,' he went on, ' and it has been the same every day since. I am such a lonely sort of fellow since Gwen left me. Gwen is my sister, you know.' " "And that fetched you, of course ?" But Waveney did not speak in her usual tone. And how she watched the bright, speaking face beside her. "Yes, indeed, I thought of you, and I asked such a lot of questions about this Gwendoline, and I am sure he liked answering them. She is not pretty, Wave, not a bit — ugly, in fact ; but her husband adores her. She is very tall and graceful, but he told me he would not show me the picture he had in his pocket, because plain people were not in my line. Wasn't that a funny speech? And then we had a quarrel ; but he stuck to his point. He said he hoped that some day he would be able to introduce her to us, and that he would rather wait till then. But, Wave, what am I think- ing about? I meant you to have some grapes. " And then she jumped up from her seat and limped quickly to the table, and for a moment Waveney' s eyes were a little misty. "How innocent she is! What a child! But I dare not enlighten her," she said to herself. "I wonder what father thinks. If I can, I will just give him a hint. I think he ought to find out who Mr. Ingram really is ; we know nothing about him. He may be in earnest — very likely he is ; but he ought not to come when Mollie is alone." The hour passed all too quickly, and just as Waveney was giving a full description of Thursday evening her father's voice made her start from her seat and fly downstairs ; but there was no one that day to liken her to Titania. How Everard's face brightened at the sight of his darling! And even Noel "chortled in his joy," to use his favourite ex- pression. He actually submitted to be kissed twice without making a wry face, though he immediately turned up the collar of his coat. 128 Sir Reynard and the Grapes " It has been rather tropical lately," he observed, blandly, "but now old ' Storm-and-Stress' has come, we must look out for draughts. ' ' But Waveney was admiring the great-coat, and took no notice. " It is father ' s turn, ' ' exclaimed Mollie, cheerfully. ' ' Noel, you must come and help me get tea ready. We shall have it in the studio, of course;" and then she stumped off to the kitchen, and Waveney and her father went upstairs. They had a little talk together. Everard asked a few ques- tions about his old friends, and seemed much interested in all Waveney 's descriptions. " I think you have a good berth, dear," he said, presently, "and that you are likely to be very happy with the Misses Harford." "Yes, father, and I am sure that I shall soon learn to love Miss Althea — Good Queen Bess, as I call her. But — but" — the colour rising to her face, as she squeezed his arm with her little hands — "I would rather be at home with my dad." " I know that, darling, and dad has missed his little girl badly. By the bye, Waveney, there seems a plentiful crop of ghosts at the Red House. Mollie tells me that the other night you met a Mr. Chaytor. ' ' "Yes, father, Mr. Thorold Chaytor. He seemed very nice, and he read so beautifully. Miss Althea says he is a barrister — but that, though he is so clever, he gets few briefs, and that he ekes out his income by doing literary work. ' ' "He was always a clever fellow," returned Mr. Ward; "but I remember I liked Tristram best. Poor old Trist, he was a bit soft on Althea. I remember how angry he was when some one told him it was lad's love. Thorold was a cut above us, and we were rather in awe of him. I wonder what sort of looking fellow he is now." " He is tall and rather distinguished looking. I mean, people cannot help noticing him." Then Mr. Ward's eyes twinkled mischievously. "'A noticeable man,' eh, Waveney? 'with large grey eyes?' ' Then Waveney blushed and laughed. " What a perfidious Mollie ! But, father, it is really such a true description ! Mr. Chaytor is quite plain and ordinary- looking, and he is old, too, — five-and-thirty, I should say; but when he speaks you would never call him plain." 9 129 Mollie's Prince "No, I know what you mean. But his brother Tristram was a very handsome man." " Did you know them well, father?" " Very well, indeed. The Chaytors lived at the old Manor House — their grandfather had bought it. It was a fine old place, about two miles from Kitlands, and when I visited them they lived in good style and entertained largely. Old Chaytor, as we called him, was fond of life and gaiety; though we youngsters knew little about it, he kept racers, and about the time I married, his losses were so heavy that they could no longer afford to live in the old Manor House." "Were there only those two brothers, father, dear?" " No, there was a sister Joanna — Joa they called her — a pretty, fair girl ; she and Althea were great friends. She was engaged to Leslie Parker. The Parkers were neighbours of theirs ; they lived in a quaint old house in the village, called The Knolls, but I heard afterwards that, when the old Manor House was sold, and Mr. Chaytor died, the marriage was broken off. I never cared much for the Parkers ; they were a mercenary lot. All the sons married women with money. But it was hard lines on poor little Joa. ' ' " Oh, father, how dreadfully interesting all this is ! 1 do so love ancient history. ' ' "It was by no means interesting for the Chaytors," re- turned Mr. Ward, with a laugh. " Old Chaytor's love for the turf ruined them. When he died, his sons found that his affairs were hopelessly involved, and that he had left heavy debts. I had lost sight of them by that time ; but I heard a year or two afterwards that Mrs. Chaytor was dead, too, and that Tris- tram had gone to New Zealand. Rumour said that he had turned out unsatisfactorily, and that his brother had shipped him off, but I know nothing more." " Neither do I, except they are living in a dull-looking house in Dereham." And then Mollie limped in with the tea-tray, and Noel followed, carrying a huge plum cake on his head, like one of the black slaves in the "Arabian Nights." And then, as he made an obeisance like Lord Bateman's "proud young porter," it rolled to his feet; after which Mollie boxed his ears, and his father called him a young ass. They had a merry tea, and then they drew round the fire and sang hymns; and church-time came only too quickly. 130 "Like Ships that pass in the Night" Waveney had her old place between her father and Mollie ; and when the gas was turned down during the sermon, Mollie slipped her hand into hers. And a dark young man, who was sitting a few pews behind them, watched them attentively through the service ; and, when, in the dusk, he saw Mollie nestle up to her sister, a great softness came into his eyes, and he said to himself, "Poor little thing!" But as Noel strutted beside his sisters on the way to the station to see Waveney off, he said a thing that surprised them. '"" Did you see my friend the Idealist !" he asked, with his chin elevated. "My word, he looked quite the swagger gentleman in his new frock coat." " Do you mean Monsieur Blackie !" asked Waveney; and she pressed Mollie' s arm involuntarily. She had had no opportunity of giving her father that hint, and now she must wait for another week. " Yes, Monsieur Blackie — Monsieur Blackie — Monsieur Blackie," returned the provoking lad, in a falsetto squeak. "Hold hard, father, you have nearly landed me into the gutter." And then a little, dark gentleman, who was following them unperceived, gave a low laugh. " My friend the humorist at his tricks again," he murmured. "IwishGwen could see that lad; she would love him." CHAPTER XVII. "like ships that pass in the night." " The situation that has not its Duty, its Ideal, was never yet occupied by man. Yes, here in this miserable, despicable actual wherein thou even now standest, here or nowhere is thy Ideal. Work it out therefore. The Ideal is in thyself, the impediment too is in thyself." Carlyle. *' Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished." Longfellow. One evening, about a week later, Thorold Chaytor walked quickly over the Dereham bridge on his way from the station. His day, as usual, had been spent in his dingy chambers in Mollie's Prince Lincoln's Inn; he had worked hard, and felt unusually weary, and the damp chilliness of the mists rising from the river made him shiver and button up his coat more closely. A slight mizzling rain was now falling ; the pavements were wet and greasy; the gas lights on the towing path seemed to waver and then flare up with windy flickers ; the black hulls of the boats and barges moored to the shore loomed through the mist like vast monsters weltering in the mud ; and the grey river flowing under the bridges washed silently against the piers in the darkness. Mr. Chay tor's chambers in Lincoln's Inn were high up, and very small and inconvenient — " Chay tor's sky parlour," some of his friends called it, for in reality it consisted of only one room and a good-sized cupboard ; but the view of chim- ney-pots from the window was certainly unique. To be sure, it was somewhat cold in winter, and at times the chimney was given to smoking, and in summer it certainly resembled the Black Hole in Calcutta; but these were trifles to be borne stoically, if not cheerfully. In this den Thorold Chaytor did most of his literary work, and waited for briefs ; nor did he wait wholly in vain. Althea had spoken of him as a poor man, and this opinion was shared by many others. When old friends of the family, who had visited at the old Manor House, came down to the dull, shabby-looking house in High Street, where Thorold and his sister lived, they used to sigh and shrug their shoulders. "It was grievous," they would say. "No wonder poor Joanna looked so old and careworn ! And they only kept one servant, too;" and then they would talk, under their breath, of the wasteful extravagance at the old Manor House, and then of that racing establishment at Newmarket, to which the Chaytor fortunes had been sacrificed. But if Thorold and Joanna practised rigid economy, and only kept one servant, it was because they stinted themselves of their own free-will. Thorold Chaytor was not really poor ; his literary work was successful, and his papers on social questions were so brilliant and versatile, so teeming with thought and sparkles of wit, that he was already making his mark as a clever writer. And in his own profession he was not doing so badly. Quite recently he had distinguished himself in some case. "Chaytor is a clear-headed lawyer; he is sharp and has plenty "Like Ships that pass in the Night" of brains," his friends would say; "he will get on right enough, if he does not kill himself with work first." Thorold loved his work. The hours spent in that grimy den were full of enjoyment to him; he was equally happy solving some legal problem or doing some of his journalistic work ; his clear, strong brains delighted in labour. He had one curious companion of his solitude— a small, yellow cat, who had only three legs, whom he had rescued from a violent death, and who refused to leave him. Sisera was not an attractive animal, but his heart was in the right place ; he adored his master, and when Thorold's step sounded on the stairs in the morning, Sisera would jump off the old coat on the shelf, where he was accustomed to pass the night, and limp with loud purrs to the door. Sisera was as much a hermit as his master ; he took his exercise among the chimney-pots, and never went downstairs, where unseen enemies lurked unnumbered for him. He had his pennyworth of milk, and his skewer of cats' meat, and a share of his master's frugal luncheon ; and on Sundays the fat old housekeeper toiled up the stairs and deposited the rations for the day, grumbling as she did so. But, although Thorold already earned a fair income, he lived as though he were poor, and both he and his sister were almost parsimonious in their habits ; but not even Althea, who was their closest fried, did more than guess at the reason for all this thrift. Thorold had set himself an Herculean task— to pay his father's debts— and in this Joanna had will- ingly helped him; with all her faults and failings, she was a good woman, and her sense of honour was almost as strong as his. Thorold was still at Oxford when his father died. His brother Tristram was three or four years older. He had been summoned in haste to the death-bed ; but, to his relief, his father recognised him. " It is a bad business, my boy," he said, faintly, as Thorold took his hand. " If I could only have my life again, I would do differently;" and a few minutes later, when they thought he was^ sleeping, he opened his eyes. " Never get into debt, Tnst, he murmured. "It is hard for a man to die peace- fully with a millstone round his neck." And Thorold was struck by the look of anguish that crossed his face. "Father," he said, gently, for he was young and impres- sionable, and perhaps, in his wish to give comfort, he hardly i33 Mollie's Prince knew what he was saying. "Father, you shall die in peace; and Trist and I will work hard, and pay your debts." "Yes, yes," murmured Tristram, with a sob; "we will pay them, dad." Then a wonderful smile came over the sick man's face. "Good lads, good lads," he muttered. "God bless you both !" Those were his last words; but, even as he lay in his coffin, Thorold began to realise that the millstone was already round his own neck. Those first few years that followed his father's death were very sad ones to Thorold. His mother's failing health, and Joanna's disappointment, embittered the peace of their home; and, worse than all, Tristram became a care to them. He had been brought up in expectation of a fortune ; and, as far as work was concerned, his life at the university had been a failure. "What does it matter whether I grind or not?" he would say. "I am having a good old time, and the governor will pay my debts." And when the evil days came, and George Chaytor's sons had to put their shoulders to the wheel and earn their bread, there seemed nothing that Tristram could do. Again and again a berth had been found for him, but he had failed to keep it. Either he had been wanting in steadi- ness or application, or he had lost his temper and quarrelled with his employer. " He is not worth his salt!" one of them said angrily to Thorold. In sheer desperation, Thorold went to an old cousin who had already shown him a great deal of kindness; and, with his help, Tristram was equipped and shipped off to New Zealand. " Perhaps he will do better in a new world," Thorold said, when Joanna bewailed his departure rather bitterly. Tristram was her darling; she loved him far better than she did Thorold. Like many other prodigals, Tristram Chaytor was not without his endearing qualities. Women loved him, and he was good to them ; but in character he was selfish and unstable as water, and very prone to fall into temptation. Already, as Thorold knew, he had become addicted to low pleasures. His friends were worthless and dissipated; but Joanna, who was mildly obstinate on occasion, turned a deaf ear to all Thorold's hints on this subject. Tristram seemed to do better for a time in his new environ- 134 "Like Ships that pass in the Night" merit. Then he foolishly married some pretty, penniless girl who took his fancy, and after that they lost sight of him. Thorold was thinking of him now as he walked over the wet bridge; although he was a ne'er-do-well, he was his only brother, and in the old days they had been close chums and playfellows. " Dear old Trist," he said to himself. " I wonder what he is doing now, and if Ella makes him a good wife." And then, in the darkness, Tristram's handsome face and tender, humour- ous smile seemed to rise vividly before him. He could even hear his voice, clear and boyish, close to his ear — "Well played, old chappie — but it was a fluke for all that ! ' ' "What on earth makes me think of Trist to-night?" Thorold asked himself, in some perplexity — but if he had only guessed the truth, he need not have puzzled himself: at that very moment, under the flickering, wind-blown gaslight, the brothers had passed each other without recognition, " like ships that pass in the night." Thorold was trying to keep his umbrella steady, and took no notice of the passenger, who almost brushed his elbow — though he heard a small, childish voice say, "I don't like English rain, father." But the answer did not reach him. "Aye, it is a bit saft, Bet — as the Scotch folk say. Creep under my Inverness cape, little one, and it will keep you dry." And then the little feet toiled on wearily and bravely in the darkness. As Thorold let himself in with his latch-key, the parlour- door was opened hastily, and a woman's face peeped out anx- iously. "Is that you, Thorold?" Then the man bit his lip with sudden irritation. Day after day, month after month, this was Joanna's never-varying formula — until " Is that you, Thorold ?' ' seemed to be dinned into his brain like a monot- onous sing-song. "Who should it be" he longed to answer this evening. " What other fellow do you suppose would let himself in with my latch-key." But he controlled himself — Joanna had no sense of humour, and did not understand sarcasm. "Yes, here I am, as large as life," he returned, cheerfully. "But don't touch me, dear, for I am a trifle wet. Is supper ready ? I will just change my coat, and be with you in a moment. Ah! Rabat-la- Koum," as a big, grey Persian cat rubbed against his legs, "so you are there, old mother of all the cats; and you are coming up with me, eh?" i35 Mollie's Prince " Don't forget to rub your feet, Thorold. There were marks on the landing carpet yesterday ;" and then Joanna went back to pick up her knitting, feeling that she had properly wel- comed her brother. Joanna Chaytor had been a pretty girl, with that soft, rounded prettiness that belongs to youth; but at six-and- thirty she was faded and old-maidish. Doreen and Althea, who were several years older, scarcely looked their age, but Joanna had worn badly. Disappointment and sorrow, and the small, carking cares of daily life, had washed away the pretty bloom from her cheeks, and had sharpened the lines of her face. Her brown hair was streaked with grey, and though her figure was still graceful and she dressed youthfully, strangers always thought she was at least forty-five. Women are as old as they feel, people say, but in that case Joanna would have been seventy at least. To her the drama of life had been wholly tragical. She had lost her father and the mother she adored, and the beloved home of her childhood. The man to whom she had given her young affections and whom she looked upon as her future husband, had basely deserted her in her adversity ; and, as though this were not enough, her favourite brother was in exile, separated from her by the weary ocean. If Joanna had married Leslie Parker, she would have made an excellent wife and mother ; but her present environment did not suit her. She grew thin and weedy, as Althea once phrased it. Joanna was not a clever woman ; she was dense and emotional, and her mild obstinacy and tenacity were powerful factors in her daily life. She had long ago shelved her deeper griefs; but a never-ending crop of minor worries furnished her with topics of conversation. Thorold was fond of his sister, but she was no companion to him. His calm, self-restrained nature was the very anti- podes of Joanna's fretful and nervous temperament. Man- like, he failed to understand why the dust and sweepings of the day should be brought for his inspection. Joanna had not toiled long hours in hard, strenuous brain labour, in a grimy attic, with a three-legged Sisera curled up at her feet ; her work had been light, compared to his. Sometimes, when he felt lonely and weary, and the need for companionship was unusually strong, he would try and interest her in his day's work;- but it was always a failure. 136 "Like Ships that pass in the Night" She would listen, and then her attention would fly off at a tangent, or he would see her trying to stifle a yawn. There was something he wanted to tell her this evening ; for the day had been eventful to him. If Althea had been his sister, he would have followed her into the sitting-room, wet as he was, and would have told her triumphantly that his foot was on the rung of the ladder at last, and that he had begun to climb in earnest. And he would have told her, too, that before long their father's debts would be all cleared off. Thorold had not done this unaided. About eighteen months before, the old cousin who had come to his assistance with Tristram, died, and, with the exception of five hundred pounds to Joanna, left all his savings, amounting to several thousands, to Thorold. Thorold never consulted any one ; he asked no advice ; he paid in twelve hundred pounds at his banker's, that it might be ready for a rainy day, and then he went around to his father's creditors, paying off each one by turn. The racing debts had been settled years ago, in his father's lifetime, by the sale of the old Manor House and the lands adjoining ; but he had lived recklessly, and his creditors were many. He owed large sums to a carriage- builder in Baker Street, and to his tailor, wine merchant, and other tradespeople. One of them, a small jobbing carpenter, who lived in the village, stared incredulously at the cheque in his hand and then fairly burst out crying. "It is for joy, Mr. Thorold," cried the poor fellow, rub- bing his coat-sleeve across his eyes, " for I never expected to see a penny of the squire's money, and we have had hard times lately. Business has been slack, and my missis has been poorly and run up a doctor's bill, and God bless you, sir, for your honest dealing with a poor man, for I shall be able to keep the shop together now." And for that after- noon at least Thorold felt a lightening of the millstone round his neck. Joanna looked at him a little tearfully when he showed her the receipted bills. She was not too dense to understand the grandeur of the action. How few men would have con- sidered themselves bound by a few impulsive words gasped out by a deathbed ! "You have used all Cousin Rupert's money in paying father's debts," she said; and there was a queer look in her eyes. 137 Mollie's Prince " No, dear," he returned, gently, " I have not spent it all. I am keeping twelve hundred pounds for a rainy day. I thought that would be only right. But, Joa, there are only two bills left, and most of the things owing were for Tris- tram. ' ' "Tristram!" in a startled voice. "Are you sure of that?" « Yes— things that he wanted at Oxford and that father ordered ; but three or four hundred will clear off the whole account." "Thorold," returned his sister, plaintively — and now she was actually crying — "you do not expect me to help with my money ?' ' " No, of course not. What an idea !" he replied, hastily ; but all the same he felt vaguely surprised. All these years Joanna had stinted herself of comforts, had scraped and saved and pared down every unnecessary expense with un- grudging cheerfulness, and with all her grumblings and wor- ries she had never said one word of blame on this score. And now she was hugging her small fortune almost jealously. " I am very sorry, dear, but I cannot give you my money," she went on quickly. "It is my own money, you know. Dear Cousin Rupert left it to me. I have helped you as well as I could all these years, but I must keep this for my very own. ' ' "Of course you shall keep it," returned her brother; for Joanna was growing quite excited. "I sr.ppose you will put it into the London & County Bank." "Yes, that will be best; and then I can get it out easily." "The consols would be better, perhaps," he continued, musingly; "and you would get more interest. Or you might buy some of those shares that Doreen was mentioning. ' ' "No, no. I prefer the London & County," returned Joanna, obstinately. " Let me do what I like with my own money." And Thorold said no more. But now and then he won- dered if Joanna had drawn on her secret hoard. As far as he could see she had bought nothing fresh for the house, and certainly not for her dress, during the last eighteen months, and their bill of fare was not more luxurious. 138 Joanna tangles her Skein CHAPTER XVIII. JOANNA TANGLES HER SKEIN. "A child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman." Shakespeare. 11 Men are born with two eyes, but with one tongue, in order that they should see twice as much as they say." Colton. The house in High Street where the Chaytors lived was somewhat dingy and uninviting in its outward aspect, but in- side it was not without its advantages. A small paved court separated it from the street ; and at night its front windows were illuminated by the flaring gas- lights from the opposite shops. All day long the ceaseless patter of foot-passengers on the pavement, and the rumble and rattle of cabs, omnibuses, and carts, made the narrow windows shake in their frames. And it was far into the night before silence brooded over the old town. On one side of the passage was a small room where Thorold kept a good many of his books and papers. It was called the study, but he never sat there. Joanna had long ago proved to him that with one servant and a limited purse, an extra fire would be quite a sinful extravagance. It was for this reason too that she so seldom used her drawing-room. It was a pretty room on the first floor, with a pleasant view of the garden, and in summer she liked to sit at the open window with her work, and watch Thorold digging and raking in the borders. Gardening was his favourite amuse- ment, and he took great pride in his flower-beds. Some- times, when she had leisure, Joanna would weed or water a little ; but she always made much of these labours. The room they mostly used was a large one on the ground floor. It extended from the front to the back of the house, and the two narrow windows at the farther end overlooked the shady old garden. This part of the room was furnished as a study. The stained book-shelves were loaded with ponderous-looking 139 Mollie's Prince books. A writing-table occupied one window, and two com- fortable easy-chairs, and Joanna's overflowing work-basket, stood on either side of the fireplace. A book-stand and a reading-lamp were by Thorold's chair; the front portion of the room was used for their meals. When Thorold came down that evening the room looked warm and cosy. The crimson curtains were drawn, and a bright fire blazed cheerfully. The supper was laid, and Jemima had just brought in a small, covered dish, and placed it before her mistress. Thorold was hungry, for his luncheon had been a light one. For a wonder, the chops were well cooked and hot ; and as he helped himself to the nicely browned mashed potatoes, he felt disposed to enjoy himself. He would tell Joanna about his visit to Murdoch & Williams. She would be interested ; and for once they would have a sociable evening. He even thought that he would ask for a cup of coffee, as he felt chilled and tired. And then, by way of making himself pleasant, he commended Jemima's cookery. It was an unfortunate choice of subjects. Joanna, who had been tranquilly eating her supper, suddenly grew red and querulous. "Ah, she can cook well enough if she chooses," she re- turned, "but there! she so seldom chooses to take pains. Thorold, I shall have to part with that girl j her wastefulness and extravagance are beyond everything. And then she is so self-willed, too — she will not mind anything I tell her. Again and again I have begged her not to put an egg in the rice pudding, but she does it all the same." "I suppose she thinks the egg will make the pudding nicer," returned Thorold, mildly; and then, to change the subject, he said, boldly, " I have rather a headache this even- ing, dear. Do you think Jemima could make me a cup of coffee?" "She could make it, but I doubt if you would care to drink it," she returned, fretfully. " And she wants to go out, too. She has got a young man, I know she has; I taxed her with it this very morning, and she was as impertinent as possible." "My dear Joa" — for his sense of fairness was roused by this — "why should not the poor girl have a lover? She is very good-looking, and as long as she conducts herself prop- erly I can see no objection to the young man." 140 Joanna tangles her Skein "Yes, and she will be having him in, and giving him supper when we are out — not that I ever do go out, Heaven knows ! I declare I quite envy you, Thorold, going out every morning to your work. Women's lives are far more dull and monotonous than men's;" here Joanna's voice waxed more plaintive than ever— it was naturally rather a sweet voice, but fretfulness and discontent had deadened the harmony. If, as they say, the closing of an eyelid will shut out the lustre of a planet, so, to Joanna, the small everyday worries seemed to obliterate the larger and grander interests of life. Jemima's good looks, her lover, her small imperti- nences and misdemeanours, loomed like gigantic shadows on her horizon. " If she could only learn the right proportion of things!" Thorold had said once to Althea, almost in despair. When Joanna made her dolorous little speech, Thorold raised his eyes from his plate and looked at her. ' ' Why do you not go to the Red House oftener ?' ' he asked, gravely. " You know how glad they would be to have you. You stay at home too much, Joa, but it is your own fault, you know. Doreen and Althea are always sending you invitations." " Yes, I know, and I am very fond of Althea. But some- how I never care to go to the Red House ; it reminds me too much of the dear old Manor House. That room of Althea's makes me quite shiver when I enter it." "Oh, I would not give way to those feelings, Joa," he returned, hastily. "In life one has to harden one's self to all sorts of things, and it is no use moping and brooding over troubles that cannot be altered. If Jemima wants to go out, perhaps we had better not wait any longer. ' ' And then he lighted his reading lamp, and unfolded his paper. In spite of the well-cooked chops, supper had certainly not been more festive than usual. And then a strange fancy came to Thorold. How would it be with him if some younger, brighter face were to be opposite to him, evening after evening. Would not his home, humble as it was, be a very different place ? He knew why he was happier in his chambers at Lincoln's Inn. To his reserved temperament, solitude was far preferable than un- congenial fellowship with this small human soul, this weary little pilgrim forever carrying her heavy pack of worries. " Poor dear Joa," he said to himself, for his keen eyes had noticed the reddened eyelids. " Very likely she remembers 141 Mollie's Prince that it is Tristram's birthday, and that he is thirty-eight to-day." Jemima had cleared the table and vanished. He was still alone, and Rabat-la- Koum was curled up like a huge grey ball at his feet; the leading article was unusually clever, and absorbed him until a sudden fragrance pervaded the room, and there stood Joanna at his elbow with a steaming cup of coffee. "I waited until Jemima went out, and then I made it myself. It is very strong coffee, Thorold, and it will do your head good." Joanna's voice was a little more cheerful as she said this, and the slight flush from her exertions made her look younger. Thorold was quite touched; he put out his hand and patted his sister's arm caressingly. " How good of you to take so much trouble, my dear ! I never thought of the coffee again. Sit down, Joa, and let us be comfortable. I have been wanting to tell you something all the evening." "Have you, indeed?" and Joanna brightened. "Wait a moment. I want to wind some wool. I can hear you talk all the same. And yet I must mention one thing before you begin. The gas man called for his account, and you forgot to leave the cheque." "Did I? I was in a hurry. But I will write it before I go to bed." "Thank you. And there is one other thing, Thorold. If Jemima goes at her month, as she threatens, will she not forfeit her wages? You are a lawyer, so you ought to know." "I am quite sure Jemima means to do nothing of the kind," he returned, impatiently. "Look here, Joa, she is the best servant we have had yet, and I would rather raise her wages than part with her. Take my advice for once, praise her a little more and find fault with her a little less ; and if you are wise you will leave her young man alone;" and then he drank his coffee, moodily. Joanna had quenched his attempt at conversation again. Joanna pondered Tho- rold's advice as she unravelled her skein of yarn ; it was somewhat tangled, and as she pulled it with nervous jerks, the yarn snapped and the ball rolled from her hand. Thorold suppressed a forcible interjection as he groped under his chair for the ball. If ever he married, he deter- mined that one of the first rules he would make for his wife's 142 Joanna tangles her Skein guidance would be that all wool-winding should be done by daylight. Joanna had a tiresome habit of leaving a tangled skein for the comparative leisure of the evening hours. Thorold used to wonder sometimes if all her skeins were tangled. It got on his nerves sometimes and spoilt the enjoyment of his reading. Joanna's limp, nerveless movements, her jerky beginnings and abrupt endings, her brief spasms of energy, and the inevitable hunt for the unlucky ball, irritated him at times beyond en- durance. It is quite ridiculous and almost derogatory to one's dignity to think how much daily life is marred by these small frets and torments. The buzzing of a bluebottle against the window-pane is certainly preferable to a brass band when the instruments are cracked, but the whizzing and fizzing of the insect may in time jar on the ear ; and to thin-skinned people a midge's bite is fruitful of irritation. Joanna was making up her mind slowly that her brother had given her good counsel, and that perhaps it would be well for her to follow it. Thorold was the master of the house, and if he wished to keep Joanna, of course the girl must stay. And when Joanna had arrived at this point, she broke the thread of her yarn again.' " I thought there was something you wanted to tell me, Thorold," she said, rather reproachfully, when she had found a new beginning. " I have brought my work and am ready to talk, but you do nothing but read. ' ' Then Thorold threw down his paper impatiently. " I thought you were too busy with that work," he returned, rather curtly ; " and, after all, it does not matter. It was only about my own business affairs. ' ' " Oh, but I want to hear it," replied his sister, with much mild obstinacy. "It is seldom that you do care to talk to me, Thorold;" and here Joanna's voice was decidedly plaintive. "I sometimes think that if it were not for finding fault with Jemima I should almost lose the use of my voice." Thorold was fast losing patience. Joanna was in one of her most trying moods ; she was at once aggressive and despondent. She was at all times very tenacious of her sisterly privileges, and nothing offended her more than being kept in the dark. Well, he might as well get it over and be done with it; but he would be as brief as possible. "I only wanted to tell you that I have had a very satisfactory interview with Murdoch & Williams." 143 Mollie's Prince "Oh, indeed" — and here Joanna frowned anxiously over her skein. " They are solicitors, are they not?" "Yes, but they are very big people. Joa, I think I am likely to get the brief. You see" — warming to his subject — " our last case was so satisfactory, and we got our client such heavy damages, that Murdoch & Williams were quite pleased. The junior partner made himself very pleasant, and said all kinds of civil things." "And you think you will get it, Thorold?" and Joanna actually laid down her skein. " I shall certainly get it;" and Thorold's eyes flashed with triumph as he spoke ; at such moments his face was full of expression. " It will be a big case, Joa, and Sergeant Riving- ton will be leading counsel on our side." And then again he told himself that his foot was on the rung of the ladder, and that he had begun to climb in earnest. "I am very glad, Theo;" and Joanna's blue eyes were rather tearful. She and Tristram had often called him Theo, but she seldom used the old pet name now. Thorold smiled a little sadly as he heard it. " I knew you would be pleased, dear;" and his voice soft- ened. " It will make a great difference to our income. Joa, I have made up my mind that the last of the debts shall be paid off before Christmas, and we will begin the New Year free and untrammelled. There shall be an end of all your small peddling economies. We shall not be rich, but at least we need not hoard our cheese-parings and candle-ends." "I do not know what you mean, Thorold!" returned Joanna, in a puzzled tone. "We never use candles except in the coal cellar." Then Thorold gave a grim, unmirthful laugh. If he ever married, the lady of his choice should have some sense of humour; nothing is more harassing and trying to the temper than to have to talk down to the level of one's daily com- panion. Althea once said, rather wittily, that Joa's brains were like a nutmeg-grater — one had to rub one's nutmeg very hard before the spicy fragments would filter through it. " Perhaps we may have a better