THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 *0 Pacific Avi 
 
 LONG BEACH; 
 CALIFORNIA !
 
 Love for an Hour 
 Is Love Forever 
 
 New York 
 Dodd, Mead and Company
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1891, 
 
 BY 
 ROBERT BONNER'S SONS 
 
 All Rights Reserved
 
 LH 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGP 
 
 I. " WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR t" i 
 
 II. " TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE! " 14 
 
 III. THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER 28 
 
 VI. MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE 46 
 
 V. A HAPPY HOUR 65 
 
 VI. " IT HAS TO BE BORNE " 84 
 
 VII. THE HOUSE OF DEATH 98 
 
 VIII. LOVE'S DESPAIR 117 
 
 IX. LOVE TIED IN A KNOT 139 
 
 X. AT LAST GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING. ... 160 
 
 XI. FORTUNATE GOLD AND SORROWFUL LOVE 183 
 
 XII. HOPE AND Two SAD WOMEN 204 
 
 XIII. MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE 229 
 
 XIV. "THEY WHO LOVE SHOW THEIR LOVE." 251 
 
 XV. IN SEARCH OF LOVE 272 
 
 XVI. AND Now LOVE SANG!... .. 284 
 
 2061823
 
 LOVE FOR AN HOUR IS LOVE 
 FOREVER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR?" 
 " Who rides by with royal air? " 
 
 " Though fate may frown, and death may sever, 
 Love for an hour is love forever." 
 
 FJETWEEN the leaves of an old romance I found 
 JL) one day the shadow of a lily and a song. The lily 
 grew forty years ago, the song was sung as it was gath- 
 ered. The flower is nearly dust, the words have nearly 
 faded away, but the story they keep is unforgotten. 
 For in becoming " Life " it made itself eternal. 
 
 Before the flower bloomed, before the song had found 
 a voice, Francesca Atherton had dreamed of love, as 
 saints dream of heaven wonderful, mystical, far off 
 an object both of fervent desire and of wistful fear and 
 uncertainty. For her young life had been peopled from 
 noble books, and it was in their pages she had met her 
 friends and companions men, romantically honorable 
 and loyal ; women, faithful in love, even unto death
 
 2 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 both alike doing nobly with this life, because they held 
 it as the gage for life eternal. 
 
 And Francesca believed these shadowy forms to be 
 portraits of the people whom she would one day meet in 
 the world. No one told her differently. Her aunt the 
 still beautiful Loida Vyner held the same opinion ; for 
 she had only made little holiday visits into the world, 
 and she was quite ignorant of all that was mean or self- 
 ish in the pomps and vanities she took no part in. 
 Gentle and romantic, carrying in her heart the " hush " 
 of a great sorrow, Miss Vyner had brought up her 
 motherless niece in that sweet, pious simplicity which 
 makes a woman not only charming in good fortune but 
 patient and strong in the days of calamity. 
 
 In this exquisite schooling of a young soul Squire 
 Atherton had little part. He distrusted himself entirely 
 where Francesca was concerned. He would have taken 
 a son to the kennels and the ferret hutches, made him 
 wise in stable lore, and taught him all the mysteries of 
 woodcraft. The little maid, even at nine years old, 
 puzzled him. Her eyes, full of solemn wonder, gave 
 him an uncomfortable sense of incompetency. Her 
 liand had but to clasp his finger, and he felt under an 
 irresistible authority.' And when her small face lay 
 against his large, sunbrowned cheek, he had neither 
 wish nor will of his own, to speak of. 
 
 " She is just a little lady! God love her! " he said to 
 his sister-in-law, " and she must have a lady to guide 
 her. As for me, Loida, thou knows, I would lay my 
 hands under her feet." And Loida, looking up at the 
 man standing firm as an oak before her massive, tall, 
 tough, fearless felt all the wonderful surrender in this
 
 *WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR?" 3 
 
 free expression of love, and of love's service "/ would 
 lay my hands tinder her feet." 
 
 If this was the squire's feeling when Francesca was 
 nine years old, when she was nineteen it was ten years 
 stronger. For he had then begun to realize that his 
 child had become a woman, and that the high park 
 walls of Atherton Court would not much longer keep 
 away from her whatever Fate was waiting. 
 
 " And I'll tell thee what, Loida," he said one day, as 
 they sat talking, "if anything goes wrong with Fran- 
 cesca, the world will be just four bare walls to me." 
 
 As he spoke he rose and went to the window. The 
 leaded sashes were open, and a robin-redbreast, singing 
 on an ivy branch, was almost in the room. The squire 
 chirruped to the bird, but kept his eyes upon his daugh- 
 ter. She was coming slowly up the low stone steps of 
 the terrace, lifting slightly her long white dress with one 
 hand, and scattering wheat with the other to the many 
 colored pigeons, who paced and plumed and bridled 
 their opal necks, and " coo, coo, coo'd " around her 
 feet. 
 
 He called to her, because he wished to hear her 
 voice ; and she let the wheat fall from her hand and 
 lifted her hat with a joyous upward movement. 
 
 " Where have you been, Francesca ? " he asked. 
 
 " I went to the south walls, to ask the apricots if they 
 were ripe. And one like roses and amber told me 
 to try it." 
 
 " Was it good, dearie ? " 
 
 " It was like sunshine and wine and musk-roses and 
 one of your kisses, dear father." She was by this 
 time at the open window, and she sent the compliment
 
 4 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 straight to his heart, with a smile as ravishing as love 
 and beauty could make it. 
 
 " Eh! but thy words are like music. I don't wonder 
 the very birds love to hear them. Robin was singing till 
 you came ; now, like a wise bird, he is listening to thee." 
 
 " I have just been listening to the starlings. They 
 have been holding a large public meeting. Do you 
 think, father, that they are addicted to politics f No, 
 it must have been a religious meeting. It was extremely 
 orderly. There is a starling who lives in the east gable ; 
 he is quite a religious bird. I have often seen him on 
 the topmost stone of the highest chimney gaze on the 
 green earth and up at the blue sky, and then clap his 
 wings softly, to the most joyful song you can imagine. 
 He was singing to God, I am sure he was." 
 
 " I wouldn't wonder, dearie." 
 
 " Father, I walked through the park to the great 
 gates. And I saw two gentlemen go past them. One 
 was old, and one was young; that is, one was much 
 older than the other; and they looked so happy, out 
 there, in the world. I wished I was a man even an 
 old man if I could only go riding up and down, as my 
 fancy led me." 
 
 "I'll warrant it was their business, and not their 
 fancy, that led them into this bit of country, Francesca. 
 Why-a! They be coming here, my little lady. Go 
 tell your Aunt Loida. They will need a bite and sup, 
 whoever they be." 
 
 And she heard, as she went away, the trample of 
 horses' feet, and the sound of men's voices, and that 
 little flurry of formal welcome that marks the unex- 
 pected yet not unwelcome visitor. For visitors were
 
 "WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR?" 5 
 
 rare at Atherton Court, and the squire was glad to talk 
 to those who brought to him for awhile the atmosphere 
 of the busy world. 
 
 To Francesca their coming was also a little event. 
 She felt a kind of personal interest in these strangers, 
 she had seen them before any one in the house ; and 
 she was pleased when the ostler took away their horses. 
 
 "They are going to stay to dinner," she mentally 
 commented, "and I wonder what I shall put on!" It 
 was a delightful uncertainty to her ; she opened first one 
 and then another of the wide drawers in her ambry ; 
 and stood looking down at their contents. The scent 
 of lavender stole softly out of them, and mingled with 
 the sweet air of the room. And the sunshine fell on 
 several pale-colored gowns, pink and amber, and blue 
 and white. She could not tell which one was the pret- 
 tiest, but it was quite an important question to settle ; 
 because a stranger was such a rarity. One of these 
 might be a lord or a lover ; might be the prince of all 
 her fairylike love-dreams. 
 
 In the twinkling of an eye a girl's bright glance can 
 see a great deal ; and Francesca in a moment's space, 
 from out of the green shadows in which she stood, had 
 noticed the tall, graceful man who held his bridle so 
 lightly, and who turned a handsome, dark face toward 
 the dim beech alley, through which he must have seen 
 her sauntering. 
 
 The dresses, crisp and fresh with the clear starching 
 now gone out of use, lay across the snowy counterpane. 
 She considered their claims with a divided heart ; none 
 pleased her above all others. " I shall have to shut my 
 eyes and take what fortune sends me," she said, with
 
 6 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 a low laugh of satisfaction. " We have to do that about 
 many other things, I am sure." 
 
 Then she lifted her watch, and saw that it was only 
 a little after eleven. " And dinner will not be served 
 until two perhaps until half -past two ; for Ann Pierson 
 will have to make a syllabub, of course. She thinks 
 visitors come to Atherton to eat her syllabubs." 
 
 This primitive toilet divination was obviated by the 
 decision of Aunt Loida, who immediately on entering 
 the room perceived the dilemma, and met it. 
 
 " I would wear the pink muslin, Frances," she said. 
 " It is sheerer and smarter ; and you can go to the gar- 
 den when you are dressed, and get some myrtle-leaves 
 and white clematis. And black lace mitts, my dear. 
 Be sure of the black lace mitts! They give an air of 
 modesty to a young girl. They say to a gentleman : 
 ' The tips of my fingers only, sir.' " 
 
 Francesca looked, with a smile, at the tips of her fin- 
 gers, and said : 
 
 " If you please, aunt, for whom am I to wear pink 
 muslin, and white clematis, and the limiting black 
 mitts ? " 
 
 " Our visitors are Mr. Stephen Leigh and his son." 
 
 " I never heard of them before. Did you ? I hope 
 they have not come about money. Every one now 
 seems to come about money." 
 
 " They are very rich, and we owe them nothing. Mr. 
 Leigh is a loom-lord. He lives to make woolen cloth. 
 But that is neither here nor there. The younger man is 
 extremely handsome, and, and I am sure, Frances, 
 you will be careful. I mean, dear you will not let 
 him make any impression you know what I mean."
 
 "WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR?" 7 
 
 " Indeed, Aunt Loida, I do not know what you 
 mean." 
 
 " Young people sometimes fancy they have fallen in 
 love, when they have not." 
 
 " Why should you warn me about falling in love ? 
 Have I ever done such a thing? Is it a common trans- 
 gression of mine? How many opportunities have I 
 had to be so imprudent ? Is ' imprudent ' the word ? 
 Or should I use a stronger one ? " 
 
 " I see that I have been unwise in speaking to you, 
 Francesca." 
 
 " You should not have spoken on this subject. I am 
 nearly nineteen years old, Aunt Loida." 
 
 "It is such an important subject! O Francesca, 
 such a fateful subject ! It makes or mars human lives 
 in a few moments. I am ' one of those who know,' my 
 dear." 
 
 Miss Vyner's still face flushed, and she dropped her 
 eyes upon her gray silk dress and smoothed out a fanci- 
 ful crease. 
 
 It was the first approach to confidence ever given, 
 and Francesca went to her aunt's side and took her 
 hand. Some vague tradition of Loida Vyner's disap- 
 pointment in love had floated into her consciousness 
 almost imperceptibly, but the idea had always been 
 pale, remote, and without much meaning. At this mo- 
 ment she had a revelation that troubled and restrained 
 her, and a spell of sadness fell between the two women. 
 
 It lingered in the room after Miss Vyner had left it, 
 and Francesca was a little impatient of the feeling. She 
 began to sing softly, but ere she was aware her voice 
 had slipped into a monotonous air, full of old world sad*
 
 8 LOVE f-'OK AN HOUR. 
 
 ness. Then she broke it off suddenly, and, in a quiet 
 hurry, finished her toilet. For once she forgot to take 
 a little pleasure in her own beauty to watch in the two 
 long mirrors the graceful sweep of pink muslin across 
 the dark oak floor ; to notice the gleam of her white 
 arms and throat ; the heavy braids of her nut-brown 
 hair; the rose-like tints of her face, and the sparkling 
 lights of her large gray eyes. But it was only one 
 o'clock, and she could go to the garden and get flow- 
 ers, and do all these things in that final five minutes be- 
 fore dinner. 
 
 As she passed through the hall, she heard her father 
 talking. His voice had an argumentative ring ; it was 
 clear and positive. 
 
 " Now I know what these people have come for," she 
 said to herself ; " politics. I dare say this Stephen Leigh 
 is a Radical, for father never talks that way but when 
 somebody is saying something against the Conservative 
 government." As soon as she had settled the visit upon 
 a political basis, her spirits rose ; the decision put away 
 some unacknowledged money care. 
 
 With a light step she went down the terrace into the 
 pleasant stretch of odorous shrubs and blossoming 
 flowers. Here there were all kinds of shady alleys; 
 rose hedges shut in some, and the laburnums' rain of 
 gold and the climbing honeysuckle others ; and lower 
 down toward the steps of the second terrace there was 
 a thick screen of white clematis. It covered also a 
 little summer-house overlooking the steps and the hilly 
 sward in which they were set ; and lower down, the 
 place of summer fruits. The desire to enter the summer- 
 house was irresistible. It was so cool, and then the
 
 "WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR?" g 
 
 light was so green there, and her pink dress made such 
 a charming glow in its dim shadow. She spread it out 
 with an obvious childlike pride in the contrast. 
 
 Oh, the stillness! Oh, the sweet smell of growing 
 wood ; of the soil ; of the flowers ; of the ripening fruit ! 
 Youth has a sensuous hunger for such alluring odors, 
 and Francesca sat and closed her eyes, the better to 
 enjoy them. The chair was her father's chair ; it was 
 large and soft ; the air was the noontide air, it was 
 warm and sleepy ; her soul was in the mood of a truant, 
 and it slipped away into the land of dreams. 
 
 She awakened suddenly, as if she had been sharply 
 called. All the lower space of the fruit garden was 
 full of sweetest melody : 
 
 " I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls." 
 
 That was very like what she had been dreaming. She 
 rose quickly to her feet, a warm crimson wave rushed 
 over her throat and face, her eyes grew larger and 
 darker, she parted the clematis vines and looked through 
 them. 
 
 A young man was slowly walking between the plum 
 and the apricot standards, and singing as he walked. 
 His voice had magic in it. The tender, ringing tones, 
 now sharp and clear, then soft and lingering, came float- 
 ing up the terrace and went straight to her heart. She 
 had heard the first verse of the song in her sleep never 
 before and the second verse had an insinuating famil- 
 iarity she could not resist. 
 
 The singer came slowly onward, taking the terrace- 
 steps with a charming deliberation. He held an apri- 
 cot, and he threw it lightly from one hand to the other,
 
 10 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 making the act as rhythmical and graceful as the melody 
 he sang to the movement. He was bare-headed, slender 
 and talJ, and carried himself with a royal air. As he 
 came closer, she saw that he was very handsome ; that 
 his mouth was sweet and smiling ; that his clothes had 
 the gloss of fashion. He stood a moment on the top- 
 most step ; stood in the sunshine singing, serenely glad, 
 and wearing the look of a man who had always lived 
 in the sunniest places of human happiness. 
 
 Francesca would have fled, but flight was now im- 
 possible. She could only tremble with fear and shame, 
 only reflect that he would be sure to think she had 
 come there purposely to watch him. She forgot even 
 to sit down, and thus give the idea, at least, of indiffer- 
 ence. Putting together the parted vines, she stood very 
 upright, facing the leafy entrance. Her left hand was 
 dropped, her right hand grasped the back of the large 
 chair. Pinker than her muslin gown was her face ; her 
 eyes shone like stars ; her manner expressed forcibly the 
 confusion of a soul surprised in its very citadel. 
 
 For a moment the singer and the listener looked 
 straight into each other's eyes. Something impelled 
 them to this recognizance. Then Francesca said : 
 
 " I am Miss Atherton." 
 
 And the stranger said : 
 
 " I am Lancelot Leigh." 
 
 And she gave him just the tips of her fingers, and 
 they went through the garden together. And the white 
 clematis were never gathered, which was a fortunate 
 thing, for the free flowers of the gadding vine hold no 
 love-spell in their wide-open' cups. There was one hour 
 before dinner, and love for an hour is love forever if
 
 "WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR?" II 
 
 it be true love. These two souls had just found each 
 other, and they had so much to say, and seemed to 
 choose such unmeaning words that any one not of the 
 faculty of love would have been puzzled at their satis- 
 faction. A few syllables and a glance a glance and a 
 flower one step at a time, and the touch of their hands 
 these simple vehicles of understanding held a meas- 
 ureless contentment. And when they took the terraced 
 steps together, the tips of their fingers had a language 
 all their own mystically sweet as the influences of the 
 Pleiades, mystically binding as the virtues of Orion. 
 They were talking of names at the time, and he said, 
 softly : 
 
 " I am called Lancelot." 
 
 She answered : 
 
 " I am called Francesca." 
 
 He repeated the word slowly "Francesca! " and 
 every letter was vivid as light, and the name went to 
 his brain like wine. 
 
 What did it matter to them that they were late to 
 dinner, and that the squire, with a slow dignity that 
 was almost a reproof, told them so ? What did it mat- 
 ter that he looked annoyed, and Aunt Loida anxious, 
 and that the conversation was confined to the elder 
 gentlemen, and was painfully political. The great 
 point was that dinner would so soon be over, and that 
 they must then learn for the first time how hard it is to 
 spell the word "parting." Francesca could make no 
 attempt to do it. She turned white, and remained 
 dumb. Lancelot touched her fingers again, and said, 
 "Good-night;" and, if his eyes lied not, said many 
 sweeter words.
 
 12 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Francesca did not doubt them. All of love, and of 
 love's confession that sprung from their beautiful depths, 
 she implicitly believed. And, though it was yet a secret 
 between their happy souls, she was certain the hour for 
 its translation into mortal language would come would 
 surely come. 
 
 As soon as his visitors were out of sight, the squire 
 gave way to his natural temper. He turned sharply 
 round, went into his parlor, and filled a fresh " yard of 
 clay " with his strongest tobacco. Miss Vyner let him 
 puff some of his annoyance into smoke ere she asked 
 the irritating question : 
 
 " What is the matter with you, Rashleigh ? You act 
 as if you were vexed at something." 
 
 " I am vexed at something. Whatever does thou 
 think of a cotton-mill near Atherton ? " 
 
 " A mill ! W T hy, Rashleigh ! Never ! " 
 
 " That is what brought Stephen Leigh to my house. 
 He was sure he could buy me over ; he thought I would 
 sell him Atherton Dingle ; he talked about ' water-power ' 
 as if water-power was God Almighty." 
 
 " You would not sell the Dingle ? " 
 
 " Not for gold. And nobody shall make gold out of 
 its silver water and nodding bluebells if I can stop 
 them. Why-a! there isn't a tree in Atherton would not 
 whisper ' Shame! ' to me if I sold Atherton Dingle for a 
 mill village." 
 
 " He must have been a little trying to you." 
 
 " He was very trying. But thou may be sure I gave 
 him some words that had more strength than grace in 
 them." 
 
 " I should not wonder if you did."
 
 " WHO RIDES BY WITH ROYAL AIR?" 13 
 
 As this moment Francesca came into the room, and 
 the squire, having had a taste of sympathy, longed for 
 more. He turned to his daughter with an air of injury : 
 
 " Whatever dost thou think brought the Leighs here, 
 Francesca? " 
 
 " Politics, I suppose." 
 
 "My joy! Thou art wrong this time. They want 
 me to sell the Dingle." 
 
 He expected to see her face flame and to hear her 
 passionately protest. She only looked with curiosity 
 and interest in his face, and so waited for further infor- 
 mation. 
 
 "Yes, joy! They wanted to build a mill there a 
 great ugly cotton-mill ! " 
 
 "Would not that be a good thing, father?" 
 
 If she had struck him, the squire could scarcely have 
 been more angry and amazed. 
 
 " If thou hast no more sense and feeling than to 
 speak in such a way as that, I had better hold my peace 
 to thee." 
 
 " But mills make money, father, and some of our 
 people are very poor." 
 
 "Poor! Not they! Thou should see the squalid, 
 murmuring poverty of a mill village. The poor in our 
 farm villages are decent. They don't live in cellars and 
 alleys. They have their cottages on the fell-side, and 
 a garden-plot, and a hive of bees, and a few sheep, and 
 they go to church, and serve God, and do their duty. 
 But if thou, Francesca a lady of the land art going 
 to side with mill-men and such like, I may as well slip 
 into my coffin and be done with everything!"
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 "TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE!" 
 
 " Lovers have said these things before, 
 Lovers will say them evermore." 
 
 " Don't thee marry for money, 
 But go where money lies." 
 
 QTEPHEN LEIGH was the owner of the great mill 
 O at Little Garsby, a village that lay among the In- 
 gleton Falls, on the borders of what was once the lone- 
 liest and loveliest portion of the West Riding. But 
 steam had found out its abundance of water and ready 
 facilities, and gradually its hills and valleys had been 
 blotched with mills and all its sparkling waters made to 
 toil and spin. 
 
 The Leighs were sons and daughters of the soil; 
 strong, individual, elemental men and women, whose 
 prejudices were convictions, and whose opinions, likes, 
 and dislikes, being self-evolved, were in reality a part of 
 each existence, and not to be surrendered except with 
 the life of which they were the expression. 
 
 For many centuries the Leighs had lived at Leigh 
 Farm, a large, rambling, gray stone house, covered 
 with trained fruit trees. The branches framed the low, 
 wide windows of lozenge-shaped glass ; and the house 
 stood in a pleasant garden, and was surrounded by 
 meadows and cornfields. Stephen Leigh had made
 
 "TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE!" 15 
 
 some fine additions to it, but the old English character 
 of the house had been preserved ; and even the interior 
 decorations, though handsome and costly, sustained in a 
 satisfactory manner the ancient character which belonged 
 to the place. 
 
 Until the middle of the present century, the Leighs 
 had been farmers, and were known far and wide as 
 great horsemen 
 
 ' ' Shrewd Yorkshire tykes, 
 Who, dealing in horseflesh, 
 Had never their likes." 
 
 Stephen's father had begun weaving in a small way, and 
 with but a half-heart. Stephen threw all his faculties 
 into the business, and he had made himself a rich and 
 influential man. Unfortunately, the possession of more 
 money than his business required developed in him a 
 passion for investment and speculation that kept his 
 more legitimate gains in constant danger and his wife 
 Martha in perpetual fear and irritation. 
 
 " We are rich people living night and day on the varry 
 edge of ruin," was her frequent statement of their posi- 
 tion. 
 
 This conviction made her go about her beautiful 
 home with a soured and angry heart, for Leigh Farm 
 was the very apple of her eye. She was a cousin of 
 Stephen's ; her mother had been a daughter of the 
 house, and her own life had never consciously been 
 spent outside its walls. From garret to cellar it was 
 crowded with the belongings and the associations of her 
 people. 
 
 That they were out of this world did not weaken their
 
 1 6 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 influence over her. She spoke of the rooms Seth Leigh 
 had built in Queen Anne's reign just as she spoke of 
 those her husband had built in Queen Victoria's reign ; 
 and Cicely Leigh, who one hundred years before had 
 shot a man discovered in the act of setting fire to her 
 hay-ricks, was as real a person to Martha as was her own 
 husband or son. She often went about her work talking 
 to the shade of the valiant Cicely as if she was present ; 
 discussing with her the circumstances which led to the 
 crime, and fully exonerating her for taking so fatal a 
 reprisal. 
 
 The rooms that had been Cicely Leigh's were now 
 Martha's ; and the handsome resolute face of her ances- 
 tress followed her from them, and went with her about 
 her daily duties, and was a familiar to Martha Leigh's 
 imagination ; though imagination was the quality which, 
 above all others, she despised, being consciously the 
 most practical and material of women ; being uncon- 
 sciously highly imaginative, and disposed to let her im- 
 agination work upon such spiritual instincts as she pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 She had married Stephen because he was a Leigh and 
 the inheritor of the old house which she so dearly loved. 
 For twenty years she had lived in it, her grandfather's 
 favorite companion ; and when the old man died and 
 Stephen came to his place, she had not unwillingly ac- 
 cepted the new master's offer to remain at Leigh Farm 
 as his wife. And the marriage had been a very happy 
 one as long as Stephen was only making money. Chil- 
 dren had died, and losses had come, but the balance of 
 happiness and gold was in their favor, until Stephen had 
 become so wealthy that the overplus of his gold was a
 
 "TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE!" 1J 
 
 care. Then he began to speculate in railroad stock, and, 
 being successful, the operation became irresistible to him. 
 
 His wife trembled for the reverses she was certain 
 would come ; and her perpetual worrying so far in- 
 fluenced Stephen as to make him resolve to build another 
 mill. A mill at least was a tangible result, and if shares 
 should tumble to nothing, the mill would be fast on its 
 foundations, and be so much saved money. 
 
 Looking about for a location, he fixed his mind upon 
 Atherton Dingle. That Squire Atherton would refuse 
 to sell was a contingency he had not considered. All 
 his life he had found money abase all altitudes and over- 
 come all difficulties. He had never seen any adversity 
 in which it could not at least find friends ; nor any pros- 
 perity in which it was not a consideration. That a man 
 with competent senses to manage his affairs should re- 
 fuse a few thousand pounds for the sake of cascades and 
 bluebells and pure air, seemed to Stephen Leigh either 
 a piece of unmitigated folly, or of deliberate imperti- 
 nence. 
 
 And he was half inclined to think Squire Atherton 
 had been ridiculing his commercial, money-making re- 
 spectability : " Putting a bit of fine scenery before a 
 handsome four-story mill, that would be a credit and an 
 ornament to any place, ay, to Atherton Court itsen. I 
 made him a tip-top offer," he said, turning to his son 
 Lancelot, with an air of inquiry. 
 
 " But he did not wish to sell the Dingle, father." 
 
 " Niver mind! He'll hev to sell, varry soon, if he 
 goes on throwing good gold away wi' a toss of his head 
 and a wave of his white hand, as he did to-day. But 
 I'm not beat yet! Not I! I've said I would build a
 
 1 8 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 mill on these fells, and I will. Bingley owns the land 
 next Atherton's. I'll be bound Bingley will take my 
 offer. Will a mill to the right of the Dingle be any- 
 better than one in it ? Not a bit. And Atherton will 
 be a few thousand pounds out of pocket that's all." 
 
 " Did you tell him that you would go to Bingley ? " 
 
 " Ay, I did. He said : ' If Bingley chose to sell, that 
 could not give him leave or license to be false to his 
 land and his old neighbors ! ' " 
 
 " I think, father, Squire Atherton may be right, from 
 his point of view. If England is to remain what she 
 has been, there must be a race of landed gentlemen. 
 John Bull is a man of acres and country houses, of 
 cornfields and stalled oxen." 
 
 " There is no call for England to remain what she is, 
 or hes been. She might be a goodish bit better. The 
 old John Bull is varry nearly dead, my lad, and his sons 
 hev learnt a thing or two beyond cornfields and stalled 
 oxen. They hev gone into the money market, and into 
 the manufacturing business. Bless you, Lance, there is 
 no money in farming now." 
 
 " Perhaps Squire Atherton does not put money before 
 everything else." 
 
 "Then he ought to do so. Pounds, shillings, and 
 pence stand for all worth heving." 
 
 " You do not think so, father. They could not stand 
 for Atherton Court, with its grand old rooms and gar- 
 dens full of old associations." 
 
 " In the day of buying and selling, how much, my 
 lad, will old associations bring ? " 
 
 " Father, your words do not agree with your actions. 
 Leigh Farm House is not a splendid home, though you
 
 TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE!" 19 
 
 have spent a deal of money on it, but I have heard you 
 say you ' would not give it in exchange for a palace.' 
 And the big oak chair you will sit in is about as uncom- 
 fortable as a chair can be, but you prefer it to any other 
 chair, and you permit nobody to use it but yourself." 
 
 "Wait a bit, my lad. When I am gone the way of 
 my fathers, thou can stretch thy legs out of it. All the 
 Leighs, when they hev been ' master,' hev sat in it. I 
 think mysen good enough to fill their seat. I am mebbe 
 better than most that came before. I hev done a deal 
 for the old place, and I hev made the varry name of 
 ' Leigh ' stand for a bit of good cloth, all over that part 
 of the world as knows what a bit of good cotton cloth 
 ought to be. And I will tell thee something : It is not 
 the landed gentry of England, nor yet Squire Atherton, 
 thou art thinking about ; it is Squire Atherton's bonny 
 daughter. Bless thee, Lance, though I am on the cold 
 side of fifty, I can see as far as thou can." 
 
 "In most directions you can see much further, sir. 
 As for Miss Atherton, if you noticed her, you must ac- 
 knowledge she is as lovely as a poet's dream." 
 
 " I set varry little by poets and their dreams. I could 
 always do my awn dreaming, and thy mother isn't a bad 
 sample of it. But I can tell thee one thing, and that is, 
 thou need not bother thysen to dream of Miss Atherton. 
 If thou does, thy dream will niver come true. Niver, 
 in this world ! Why-a ! She is a lady of the land, and 
 heiress of Atherton Manor, for the squire hes none but 
 her. I hev no doubt she holds hersen as high as a peer- 
 ess in her awn right does." 
 
 " She was not proud with me." 
 
 "Ladies like her do not carry their pride on their
 
 20 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 tongue and in their fine clothes. I'll tell thee what, 
 Lance it is in their blood. It is part of their life and 
 their breath. The cradle rocked it in them, and the 
 spade will find it there to bury." 
 
 " For all that, I admire Miss Atherton, and I should 
 like to win her love and her hand." 
 
 " I should not like it, and thou isn't going to try it. 
 I'll not hev thee making a fool and a failure of thysen. 
 I hev a right wife picked out for thee, whenever thou 
 frames to settling down a pretty maid, and a moneyed 
 one." 
 
 " How can you choose a wife for me, father? " 
 
 '" Well, I hev chosen a lot of other things for thee, all 
 thy life long. I don't think a wife is beyond my stock 
 of common sense." 
 
 " Every man likes to choose his own wife ; that is 
 natural, father. Even the robins that built under the 
 eaves had their choice free in all the fields of air. And 
 I am sure they impose no rich-plumed wife upon their 
 feathered sons." 
 
 " I do hope and trust thou gives me credit for more 
 sense than a robin-redbreast hes. And thy argument is 
 all against thee, my lad. Robins marry robins. And 
 I'll be obliged to thee to marry a bird of thy awn feather 
 a spinner's daughter, with a goodish bit of money. 
 There are plenty to pick from. But for Lance Leigh 
 to go courting a county lady, with an old estate and a 
 pedigree still older, is varry like a robin-redbreast going 
 to twitter its little song to my lady nightingale." 
 
 " Whom are you thinking of as a proper wife for me, 
 father ? " 
 
 " Maria Crossley."
 
 "TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE!" 21 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Thou need not say ' Oh! ' in that kind of King-of- 
 England way. Thou isn't one by thysen, and none other 
 like thee. And thou could go further and fare worse." 
 
 " I shall not go further at present. As for Miss Cross- 
 ley, she is a very nice girl. I think mother likes her." 
 
 "It is hard to say who or what thy mother likes 
 lately. I think sometimes she does not like me varry 
 much. The stones and wood in Leigh House are more 
 to her than the flesh and blood that it shelters." 
 
 " No, no, father! Mother loves the old home dearly, 
 but you and myself much more dearly." 
 
 " I would not set a half -penny on that, Lance. Sell 
 a rood of Leigh land, or a tree out of Leigh wood, or 
 put a hundred pounds mortgage on the house, and thou 
 would mebbe get thy eyes opened to the true state of 
 that case. Thou sees she hes niver gone into the world, 
 as thee and I hev done ; she hes lived all her life inside 
 the old walls, and I think she would find it hard to live 
 anywhere else. If the dead ever came back, Lance, I 
 should say thy mother hed come back for all the Leighs 
 that iver lived before her. She knows their names, and 
 what they did and what they didn't do ; and if it wasn't 
 for my awn father and mother, I could almost wish 
 most of them hed died before they were born." 
 
 In such conversation, interrupted by asides arising 
 from the peculiarities of the road, Stephen Leigh and 
 his son, Lancelot, passed their journey. It was the 
 gloaming when they reached home, and in the soft gray 
 light the old stone dwelling had a very distinctive air; 
 as if the generations of strong men and women who had 
 lived there had left something of themselves and their
 
 22 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 lives around it. The ivy climbed to the topmost chim- 
 ney, and the swallows were silently executing marvelous 
 movements above it. All else was so still and motion- 
 less, that it might have been a house in a picture. 
 
 They entered by a heavy oak door in the old portion, 
 and were at once in a large parlor. Mrs. Leigh stood 
 by a table with a Japan caddy in her hand, from which 
 she was measuring tea into a silver tea-pot. She looked 
 up as her husband and son entered. Her face was 
 handsome but melancholy ; and her eyes, though bright 
 blue, were cold, almost cruel. 
 
 "Well, Martha!" said Stephen, in a conciliating 
 manner. 
 
 " Nay, I think it is about as ill as can be. Whativer 
 fool's errand hes ta been on to-day ? " 
 
 Stephen answered in a tone of offense : 
 
 " I hope I am not as big a fool as ta likes to think I 
 am, Martha. I hev been to try and buy a bit of land 
 thou is always for buying land, thou knows." 
 
 " Did ta buy it ? " 
 
 " Why, no ; the man was not willing to sell. I 
 couldn't buy it without his permission, now, could I ? " 
 
 " It was like thee to go after land that wasn't in the 
 market ; asking for land as a favor, when ta was going 
 to pay a good penny for it, I'll be bound." 
 
 Then Lance said something to his mother, and she 
 smiled coldly, but lifted eyes full of affection to him. 
 Stephen had left the room, and Lance made a rema'rk 
 about it. Mrs. Leigh shook her head, but Lance 
 followed his father to the stable, and the two men re- 
 turned together. Stephen had still an injured air, and 
 the meal was silent and formal.
 
 "TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE!" 23 
 
 After it Lance went to his own apartments. They 
 were in one of the new wings, and occupied the second 
 floor. He lit his cigar, flung wide the casements, and 
 began to think of Francesca. Oh, how sweet, how 
 loftily modest, how frankly kind she had been! How 
 he loved her already! He whispered her name, and 
 it was like the passing-by of violets. He thought of her, 
 and she stood like a goddess, clear and fair in her own 
 light. All other women passed out of his memory. 
 There was no room for them. Francesca! Only Fran- 
 cesca.' He was awake, yet dreaming, and that was his 
 pleasure ; dreaming of his love so chastely and so nobly 
 that he could have told her every thought. 
 
 The room was a very handsome one, full of such treas- 
 ures as young men who have plenty of money gather 
 while they are at their college or on their travels. Usu- 
 ally, as he smoked, he was fond of walking about it, of 
 rearranging its ornaments, or of looking into his books, 
 or of standing before some favorite picture. But this 
 night he could think only of that beautiful girl whom he 
 had found waiting for him in the clematis arbor. Fate 
 had sent her there ; that fate which brings two hearts 
 together, though they be as far as the East and the West 
 from each other. To this idea he gave ready possession, 
 and it filled him with a sweet and invincible hope. 
 
 After a little time his mother came to him. If she was 
 alone, she often did so. Her knitting was in her hand, 
 and she sat down by the window to catch the last rays 
 of the gloaming. 
 
 " Mother," said Lance, " I have seen to-day the love- 
 iiest woman on earth." 
 
 " Oh, my lad ! I count little by thy words. L have
 
 24 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 heard that tale too often. In three months thou wilt 
 say to me, some night : ' Mother, she is varry tiresome 
 and selfish. I wonder I iver thought her pretty.' I 
 know. There was Alicia, and Dorothy, and Harriet, 
 and Jane all of them without a marrow on earth or in 
 heaven. Alicia tired of thee, and thou tired of Dorothy, 
 and Harriet married a member of Parliament which she 
 said thou would never be and Jane is to be married 
 about Christinas, if not before." 
 
 " Jane Idle to be married ? " 
 
 "To be sure she is to a man from Batley, who 
 makes shoddy a fat man, with a red necktie and a blue 
 vest and a mint of money. That's the kind when a girl 
 is choosing a husband. A man like thee is fit only for 
 sweethearting." 
 
 " And I once thought that Jane loved me and that I 
 loved her. We said so to each other. What mistakes 
 young men make!" 
 
 " Ay, and young women also. Now, Lance, open thy 
 heart to me. Who is thy new angel ? " 
 
 " Indeed, mother, she is an angel. I never before had 
 the least desire to kneel to a woman. I never believed 
 men who said they did so, either mentally or literally. 
 Joe Dykes said he knelt to Rose Schofield. Joe said 
 there were women who made a man feel that he would 
 be happy to pay such homage, and Joe spoke the truth." 
 
 " Joe Dykes must speak for himsen and for thee. I 
 niver saw a woman of that kind. Niver! If thy father 
 had knelt down to me, I would hev sent him off without 
 any words about it. It is varry hard work to make a 
 Yorkshireman bend his head, let alone his knees. No- 
 tice a bit next Sunday, and thou wilt see what lofty air?
 
 "TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE I" 2$ 
 
 they put on, even in church. I can tell thee, that the 
 clerk and the women hev always that part of the Litany 
 asking mercy for ' miserable sinners ' all to themsens. 
 Happen some of the women kneel, as they should do, 
 but the men ! They stand up, and they sit down, and 
 they put their heads in their hats some of them but 
 they do not kneel. And I must say, I niver heard tell 
 of thee ' kneeling ' before. Now, pray, who dost thou 
 want to ' kneel ' to ? " 
 
 " Squire Atherton's daughter Francesca." 
 " I have heard Jane Idle speak of her. She was a 
 school-companion of Jane's. I dare say she will be at 
 Jane's wedding." 
 
 " What did you hear about her, mother ? " 
 " Nay, nothing but what was proper enough. Jane 
 said she was varry sweet and stately, mebbe a bit proud. 
 She is a county lady, and is niver likely to marry thee, 
 Lance. Where did thou meet her ? " 
 
 " Father went to Atherton Court on business, and 
 while he and the squire were talking, I walked into the 
 garden. There was a pretty clematis arbor, and she 
 stood there. Before I spoke a word " 
 
 " She went right into thy heart, I'll be bound, Lance ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother ; without a word, as sweetly and silently 
 
 as roses are born. One minute I did not know she was 
 
 in the world, and the next minute she was all the world 
 
 to me." 
 
 " I'll warrant thou wilt be making poetry about her. 
 
 Now, what business had thy father at Atherton Court ? " 
 
 " He wanted to buy some land of the squire." 
 
 " He'll buy land till he hesn't a penny left to buy 
 
 bread with. He keeps me in hot water from day to
 
 26 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 day, till I'm not mysen at all. Lance, if ta loves me, 
 and all thou should love, get thee a wise-like wife and 
 bring her here. If thou marries to please thy father, he 
 will settle Leigh Farm upon thee and thy heirs forever ; 
 and I'll be out of this constant, aching uncertainty. 
 Marry Maria Crossley, and he'll be that pleased thou 
 can ask him for anything he hes. She is a varry nice 
 girl, Lance." 
 
 " I could not marry Maria." 
 
 " But thou must, Lance. I told Maria to-day thou 
 was varry fond of her." 
 
 " Mother, you should not have said so. I am not 
 fond of her. I cannot marry any girl unless I love her." 
 
 "Love! Love! Love! I am weary of the word. It 
 is nothing but an excuse for all kinds of selfishness. 
 When thy father asked me to marry him, I knew it was 
 the best thing for Leigh Farm, and I put all things 
 behind that. Maria will gladly marry thee and come 
 and live in this house with us. And Peter Crossley is 
 a sharp man ; he will make thy father secure this home 
 to thee." 
 
 " I would do nothing against father, especially under- 
 hand. Crossley is not fit to even father in any way, 
 and I will not marry Crossley's daughter and let Cross- 
 ley dictate on the subject to my father." 
 
 " I do believe thou cares nothing at all for the house 
 that has been the home of the Leighs for centuries. I 
 am ashamed of thee." 
 
 " I do care for the house ; but I care for my father 
 and my honor and my love far more." 
 
 She rose passionately, and at the door turned with a 
 flaming face, and said :
 
 "TAKE CARE, MY LAD, TAKE CARE!" 2J 
 
 "Thy father! Thy honor! Thy love! Every 
 stone in this dear house is worth the whole of them. 
 Thy father is but one man. There are thousands of 
 Leighs behind him. Thou will hev to go to them. Thou 
 will hev to reckon with them. TaK.e care, my lad, take 
 care.
 
 CHAPTER IIJ. 
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 
 
 But this is human life the war, the deeds, 
 The disappointment, the anxiety, 
 Imaginations, struggles far and nigh, 
 All human ; bearing in themselves this good 
 That they are still the air, the subtle food, 
 To make us feel existence. Keats. 
 
 THE evils of poverty are evident and easily under- 
 stood ; those of wealth are more complex, but per- 
 .haps not the less trying. Martha Leigh really suffered 
 as much in the supposed danger of a mortgaged home 
 as if the mortgage was an accomplished fact. Yet there 
 was really no obvious reason for her anxiety ; for Ste- 
 phen, though a bold and far-seeing speculator, was not 
 an unwise one. All his investments were likely to bear 
 the touch of time, and if they were permitted to ripen, 
 to yield a wealthy return. 
 
 But women have neither the faith nor the patience for 
 such money transactions. They demand certain and 
 rapid results, and are not content unless some security 
 on which they have set their hearts is placed beyond 
 doubt. Martha Leigh felt that if Leigh Farm was abso- 
 lutely secure she could be happy. But this was the one 
 point Stephen was indisposed to humor her in. He had 
 promised not to involve the old home, and he felt her 
 perpetual anxiety to be a doubt of his honor, and an in-
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 29 
 
 suit to his own regard for those who were behind, and 
 those who were to follow him. 
 
 And Stephen had masterful ways which might be criti- 
 cised, but which no one felt able to interfere with. The 
 enterprises he had begun he pursued, regardless of the 
 opinion of his wife and family. They would acknowl- 
 edge his wisdom some day ; and he was satisfied to wait 
 for his justification until financial returns deserved it. 
 
 In his own mind he had built the new mill, and seen 
 its thousand looms toiling for his benefit ; and he went 
 steadily to work to realize his ideal. Squire Bingley sold 
 him the land he wanted, and in a few weeks the great 
 foundations were laid, and the mill yet to be was exer- 
 cising a pronounced influence among the inhabitants of 
 the lonely village. Men and women, looking forward 
 to its better wages, refused to hire for long terms to 
 their old masters. Speculative owners of land were 
 already building cottages for the "hands." Shops of 
 various kinds were in preparation, and subscriptions were 
 being solicited for a Wesleyan Chapel. 
 
 These changes so barely indicated met Squire Ather- 
 ton with painful distinctness. They grew day by day 
 with irritating celerity. Every time he went beyond his 
 own park gates he was aware of some intrusion of the 
 new into the old. He blamed Leigh for all his annoy- 
 ances. He met him frequently going to and fro, and 
 as yet he always touched his hat to his enemy, with a 
 kind of proud tolerance of the wrong done him. Leigh 
 returned the courtesy, though often with an indifference 
 which deeply offended the lord of the manor. 
 
 " I shall be nobody soon, even in my own village," 
 he said angrily to Miss Vyner. " A few weeks ago, and
 
 30 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 men and women would have sworn to live and die with 
 me. Now it is Stephen Leigh whichever way I turn: 
 what he is doing, and what he is going to do ; what he 
 has given, and what he is going to give. I tell thee, 
 Loida, I feel very much as if I was being edged out of 
 my own nest and place. It is too bad of Bingley. I 
 will never forgive him! Never!" 
 
 " Indeed, Rashleigh, you need not fret about your 
 tenants. If they have deserted you, they have also de- 
 serted the church into which they were all baptized. 
 Gammer Oddy told me to-day that Leigh was going to 
 build a chapel and some kind of an institute for the 
 ' hands ' ; and she was rejoicing in such a way about 
 them you would have thought there never had been a 
 church in the parish, though she has been fed from it 
 for many a year." 
 
 " And," continued the squire, " I saw that young man 
 to-day who came here with his father. He was wan- 
 dering around the park entrance, and I thought of Fran- 
 cesca and felt faint at heart. Do you think Francesca 
 has been meeting him unknown to us, Loida ? " 
 
 "Squire! Do I think shamefully of my niece ? No 
 sir, I do not. Francesca is incapable of anything clan- 
 destine." 
 
 " They met in the garden." 
 
 "What by that? The moment before they met, 
 Francesca had not known of the young man's existence. 
 She told me about their interview. He is a very pleas- 
 ant young man, Rashleigh. You cannot say different." 
 
 " He is his father's son. I can say that." 
 
 " We must be just, Rashleigh. The father gave you 
 the first offer. And when you refused it, he told you
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 31 
 
 plainly he must go to Bingley. He was very straight- 
 forward." 
 
 " I do not think, Loida, that a wrong being ' straight- 
 forward ' makes it any easier to bear." 
 
 " Oh, but it does! One would rather have a stab in 
 the breast than in the back. But you need not fear 
 Francesca will ever give you a back-blow. She has all 
 the honor of her race, and all the native modesty of a 
 pure, proud woman. You may send her into the world 
 with a safe heart, Rashleigh." 
 
 " I was thinking of it. I know well that keeping a 
 woman in a lonely place is no protection. God Al- 
 mighty shut the first woman up in a garden, and even 
 He could not keep her safe. I had a letter this morning 
 from my friend Thomas Idle. His daughter Jane is 
 going to be married, and he wants us to come to Idle- 
 holme. I cannot go, but thou might take Francesca. 
 She will be the better for a change." 
 
 " Why cannot you go also ? " 
 
 " I should leave myself behind. I can do nothing 
 for nor against Leigh's mill, but I like to be on the spot. 
 Something may turn up to my advantage or against it. 
 Either way, I want to be ready and waiting." 
 
 " Have you thought about Almund Idle ? " 
 
 " I have. Like cures like, and one love may cast out 
 another. If Francesca has taken a liking to that son of 
 Stephen Leigh's, young Idle may at least set it wavering. 
 He is not a bad kind, I fancy, what I have seen of 
 him." 
 
 " I know nothing of the family." 
 
 " They are good stock. I used to think no one was 
 worthy of Francesca, but I feel now that it will be. luck
 
 32 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 enough to have her wed some one that I do not hate. 
 This is a disappointing life, Loida. We are sure of 
 such great things when we first begin to reckon up our 
 treasure, and every day we have to count less, and give 
 up here and take off there, until we are glad to get ten 
 where we thought once to get a hundred. I used to 
 think of a lord, at least, for my Francesca. I will be 
 grateful now if she will only give me a son out of a 
 county family that I can bear to see come in and out 
 with any kind of pleasure." 
 
 " I wish you would not nurse a prejudice, Rashleigh. 
 I am sure young Leigh made a great impression on 
 Francesca, and her heart is not one to lose that impres- 
 sion readily." 
 
 " I am sure if she marries that young man she will 
 never see my face again." 
 
 " Rashleigh! " 
 
 " I mean what I say. She may go to him, but she 
 cannot bring him to me. No, no ! My Frances will do 
 nothing like that. She knows I hold his father as the 
 worst enemy I ever had. Do you think she will open 
 my house-door to the son? Will she dare to write his 
 name among those of her own ancestors ? It is not 
 likely, is it, Loida ? " 
 
 " Squire, I have seen this thing come to pass men 
 swear to themselves, and then find it right and just to 
 forswear their oath. The world changes so fast now 
 that no one can safely say : ' Next year I shall feel as 1 
 do this year.' " 
 
 " If it comes to feeling, Loida, how many years has 
 thou been faithful 1 " 
 
 "When the loved one is absent and silent, he can
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 33 
 
 neither grieve nor wrong us. Then it is easy to be faith- 
 ful. And what is life worth without love, Rashleigh ? " 
 
 "A poor thing, Loida! It is earth without verdure, 
 and it is bread without salt. Tell Frances to go to Jane 
 Idle's wedding. Maybe nothing comes of it! A girl 
 may go through the world and never meet a lover ; and 
 then some day, when she is safe at home, Love may 
 come riding up and wreck her whole life. It is a very 
 queer thing, but I have seen it so. I am going to the 
 cover for an hour. When I am a bit put out it is re- 
 lieving to fire a gun at something, is it not, Loida ? " 
 
 She watched him out of sight, and then went to look 
 for her niece. Francesca had gone to the village. No 
 one knew why she had gone, nor yet why she had chosen 
 to walk there. Indeed, Francesca could not herself 
 have explained the " wherefore " of her whim. But it 
 was an exquisite morning in October, and the sweetly 
 insinuating melancholy of the season inclined her to put 
 herself in touch with it. She pushed her feet through 
 the faded grasses and leaves. She felt the perfume of 
 the dying strawberry-vines, and it went to her heart like 
 a psalm. The air was subtle, and the amber rays shone 
 through the delicate mist as through an ethereal veil of 
 air made visible. And all the time the church-bells were 
 ringing slowly and softly a grave harmony, swelling 
 and dilating in the morning air. Now and then also a 
 breeze a mere puff just lifted the dying leaves, and 
 left her senses full of delicious perfume and languor 
 that intermediate melancholy which is at the root of all 
 true happiness. 
 
 She wandered slowly onward, knowing no more why 
 she did so than why in June she went to the rose-bushes
 
 34 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 every morning to lay her face against the flowers, and 
 taste their scent and feel the rose-dew on her lips. She 
 was not thinking of anything, but her mind was in that 
 quiescent state which good influences can inform. So 
 she slowly strolled homeward, and was in a road where 
 the interweaving branches of birches made a lace-work 
 of trees against the sky, when she heard the quick gallop 
 of a horse's feet. It roused in her no speculation, and 
 gave to her heart no warning. Only when the rider 
 drew rein and leaped to her side did she turn her eyes 
 upon him. 
 
 It was Lancelot Leigh, and in the moment of their 
 meeting Lancelot saw both love and joy flash into her 
 face. It was swift as thought to come and go, but it 
 made an unconscious community of feeling between 
 them. With his bridle over his arm he walked by her 
 side, saying only the commonest words, and yet charg- 
 ing them with all of love's subtle longing and uncon- 
 scious worship. The first formal greetings over, there 
 were a few moments of silence. Both were embar- 
 rassed. 
 
 It was Francesca who first began to talk with eager 
 rapidity, on whatever subject was nearest to her. 
 
 " That is the wise robin," she said, as they passed the 
 bird. " He sings as cheerfully among the scarlet haws 
 in October as he did in March among the hawthorn 
 flowers." 
 
 " I wonder if we shall be like him as happy facing 
 our life's winter as our youth's spring ? " said Lancelot. 
 
 " I think we ought to be. My father was as happy 
 as he could be, until " 
 
 Then she suddenly remembered, and became silent.
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 35 
 
 " Until my father began to build the mill. I am so 
 sorry about it. Will you believe me ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I do believe you." 
 
 " I would not give you or any one you loved pain. 
 If you desired it, and the mill was mine, I would stop 
 building this hour." 
 
 " Have you ever walked through Atherton Dingle ? " 
 
 " No. I would like to visit it. Will you show it to 
 me some day f I hear it is a little fairyland." 
 
 " Indeed it is. In May and June and July it is like 
 that heavenly hill which God called ' Paradise.' The 
 lights are so softly green, the little cascades leap so joy- 
 fully, and oh, the wild-flowers and the lady-ferns ! They 
 are beautiful beyond belief. To make its waters black 
 with oils and dyes ; to cover its flowers and verdure 
 with the refuse of spinning-mills! How could any one 
 think of such a desecration ? I am sure Nature can suf- 
 fer murder. The sod would feel the sharp spade, and 
 the sweet flowers sadly give up their fair lives, and the 
 waters mourn for their loss, for 
 
 " ' 'Tis my faith that every flower 
 Enjoys the air it breathes.' 
 
 Can you not feel this ? " 
 
 " I feel every word you say, like a wound in my own 
 heart. But, alas! to most men 
 
 " ' A primrose by a river's brim 
 A yellow primrose is to him, 
 And it is nothing more.' " 
 
 " We have both been quoting Wordsworth," said 
 Francesca. 
 
 "People quote him almost unconsciously; he has so
 
 36 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 many ' felicities.' I do not profess to be less practical 
 than my age, but yet I prefer poets to philosophers, for 
 
 " ' Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, 
 Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, 
 Empty the haunted air and gnomed mine.' " 
 
 "That is true," answered Francesca. "There was 
 an awful rainbow once in heaven. But we know its 
 woof and texture, and have put it into the dull catalogue 
 of common things. That is also a poet's way of lament- 
 ing the practical life we now live. Do you hear the 
 blackbird singing? It sings at noon when all the other 
 birds are silent. I wonder if he is proud of his song." 
 
 " I suppose so. What joyful creatures birds are. No 
 wonder that Aristophanes makes them address men as 
 
 " ' Naked and featherless, 
 Feeble and querulous, 
 Sickly, calamitous, 
 Creatures of clay ; ' 
 
 and bids them 
 
 " ' Attend to the words 
 Of the sovereign birds, 
 Immortal, illustrious 
 Lords of the air, 
 Who survey from on high, 
 With a merciful eye, 
 Our struggles of misery, 
 Labor and care.' " 
 
 "Is that from Aristophanes? I have read his life, 
 but none of his poetry. Men read such books at their 
 college, do they not ? " 
 
 "You may read with delight his 'Birds.' It is the 
 'Midsummer Night's Dream' of Greece."
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 37 
 
 He was not really thinking of the Greek poet. He 
 was only feeling how soon the pleasant meeting would 
 be over. He could not say what he wanted to say, and 
 if he had found the language he desired, he would still 
 have been afraid to utter it. The girl at his side walked in 
 an atmosphere he could not enter. And yet she delayed 
 her steps, and he felt she willingly delayed. She listened 
 to him with eyes full of light and sympathy ; he felt that 
 he interested her. But all his usual self-confidence had 
 deserted him. The petty, pretty compliments he had 
 offered to a score of lovely women seemed too cold and 
 meaningless. He would have talked to her in words made 
 on purpose, but he could not make them. For he felt 
 that their conversation had been forced and misleading, 
 a thin coat of ice over a river deep, resistless beneath it. 
 
 And they were now at the park gates, standing in the 
 shadow of the thickets of laurestine and pyracanthus. 
 She was thanking him hoping to see him again 
 speaking such ordinary words as were natural, but in a 
 strangely conscious, embarrassed manner. For at this 
 last minute, Lancelot's eyes were saying what his coward 
 tongue had shirked ; and as she hesitated her common- 
 place adieu, his dilating iris held her to the spot. He 
 was reading her very soul, and paying no attention 
 whatever to her words. 
 
 Then there was the sound of rapid footsteps, the lau- 
 rels were sharply struck, the birds flew out in a cloud, 
 and Squire Atherton set the gate wide open. He looked 
 at Lancelot and returned his bow very slightly. Fran- 
 cesca said : 
 
 " I met Mr. Leigh in the birch avenue ; he has kindly 
 walked to the gates with me, father."
 
 38 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 "Very kind of Mr. Leigh, I am sure. Good-day, 
 sir." Then he turned suddenly and faced the young 
 man : " And thou may as well understand the ' good- 
 day ' is for every day as well as this one. I did not seek 
 thy acquaintance, and it is not pleasant to me to have it. 
 If thou had any sense or right feeling, thou would have 
 understood so much." 
 
 " Squire, I beg your pardon. I have no ill feeling 
 toward you." 
 
 " Thou would be a queer one if thou had. I never 
 did thee or thine any wrong that^I know of. But Leigh 
 is wronging Atherton this day and every day, and when 
 I tell thee to keep out of my sight, and away from my 
 home and my daughter, I show thee quite as much 
 Christianity as thou has any right to expect." 
 
 Lancelot looked at Francesca, and his eyes made an 
 appeal that was irresistible. 
 
 " Father," she said, " Mr. Leigh is very sorry about 
 the mill. He told me so. He would stop the building 
 of it if he could." 
 
 " Then he is a very bad son a particularly bad son 
 and I am right glad he is no kin of mine. If he had 
 stood by his father and threeped me to my face that his 
 father was right, and I was far wrong, I would have 
 thought a deal better of him." 
 
 The squire was answered by Stephen Leigh himself. 
 The old man had seen his son and Miss Atherton to- 
 gether, and had felt a sudden kind feeling toward the 
 young people ; and as Stephen had the most exalted 
 idea of his own influence, and of his own way of man- 
 aging the most difficult affairs, he had felt no delicacy 
 in interfering. His heart was full of affection ; he was
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 39 
 
 planning a munificent offer, and no doubts or wavering 
 stayed his steps. The squire, Francesca, and his own 
 son stood a little behind the laurels at the entrance. In 
 the intense feeling dominating each heart Stephen's foot- 
 steps on the turf had not been noticed ; and when he 
 answered boldly the squire's assertion, he took every one 
 by surprise. 
 
 " I can threep for mysen, squire ; and if Lance thinks 
 differently to his father, he is a man now and he has a 
 right to his awn thoughts. Good-morning, Miss Ather- 
 ton. I saw you and my Lance walking together, and 
 a bonny couple you made. The eye not charmed with 
 you has no light in it. Come, squire ; if you will walk 
 forward a bit I hev a friendly offer to make. Why 
 should we bark and bite at each other? " 
 
 " Mr. Leigh, you have done your worst to Squire 
 Atherton. Your mill is an offense to me, morning, 
 noon, and night, and your offer of friendship is insult 
 added to wrong." 
 
 " Well, squire, one may bid, but it takes two to make 
 a bargain." 
 
 " Sir, I want to make no bargain with you." 
 
 " Mebbe, now, our children may hev more sense. I 
 notice that my Lance is varry fond of being near Ather- 
 ton Court. The apple is not far from the apple-tree, 
 is it, squire ? " 
 
 " Speak for your own child, Mr. Leigh. My daughter 
 is beyond your consideration." 
 
 " No offense meant, squire. I am used to speaking 
 plainly. There are no mouse-corners in my mind." 
 
 " Your mind is your own, sir. I do not interfere with 
 it!"
 
 40 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Then he looked toward Francesca, and saw that Lanw 
 celot was talking to her in hurried, eager tones plead- 
 ing, apologizing, saying he hardly knew what. 
 
 " Francesca!" 
 
 The one word, uttered by the angry father, was in- 
 stantly obeyed. Francesca bowed slightly to Lance- 
 lot, and went to her father's side. He stood a mo- 
 ment looking at the two Leighs, then his fine breeding 
 asserted itself. He lifted his hat, gave his daughter 
 his arm, and with a forced deliberation turned into the 
 park. 
 
 Francesca had obeyed him, but her heart was in re- 
 bellion ; and as they walked homeward and the squire 
 muttered to himself and kicked the pebbles at his feet 
 with a meaning indignation, she gradually began to ex- 
 press her anger, in most unequivocal words. 
 
 41 You treated me very badly, father. I do not like 
 to be called, as if I was a dog, ' Francesca! ' " 
 
 And she imitated the dictatorial tone of the squire, 
 with temper that made the one sweet word an intoler- 
 able offense. 
 
 " Thou should not call thyself in any such way. I 
 never did so." 
 
 " Yes, you did, father. And you behaved badly to 
 the Leighs. Suppose they havj built a mill near us! 
 They bought the land to build it on. All Yorkshire 
 does not belong *o us. A great many county families 
 have had to put up with mills near them. In the long 
 run, they find the mill a great benefit. Mr. Leigh 
 wants to be friendly." 
 
 " Be quiet. Leigh friendly ! I wonder if the world 
 is coming to an end! I wonder if I am Squire Ather-
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 41 
 
 ton or not! I wonder if thou art really Francesca 
 Atherton! Everything is upside down, I think!" 
 
 " Mr. Lancelot Leigh met me in the birch walk. I 
 suppose he had as much right there as I had. He got 
 off his horse, and walked with me to the park gates. 
 And we talked of Wordsworth and the birds and such 
 like." 
 
 " He had no right to get off his horse. And ' birds 
 and Wordsworth and such like ' are not for thee and 
 him to talk about. The ' weather ' was far enough for 
 him to go and too far. I know what ' Wordsworth 
 and such like ' means. I know men send poetry where 
 good honest prose would not dare to venture. If ever 
 a young man and a young woman get together, they 
 begin talking poetry. It is their way of flying round a 
 candle." 
 
 " I never knew you to talk vulgarly before, father." 
 
 " My lass, every one gets down to their vulgar tongue 
 when their heart is hot with insult and wrong. I think 
 thou behaved very badly, talking poetry and birds and 
 such like with a spinner's son. Ask thy Aunt Loida." 
 
 " Aunt Loida will say I did nothing wrong." 
 
 "Thou wilt find out different." 
 
 And greatly to Francesca's amazement, Loida took 
 the squire's part, decidedly. 
 
 "The lady of Atherton Manor," she said, "ought 
 not to walk with young men in the lanes and by-ways. 
 If Mr. Leigh wanted to see you," she continued, with 
 mild indignation, " he should have called here. He had 
 no right to get off his horse and impose his company 
 on you." 
 
 " I liked his company. It was no imposition. I am
 
 42 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 so weary of this life. The days come and go, and they 
 are all the same. Oh, how I wish something strange 
 would happen ! " 
 
 " It is very foolish, Francesca, to wish to see beyond 
 your horizon. And wishes are like bits of stained glass : 
 you see nothing through them in its true colors." 
 
 " Aunt Loida, I have heard that you were once very 
 fond of company and gay doings. How can you live 
 here?" 
 
 "Ah, Francesca! When our joys die, they find no 
 grave for us. We must live on, just as the rose-tree 
 lives, though all its flowers be broken off. The spring 
 brings roses again if the tree lives on ; perhaps I am 
 waiting for life's second spring. If you are tired of this 
 quiet home, however, you may soon have a change. 
 Jane Idle is going to be married, and we are going to 
 Idleholme." 
 
 " How glad I am! Whom is Jane going to marry ? " 
 
 " I do not know the gentleman. He is called Crewe. 
 Jane has a brother, I believe ? " 
 
 " I have heard talk about him. His name is Almund. 
 He is very clever. She used to boast of him when we 
 were at school. But all the girls boasted of their 
 brothers. Shall I have some new dresses, Aunt Loida ? " 
 
 " Some new dresses will be very necessary. Come 
 and let us look through your wardrobe." 
 
 No better way could have been devised to soothe the 
 irritation of the morning, and in the discussion of toilet 
 fineries Lancelot was for the time forgotten. 
 
 But Lance was not able to forget. His ride home 
 was rendered bitter, not only by a sense of personal 
 defeat and humiliation, but by the anger of his father.
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 43 
 
 Stephen Leigh felt all the reasonable indignation of 
 those whose gift is flung back in their face. 
 
 " I came up with a kind heart," he said, " and I think 
 mysen as good a man as Rashleigh Atherton. I fancy 
 he looks down on us a bit, but we can count Leighs 
 with Athertons any day. And if it comes to brass, we 
 can put down a hundred sovereigns to one that any 
 Yorkshire squire hes! Ay any of them! " 
 
 " I have set my heart on marrying Miss Atherton, 
 father." 
 
 " Well, then, thou shall marry her, if thou hes set thy 
 heart on her. Eh, Lance, iverything can be bought, 
 but day and night." 
 
 " I am afraid your interference this morning was a 
 mistake. You do not know anything about such men 
 as Squire Atherton, and the society he lives in." 
 
 " Niver thee mind. I know all about investments 
 and percentages; and though love may do a great 
 deal, money does iverything. By all I could make out, 
 that young lady seemed well suited with thee. I thought 
 you were walking varry loving-like together, and I came 
 up ready to settle iverything plain and square, for I hate 
 any back-stair work." 
 
 " I fear, however, that I have lost her forever." 
 
 " Nay, I wouldn't fear anything. Hope is as cheap 
 as despair." 
 
 " The squire is beyond calculation, and " 
 
 " He is beyond pleasing, if that is what ta means. I 
 don't blame him varry much. He sees that he'll soon 
 be nobody where he hes been iverybody. What is the 
 squire to the loom-lord who runs a thousand spindles 
 and keeps a whole village thriving and busy ? "
 
 44 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " The squire is an old friend to the village." 
 
 " My lad, it isn't the old friend, but the rich friend. 
 Poor folk cannot afford to know poor folks. That is 
 it." 
 
 " But even so, why should the loom-lord put down 
 the squire? There is room for both." 
 
 " Nay, there is not. If two apples grow on one twig, 
 and the twig is too small for both of them, the weakest 
 is bound to fall to the ground. Atherton Village is too 
 small for two masters, and the master that hes the 
 ' wherewith ' will hev the service. Now, then, let that 
 proud girl go. Thy mother is fain for thee to marry 
 Maria Crossley. Couldn't thou fancy her for a wife ? " 
 
 " I will marry Miss Atherton, or die a bachelor for 
 her sake." 
 
 " Well, I niver! Thou is a fool! And I don't know 
 whether I ought to answer thee according to thy folly 
 or not." 
 
 Lancelot laughed. 
 
 " You are in no greater strait than Solomon was, 
 father. First, he says : 'Answer not a fool according to 
 his folly, lest thou be, also, like unto him.' Then again 
 he says : ' Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he 
 be wise in his own conceit.' " 
 
 " Well, then, what dost thou make by that f " 
 
 " I suppose Solomon was balancing between the 
 homeopathy and the allopathy of morals." 
 
 " Keep thy jokes to thysen, Lance, and see if thou can 
 find sense enough to get a new sweetheart. Maria is a 
 varry pretty lass." 
 
 " There is only one love in the world for me, father." 
 
 "Tip-top nonsense!"
 
 THE SQUIRE AND THE SPINNER. 45 
 
 And the old man looked at his son with that con- 
 temptuous pity age often bestows on a youth who 
 throws away a fine appetite on a dinner of one course. 
 They were at the stable-door, and as Stephen slowly 
 got out of his stirrups, he added : 
 
 " It is not hard to forget, Lance. Keep away from 
 Atherton for a week or two. Out of sight is out of 
 mind, my lad." 
 
 But while the father was giving orders about the 
 weary horses, and talking of oats and buckles and sad- 
 dles, Lance was walking through the leafless garden, 
 singing softly to himself : 
 
 " ' That out of sight is out of mind, 
 Is true of most we leave behind ; 
 It is not true, nor can be true, 
 My own, my only love, of you!' "
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 The fountains mingle with the river, 
 
 And the rivers with the ocean ; 
 The winds of heaven mist forever 
 
 With a sweet emotion. 
 Nothing in the world is single, 
 
 All things by a law divine, 
 " In one another's being mingle, 
 
 Why not I with thine?" 
 
 HOWEVER careful we are in the arrangement of 
 our plans, something, and often the most impor- 
 tant thing, escapes consideration. Squire Atherton in 
 encouraging the visit of his daughter to Idleholme never 
 reflected on the possibility of its being in the neighbor- 
 hood of Leigh Farm, nor yet that the two families might 
 be acquainted with each other. Yet both of these cir- 
 cumstances existed, and they were made evident to 
 Francesca a few days after her arrival at Idleholme. 
 
 As her stay was likely to extend over some weeks, she 
 was accompanied by her own riding-horses and groom ; 
 and one morning, when every one appeared to be ex- 
 clusively occupied with affairs relating to the approach- 
 ing marriage, she determined on a gallop across the 
 wold, attended only by her servant. She was accus- 
 tomed to a life so quiet and so full of orderly refine- 
 ment that the hurry and laughter, the endless demands, 
 the running about, the sense of feasting, and of prepara-
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 47 
 
 tion for more feasting, had become excessively tiresome 
 to her. She was nervous and fretful, and longing for 
 the peace of Nature, even though Nature appeared to 
 be hostile. 
 
 For the weather was gray and wintry, and the black, 
 low-hanging clouds portended a coming storm. Jane 
 protested and Miss Loida advised, but Francesca was 
 not to be moved from her desire. 
 
 " If I do not ride this morning I cannot dance to- 
 night," she said. " I am tired of human beings. Let 
 me take my own way now, and I will take every one's 
 way afterward." 
 
 She had been, indeed, singularly affected by daily 
 contact for a week with Jane's brother, a young man of 
 distinctly modern type. Almund Idle had been every- 
 where and had seen everything. He could play bill- 
 iards, and quote Horace, and make money on the stock 
 exchange. . Small, alert, and rather handsome, he was 
 also polished and exceedingly proper; there were no 
 angles about him, and he had no illusions. 
 
 " I am not at ease in his company," Francesca said 
 to her aunt. " If there is any thought in my heart, I 
 need not put it into words ; he is sure to know all about 
 it." 
 
 " Your father thinks very well of Almund Idle. He 
 will be a great man, Francesca, and I think he is fond 
 of ladies' society." 
 
 " He is very fond of his sister Jane, and she is as 
 clever as her brother." 
 
 " He was saying yesterday that Shakespeare had a 
 miraculous intelligence in making Hamlet sisterless. 
 He thought Hamlet failed in being a hero because he
 
 48 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 had no sister to help him. His mother was not good, 
 and Ophelia withdrew, and there was no sister Jane 
 near. That was the way he put it." 
 
 Francesca was buttoning her habit, and she tossed 
 her beautiful head a little scornfully as she answered 
 Miss Loida : 
 
 " It was Hamlet's own fault that Ophelia withdrew. 
 I heard Jane teasing her brother yesterday about some 
 young lady she called Lydia. I hope he is engaged. I 
 should feel so much more at ease with him if I knew 
 he was human enough to be in love." 
 
 Then she kissed her aunt and went out into the grim 
 winter day ; for no scenery in England is sadder and 
 wilder than that of the West Riding in winter weather. 
 The bleak range of low hills before her was partitioned 
 into fields by leagues and leagues of stone walls, and 
 here and there she came upon a dreary village or a des- 
 olate mansion standing forlorn on the bare wold. 
 
 The uncouth manner, and the strong, rude dialect of 
 the quarrymen she met was disconcerting. They stared 
 at her with sullen ill-will, or looked down upon the 
 earth as they passed her. The very sheep lifted their 
 heads as if annoyed at her intrusion, and watched her 
 suspiciously as she rode away into the gray dull damp- 
 ness enveloping the landscape. 
 
 It was a relief to come suddenly upon a little church 
 set in a grove of yew trees. There were a number of 
 carriages around it, and some rosy-cheeked children : 
 "It wer' a wedding doo-ment." They were waiting for 
 bride coins, and in the interval spelling, across the 
 churchyard gate, a name and date across a marble slab 
 standing white and lonely near by.
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE, 49 
 
 She read it to them : 
 
 "'You shall pray for the souls of Bernard and Margaret 
 Dysart, who died A.D. 1600.' " 
 
 Then she went thoughtfully onward. There was a 
 nearness to heaven in the words ; a sure belief that God's 
 mercy for departed souls was still to be reached by 
 human intercession, that gave to her a singular serenity.. 
 The world seemed instantly another place. She began 
 to pray for the souls of Bernard and Margaret Dysart ; 
 and the act made her realize something of that personal 
 communication with God which Adam lost and which 
 Protestants reject. 
 
 The few solemn words lifted her above the dreeping 
 atmosphere, and then so startling are the antitheses of 
 life out rang the wedding-chimes 
 
 " Low at times and loud at times, 
 Rang the beautiful old chimes." 
 
 And, as she listened, the wind changed, and snow began 
 to fall. She was at least six miles from Idleholme, and 
 she looked around for some house in which she could 
 take shelter. 
 
 " If we could find a cottage, Peel," she said to her 
 groom, " I would remain there until you went back and 
 sent the carriage for me. I do not like to ride through 
 a snow-storm." 
 
 She was really thinking how uncomfortable it would 
 be for every one if she took cold and was ill during the 
 wedding festivities. 
 
 " I should think there was a house behind yonder 
 plantation of firs, Miss Atherton. It is not more than 
 half a mile away."
 
 50 LOVE FOR AA r HOUR. 
 
 She looked a moment at the dark spot in the gray 
 atmosphere, and galloped toward it. The groom's sup- 
 position was correct ; it was the screen on one side for 
 a large rambling mansion, whose frontage and gardens 
 faced the other way. Francesca rode up to what ap- 
 peared to be the main entrance, but she could obtain 
 no recognition, and she directed her horse to a large door 
 at the other end of the building. 
 
 Here she was met by a middle-aged woman, who not 
 very willingly acceded to her request for shelter until a 
 carriage could be sent for. It was evident the woman 
 felt no pleasure in granting the hospitality requested ; 
 but hospitality is the native instinct of a Yorkshire 
 woman, and the circumstances which kill it altogether 
 must, indeed, be unusual and unavoidable. Indeed, 
 after the first reluctance had been surmounted, Fran- 
 cesca's hostess softened in a very marked manner. She 
 would not permit the groom to 'have the extra care of 
 the emptied horse. 
 
 " Thou wilt hev enough to get thysen and thy awn 
 horse over the moor," she said. " I'll hev the young 
 lady's sent to manger. Ride hard, or thou mebbe won't 
 ride at all." 
 
 Then she led Francesca into the house. It was a re- 
 markable old place, and Francesca won her way into 
 the woman's heart by her frank expression of interest 
 and delight. 
 
 "Thou should see it in summer-time," she said, 
 proudly. " Such a place for bees and birds and fruit 
 and flowers isn't in Yorkshire ! No, not in all Yorkshire. 
 Come in, thou art freely welcome." 
 
 They went into a long, low parlor with deep, sunk
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 51 
 
 windows and a waist-high wainscot of black oak. 
 There were heavy oak beams across the roof, and Dutch 
 cupboards in the corners, full of Royal Derby china. 
 There were some old pictures upon the walls, and a 
 sword over the door that had been used on Edgehill and 
 at Marston Moor. The furniture was massive and 
 homely, but it had an air no money could buy. 
 
 " The Leighs hev lived here, young lady, for genera- 
 tions on generations," said Francesca's entertainer. 
 " We niver did count oursens county people, but we are 
 mebbe a bit better than some that do. I hev a husband 
 that is all for new ways of living ; his awn father and 
 mother wouldn't know his thoughts, and I hev a son 
 who couldn't abide to live in the old house as it was. 
 His father and him hed a new part built, and they hev 
 satin and gold chairs gilt I mean, honey, for all the 
 gold is gilt these days. And they hev books and pict- 
 ures and music-making instruments and ivery other kind 
 of nonsense. But I live here. I live here in the old 
 rooms where my people lived and died before me. 
 They went to heaven out of them, and I am not sure 
 they like heaven as well. For they come back here. 
 Yes, they do!" 
 
 She made the statement with such solemn conviction 
 that Francesca never thought of disputing it. 
 
 " I hev seen Grandfather Leigh twice this week. 
 Husband says I am dreaming. But I told him it was 
 not varry likely I would be ironing fine laces or count- 
 ing up my dairy book and dreaming of Mark Leigh at 
 the same time. Was it, now ? " 
 
 " I am sure it was not." 
 
 " Well, I was doing up a bit of Brussels last Wednes-
 
 52 LOl'E FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 day, and in he came. I saw him as fair as I see you. He 
 went straight to that cupboard, and began to move the 
 tea-cups, and I said, ' Grandfather! ' and he was gone." 
 
 " Why did he go ? Why did he not tell you, or show 
 you, what he wanted ? " 
 
 " Nay, my lass! Dead men seem to be as contrary 
 and senseless as living ones. Grandfather niver would 
 tell his women anything while he lived, and he does not 
 appear to be any more open in his mind now that he 
 is dead. He came again on Saturday just at the edge 
 of the night. I was adding up the milk and butter, and 
 he stood right there, by that table, and watched me. I 
 said : ' Wait a minute, do, grandfather ! ' and I went to 
 call my husband, but when we came back he was gone. 
 Stephen that is my husband said 'it was a varry 
 queer thing.' And I am sure it was. I thought Stephen 
 would hev laughed at me, but he didn't ; he just looked 
 sharply in my face, and went out again. There was a 
 ' feeling ' in the room that made one's flesh creep and 
 turn cold, and Stephen said, ' It's a varry queer thing,' 
 and went away." 
 
 " Have you lived long here ? " 
 
 " All my life mebbe longer." 
 
 She was sitting by a little table at Francesca's side, 
 and she appeared suddenly to remember herself. 
 
 " Why-a, whativer am I thinking of ? " she asked. 
 " Thou wilt hev a cheese-cake and a glass of milk, I 
 dare say. Or if ta likes a bit of Yorkshire pie, I hev 
 one that cannot be beat." 
 
 She served Francesca with a Yorkshire plenteousness, 
 and, as the girl smiled her thanks, she said, question- 
 ingly :
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 53' 
 
 " You tell me that you have lived in this house all your 
 life may be longer. What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Dost ta really think one lifetime, however long it be, 
 can give us enough of this world? Nay, my lass. 
 There is a deal more to see and to hear, to learn and 
 to feel, than can be got through with in threescore and 
 ten years." 
 
 Francesca looked curiously at the woman. She was 
 slowly rubbing the polished blade of a knife with a fine 
 napkin. Her interest appeared to be settled on the 
 homely duty, but she was thinking of eternity. When 
 she lifted her eyes, they were full of dreams and specu- 
 lations. 
 
 "You must love this old house, then, Mrs. Leigh?" 
 
 "Love it! If it was a needs-be, I would glue its 
 stones together with my heart's blood ay, my lass, 
 with the heart-blood of them that are dearer to me than 
 my own life. What is this life ? " she asked; with a con- 
 temptuous flip of the napkin in her hand. " Only a 
 moment out of eternity. But my talk is all nonsense 
 to thee, I dare say, and I wish my son Lance was at 
 home. He knows how to talk ay, to the best of peo- 
 ple. But there is a wedding on hand not far off, and 
 if you go to a wedding you hev to take a gift in your 
 hand, or a cold welcome would be given, I'm sure." 
 
 " When I am married I will not accept gifts from my 
 guests," said Francesca. 
 
 " I wouldn't if I was thee. It is a mean doo, and 
 varry few gifts come with a good will." 
 
 Then a servant entered with some complaint, and 
 Mrs. Leigh left Francesca alone. The girl ate her 
 cheese-cake and drank her milk, and sat before the fire
 
 54 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 musing, until she fell asleep. It was so strange to be 
 in Lancelot's home and to be conversing with his 
 mother. In all her simple life nothing so like an ad- 
 venture had happened to her. She had discovered, also, 
 that there must be an acquaintance between the Idles 
 and the Leighs, or the latter would not have been asked 
 to Jane Idle's wedding, nor would Lancelot have felt 
 himself obligated in the matter of bride-gifts. And she 
 thought of these things until she slept, and the thoughts 
 in her mind turned to dreams. 
 
 When she awoke, Mrs. Leigh took her all through 
 the house ; for, in spite of her affected indifference to 
 the modern additions, she had a certain half-scornful 
 pride in the gilt and satin and the music-making instru- 
 ments. 
 
 " This is my son's parlor," said the proud mother ; 
 and Francesca stepped with a shy pride just within the 
 portal. 
 
 It was a very interesting room, well lighted, full of 
 books and pictures and beautiful things. Standing 
 boldly out between two windows there was a grand 
 piano ; it was open and strewn with loose music. Mrs. 
 Leigh touched the notes in a nervous manner. 
 
 " It is a varry fine instrument," she said. " It cost a 
 lot ; and Lance does take a deal of joy out of it. I 
 wish you could hear him play and sing. My word! 
 He can charm the tears and smiles out of the hardest 
 heart." 
 
 Mechanically Francesca walked toward the instrument, 
 and her eyes fell upon a sheet of written music above 
 the keys. It was a song, and the name was " Fran- 
 cesca!." She glanced down the page. Many words
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 55 
 
 were there, but she could only see that one word 
 "Francesca! " and it sang itself like music in her heart. 
 
 Yet she was glad to escape, for she had almost the 
 sense of having been dishonorable. She had surprised 
 a secret, but it pained her, just as surprising a mother- 
 bird off her nest had often pained her. It was a relief 
 to hide away in the corner of her carriage, and shut her 
 eyes, as if by doing so she could shut her discovery 
 from herself. 
 
 It was a little adventure also to Mrs. Leigh, for she 
 lived even more out of the world than Francesca did ; 
 and a beautiful young maiden eating a cheese-cake at 
 her hearth was very like a fairy visit. She could hardly 
 wait until Lance had removed his wrap to tell her news. 
 While he was doing so he was talking rapidly. 
 
 " I have had quite a pleasant day, mother," he said. 
 " I saw all kinds of pretty things, and I met Mary 
 Taylor. Do you remember the little girl? She is 
 grown into a beauty. It was worth going to Leeds to 
 see her." 
 
 " If ta hed stayed at home, thou would hev seen a ten 
 times bigger beauty. There was a young lady here this 
 morning that could take the shine out of any beauty I 
 hev ever seen." 
 
 " A young lady here ! " 
 
 " To be sure. The snow sent her to shelter, and 
 she staid with me while her groom went for a carriage. 
 I gave her a bit to eat and talked to her. A more 
 sensible lass I niver saw nor more agreeable. I took 
 her all through the house, and she said ivery room in it 
 was as nice as could be except thy room, Lance. She 
 said nothing about thy room, and I do think she
 
 56 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 thought as I do : that thy piano stands in a varry much- 
 in-the-way place." 
 
 " What was she like, mother ? Any one we know ? " 
 
 " Nay, I know nobody like her. Her face was just 
 sweet and bonny and loving. I took no notice of the 
 color of her hair or the make of her clothes. She came 
 on horseback, and she went away in a carriage dne of 
 Squire Idle's, or I am much mistaken." 
 
 " Then it was some young lady who is staying there 
 for the marriage." 
 
 Having given this opinion, he was silent. He was 
 thinking of Francesca, but not dreaming that she had 
 been in his home. Indeed, no suspicion of the fact ever 
 came to him until Jane Idle's wedding-day ; for there 
 was a heavy fall of snow and much bad weather, and it 
 so happened that Lance did not call at Idleholme pre- 
 viously. 
 
 And it was one of the charms of Francesca's sweet 
 nature that her love was not of that selfish kind which 
 breeds jealousy and suspicion of slight or unkindness. 
 The purest affection " thinketh no evil ; " and Francesca 
 did not mentally pout because her lover had no super- 
 natural intuition of her presence in his neighborhood. 
 Every day she hoped a little ; every night she thought : 
 
 " How sorry he will be when he finds out we have 
 missed another day." 
 
 She heard him frequently spoken of. Jane even 
 wondered at his absence. 
 
 " I suppose," she said to her brother, " you and Lance 
 Leigh have had another altercation ? " 
 
 " We had a little argument about Lydia Thornton 
 but then, I enjoy Lance's arguments,"
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 57 
 
 Almund was not inclined to discuss Lance Leigh with 
 his sister. He knew Jane admired him very much, and 
 he was averse to making Lance a point of interest in 
 any conversation when Francesca was present. For he 
 admired Francesca, and the idea of her as his future 
 wife was growing sweetly into his life. He had been 
 informed that a marriage between himself and Miss 
 Atherton would be agreeable both to Squire Atherton 
 and to his own father ; and he knew well that an alli- 
 ance with Lydia Thornton would not be agreeable to 
 his family. Balancing the two loves in his mind was 
 neither a difficult nor a disagreeable mental exercise. 
 
 For his love, in any case, would be a conscious and 
 well-considered act. The elaborate and long-continued 
 education of an English gentleman had destroyed in 
 him all spontaneity of feeling. He had no illusions, and 
 he was accustomed to challenge his emotions just as he 
 challenged his opinions. Both had to show good 
 grounds for their existence. 
 
 He put a stop to Jane's discussion of Lancelot by 
 taking Francesca to walk upon the covered terrace. 
 He had no objections to talk about the young man, 
 but he wished to avoid Jane's comments on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " I suppose you have not seen Mr. Leigh ? " he said. 
 " He has not called here since you came. Lance Leigh 
 and I do not always agree ; indeed, we very often dis- 
 agree. Mr. Leigh is like his class emotional. But 
 you would enjoy his music. No one finds any fault with 
 him at the piano. If he was not rich, he could make 
 his living with his love-songs. His voice is what they 
 call ' so sympathetic.' I have heard that he writes
 
 58 LOVE FOR AN HOUR, 
 
 poetry. I dare say he does. Fellows with his type of 
 tact very often do." 
 
 " ' His type of face ' is then unusual ? " 
 
 "It is regularly handsome. Byron, Keats, and Shel- 
 ley, and men of that kind, have those regular faces." 
 
 "There are so many ugly and so many sharp faces 
 now. I should think some regular faces would be pleas- 
 ant. Have you noticed the men in a big city, how very 
 much alike they look as if they were all going to mar- 
 ket ? Sharp noses, sharp chins, calculating eyes, and an 
 expression of ' cheat or be cheated.' Whenever I go to 
 Leeds or Bradford that is the way the men's faces strike 
 me." 
 
 " What is to be done ? We must have money. Every 
 door in life is barred with gold." 
 
 " Oh no, it is not! Ability opens the door to power, 
 and learning opens it to honor. Friendship opens it to 
 kindness." 
 
 " And love opens to gold." 
 
 " No! I am sure not. Love opens to love." 
 
 He looked at her glowing face and shining eyes, and 
 felt the door of his own heart stirring. For a moment 
 or two he had an envious greed of those who could take 
 Love to their arms, and count him lord of all. But he 
 was far too polished to give such an elemental emotion 
 tolerance. It belonged to an elder world, to half-civil- 
 ized societies, to natures which could be pleased like 
 children, with sophisms and phantasms and fallacies of 
 the feelings. For Almund Idle saw no mystical veil 
 shadowing some unseen wonderful shekinah. He stood 
 at that point where men do not try to lift the veil, be- 
 cause they are sure there is nothing behind it.
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 59 
 
 Yet he listened to Francesca's enthusiasms with a kind 
 of delight. A wife with such candors, such capabilities 
 for loving, such sweet, flattering ideas of masculine su- 
 periority, might be a far more charming and satisfactory 
 life-companion than a girl like Lydia Thornton a girl 
 who saw through all the shams of life as clearly as he 
 himself did. 
 
 After this he paid a great deal of attention to Fran- 
 cesca. He praised her beauty and admired her dresses, 
 with all the curious frankness of the modern lover ; and 
 felt her old-fashioned vivid blushes raise a very old- 
 fashioned vivid delight in what he was pleased to call 
 "his heart." 
 
 He had fits of reservations and fits of absolute surren- 
 der many times a day, until the wedding morning. Then 
 he resolved to let his liking for Francesca grow to any 
 comfortable condition of love that it was capable of. 
 His last reservation was withdrawn. It was necessary 
 to his perfect satisfaction that the public should indorse 
 his choice, and Francesca was acknowledged to be the 
 fairest of all the fair women present. The bride was in- 
 deed the center of interest, of kind speculation, and of 
 good wishes ; but Francesca was the center of admira- 
 tion. Her pale-violet velvet dress, her white velvet bon- 
 net, and abundance of white furs gave to her aristo- 
 cratic beauty a queenly mean and semblance. 
 
 It was at first sight wonderful how any mere mortal 
 man could find courage to offer escort to a creature so 
 evidently more divine than himself. But Francesca's 
 native gentleness and her cultivated consideration were 
 like the outstretching of the golden scepter. All men 
 could feel in her presence that she sweetly deprecated
 
 60 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 her own charms and exalted their masculine excellen- 
 cies. And as Almund was really of less stature than 
 Francesca, this secret, subtle, quite unconscious flattery 
 to mere manhood was very reassuring and compliment- 
 ary. 
 
 On the morning of the wedding, when the church was 
 crowded with guests, Lancelot again saw his love. She 
 was leaning upon the arm of Almund, and stepping 
 altarward to the sound of a noble marriage hymn. He 
 saw her before he saw the bride ; afterward he saw 
 nothing but her. A fresh adoration filled his soul. He 
 longed to kiss the chancel flags over which her feet had 
 passed. He noticed just where she stood, and promised 
 himself to come back and fill the same space of air and 
 light. Something of her personality might remain there, 
 though but the scent of her garments, the inaudible echo 
 of her voice, the invisible emanations of light from her 
 luminous countenance. 
 
 As the wedding-party passed out of the church, he 
 contrived to meet her in the porch. She had been ex- 
 pecting the meeting, and she gave him, in passing, the 
 glorious smile she had been keeping for him alone and 
 the clasp of her unglovei hand. And then his happi- 
 ness was higher than the clouds, and his chagrin deeper 
 than the ocean ; for she had foreseen their meeting, and 
 shown him such gracious and considered favor ; and he, 
 alas ! he had not been prepared for it. 
 
 He called himself stupid and blind and unworthy, in 
 a score of different ways. He felt as if nothing he could 
 do in the future would atone for that momentary want 
 of intuition. And at the wedding breakfast he was 
 placed far from her ; too far to catch her eye or hear her
 
 MARYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 6 1 
 
 voice, though not too far to see Almund's devotion to 
 her service. He was very angry with Almund Idle his 
 little nod of recognition in Francesca's presence seemed 
 an intentional offense. It was too patronizing, and 
 Lancelot, while drinking the bride's toast, was wonder- 
 ing what he should do to the man, what he should do to 
 restore his own self-esteem, and what he should do to 
 wound Almund's satisfied complacencies. 
 
 For lovers are either in a heaven of confidence or in 
 a hell of despair. And Lancelot, with a mortal's per- 
 versity, thought little of Francesca's ravishing ^smile and 
 freely given hand ; his own dullness the mortification 
 of it ; Almund's offensive salutation ; his air of famil- 
 iarity ; his attentions to Francesca and her apparent 
 reception of them all these things made the wedding- 
 feast a miserable affair to him. And then when the 
 breakfast was over, Francesca left the room with the 
 bride, and there was no hope that he would meet her 
 more closely at that time. But there was to be a ball 
 in the evening, and perhaps he might then be more fort- 
 unate. Still, he must wait until nine o'clock at night, 
 and it was only noon. How was he to get the nine 
 hours over? 
 
 Now, the day that begins badly often ends well, and 
 the ball fully atoned for the breakfast. And oh, how 
 lovely, how lovesome, how loving she was! Such 
 happy dances; such happy confidences about nothing 
 at all; such eloquent rests among the palms in the 
 greenhouse ! And then, in a kinder moment, the little 
 secret she had hitherto kept : 
 
 " I was caught in a snow-storm, and I sheltered in 
 your house."
 
 62 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " Was it really you ? " 
 
 "It was really me. And I saw your mother. I think 
 she liked me." 
 
 " I am sure she did. She said you were a beauty. 
 And mother does not take to every one." 
 
 " I should like to see her again." 
 
 " Will you ride over to Leigh Farm with me to-mor- 
 row? I will so gladly call for you." 
 
 " It would be delightful to do so. I will ask Aunt 
 Loida." 
 
 And so the conversation went on words that meant 
 little in themselves, and that meant so much as the 
 vehicle for a language not otherwise translatable. 
 
 After this every hour was joy-filled. Aunt Loida was 
 not able to resist the youth's charm and Francesca's 
 entreaties, for love's young dream had never grown old 
 or cold in her tender heart. To cross a true love 
 seemed to her a sort of crime against the soul. Lance- 
 lot and Francesca made her their confidante and the 
 sharer of their happiness. And Loida made little mes- 
 sages for them occasions for their meeting solitudes 
 which her presence did not break secrecies she inno- 
 cently shared. 
 
 It was Aunt Loida who was to bring the squire to 
 reason, and it was Aunt Loida who tried to inspire in 
 Lancelot's mother a sympathy equal to her own. But 
 Mrs. Leigh was really a stronger opponent of the lovers 
 than Squire Atherton was ever likely to be. The girl 
 she had liked at first she soon began to dislike. She 
 perceived that Lancelot's heart was set upon her, and 
 she understood at once how such a marriage would 
 affect interests dearer than life to her. If Lancelot
 
 MARRYING AND PROMISE OF MARRIAGE. 63 
 
 married Francesca, he would, of course, go to live at 
 Atherton Court. Leigh Farm would be let to strangers. 
 She could get no further than this supposition. The 
 terror of such a contingency stopped thought ; she could 
 only feel. 
 
 Still, for a month Francesca was very happy ; for if 
 Mrs. Leigh withdrew more and more from her, Stephen 
 Leigh was unusually proud and satisfied in his son's 
 success. And yet he had a heart which could fully 
 appreciate the view Squire Atherton would take of 
 such an alliance. 
 
 " It is varry like treason in his only child, and I'd 
 call it so if it was against mysen," he said. 
 
 " But, father," replied Lancelot, " we love each other 
 so much. Love such as ours breaks all other ties." 
 
 " Then it is a varry poor kind of love, and I 
 wouldn't hev anything to do with it. If wife-love and 
 husband-love doesn't hallow and strengthen father-love 
 and mother-love, it is a miserable, please-mysen, un- 
 blessed bit of business. If ta hed a daughter of thine 
 own, would ta think it a fair thing for her to forget all 
 thy love and all thy care and goodness, as if they hed 
 niver been? To set thee in Cold-Shoulder Lane for 
 some lad that was a stranger a month or two ago? 
 If Miss Atherton is willing to do that for thee, I am 
 not willing to hev her for a daughter. I'd set little by 
 her, and I'd tell her so quick enough." 
 
 " One would think you were Squire Atherton's 
 friend." 
 
 " I hope I'm not his enemy. I was fair and square 
 with him in business, and I'm none to blame if he 
 cannot see his awn interest. Be thou as honest with
 
 64 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 him about thy love as I was about my mill. He is 
 a varry good, gentlemanly sort of man, and happen 
 God doesn't make ivery good man to be a cotton- 
 spinner. Now I'll tell thee what: Go to Atherton 
 with thy Francesca I wish she hed a more world-like 
 name tell the squire to his face what thou hes said 
 tc his daughter, and what she hes said to thee. That 
 is only fair. Hes ta asked her to be thy wife ? " 
 
 " She says she will marry no one but me." 
 
 "They all say that, my lad, or words varry like 
 them." 
 
 " Miss Vyner has promised to speak to the squire 
 and try and persuade him to " 
 
 " Nay, then, if ta isn't man enough to tell thy awn 
 tale, thou art right to send a woman with it. That 
 wouldn't be my way, I can tell thee. I would go 
 straight to Francesca's father and say thus and so, 
 and ' What do you want us to do ? ' " 
 
 " He may say he wants us to part." 
 
 <( Then I'd say : ' Varry well, squire ; for how long ? 
 Will a year do?' If he makes it two years, he will 
 do a varry wise thing. You are both young enough to 
 wait and grow wiser. But niver thou send a woman 
 on any business thou should do thysen. I'd be 
 ashamed if I was thee! Face thy awn music. A 
 woman indeed! A woman! They are foolish coun- 
 selors and worse envoys, and in love as unlucky as 
 can be. If ta can't speak for thysen, my lad, then hold 
 thy tongue forever."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 
 
 See the mountains kiss high heaven, 
 
 And the waves clasp one another ; 
 No sister flower would be forgiven 
 
 If it disdained its brother : 
 And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
 
 And the moonbeams kiss the sea ; 
 What are all these kissings worth 
 
 If thou kiss not me? Shelley. 
 
 Oh, for the old true-love time, 
 
 When the world was in its prime! Croly. 
 
 T ANCELOT was not averse to take his father's ad- 
 J-/ vice. It agreed with the natural openness and 
 bravery of his spirit ; indeed, his acceptance of Miss 
 Vyner's offer of mediation had sprung from the anxious 
 self-depreciation of the lover and not from the timidity 
 of the man. 
 
 Francesca and her aunt returned to Atherton Court 
 toward the end of January. The holiday feeling was 
 then over, and life had settled into its usual placid 
 routine. The squire went hunting when the weather 
 was favorable ; when it was not, he examined his ac- 
 counts, wrote letters, made fishing flies, read the John 
 Bull newspaper and the Gentleman's Magazine. 
 
 He was very glad to have his sister and his daughter 
 home again. Life had been dull and lonely without 
 them, and the first days of their return were given over
 
 66 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 to gossiping with him on all the events which had hap- 
 pened at Idleholme. Very little things had a great 
 interest to the quiet gentleman. He liked to look at 
 Francesca's new dresses, and to read what had been 
 said about her beauty in the local papers; and he en- 
 joyed her descriptions of the people she had met and 
 the lovers who had tried to win her favor. 
 
 " But thou says nothing at all of young Squire Idle. 
 Did thou not like him, Francesca ? " 
 
 " Mr. Almund Idle will not care very much whether 
 I like him or not, father. He will go a-wooing ac- 
 companied by the family lawyer and the settlements." 
 
 " Oh ! he is that kind, is he ? " 
 
 " There is nothing new and nothing true, and it does 
 not much signify; that is his general attitude," con- 
 tinued Francesca. " He told me that before he was 
 twenty-five years old he had found out that faith in 
 women was beyond his power, and that nothing could 
 make him love his neighbors." 
 
 " My word! Some good man ought to give such a 
 /conceited jackanapes a horse- whipping. I hope thou let 
 him see thou had no faith in him, and that nothing could 
 make thee think about loving him. How ever do his 
 neighbors bear with him ? " 
 
 "They admire him very much. He is considered 
 exceedingly clever, and I heard that one of the nicest 
 girls in Yorkshire was in love with him." 
 
 "Well, well! It is a wonder! But women, God 
 bless them, do love men that not even God Almighty 
 -can put up with. Thou has spoken of riding a great 
 deal. I wouldn't think that a man like that would ever 
 care for a horse."
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 67 
 
 " He does not. He says he shivers on horseback, 
 and that it is folly exerting one's self to keep such an 
 unruly animal in order doing the work a coachman is 
 paid to do. He likes a cushioned carriage and plenty 
 of fur wraps, and a man to do his driving." 
 
 "Dear me! What a trial he must be to his father. 
 Well, if thou did not ride with him, whom did thou ride 
 with ? " 
 
 " Very often I went alone with Peel ; and very often 
 Mr. Lancelot Leigh rode with me. He lived neighbor 
 to Idleholme, and the families are quite friendly." 
 
 The squire did not answer. In a moment or two he 
 rose from his chair, went to the window, and looked 
 steadily out. Loida and Francesca looked at each other. 
 There was a quick chill and silence. No one felt able 
 to continue the conversation, and the tick of the time- 
 piece and the crackle of the fire were the only sounds. 
 
 The garden into which the squire looked was like a 
 girl draped for her first communion, all in white, and he 
 had a sudden memory of the place when it was a glory 
 of perfume and color, and Francesca stood there, scat- 
 tering wheat to the pigeons. His heart was really 
 wounded by this perversity of fate. He felt as if he 
 had been deceived by a power which should have re- 
 spected his blindness and weakness. At the mention of 
 Lancelot's name tears sprang to his eyes he had gone 
 to the window to hide them. Standing there, the forlorn 
 feeling of a man led astray by destiny assailed him. 
 What could his love or prudence do against a fatality so 
 pitiless ? 
 
 Moments are hours in such mental conflicts ; he 
 seemed to lose his foothold, and to go down and down
 
 68 LOVE FOR AN HO UK. 
 
 into an abyss of unexpected sorrow. Something to lean 
 upon was a necessity the floor was reeling, the window 
 receding, everything becoming dim and blank. He 
 grasped the back of a chair, and by a peremptory exer- 
 cise of will compelled himself to meet this consciousness 
 of unavoidable suffering and disappointment. And 
 then so wonderful are the voices of comfort a little 
 brown bird on a bare spray said cheerily : 
 ! "Chuck, chuck! Have you anything for me this 
 morning? I am so hungry." 
 
 And he whispered : 
 
 " God bless the bird ! " and went to the sideboard 
 and got some bread-crumbs for it. 
 
 He was scattering them on the window-sill when foot- 
 steps on the crisp snow made him turn his head. It was 
 Lancelot Leigh. His youth and beauty were very re- 
 markable in the clear winter day and against the spark- 
 ling white background. They would have been offen- 
 sively so, had they not been made tolerable by the air 
 of modesty which deprecated such offense. He bowed, 
 in passing, to the squire, and stood upon his threshold. 
 
 Now the hospitable instincts of Squire Atherton were 
 in the depths of his nature, and they had the strength 
 which comes from centuries of indulgence. Though the 
 visitor was his enemy, his first thought was to open his 
 door and say : 
 
 " It is cold, come to my hearth and warm yourself! " 
 
 The words were unconsciously tempered by an air of 
 proud, courteous resignation, as if he had added : " You 
 can take advantage of my kindness and wrong me, if 
 you choose, but the shame will be yours, not mine." 
 
 Lancelot entered the room with an eager look at
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 69 
 
 Francesca, but both she and Miss Loida were unavoid- 
 ably cold and constrained. They felt as if the visit was 
 inopportune, and Loida's instant mental query had been : 
 "Why was he in such a hurry?" On the contrary, 
 Lancelot thought he had been uncommonly patient. 
 He was anxious to explain himself, and, with the self- 
 confidence of youth, he went at once to the purport of 
 his visit. 
 
 " I wish to speak to you privately, squire," he said, 
 " on a very personal matter." 
 
 " Sir ? " answered the squire. " You can have nothing 
 private or personal with me. What you have got to say, 
 say now and here. Sit still, Francesca ! Sit still, Loida ! 
 The gentleman can have nothing to say to me you 
 may not both listen to." 
 
 Lancelot looked at Francesca, and hesitated. Her 
 face red as a rose was bent over her lace-work, but 
 she felt his glance and answered it with one encourag- 
 ing and affirmative. Then he spoke out frankly, with a 
 kind of bold respect : 
 
 " Squire Atherton, I have come to ask your permis- 
 sion to love your daughter." 
 
 " I cannot prevent your loving my daughter, sir. 
 But I will not give a welcome to my shame and sorrow.'* 
 
 " I am sure there is at least no ' shame ' in my love. 
 I give Miss Atherton the honest affection of an honest 
 heart. My name is unstained. My family, though not 
 noble, has its own record of bravery and integrity." 
 
 " There has never been a trader, sir, among the Ather- 
 tons. We are landed gentlemen, all of us. Miss Ather- 
 ton will be Lady of the Manor of Atherton. I think it 
 is an impertinence for a cotton-spinner to lift his desire
 
 70 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 to her position. For I hear you are to have charge of 
 the mill your father is building near me an offense in 
 itself, sir ; a great offense." 
 
 " I am very sorry the mill offends you, squire. I am 
 not to blame in that matter." 
 
 " I wouldn't sneak out of a thing that way. Thou 
 art not above taking the good of it. Why cannot thou 
 say, as thy father says : ' The mill is all right, squire ; 
 it will be a great blessing, and some day thou wilt say 
 so.' If thou talked in that sort, I could, at least, believe 
 thou had the courage to stand by thy opinions, and I 
 would like thee better for it." 
 
 " Squire, I desire so much to please you." 
 
 " Please thy own father, first of all." 
 
 "I have been a good son, sir, always. My father 
 would declare so, under all circumstances." 
 
 " Well, then, I heard him tell thee never to marry a 
 proud, not-to-be-touched lady of the land. Obey him." 
 
 " He was in a passion when he said those words, 
 squire. He knows that I have come here to ask you 
 for Miss Atherton's hand. He was glad of it." 
 
 " Mr. Leigh, why should we bandy words ? You 
 want what I cannot find in my heart to give you. You 
 want what you have no reason or right to ask." 
 
 " Brother, I think Francesca has given Mr. Leigh 
 both right and reason to ask her hand of you ; " and 
 Miss Loida looked steadily at the angry squire. " We 
 are old, brother, and they are young, and " 
 
 " We are nothing of the kind, Loida. I am in the 
 prime of life. Thou art far more beautiful than thou 
 was ten years ago. Dost thou mean to say that because 
 Mr. Leigh is twenty-five and I am near forty-five, I
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 71 
 
 should ruin my hopes to gratify his ? That would be a 
 queer thing. Francesca, what has thou to say ? " 
 
 " I am your daughter. I would not give you a mo- 
 ment's disappointment. What do you wish me to do, 
 father?" 
 
 " I wish thee to tell Mr. Leigh that he must forget thy 
 existence. Tell him that thy father's wish is more to 
 thee than his wish ; that thy father's love is more to thee 
 than his love. O Francesca ! Francesca / " 
 
 The words were the cry of a wounded heart, and he 
 stretched out his arms as he uttered them. In a mo- 
 ment Francesca was within their embrace. Her head 
 was on his breast. She was close to his heart. She- was 
 softly crying : 
 
 "O father! father! My dear father!" 
 
 " Say thou loves me best, my dearie ? " 
 
 " I love you ! I love you better than my life, father! " 
 
 " Better than this young man, who wants to take thee 
 away from me ? " 
 
 Lancelot looked at his love with his soul in his eyes. 
 Her father claimed her by a feeling far older and far 
 stronger. She remained motionless, suffering an agony 
 of indeterminate emotions. 
 
 Miss Loida, trembling and weeping, interfered. 
 
 " Brother," she cried, "you are too cruel! You have 
 no right to put such a question. Let Francesca sit down. 
 My dear," she said, as the poor girl seated herself again, 
 "my dear, weep ; it will do you good." Then, turning 
 to the squire, she continued : " Brother, I must speak 
 for Francesca's mother. She would not like to have her 
 little girl tortured between lover and father in this way. 
 Look there, Rashleigh ! "
 
 72 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Forgetful of every one, caring for nothing, Lancelot 
 was kneeling by Francesca's side. His arms were round 
 her, his cheek was against her cheek. They were weep- 
 ing together. She was telling Lancelot to " go away," 
 murmuring amid her sobs : 
 
 " I cannot grieve him. I cannot grieve him! He is 
 my dear father. I love him ! I love him ! We must 
 wait. There is nothing else." 
 
 The squire stood irresolute, silent. Waves of passion 
 passed over him. He was like a great oak-tree in a 
 tempest. Sighs, ejaculations, moans he was not con- 
 scious of escaped his lips. Loida stood silently beside 
 him^ The lovers believed they were taking of each 
 other a long, long farewell. 
 
 This interlude of intense feeling, though lasting but a 
 few minutes, broke the strength and will of every heart 
 present. The squire was conquered by his own suffer- 
 ing. He said feebly : 
 
 " What shall I do ? Tell me, Loida." 
 
 " Give Love a little favor. Whatever comes, you 
 will be glad of it." 
 
 "Francesca!" 
 
 " Father ? " 
 
 She stood up as he called her. Her hand was clasped 
 in Lancelot's hand ; tears were on the cheeks of both ; 
 their eyes were shining through the mournful mist of 
 parting sorrow. The squire was struck by their beauty, 
 their youth, their sad air of surrender. His voice was 
 much lower. He spoke wearily, for he was exhausted 
 with feeling : 
 
 " Francesca. Come to me." 
 
 She dropped her lover's hand, she went straight to his
 
 A HAPPY HOUR, 73 
 
 breast, she put her arms around his neck, she burst 
 into passionate weeping. 
 
 He held her close, for he was going to give her up, 
 and as Englishmen are apt to do he spoke gruffly, 
 because he was going to be kind. 
 
 " Mr. Leigh, I wish to make my daughter happy, but 
 when one is not sure about a thing, it is a right way to 
 take time to make sure. Take two years. Come and 
 go as you desire only, have a bit of discretion, and do 
 not wear welcome and father-love threadbare. When 
 two years are past, speak to me again. It may be, 
 when we know more of each other, we may think better 
 of each other. Now Loida, I'll go to my own -room 
 an hour. Send me a slice of cold roast beef and a 
 glass of wine. I feel a bit faint. Good-morning, Mr. 
 Leigh." 
 
 The favor gained so hardly was not one that could 
 be used without great care and self-restraint. Lance 
 found it difficult to do right. If he kept entirely out of 
 the squire's way, the unhappy father made a scornful 
 wonder of it ; if he visited Atherton Court in the squire's 
 presence, he could not avoid giving offense. It was a 
 position that would have killed love in any nature less 
 sweet and tolerant and self-forgetting than Lancelot's. 
 
 Neither had Lancelot in his own home much real 
 sympathy. His mother only tolerated " Lady Fran- 
 cesca " because her son had not only positively refused 
 to marry Maria Crossley, he had shown also some ad- 
 miration for pretty Sanna Newby, who just at this time 
 finished her education and returned home. And if there 
 were any human beings altogether hateful to Mrs. 
 Leigh, it was her nearest neighbors, the Newbys. The
 
 74 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 land of Newby Farm joined the land of Leigh Farm, 
 and portions of the two estates had frequently changed 
 hands. In the bad times of Leigh, the Newbys had 
 bought some of the Leighs' land ; in the bad times of 
 the Newbys, then the Leighs had gradually redeemed 
 their meadows. 
 
 The haunting terror of Martha Leigh's life was the 
 fear that her husband would mortgage Leigh to Newby ; 
 for the Newbys were at this time very prosperous, and 
 just as greedy as they had ever been of their neighbor's 
 acres. And Sanna Newby was undoubtedly pretty. So 
 that between her desire that Lance should marry Maria 
 Crossley and her fear that he might fancy Sanna Newby, 
 Mrs. Leigh was kept in a perpetual worry. Stephen 
 thought she ought to be happy enough to compromise 
 on Miss Atherton. 
 
 " It is few people," he said, one day, in reply to a 
 long complaint on this subject "it is few people, 
 Martha, who get what they want, and so they ought to 
 be well suited if they miss what they do not want. Miss 
 Atherton is not as welcome as Maria, but she is better 
 than Sanna. I'd be content if I was thee." 
 
 But Miss Atherton might be Lance's wife and yet not 
 mistress of Leigh House, and this likelihood was Martha 
 Leigh's terror. She was of that order of women who love 
 their children passionately while infirmity or weakness 
 asks for their protecting care. Lance, however, no longer 
 came to her for consolation or advice. He bore his 
 own trials and ordered his own affairs. But her home! 
 It could not save itself from the Newbys. There was 
 no voice in its gray stones that asked Stephen Leigh to 
 spare it from usurers and loan-men. There was no one
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 75 
 
 but her to plan for its salvation or defend its rights, and 
 in so doing preserve the place of her ancestors in the 
 atmosphere of their influences. 
 
 For she fervently believed that strangers in Leigh 
 House would shut its doors against the wraiths of those 
 who had built its rooms and who still visited them. 
 She was planning and fighting, then, not only for the 
 living, but the dead. There was a cloud of witnesses 
 behind urging her to maintain their rights, and Lance's 
 marriage affected her mainly in this direction. Maria 
 would insure Leigh in the Leigh line, for she was one 
 of those earthly, selfish women who find connubial love 
 all the love they desire. She would marry Lance and 
 forget her own father and mother and kindred; she 
 would merge her own house, if need was, into the wel- 
 fare of his house. She would obey Lance like an In- 
 dian squaw, and for the bones of love he threw her 
 serve the house of Leigh with all her body and all her 
 soul. 
 
 The difference between such an animal woman and 
 the spiritual Francesca was very great, and the shrewd 
 Yorkshire woman understood at once which would aid 
 her purpose best. Therefore she received the news of 
 Lance's engagement to Miss Atherton with unreason- 
 able anger and disappointment, and Lance was kept 
 in constant irritation by the fears and predictions of 
 disaster that was to come through his unwise choice of 
 a wife. 
 
 It was some consolation that he had his father's hearty 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Marry the- girl thou loves, whoever she is. At the 
 end she is the best wife," he said. " If I hedn't loved
 
 76 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 thy mother with all my heart, what a trial she would 
 hev turned out to be ! But I always manage to excuse 
 her tempers, and bide her ways. Why? Because, 
 Lance, I love her. I love her so, even yet, that it is 
 easy to forgive and forget. But it takes a deal of love 
 at the outset to bank enough for such ill days as hev 
 come to me, my lad ! " 
 
 So, many restless, unhappy weeks passed. Lance, 
 however, had consolations that were sufficient. There 
 were certain days when the squire was sure to be on 
 the magistrate's bench, and others when he was at the 
 hunt and at such times it was love that made the little 
 world at Atherton Court go round. Miss Loida was 
 then charmingly neglectful. She knew that love was a 
 poem for two only, and that a third, however sympa- 
 thetic, could not even be chorus to it. On wet days 
 she let them wander about the old rooms and corridors, 
 where every picture kept a story and every chair held a 
 dream. And as the spring came on, there was the 
 clematis arbor and the terrace walks. 
 
 Together the lovers watched the budding of the trees 
 and building of the nests. Together they saw the open- 
 ing of the lilies and the tulips, and the bluebells' little 
 censer swinging. Together they listened to the throstles' 
 sweet vesper, and to the delicious dissyllable of the 
 cuckoo-bird. And as the garden filled with roses and 
 with all the glory and odor of the warm summer, they 
 went so joyfully through it that Lancelot could not keep 
 Sappho's glorious wedding-song out of his mind. 
 Twenty times a day he found himself stepping to its 
 glad march, and then blushing at his own happy imag-
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 77 
 
 " High lift the beams of the chamber, 
 
 Workmen on high ; 
 
 Like Ares in step comes the bridegroom, 
 Like him of the song of Terpander, 
 Like him in majesty!" 
 
 And oh ! the sweet, long evenings, when the cool air 
 thrilled through the apple-branches, and joy and peace 
 flowed down upon them through the rustling leaves! 
 When they sat silent together, and listened to the night- 
 ingale, in the deep woods, singing to his mate! 
 
 They were both so young, both so fair, both so much 
 in love, it was impossible not to feel a certain joy in joy 
 so innocent and so natural. Miss Loida made little 
 plans for their indulgence ; there was not a servant in 
 the house but what gave them a smile ; the gardener 
 saw them coming and slipped out of sight. Something 
 sacred invested a love so pure ; every one shrank from 
 intruding on its privileges ; it was not made a joke of 
 by the stable boys. Perhaps, even then, it had an aura 
 of sorrow, which those outside felt and unconsciously 
 respected. 
 
 Toward September the squire perceptibly softened 
 toward Lancelot. For without any intent the young 
 man did a thing that pleased him very much. There 
 was a large tract of waste land on the boundaries of the 
 Atherton estate, and Lancelot began to buy it. That 
 was an investment Squire Atherton could understand. 
 If that ugly mill toiled, not to make calicoes only, but 
 that cloth might become land, he could better bear the 
 sight of it. For three great principles moved his life to 
 their dictates to love God and the church of England, 
 to fulfill all that pertained to his social position with
 
 78 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 honor and integrity, and to do his duty by the land 
 his own land first and his whole native land after it. 
 
 He began to talk to Lancelot about the draining and 
 improving of these waste acres, and Lancelot perceived 
 the advantage he had gained. He left them to the 
 direction of the squire, and the squire felt them upon 
 his honor, and saw that they had justice. And from 
 land to politics was an easy transition. The squire was 
 pleased to find a man likely to be so near to him a stiff 
 Conservative in principle. Then he began to see how 
 he might use his influence in sending Lancelot to Parlia- 
 ment. The idea took permanence in his mind. He 
 felt already a partisan's interest in his success. And 
 Lancelot was pleased with the proposition ; he was in- 
 deed anxious to do anything which would make him 
 more worthy of the girl he so entirely loved. 
 
 The improvement of land and its representation was 
 the squire's hobby; he liked to talk about it, for he 
 talked well on his own side of the subject ; and Lance- 
 lot differed just sufficiently to give him the pleasure of 
 convincing his opponent. This was another favorable 
 point ; it is not hard to learn to love those whom we 
 conceive ourselves to have corrected, especially when 
 they are teachable and obedient. It may be suspected 
 that love, and not the land-owner, made Lancelot easy 
 of conviction ; but if so, was not that state rather en- 
 viable than otherwise ? 
 
 So day by day the atmosphere of Atherton lightened 
 and brightened and grew pleasanter. For the words 
 of love and of loving-kindness, the smiles and good 
 wishes and snatches of old-world songs breathed into it, 
 made it sweet and calm and full of happy influences,
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 79 
 
 just as words of anger and hate and sinful mirth trouble 
 and darken and make its waves too turbulent for peace 
 or restful life. 
 
 But there is a tide in love as in all other things; 
 some happy hour, when loving hearts touch the rapture 
 of perfect unison in elements that are wholly responsive 
 and propitious. One evening in September this full 
 tide of joy came to Lancelot and Francesca. The har- 
 vest moon filled heaven and earth with its mellow radi- 
 ance. The reapers were among the wheat binding it 
 into sheaves. They were singing, as they worked, some 
 old sickle song. Soft and loud, stopping and beginning 
 again, its burden came over the fields and through the 
 garden and touched everything with a sweet melan- 
 choly : 
 
 " We have reaped, and we have bound, 
 Let the year go round ; 
 
 Let the year go round. " 
 
 The squire had been in the fields all day and had 
 come home at evening weary but happy. There was a 
 noble harvest, his barns would all be full. Loida met 
 him with smiles, and the meal he liked best was waiting 
 for him. Francesca came in to give him a kiss and 
 put the sugar in his tea. He felt really as if his lot had 
 fallen to him in pleasant places. 
 
 When he had eaten, he said : 
 
 " Let us go into the garden, Loida. I'll be bound 
 Francesca and Lancelot are there." 
 
 He still hesitated to say " Lancelot," but at that mo- 
 ment he felt sorry f or his hesitation, and added, with 
 the intention of atoning for it :
 
 80 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 " He is a fine fellow ; eh, Loida ? " 
 
 " He is as good as good can be." 
 
 " To be sure he is." 
 
 Then he went slowly out, his pipe in his hand, and 
 Miss Loida walked at his side. She was dressed in a 
 light muslin gown, mostly white, but having wavering 
 points of light green in it. A black ribbon belt was 
 round her slim waist, and black lace mitts on her hands 
 a stately, lovely lady, whom it was good to see and 
 good to talk to. 
 
 The clematis arbor was empty, and they sat down 
 in it. A nightingale was singing far off in the woods, 
 and the reapers' voices came softly from the meadows. 
 The air was still, warm, and radiant. It tasted of the 
 ripe peaches and apricots, of the bergamot flowers and 
 the hot, sweet lavender. There was a bed of white lilies 
 not far away, and the star Venus hung like a great white 
 lamp near the horizon. 
 
 Loida dropped her hands, and sat thinking. The 
 squire lit his pipe, and sat thinking. They did not need 
 to tell each other what they thought about. They un- 
 derstood and respected that confidential silence which 
 is often the surest sign of trustful friendship. Suddenly 
 the delicious air was thrilled with that melody which is 
 beyond all other melodies a charming human voice 
 a voice whose living notes, joyous and entrancing, com- 
 pelled all influences to become a part of its witchery. 
 
 The squire was delighted. He put down his pipe and 
 stood up to listen. 
 
 " That is Lance," he said softly ; " but whatever is 
 he singing ? Wilt thou come here, Loida ? " 
 
 She rose and stood beside him. She saw what he
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 8 1 
 
 had called her to see Lancelot and Francesca walk- 
 ing slowly up the terrace steps. They were both bare- 
 headed ; they were both dressed in white, and the moon- 
 shine made a wondrous glory all over and around them. 
 Lancelot's face was bent to Francesca's. He was tell- 
 ing his love in such words and tones as are only learned 
 in moments of inspiration, and only repeated when men 
 forget that they are mortal. 
 
 They came to the lily-bed, and they stood there. It 
 was no wonder. The great white flowers in the 
 heavenly light looked like the flowers of heaven. Their 
 perfume made the heart faint with joy. Lancelot gath- 
 ered one. For a momnet he held it to his lips as if he 
 would catch its perfume to make more sweet his song. 
 Then he gave it to Francesca, and she would have 
 kissed it, but Lancelot caught the kiss between her lips 
 and the flower ; and so began to sing again. His bright 
 face was lifted, and it mirrored the full glory of the 
 moon. Francesca leaned toward him as a flower leans 
 to the sun. 
 
 " Have you seen but a bright lily grow 
 Before rude hands have touched it? 
 Have you marked but the fall of the snow 
 
 Before the soil hath smutched it? 
 Have you felt the wool of the beaver? 
 
 Or swan's-down ever? 
 Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? 
 Or the nard in the fire? 
 Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 
 Oh, so white! Oh, so soft! Oh, so sweet is she! " 
 
 The exquisite words were breathed in exquisite music, 
 in notes full of passion, sweet, ringing, and delicate. It
 
 82 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 was like a "Gloria in Excelsis" of Palestrina's. The 
 squire stood breathless, listening, tears were in Loida's 
 eyes ; without analyzing their emotions, they felt how 
 truly a noble singer is a reed breathed through by the 
 Spirit of God. 
 
 They went very quietly back to the house. In each 
 heart there was the same thought that it would be a 
 kind of sacrilege to disturb such a service of love. Only 
 the squire said, with a tender, melancholy sigh : " I wish 
 I was a young man again, Loida." When they reached 
 the house he sat down by the open window. But the 
 song was finished, and the garden was as quiet as a 
 garden in a dream. In an hour the lovers followed. 
 They were silent, they were almost melancholy with the 
 sweet sadness of earthly love. They had been on En- 
 chanted Ground in the Land of Blissful Silence. They 
 knew that when they uttered a word the spell would be 
 broken. 
 
 Loida met them with a little effusion of solicitude. 
 She divined and wished to cover their self-conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 Was the dew falling ? Was Francesca sure she had 
 not taken cold ? Were they not hungry ? Francesca 
 had so little tea. 
 
 The squire asked if the reapers were still at work. 
 Did they hear their voices when they left the garden ? 
 And then, suddenly : " What wert thou singing to- 
 night, Lance ? I never heard that song before ; no, 
 nor anything like it." 
 
 "I was singing a love-song by 'rare Ben Jonson.' I 
 set the words to music. Francesca inspired it." 
 
 " Sing it once more, Lance."
 
 A HAPPY HOUR. 83 
 
 " I would rather not, sir. I made the song for Fran- 
 cesca only. I will sing anything else you desire." 
 
 " Well, then, we will have some sea songs. There is 
 nothing like them." And he rose and went toward the 
 piano. 
 
 Lance was already striking some introductory chords, 
 and the squire, who had the strange love which agricult- 
 uralists have for hearing of and singing of " the sea," 
 was soon joining his fine baritone to Lancelot's tenor 
 in " Hearts of Oak " and " Britannia Rules the Waves," 
 " The Heaving of the Lead," and a dozen other nautical 
 favorites, until they sailed with the gale " On the Bay 
 of Biscay, O ! " 
 
 This was always the squire's last song. He felt that 
 nothing could come after its magnificent roll and its air 
 of stormy salt water. When it was finished he sat down, 
 as he always did. with a sigh of satisfaction, and an in- 
 tense admiration for the British navy and all the jolly 
 tars that made it. Music is a noble interpreter; the 
 squire and Lance found each other's hearts among the 
 sympathetic chords. They shook hands at parting as 
 they had never done before. Francesca stood by her 
 father's side, and they both kissed her. 
 
 " It has been a happy hour," said the squire, and 
 Loida smiled her sweet assent, and Lancelot once more 
 kissed his love " Good-night " ; and none of them saw, 
 in the blue heaven of their hopes, the little cloud above 
 them the little cloud, no bigger than a man's hand.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "IT HAS TO BE BORNE." 
 
 As if a door in heaven should be 
 Opened and then closed suddenly ; 
 
 The vision came and went, 
 
 The light shone and was spent. Longfellow. 
 
 THE cloud came from the west from the far south- 
 west. It was the shadow of war; and what had 
 war to do with the love of Lancelot and Francesca? 
 Though the rumor and the fear of it had been in the 
 hearts of thoughtful men for months, hitherto Lancelot 
 had not been much troubled. His father had borne 
 the burden of anxiety for both mills. Cotton had 
 always been forthcoming for the looms at Atherton ; 
 Lancelot had not imagined a time when he would want 
 " material " and not receive it. 
 
 But the time was near at hand, for the cotton land 
 was in rebellion and its ports blockaded. There had 
 been a great deal of talk about such a terrible calamity, 
 but Lance had never believed it possible. The want 
 of cotton, the consequent want of work, the certain 
 famine and distress, had seemed to him like the light- 
 ning in heaven, far off. 
 
 He went to consult with his father. He found him 
 in great anxiety and distress, but he also found that he 
 had risen to the noblest point of the situation.
 
 "IT HAS TO BE BORNE." 85 
 
 "Are you going to close your mill, father?" Lance- 
 lot asked, even as the two men met and shook hands. 
 
 " Not I. I shall keep it running as long as I hev 
 a shilling to buy cotton with." 
 
 " Margraves has shut his mill." 
 
 " Hargraves is a big fat bear. He can live on him- 
 self rarely, and niver feel that he is a selfish brute for 
 doing so. I am none of his kind." 
 
 " But your cotton will not last long, and then you 
 will have to shut your gates." 
 
 " I won't shut them as long as I can buy cotton 
 at any figure. I have begun to run half time for a 
 half -loaf is better than no loaf at all and I shall try 
 to keep up to that mark till peace comes, or till we 
 get Indian staple in sufficient quantities to bring down 
 prices." 
 
 " What shall I do at Atherton ? " 
 
 " What does ta think thou ought to do ? I gave thee 
 Atherton Mill when ta won Squire Atherton's daughter ; 
 now, then, do whativer thou thinks is right. I don't 
 keep thy conscience, my lad! My awn is about all I 
 can manage." 
 
 " It is none of our quarrel, father." 
 
 "Ay, but it is our quarrel, Lance. It is ivery good 
 man's and ivery good woman's quarrel. I hevn't heard 
 a word contrary from any of the poor souls that will 
 have to go hungry for it. I am going to sell my 
 horses and stop wastry of whativer kind ; and thou had 
 better do the same. Thy mother sent off all the house 
 servants but one." 
 
 " Is that fair? Servants must live also." 
 
 " A servant can be a servant anywhere ; they cau g<
 
 86 LOVE FOR A\' HOI'R. 
 
 to Bradford and get work. A cotton-spinner is fit for 
 nothing else." 
 
 " Do you think the war will continue for any length 
 of time ? " 
 
 " Well, I should say it would. The North has been 
 preaching to the South a long while, and the South has 
 been calling the North ivery ill name it can think of 
 and from what I can understand they can think of a 
 good many aggravating ones and words hev come to 
 blows at last ; and I'm afraid they won't find out in a 
 hurry which of them can hit the hardest." 
 
 " Well, then ? " 
 
 " ' Well, then ? ' What does ta ask me questions for ? 
 Thou knows thy duty. Thou knows Yorkshire men 
 and women won't beg under any circumstances. If 
 thou art wicked enough to let them starve, they will 
 starve without a word. Thou hes made a bit of 
 money, and thou hes a good bit more thy grand- 
 father left thee. I don't think at this time thou can 
 save thy money and save thy honor and thy manhood 
 also. Thou ought to know which thou values at the 
 highest figure. I cannot help thee, my lad. When 
 thou took the mill as a gift from me, thou took it with 
 all it might bring thee loss or gain. No man could 
 then foresee what has come to pass." 
 
 " And you cannot help me ? " 
 
 " I cannot help mysen. I'll hev more to do with my 
 awn mill than I can manage, for I shall keep it going 
 half time if I sell the watch out of my pocket to do so. 
 I'll not shut the hands out to starve till I cannot raise 
 another shilling. Thou can do as seems right to thee." 
 
 " I was making money fast, father."
 
 "77- HAS TO BE BORNE." 87 
 
 " To be sure. And them can save all thou hes made 
 if thou chooses to shut thy mill till the war is over. I 
 hev no doubt when that takes place two million bales 
 of cotton mebbe more will be poured into Man- 
 chester market. Then them as hev saved their money 
 can buy, and can run things about as they fancy to run 
 them. I shall not be among that crowd, I can tell 
 thee. And if thou art my son, I shall not find thee 
 among them." 
 
 Lancelot smiled pleasantly. 
 
 " You will find me wherever you are, father. I may 
 perhaps run the Atherton Mill a year on half time if I 
 use all the money I have. Will the war be over in a 
 year ? " 
 
 " Nobody knows that, Lance. We can but do ivery 
 day's duty as it comes, and hope for the best. I hev 
 twice as many hands as thou hes, and my money is 
 badly tied up, but a lot will hev to happen before I 
 shut my mill-gates." 
 
 It was a pathetic country through which Lancelot 
 rode back to Atherton. Many of the great mills he 
 passed had been closed that Saturday night, and the 
 silent, empty places, the smokeless chimneys, and the 
 idle inhabitants standing in groups talking of their 
 calamity, filled him with sorrowful apprehensions. He 
 had begun to take great pride in his mill begun to 
 look upon it as a friend. He had also felt much in- 
 terest in his hands; he had considered their comfort 
 and pleasure, and Atherton was almost a model mill 
 village. 
 
 But to have people on half time, half fed, perhaps 
 sick, was not a comfortable outlook. And it did cost
 
 88 LOTE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 him a pang to pay out pound after pound of the money 
 left him by his grandfather to pay it out on a " per- 
 adventure," not even to feel sure that his generosity 
 would at last avail. The squire gave him but a cold 
 approval. Between a man saving money and buying 
 land and a man spending his capital there is a funda- 
 mental difference. . The man himself is different ; and 
 the act, though really a far grander one than those the 
 trumpet was blowing from west to east, was done with- 
 out even a decided self-approval. Virtue may be her 
 own reward, but Lancelot desired not only the ap- 
 proval of his own conscience he wished this self-satis- 
 faction indorsed by the good opinion of the man whose 
 respect he greatly valued. 
 
 But Squire Atherton was in the position of one who 
 sees the evil thing prophesied come to pass. Never 
 before in his village had there been suffering beyond 
 his power to alleviate. In times of agricultural distress 
 he and his tenants and laborers bore the curtailment 
 together, and were drawn closer by their mutual mis- 
 fortune. They were, too, his own people sons of the 
 soil who had lived from it and on it, in their genera- 
 tions, as long as the Athertons had lived at Atherton 
 Court. But these white-faced, half-famished "hands," 
 sitting on the steps of their emptied houses or standing 
 in mournful, hopeless groups at the street-corners, were 
 strangers from Manchester, Salford, Oldham, etc. 
 They looked at him, he fancied, with sullen ill-will, and 
 he resented this intrusion of commercial poverty and 
 discontent into his hitherto satisfied community. 
 
 He declined to talk about affairs with Lancelot. He 
 let him see that he felt injured and offended; that he
 
 "IT HAS TO BE BORNE." 8$ 
 
 regretted his late toleration of the mill, and withdrew 
 any approval he had given. And his sympathies it 
 he expressed any were on the side of the Southern 
 land-owners. He put slavery, as an idea, out of the 
 question. He thought only of the proprietors of the 
 land having it invaded, and their homes wasted that 
 their laborers might be benefited. Perhaps he took 
 this view because it negatived any special virtue in 
 Lancelot spending his substance for this idea. He 
 could not bring himself to give it any encouragement 
 or enthusiasm. 
 
 On the contrary, Francesca and Miss Loida were on 
 the side of the weak and suffering, and the squire did 
 not prevent them showing it. He privately thought his 
 barns and hay-ricks might be safer if he let the ladies of 
 his house go with the popular current. And in his 
 really kind heart he was glad to see Miss Loida giving 
 out soup, and sparing the whole household of milk and 
 watching every slice of bread, that as much as possible 
 might go to the hungry little children. He was glad to 
 see Loida and Francesca busy all day making garments 
 for them ; glad to know they were going from house to 
 house, helping the weak and the suffering. Quietly he 
 gave a great deal himself ; for if sickness and hunger 
 were visible things, he could not bear to pass them with- 
 out imparting succor. But yet there was a deep resent- 
 ment in his heart at the introduction of such contingen- 
 cies into his special neighborhood. 
 
 Lancelot felt this want of sympathy very keenly. He 
 knew that the squire's regulated and acknowledged 
 charity might have been a great help in his hopeless 
 struggle with war and famine. And he did suffer, also,
 
 90 LOVE FOR A.V HOUR. 
 
 in the gradual wasting away of his own substance. 
 Every pound spent put his marriage with Francesca 
 further off ; and he was quite sure the squire would tell 
 him that if he preferred to give his all for an idea, he 
 must be content with the satisfaction the gratified idea 
 gave him. Francesca could not marry a poor man ; 
 and Lancelot could not expect could not, indeed, 
 wish the squire to make him a rich man by his gift 
 or favor. 
 
 So the months passed drearily enough away. He 
 knew from his mother's letters that his father was fight- 
 ing an equally hopeless battle : 
 
 " He is simply selling all he has to keep the mill going." 
 " Cotton is rising, and father is desperate, but not to be moved." 
 " I am terrified your father will mortgage perhaps sell LeigTi 
 Farm. I am only able to think of this one thing." 
 
 Such like sentences in her letters indicated the con- 
 dition of things at Garsby, and they only varied as the 
 hopes of a speedy peace rose or fell again. 
 
 At the close of the second year all the manufacturing 
 portions of England dependent upon cotton were in a 
 desperate and deplorable condition ; hunger, naked- 
 ness, and pestilence had taken possession of them. By 
 this time, also, Lancelot had spent all he had ; yet the 
 peace so ardently hoped and prayed for seemed as far 
 off as ever. Then the day came he had feared the 
 day when he would be compelled to close his mill. It 
 was a dull, wet morning in the middle of summer; a 
 time when rain and clouds seem most of all mournful 
 and unnatural. 
 
 His last pound was gone, and he knew that a few
 
 "IT HAS TO BE BORNE." 91 
 
 hours' work would clear out the last tuft of cotton. He 
 walked through the mill with an aching heart. Some 
 of the looms had already stopped. There was no more 
 cotton to feed them. At others the " hands " were 
 watching the loads upon the looms, minute by minute 
 getting smaller and smaller. In a short time there was 
 not a shred left. Then men and women stood looking 
 at Lancelot. There was something fearful and un- 
 natural in the idleness and stillness of that busy, noisy 
 place. The very looms seemed conscious of calamity. 
 
 With tears in his eyes, Lancelot raised his hand, and 
 gave the order to stop the machinery. Then he 
 turned to his people and said, almost sharply : 
 
 " Men and women, I have done my best and my 
 uttermost." 
 
 There was an indescribable movement of assent and 
 pity, and after a moment's pause the over-looker said : 
 
 " Thou hes, master. We are none likely to forget it." 
 
 They left the mill very quietly, without a murmur 
 facing the inevitable ; and Lancelot, standing alone 
 amid his silent looms, heard the slow, heavy steps of 
 the nine hundred go out of his gates. In the midst of 
 his own despondency he recognized their heroism, for, 
 in their way, these half-starved men and women had 
 shown a self-respect equal to their master's. The 
 wages he had been able to give them was nearly two 
 shillings a week less than the charity which the relief 
 fund would have allowed them ; but not one soul had 
 preferred it. All had worked manfully and woman- 
 fully as long as any pittance of wage was possible, 
 rather than take the charity of the nation until they 
 were compelled to do so.
 
 92 LOVE FOR A.V HOUR. 
 
 He felt a sentiment of respect almost of hope as 
 he considered this pathetic perseverance in honorable 
 independence, unrecognized and unrewarded. Surely 
 what these men and women could do and bear he also 
 could do and bear. What if the squire failed to ap- 
 preciate his self-denial ? What if he had the world to 
 begin over again ? Thousands of good men were in 
 like case ; nothing more than was common to humanity 
 had happened to him. 
 
 And he had Francesca's unvarying sympathy. Per- 
 haps she held privately some of her father's opinions, 
 but she never allowed Lancelot to know that she did 
 so. In her presence it was almost impossible for the 
 squire to be less friendly to her lover than he had been. 
 She drew them together by all those sweet, affectionate 
 arts which good women know and never have to learn. 
 
 Loida was also true as steel, for Loida had very 
 old-fashioned ideas about love. She believed a lover 
 in trouble ought to be twice as dear ; she scorned the 
 idea of deserting him for any financial cause ; she told 
 Francesca plainly that her troth-plight was as sacred as 
 a wedding-plight, and that so long as Lancelot was 
 personally worthy of her love she would be base and 
 cruel to take back her gift. Yes, indeed, with some 
 misgivings, the dear lady thought, " It might be the 
 duty and privilege of some women to love on, even if 
 their love seemed to be unwisely given." 
 
 Francesca listened to such advices with cordial ap- 
 proval. They agreed with her own ideas ; for though 
 Lancelot handsome, rich, joyful, successful was very 
 dear to her heart, Lancelot handsome, poor, unhappy, 
 the victim of unavoidable and unmerited misfortune,
 
 "IT HAS TO BE BORNE." 93 
 
 was a thousand times dearer. In the early days of 
 their love Lancelot had been the lord and giver of 
 happiness ; but now she was the lady of all consola- 
 tions ; and even in love it was more noble and blessed 
 to give than to receive. Never had Lancelot been to 
 Francesca so endearing as when he came to her in 
 trouble to be comforted. 
 
 It was at this time the squire began to learn how 
 little real power a man ha, even in his own house, 
 if there be a majority of women holding opinions dif- 
 ferent to his own. He was not, indeed, prevented 
 from expressing his views, but it required a great 
 amount of courage to do so ; for Francesca answered 
 him silently in looks of amazement and indignant re- 
 proach, or else she obviously gathered up her sewing 
 and left the room in such marked distress that he felt 
 as if he had wounded a singing-bird or done some 
 other despicable and inexcusable act of cowardice. 
 Then Miss Vyner would say calmly : " Squire, I am 
 astonished at you!" or, "Whatever has changed you 
 so much, brother ? " Or, if his offense was very bad, 
 she appeared too much hurt to question him at all, and 
 the miserable gentleman was made to feel, at the same 
 moment, that he was brutally cruel and yet shamefully 
 misunderstood. 
 
 Mournful enough was the farewell Lancelot took of 
 his love before he left Atherton. It was impossible to 
 say how long it might be ere he could return in circum- 
 stances which would warrant the renewal of his offer 
 of marriage. He was almost penniless. He feared his 
 father was in a similar condition. The only plan he 
 had for retrieving his fortune implied an expatriation
 
 94 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 from England. He thought it possible to buy cotton 
 in Mexico. Thousands of bales were said to be passed 
 through Texas, across the Rio Grande, to the Mexican 
 territory. From some Mexican port, it might be pos- 
 sible to ship it to Liverpool. The squire thought it a 
 highly feasible speculation. He knew that there were 
 a great many spinners who had money lying idle ; he 
 supposed they would be glad to send out a young man 
 full of enterprise and spirit, and as to blockade-running, 
 every one was aware that fabulous fortunes were made 
 very quickly by it. 
 
 Lancelot talked his plan over with Francesca, and 
 such discussions brought them very close together. 
 Love, and love only, is cloying sweet ; but wonder and 
 fear, the sense of distance and strangeness, the assur- 
 ances and despondencies, the possible glory of a glad re- 
 turn, all these things were strong, pungent flavors, tinct- 
 uring the sentiment with emotions that blended together 
 the romance of love and the delightful confidences and 
 reliances of a still closer and dearer tie! 
 
 " I will never forget you ! Never cease one moment 
 to love you ! My own ! My sweet Francesca ! " said 
 Lancelot, one night in July, as they stood together in 
 the clematis arbor. 
 
 He had come to say " Good-bye." He knew not 
 for how long. It might be for a year, or for many 
 years. It might be forever. But in any case, he vowed, 
 with all the passionate tenderness of first love, with 
 tears, with fond embraces, with sweet, long, sorrowful 
 kisses, never! never! never! to be faithless to Fran- 
 cesca. 
 
 Francesca echoed every vow. Her lovely face, pale
 
 "IT HAS TO BE BORNE." . 95 
 
 as the pale flowers around them, was transfigured with 
 her love. The soul shone through the flesh, and made 
 it luminous. Her eyes were starlike. She made a 
 kind of glory where she stood. For those few last 
 moments she threw aside the usual sweet reserve of her 
 manner. She put her arms around her lover's neck. 
 She put her lips to his lips. She kissed her promises on 
 them. The tears that fell from her eyes were on his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Forever and ever I am yours, and yours only ! " 
 she said. 
 
 " Forever and forever I am yours, my love," he 
 answered ; and the strong, sweetly solemn words fell 
 slowly, one by one, into her heart, each sealed with the 
 sorrowful kiss of a long farewell. 
 
 He left her in the arbor, and she watched, him going 
 down the terrace-steps in the moonlight as she had 
 watched him at their first meeting coming up them in 
 the sunshine. He went slowly, step by step, out of her 
 sight, and she stood like one entranced till he had gone 
 beyond her vision till the very echo of his last foot- 
 falls was inaudible. 
 
 Miss Loida had permitted and guarded this lonely 
 parting. When it was over she went to her niece and 
 let her weep in her arms. 
 
 " Tears will wash away the bitterness of grief," she 
 said. " But he will come back, Francesca. He will 
 come back, my dear. I know he will." 
 
 " No, he will not come back, Aunt Loida. There 
 is a weight of death on my heart. I shall never, never 
 see him again." 
 
 " Do not bespeak such ill fortune for him and foi
 
 96 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 yourself. O Francesca! Good comes to the call of 
 hope, and not to the cry of despair. Go to your room, 
 my dear girl, and tell all your fear and sorrow to the 
 good God. Like a Father, He pities His children ; like 
 a Father who has both the power and the will to make 
 His children happy. He will take care of Lancelot." 
 
 " But you do not know what I suffer, Aunt Loida. 
 I am broken-hearted." 
 
 " Good hearts, brave hearts, faithful hearts, do not 
 break, Francesca. They go on loving and hoping. 
 And I know! I know! I have suffered. I once 
 thought I should die of suffering. But, Francesca, the 
 rose-tree stripped of every rose does not wither away 
 and die down to its very roots. It bears its loss, and 
 when the spring comes again it buds and blossoms, and 
 is fairer and sweeter than ever. Can you not be as 
 strong and brave, and as true to yourself and to all who 
 look to you for joy and comfort ? " 
 
 But in reality Loida knew that for heart-grief there 
 is no known consolation. // has to be borne. Comfort 
 cannot be given. It must spring from the very root of 
 sorrow. When she left her niece, Francesca was kneel- 
 ing at her bedside, sobbing with all the pitiful surrender 
 to the inexorable that youth feels. For the heart is long 
 in learning that tears are useless. Perhaps at three- 
 score we may accept with dry eyes the blow we cannot 
 escape. 
 
 In some respects Lancelot was more to be pitied than 
 was Francesca, for the sorrow poverty mingles is hardest 
 of all to bear. It might be good for him to have to 
 make a struggle for daily bread, but he did not realize 
 the good. He was altogether averse to overcoming the
 
 "IT HAS TO BE BORNE." 97 
 
 world, in the sense of breaking into its storehouses and 
 getting at its gold and silver. They say in Yorkshire 
 that any fool can make money if he throws his soul into 
 it and loses his soul for it. Lancelot wanted to make 
 money, but he did not want to lose his soul or his honor 
 or his self-respect in order to make it. Whatever, then, 
 his prospects were, with this weak spot in his heart, 
 there was more to fear than to hope. 
 
 He felt also a strange despondency, one not to be 
 referred to his parting with Francesca. His senses were 
 dull, their edges rebated ; he was sure some ill, not ap- 
 prehended, was approaching. And the feeling was like 
 a lazy frost to his mind ; it locked up all the vigor to 
 attempt enterprise, by barely crying, "It is impossible!" 
 
 He reached home sorrowful and despondent. His 
 mother was standing at the door as he rode up to it. 
 
 " I saw thee coming," she said. " It is time thou 
 came. Thy father is very ill. I heard the ' death-pad ' 
 last night. It walked from midnight till dawn above 
 his head." 
 
 Lancelot looked intently at his mother, and his heart 
 trembled. She was gray as ashes. Her eyes wandered. 
 He said, " Mother, you are ill ; " but she answered 
 sharply : 
 
 ' Not I ! I tell thee thy father is ill. He hes been 
 asking for thee all day long. Go thy ways to him."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 
 
 All houses wherein men have lived and died 
 Are haunted houses. Through the open doors 
 
 The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, 
 With feet that make no sound upon the floors. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Go to thy rest. A quiet bed 
 Meek Mother Earth with turf shall spread, 
 Where I no more thy sleep may break 
 With fevered dream. Sigoumey. 
 
 CiNCELOT went at once to his father's chamber. 
 The low oaken room was nearly dark, the air heavy 
 with fever and the sickly odor of drugs. Stephen, flushed 
 and restless, had heard his son's step, and was watching 
 eagerly for his entrance. 
 
 " My dear lad," he said, " there is something wrong wi' 
 me something more than common. And the doctor 
 doesn't do me a bit of good. I think, mebbe, I am 
 going to die." 
 
 " O father! Life is such a weariness, I wish I could 
 go with you." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Lance ! Bide where thou art. Thou 
 knaws what Yorkshire is. And getting out of life before 
 you hev earned your grave is, mebbe, like running away 
 from school. Happen you'll hev to come back, and 
 learn your lesson over again."
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 99 
 
 " But I am going away from Yorkshire, from England, 
 from all I love." 
 
 " Why-a! Whativer is ta up to ? " 
 
 Then Lancelot explained his plan, and Stephen 
 thought very highly of it. 
 
 " If good luck isn't here it must be somewhere in the 
 world, and it isn't a bad thing in thee to go and seek it. 
 As for me, I am fighting to the last gasp. I mean to 
 keep fast hold on Garsby Mill, if all else hes to go. 
 Peace is bound to come soon, Lance, and then a year 
 or two will put iverything right again. Thou must speak 
 to thy mother. She is varry unreasonable. She would 
 let the mill and all its twelve hundred looms and grand 
 machinery tumble down and rust to bits rather than hev 
 an old chair or an old china tea-cup bring a penny to 
 save us." 
 
 " On the subject of Leigh Farm, I am afraid, father, 
 she will not listen to reason." 
 
 - " I am Leigh as much as she is ; but if the Leighs 
 behind me know no more than to set store by things 
 that are no use to live by or live with, I would just as 
 lief hev their disapproval as their good will I would 
 that! I'm none afraid of them, living or dead. Thou 
 wilt not leave me till I am better, Lance ? " 
 
 " Not for the world, father! Not until you feel sure 
 it is safe to leave you." 
 
 " That is as it should be. I would stay by thee. Go 
 now and get a bit of supper." 
 
 "Father, would you like to see the rector?" 
 
 " What for ? Does ta think I cannot speak to my 
 Maker without a priest to go between us ? Nay, nay ; 
 I went straight to Him last night, and I said my say
 
 IOO LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 ' God be merciful to me a sinner ! ' Is there aught else I 
 I hev tried to do to my neighbor as I would hev him 
 do to me, and it's a good bit harder to love your neigh- 
 bor than it is to love God Almighty. Does ta think I 
 am feared to go to the God who made me f Not I. 
 He'll be no harder to me than I would be to thee ; and, 
 God love thee, Lance, I would lay my life down for thy 
 life I would indeed!" 
 
 Lance stooped and kissed the large, hot face, and 
 Stephen continued, with a smile : 
 
 " I hevn't been a church-goer I knaw that. My 
 mother took me once to get christened, and thy mother 
 took me once to get married ; and I hope, when I go 
 again, thou and a few that love me will go with me. 
 But I shall not be tried for eternity on that question. 
 If I am, I hev a text ready one my mother made me 
 learn when I was a little lad, and I hevn't done so bad 
 in setting my life to it ' And what doth the Lord thy 
 God require of thee but to fear the Lord thy God, to 
 walk in all His ways, and to love Him ; and to serve the 
 Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul.' 
 He can't ask me for more than to keep His awn laws, and 
 I hev tried to do that much I hev, I hev, indeed ! " 
 
 " I do believe you, father." 
 
 " And as for the day o' death, it is a day to be fear- 
 less and strong, and to put away fears, if you iver had 
 any. There is no ' blessed,' my lad, for the despairing ; 
 neither in this world nor in that beyond it." 
 
 Lancelot was astonished and troubled to hear his 
 father's words. He had never before seen this side of 
 his father's character. He had not, indeed, suspected 
 that such a side existed, for there are periods, especially
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. IOI 
 
 in middle age, when religious life seems to have lost all 
 potency, and all controlling power over the individual. 
 But this is no proof that religious life does not exist ; 
 it may merely be flowing through unseen and unsus- 
 pected channels channels too deep for mortal ken or 
 observation. 
 
 Certainly the conversation seemed to give Stephen 
 pleasure. He evidently, at this uncertain hour, wished 
 his son to know that he had never been without religious 
 instincts and aspirations ; and that he found the com- 
 forts of the God he had worshiped in secret to be suffi- 
 cient for his extremity. Indeed, he was far more anxious 
 and uneasy about the affairs of this life than about any- 
 thing that was to come after it. He heard his wife's 
 steps, and it recalled him at once to the actual. 
 
 " Go down to thy mother, Lance," he said. " She is 
 a bit trying these days. Thou must be patient with her. 
 We all hev a weak side : mine is my mill ; hers is her 
 house ; and thine, I'll be bound, is that bonny lass of 
 Atherton's. Kiss me again. Eh! Lance Lance! I 
 can't help thinking of the days when thou wert a baby, 
 and I carried thee on my shoulder, and next my heart.- 
 I can feel thy little hands yet about my neck," and he 
 lifted his large, trembling hands, and drew his son's face 
 down, and looked steadily into it, and said solemnly: 
 " God bless thee, my dear, dear Lance! " 
 
 " My dear, dear father! " 
 
 " Thou wilt come a bit after me, but I shall find thee 
 out in the next world. I shall know thee by thy loving 
 eyes and thy likeness to mysen, and by that sweet, 
 sweet voice of thine. Leave me now. I'd like to be 
 a bit by mysen."
 
 IO2 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Lancelot met his mother on the stairs ; he took her 
 hand and walked to the parlor with her. As they went, 
 she said, in a melancholy way : 
 
 " There is a cup of tea ready for thee." 
 
 The room was as spotless and orderly as if there was 
 no sickness near the place. The birds twittered in the 
 ivy outside, and the scent of the wall-flowers came in 
 through the open window. The great change was in 
 his mother's face. It had always been a grave face ; it 
 was now almost a hopeless one. Lance had never con- 
 ceived of a human countenance so full of something that 
 was superhuman yet not pleasantly so. 
 
 " What do you think of your father? " she asked, with 
 her eyes fixed upon the floor. 
 
 " I think he is very sick. What doctor has he ? " 
 
 " Doctor Thorpe. He is as good as any." 
 
 " I would send to Leeds for the best in the town. I 
 will go myself to-night." 
 
 " Nay, you won't. Your father is going to die. No 
 one can help him." 
 
 " How can you talk so calmly of such a calamity, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " It will mebbe be the varry best thing that could 
 happen. The Bible says that no man lives or dies to 
 or for himsen ; he hes to live for those behind him and 
 those that come after him." 
 
 " What do you mean, mother? " 
 
 " If he would keep his fingers off Leigh House, them 
 that live in its rooms unseen would keep their hands off 
 him. Did he tell thee he was going to mortgage house 
 and land to Joshua Newby ? " Her face had become 
 scarlet, her eyes blazed; she was the incarnation of
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH, 103 
 
 indignant wrong. " If he will worry them that are 
 stronger than he is, he must sup the cup they mix for 
 him. I hev told him I hev warned him warned him, 
 and better warned him." 
 
 " Mother, you let your affection for your family and 
 your house run away with your best part. My father's 
 life is worth all the old houses in the world." 
 
 " For God's sake, don't thee talk in that way ! What- 
 iver will I do ? Whativer will I do ? " 
 
 " Do the best possible to save father's life. I am 
 going for another doctor." 
 
 " Thorpe knows. Thorpe hes known him all his life." 
 
 " Still, I will have another doctor." 
 
 "As ta likes." 
 
 She was now sullen and silent, and appeared to fall 
 into a condition of hopeless indifference. Lance could 
 not eat ; he drank a cup of tea, and then rode into 
 Leeds for advice. The physician he brought spoke of 
 fever and of the man's gigantic strength, and the struggle 
 there might be between life and death. Indeed, the 
 patient was already delirious, and difficult to manage. 
 For many days and nights Lancelot never left his 
 father. In the land of the shadow of death, he kept 
 close by his side. Sometimes the sick man called him 
 frantically in cries full of suffering, and sometimes in 
 the fearsome whispers of agonized terror. 
 
 " I am here, father! Close by your side. I will not 
 leave you!" 
 
 In such assurances over and over, with exhausting 
 monotonous repetitions, Lancelot passed many days 
 of anguish and nights of anxious fear. For he had a 
 highly sensitive nature, responsive to all unseen in-
 
 104 LOVE FOR A - v 
 
 fluences, and he could not escape either the one or the 
 other. 
 
 At midnight, when his mother wandered restlessly from 
 room to room, muttering indistinguishable words, falling 
 upon her knees in speechless anguish, and the dying 
 man whispered awfully from far, far off, the weight of 
 untold years was upon Lancelot indistinct memories 
 no thought embodied, but weight and power and an 
 obscure sense of the soul looking backward and forward 
 through endless vistas. Then the atmosphere of the 
 ancient rooms was heavy with life that breathed not ; 
 with powers that touched him to the quick, in moods 
 which he had no senses to explain ; with flashes of illu- 
 - mination from the inner side of life ; vague terrors of 
 nameless things ; vague conceptions of times before this 
 life began, and he seemed to miss his foothold in it and 
 to fall into dreams whose unutterable desolation cast a 
 shadow over him, even in the summer sunshine. 
 
 Steadily the strong man marched to death. There 
 was some wonder at the inefficiency of all remedies, and 
 Doctor Thorpe questioned Lancelot sharply about the 
 administration of them. 
 
 " Whether your father be conscious or unconscious, 
 they must be given him regularly," he said. "They 
 cannot be neglected." 
 
 " They are not neglected, sir. My mother watches 
 the clock, and brings them at the very moment with her 
 own hand." 
 
 " Your mother brings them ? " 
 
 " Yes. This room is too dark to measure them with 
 safety and absolute correctness. We were fearful they 
 would be given in wrong quantities. Mother took them
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 105 
 
 to the parlor. No medicines could be more carefully 
 attended to." 
 
 The doctor said no more ; he sat down and waited. 
 In a short time Martha Leigh entered, with a glass in 
 her hand. He took it from her and put it to his lips. 
 
 " Martha, this is plain water. Have you forgotten 
 the drops ? They are most important ; they are life or 
 death!" 
 
 He gave her the cup back, and she left the room 
 without a word. 
 
 " Look after the medicine yourself," he said to Lance- 
 lot. " Your mother is troubled and weary, you ought 
 not to rely on her." 
 
 The words appeared to be kind and considerate words, 
 but they were negatived by the tone in which they were 
 uttered. A fear he durst not think of came into Lance- 
 lot's heart. He was stricken for a moment dumb and 
 motionless. The doctor had left the room ; he was 
 standing at the top of the stairs, looking, with a sorrow- 
 ful uncertainty, back into it, when Lancelot approached 
 him. Then he began to descend the steps, but the mis- 
 erable young man arrested him. 
 
 " Doctor," he said, " you have known me all my life. 
 What do you want to say ? " 
 
 " Nothing but what I have said. YoUf mother is not 
 fit to trust with the medicines. Drop the tinctures with 
 your own hand. Do not ask me any questions, Lance. 
 I have nothing to say to you." 
 
 " My father ? n 
 
 " Is very ill. He will probably die before sunrise. I 
 was going to tell your mother. I will leave the office to 
 you."
 
 106 LOl'E FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " Is there no hope, sir ? " 
 
 " It is too late to hope now. How could you be so 
 careless? Had I known! Had I suspected! Yet I 
 did wonder. How was it you never told me ? " 
 
 He asked the question suspiciously, with a certain 
 fierceness of manner, and then, shaking his hand free 
 from Lancelot's, went from the house. 
 
 For a moment Lancelot stood where he left him. 
 His face was scarlet. He trembled with anguish. If a 
 stranger had heard him accused of a crime, they would 
 certainly have said: "The man is guilty." 
 
 Recovering himself, he went back to the sick-room, 
 shielded the candle again, looked tenderly at the pros- 
 trate figure lying with face upturned to heaven, white as 
 clay, without sight, thought, or feeling, only not dead, 
 and then, with passionate haste, he went to the parlor. 
 His mother sat in a chair by the hearth. Her hands 
 were dropped. She was gray and cold, and unrespon- 
 sive to her son's entrance. He had hitherto respected 
 this attitude. He thought it to be his mother's way of 
 bearing sorrow. But, oh! if it should be remorse, and 
 not sorrow. He stood before her, and she looked up 
 and then down. 
 
 " Mother, do you know that father is dying ? He will 
 not live another day. O mother! mother!" 
 
 " I told thee he would die. He hed to die. It is 
 his awn fault." 
 
 "You want me to think that his forefathers killed 
 him ? " 
 
 " To be sure they did." 
 
 " Then I hate them all every one of them, man, 
 woman, or child, that hurt him ! The dearest father, the
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 1 07 
 
 noblest soul that ever lived! O father! My father! 
 Lance would have died for you, as you would for him ! " 
 
 " Wilt thou be quiet ? It is a shame of thee. Hating 
 thy awn, and daring to say it, too. Don't thee speak to 
 me. I won't listen to thee." 
 
 ." I tell you father is dying. The doctor says he 
 is afraid he has not had his medicines. O God! 
 O mother! mother!" 
 
 She had risen in her passion, but she sat down at his 
 appeal and laughed in a low, miserable way, muttering 
 to herself as she did so. 
 
 "What are you saying, mother?" 
 
 " I will tell thee, if ta wants to know. I am saying 
 that old Joshua Newby may come now with his papers. 
 Thy father's hand will never sign Leigh away to him. 
 He hes been here ivery day for two weeks to get thy 
 father's name. Thank God Almighty he will niver get 
 it now. Better a clay hand than a false hand ! " 
 
 " Give me my father's medicines." 
 
 "Ay, thou can take them now." 
 
 " Oh, you cruel wife ! " 
 
 " Cruel! Little thou knows. Hes thou a fire in thy 
 heart and thy brain burning thee up bit by bit while 
 thou art quick and living ? Hes thou seen what I hev 
 seen, or heard what I hev heard ? Hes thou sat with the 
 dead, and been sent to do their bidding and their will 
 for them ? Go thy ways, and don't thee dare to speak 
 to me again till ta knows what thou art talking about." 
 
 " Do you know that Doctor Thorpe suspects you of 
 letting my father die ? " 
 
 She did not answer him a word. Her eyes were fixed 
 upon his father's empty chair. A sudden breeze blew
 
 108 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 the white shade sharply against the window and brought 
 into the room the scent of wall-flowers. The little blow 
 startled and hurt Lancelot ; he never more could endure 
 the woody perfume. He lifted the medicine vials and 
 went upstairs. There are moments when all men weep. 
 They may do it in secret, but, none the less, they cover 
 their faces, and their palms are wet with the bitter rain. 
 And when Lancelot sat down again in the gloom of his 
 father's death-bed, and saw the white, helpless figure, 
 and thought of the " peradventure " that might have 
 been, he broke utterly down. Low sobs shook him 
 from head to feet ; he buried his face in his hands and 
 knelt down by the dear father who would know him no 
 more in this world. 
 
 All night he kept his lonely watch, and all alone he 
 helplessly witnessed the last struggle of the departing 
 soul. He was unspeakably wretched, for he had real- 
 ized the wrong done only when it was too late in any 
 way to atone for it. The medicine vials accused him ; 
 he could not bear to touch them, he could not bear to 
 see them. An awful stillness was in the house, a still- 
 ness pervaded by spiritual life. Lancelot felt it press 
 upon him on every side, and he resented the intrusion. 
 With his open Bible in his hands he stood by his father's 
 head and recited over and over the verses of the twenty- 
 third Psalm. His low, clear voice, solemn and tender, 
 penetrated the heavy shadows of the room, and his 
 mother, stealing without her shoes to the shut door, 
 heard him say : "'I will fear no evil, for Thou art with 
 me.' " 
 
 Perhaps also the comfortable words went with the 
 departing soul, for in those ineffable moments just before
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. . 1 09 
 
 the dawn, Lancelot, looking into his father's face, saw 
 a flash of parting intelligence, swift, and vivid as light- 
 ning. 
 
 "Father! Farewell, father," he whispered close on 
 the dying man's lips ; and instantly, from some mysteri- 
 ous distance, in tones sweetly hollow, like muffled music, 
 came the answer : 
 
 " Lance! my dear lad! Good-bye! " 
 Then Lancelot was holding a clay-cold hand. He 
 kissed it, and laid it across the quiet heart. For a 
 moment he stood regarding the empty soul-case, the 
 massive chest, the length and strength of limb, the large 
 head all the noble similitude of a man prostrated in 
 the summer of his life. " O harmless Death!" thought 
 Lancelot, as he softly left the dead man's chamber 
 
 " O harmless Death! whom still the valiant brave, 
 
 The wise expect, the sorrowful invite, 
 And all the good embrace, who know the grave 
 The short dark passage to eternal light." 
 
 The words were uncalled ; they came as if sent, and 
 said themselves with sweet insistence, as he descended 
 the stairs. 
 
 The house was still as a grave, the dawn was only 
 breaking ; he had a thought that his mother might be 
 asleep in some upper room ; but yet he went on to the 
 parlor. She was sitting there, she was quite awake, she 
 looked up at Lancelot with the inquiry in her eyes. 
 "Yes, he is dead! He is dead! O father! father!" 
 " Be quiet. He hed to die. Do I make a moan 
 about it f Call Dinah to make thee a cup of coffee. I 
 am going to thy father now.
 
 IIO LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 If he had been able to reproach her at this minute, 
 he would not have done so. She looked at him with 
 an air of defiance he had no heart to gainsay. He sat 
 down, and Martha Leigh went at once to her dead hus- 
 band. Lancelot heard her moving about, heard her 
 opening drawers, heard her fling wide the sashes, heard 
 her unlock a door little used, and go up the narrow 
 stairs to the garret ; and then a quick, sick fear came 
 into his heart. Would she end her remorse by death ? 
 Would she follow her husband through the great sid- 
 ereal spaces, and defend herself to him ? " 
 
 He was asking such questions as he sped rapidly after 
 her. At the foot of the garret stairs they were answered. 
 She had locked the door within, but he heard her im- 
 ploring, justifying, speaking to the dead man and the 
 living God in an agony of entreaty and protestation. 
 At length she began to weep, to sob, to cry out, like a 
 woman in strong physical pain might cry. 
 
 He stood still, with lips firmly set and face as white 
 as death. If all had been silent, he would have broken 
 open the lock and gone to her. Death he must prevent, 
 but suffering No! She ought to suffer. It was her 
 only chance for salvation. Yet he watched with her 
 watched until he heard her slowly coming down the 
 stair. Then he went to his own room and put away 
 some things he valued, and packed a small trunk which 
 he intended to take with him. 
 
 Among his music he founa the song he had written, 
 " To Francesca," rare Ben Jonson's rare love-song. He 
 put it to his lips with passionate longing and distress. 
 Never again would he hold her dear hand, and sing it 
 to her smiles and kisses. He was the son of a woman
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 1 1 I 
 
 who had let her husband die. He could not say, he 
 could not endure to think, the one awful word which 
 yet lay in his deepest consciousness, which he passed 
 by with shut eyes and forced oblivion. He was her 
 son. How, then, could he be Francesca's lover ? How 
 could he ever hope to be her husband ? The tender- 
 ness, the sweetness, the purity of the one woman stood 
 afar off from the cruelty, the hardness, the earthliness 
 of the other. 
 
 Yet his mother was his mother. Her blood beat in 
 his heart ; she was part and parcel of his personality. 
 He could no more escape from her than he could alter 
 the color of his hair, or take an inch from his stature. 
 He told himself that he would not escape from her if 
 he could ; she was still his mother. He found it already 
 possible to begin looking for excuses for her; physi- 
 cal reasons and extremities for her act ; assuring him- 
 self, as a final and decisive cause, that his father still 
 loved her. He had now supernatural insights, he would 
 know the spring of her deliberate cruelty, he would have 
 forgiven her ; at least, he would wish him to protect her 
 as far as it was possible. 
 
 How far that should be was the question Lancelot 
 had now to answer. But his mind was in a tumult ; he 
 could not think. How, then, could he decide ? In an 
 hour his mother called him. 
 
 " There is a bit of breakfast ready," she said. " Thou 
 hed better eat, if ta wants to act like a sensible man." 
 
 He wondered how he could bear to sit at the table 
 and break bread with her. Perhaps she had thought 
 of this difficulty ; the table was only laid for him. 
 
 " I hev hed all I want," she said.
 
 112 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Then he had a moment's relenting, and he answered : 
 
 " Let me give you a cup of coffee, mother." 
 
 " I hev hed what I want. Thou knows I never was 
 one to eat and drink. What hes ta dressed thysen for? 
 Where is ta going ? " 
 
 " I am going into Leeds. There are things to attend 
 to." 
 
 " Yes, I know. And then ? " 
 
 " I am going away from England when I have seen 
 the end." 
 
 He ceased speaking ; he was visibly in the greatest 
 sorrow. 
 
 " Dry thy eyes. If there is crying to do, I'll do it. 
 And thou art not going away. Thou hes Leigh now to 
 look after. The varry garden would grow dazy and 
 lonely without a master to walk in it. Thy place is 
 here, and here thou must stop." 
 
 " I am going to America to Mexico. If, as you say, 
 the dead come back here, father shall not find me filling 
 his emptied place. I'll touch nothing that was his. It 
 would be taking stolen property worse still." 
 
 " Take care what thou says to me." 
 
 Martha Leigh was a tall, imposing woman, still hand- 
 some ; and as she warned Lancelot, and stood up to 
 do so, she appeared unnaturally tall. Her large face 
 was colorless, her black eyes burned with a sullen fire, 
 and her lace cap, with its wide, fluted borders, gave her 
 the air of a pythoness under excitement. She looked 
 her son steadily in the face, and said, with a glance of 
 majestic defiance: 
 
 " Be sparing of thy words to me. Whativer I hev done, 
 I hev done well. It is all right, and He knows it now."
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 113 
 
 " How could it be right to treat my father so cruelly ? " 
 
 " Thy father should hev done his duty to them that 
 hed the first claim on him. Why-a! He was on the 
 point of selling his house to save his mill! Did ta iver 
 hear tell of such wickedness ? Going to turn the dead 
 and the living out, and put strangers or worse still, the 
 Newbys into these rooms. If he was a Leigh, he 
 deserved to be sent where he would learn his duty bet- 
 ter. If he was not a Leigh, but just some stray soul 
 that had got away from his awn people, then he hed no 
 business here : and the sooner he went to his awn, the 
 better for him, and for us." 
 
 " Mother, I can only hope and pray that you are not 
 sane on this subject." 
 
 " I am as sane as thou art, and a good bit saner. I 
 know what I hev done, and I am well pleased with my- 
 sen for doing it. Now then, do thy duty. I expect so 
 much from thee. Sell that big, ugly mill. Get rid of 
 them hundreds of men and women who hev eaten up 
 all our substance. Set thysen to take care of Leigh 
 House and Farm, make it fairer and bigger than iver it 
 was before, and I'll welcome any wife thou chooses to 
 bring here. And if ta must hev something to do that 
 is more money-making than sowing and reaping, study 
 and make thysen a doctor, or a lawyer. Now then, I 
 hev hed my say. Speak for thysen." 
 
 " I say that I will touch nothing that was father's, and 
 still ought to be father's neither mill nor house. I am 
 going to Mexico." 
 
 " And who is to be master of Leigh ? It hes niver 
 been without a master before, not in hundreds of years." 
 
 " Do as you will with it ; I could not live under this
 
 114 LOTE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 roof. O mother, mother! You have ruined my life 
 as well as " 
 
 ' Say the words in thy heart, Lance ' as well as mur- 
 dered my father.' I am not .afraid of any word, and I 
 did not murder him. I gave him his chance. There 
 hev been hours lately when I hev seen him talking to 
 Joshua Newby that I could hev stabbed him with the 
 knife I was cutting his bread and meat with. I did not 
 do it ; for thy sake for thy sake only. I thought it 
 might hurt thee with that fine lass thou hes set thy fool- 
 ish heart on thought it might mebbe be a red stain on 
 ivery year of thy life. So I waited, and I gave him his 
 chance. He hed a tussle with Death, and I neither 
 helped one or the other. Most folks think doctors are 
 as much on the side of death as life." 
 
 " What does father think now, looking back upon 
 life ? " 
 
 " I hope to goodness he thinks different to what he 
 did. If he doesn't, he is only one against me, and there 
 are hundreds and thousands ready to say : ' Martha 
 Leigh did right for Leigh.' The land stays ; the man 
 goes. Stand by the land, then. Now, don't thee go 
 away, Lance." 
 
 Lancelot shook his head and rose from the table. He 
 could not continue a conversation so painful. He went 
 back to his father's room, and looked again at the still 
 figure. His mother had washed and straightened him. 
 
 A fine linen winding-sheet smelling of lavender was 
 around him. His large hands were clasped across his 
 breast. His face was full of peace; his thick brown 
 hair had not a strand of gray, and it curled thickly all 
 over the grandly domed head. The wind that came out
 
 THE HOUSE OF DEATH. 115 
 
 of the garden and from off the wolds stirred it gently 
 upon the sunken temples. The room was as sweet and 
 white as if it was a bride- and not a death-chamber. 
 
 Lancelot held a long session in it. There he faced 
 the inevitable results of his mother's crime. Whether 
 she was morally responsible or not for it, the world 
 would hardly take time to inquire. Its verdict would 
 be sharp and swift, and it was as likely as not that, in 
 some moment of irritation, she would dare its utmost. 
 To bring Francesca into relationship with such sorrow 
 and shame would be wicked and cruel ; dishonorable to 
 do it without the full knowledge and consent of the 
 squire ; chimerical to hope that his consent would ever 
 be given. He was also sure that he had no right to be 
 his mother's accuser ; sure that his good father, if he 
 was alive, would plead for her, excuse her, and depre- 
 cate her suffering. It seemed best then, on every side, 
 to go away and to leave to omniscient love and wisdom 
 the unraveling of a destiny so cruelly tangled. 
 
 He then wrote to Francesca, and sent her the little 
 love-song that was associated with the happiest hours of 
 his life. He told her of his father's death, and his own 
 sorrow in losing so sweet and strong a friend. He could 
 not bear just yet to cut the tie between them. When 
 he was at sea he would take time to consider ; or at any 
 rate he would wait until he was on the point of leaving 
 England ; and he wrote so truly, with all his heart : 
 
 "My Beloved: The space between us is full of my longing and 
 heartache. It will be so, even when I am in Mexico. Oh, to 
 kiss your foot -prints! to touch the hem of your robe! to feel the 
 perfume of your presence! the magic of your beauty! the glory 
 of your smiles and glances ! Francesca! Francesca! Angel of
 
 116 LOl'E FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 my hopes and dreams ! Send me one loving thought each hour, 
 for, if you do not, I shall perish miserably for want of it. Adora- 
 ble Francesca! Live in happiness and sweetest peace. 
 
 " LANCELOT." 
 
 And the words were realities. Their greatest reality 
 was in their extravagance ; their only untruthfulness in 
 their poverty. Lovers will understand. Those who 
 have never loved lack the special intelligence let 
 them pray God for the divine interpreter.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 
 
 Yes, it was love if thoughts of tenderness 
 Tried in temptation, strengthened by distress,. 
 Unmoved by absence, firm in every clime, 
 And yet oh, more than all! untired by time, 
 Which nor defeated hope nor baffled wile 
 Could render sullen. Byron. 
 
 So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven ; 
 Around it, flame ; within it, death. Byron. 
 
 THERE was a sweet credulousness about Miss Loida 
 which was one of her greatest charms. She found 
 it so easy to believe in good, to hope for good, and when 
 disappointed, to begin hoping again. For ten years she 
 had lived, not unhappily, in such hope and disappoint- 
 ment, and then renewed hope. She knew nothing of 
 that fatal malady the incapacity to be happy. It is 
 true she had loved and she had suffered, and there had 
 been hours in which she had felt nigh unto despair. 
 But she had never been despondent ; and there is this 
 blessed difference between the two conditions: In de- 
 spair there is life and activity, an infinite in an infinite 
 sorrow ; but despondency is only a fatal, somber dream 
 on which the soul feeds secretly a lotus leaf of languid, 
 inert grief, not far from annihilation. 
 
 Every year about the autumn Loida went on a short 
 journey. She was never more than two or three days
 
 Il8 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 away, and yet it was an affair of great importance to 
 her, and she pleasantly occupied many days in her prep- 
 arations. No one spoke to her concerning it ; the 
 squire understood its object, and had long ago ceased 
 to interfere ; and Francesca, who had no restraints or 
 reservations with her aunt on other subjects, felt a singu- 
 lar reluctance to question her on this one. 
 
 On a bright sunny morning in August Miss Vyner 
 came down ready for her journey. The squire served 
 her with kind empressement, and Francesca hovered 
 around her with thoughtful care. They put her into the 
 carriage with many kind words and wishes, but without 
 a single message or question. And neither father nor 
 daughter made a remark to each other about the strange, 
 lonely excursion. Francesca understood there was some 
 secret she ought to respect. The squire had too noble 
 a nature to discuss circumstances sacredly personal to 
 another. 
 
 Through a very thinly populated country Loida rode 
 swiftly until the noon-hour. Then she came to a way, 
 side inn, where she changed horses and took some re* 
 freshment. Afterward, her journey was among high 
 hills and across desolate moors until toward sunset, when 
 she approached a small town. It stood in the midst of 
 an agricultural district ; a strange old place, quiet as a 
 dream. Its mortared houses were roofed with red tiles, 
 and each one, even on the main street, was set in its own 
 pretty garden. The bells of the ancient church were 
 ringing for evening prayers as she passed slowly through 
 the town and entered the gates of an inclosed place. 
 There was a heavy mist among the timber, and no sign 
 nor sound of life but the querulous inquiries of the rooks.
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 119 
 
 A short drive brought her in sight of a large white 
 house. There was a glimmer of light in one of the 
 lower windows, and as she approached, an old man 
 wearing knee-breeches made of corduroy, and a mole- 
 skin vest, came to meet the carriage. 
 
 " Mistress has been looking for you," he said. " Go 
 your ways in, miss. You are varry welcome, I'll war- 
 rant." 
 
 She went in as if she knew the house well, through a 
 long, flagged passage to a parlor at the end of it. An 
 old lady was sitting at a small table drinking tea. She 
 had a large cat on her knee, one of the real brown tor- 
 toise-shell that, as a pure breed, are now nearly extinct. 
 She was talking to it as Loida entered, and she kept 
 it in her arms as she rose with evident delight to wel- 
 come her. 
 
 " My dear," she cried cheerfully, " you are better than 
 sunshine ! I have been expecting you for a week. I 
 had given you up for to-day." 
 
 "We were detained at least an hour. One of the 
 horses I got at Redmond's Inn was a poor one ; but 
 here I am at last." 
 
 "And freely welcome. Will you go to your room at 
 once ? " 
 
 " Yes, at once." 
 
 "You know the way, dear. Nothing changes. I 
 try to keep everything the same." 
 
 Nothing had changed for at least ten years. Loida 
 could have gone through the house with her eyes shut. 
 She knew the lofty room to which she went as she knew 
 her alphabet; knew its large, carved bedstead, with 
 snowy trappings of Marseilles and ruffled lawn, and
 
 120 LOVE FOP AN HOUR. 
 
 hangings of rich, gold-colored brocade. She knew its 
 polished floor, so difficult for her to walk on, its fine 
 dressing-table and sets of drawers and ancient oak dower 
 chests, its Wedgwood ewers and basins, its prayer-table 
 with the open Bible, and the scent of roses everywhere 
 how well she knew the room! 
 
 She stood before the large mirror and looked earnestly 
 at herself. Though there was only one old lady to see 
 her, she was very anxious to appear handsome. She 
 had dressed with great care in rich and becoming gar- 
 ments, and her habits were so quiet and reposeful that 
 her journey had scarce ruffled her attire. She bathed 
 her face and brushed out the long, soft curls of her 
 brown hair, and put fresh lace at her throat, and then 
 she smiled back at the lovely woman the glass showed 
 her. 
 
 The consciousness of her beauty and grace gave her 
 an air of distinction, and she went downstairs feeling 
 that she was in a position to give and to receive pleasure. 
 Some additions had been made to the tea-table ; richer 
 viands, more beautiful china, and some napkins of dam- 
 ask as fine as satin. The two women sat down at the 
 table opposite to each other, and they made a very strik- 
 ing picture the pretty old woman with the charm of 
 life's afterglow over her gray, quiet head and pale, strong 
 face the pretty young woman in the full charm of her 
 thirty years, flowing, graceful, high-bred, with eyes as 
 clear as truth, and a face lovely as a perfect rose in 
 the twilight ; for roses then are soft and tender with the 
 dew and mist, and drooping a little, as if hiding some 
 sweet, sorrowful story. 
 
 At the first glance the elder woman's eyes looked dull
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 121 
 
 and soft and full of uncomplaining patience, but as soon 
 as she began to talk her resolute soul filled them with 
 fire and light. 
 
 " I have heard nothing," she said " nothing at all, 
 Loida, for nine months. If I had I should have written 
 you." 
 
 " Silence is so cruel, mother." 
 
 " It is, my dear. If the dead could only speak or 
 write it wouldn't be so hard, now, would it ? Why don't 
 they ? If they live anywhere, why don't they speak ? " 
 
 " I am sure Richard is not dead. If he were dead 
 
 * 
 
 I should know it. I think he may be on his way home." 
 
 "Eh, my dear! What a thing it is to have hope 
 always near you. Will I ever see Dick again, Loida?" 
 
 " I am sure you will, mother. I think he is coming 
 very soon. He might come to-night as we sit talking 
 of him." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Loida. Such a surprise as that would be 
 could only happen in Pen-and-ink Land. The son 
 doesn't come home, and the lover doesn't come back 
 that kind of way, except between book-covers. Never 
 the bright hour, and the happy circumstance, and the 7 
 loved one all together." 
 
 " Oh, dear mother, when Dick comes back he will 
 make the right hour and the happy circumstance, and 
 then all three will be together!" 
 
 " God bless you, Loida!" 
 
 " I am afraid you have been having hard times, 
 mother. I never knew you despond before." 
 
 " I have been having things a bit crooked, my dear. 
 Every which way has been contrary. It has been a 
 bad year. Some valuable cattle died in the spring and
 
 122 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 had to be replaced. And the two Swale children came 
 of age this year, and their money was to raise. It was 
 more than a thousand pounds. I had to sell two 
 meadows and a fine mare to get enough. But then, 
 what is land to Dick's honor ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, mother. Let the land go." 
 
 " And the house, too, if it be necessary. Eh, Loida ? " 
 
 " To be sure, mother. Dick's good name is before 
 everything. How about the interest ? " 
 
 " I shall pull through this year. But oh, Loida, if he 
 never comes home again ! " 
 
 " He will come. It is impossible such love and self- 
 denial will be made vain by death. Dick is sure to 
 come. I have brought a trifle to help the interest ac- 
 count. I wish I was richer. I can do so little, mother." 
 
 " It is hard for you to scrimp yourself, only for Dick's 
 good name." 
 
 " I hope Dick's good name is my good name. It is 
 a great happiness to me that you take so frankly what I 
 can do. Mother, I have only one fear, one great fear, 
 about Dick coming home. What if he has forgotten 
 me ! What if he loves some one else ! What if he " 
 
 " Nay, nay, Loida, you know different. Dick has 
 but one hope and thought, that is to put himself right 
 for your sake. Every letter I have is set to this tune. 
 My dear, he would be such a scoundrel as never was 
 heard tell of if he could forget you or put any other 
 woman before you." 
 
 " It is ten years since women change so much in ten 
 years." 
 
 " You have grown lovelier every year, Loida. When 
 Dick went away, you were nothing but a slip of a girl.
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR, 12$ 
 
 You were only a rose shut up in green leaves. You 
 were just the possible glory of the woman you have 
 grown to be. The bud in the green case has become 
 the perfect rose, and, my dear, there is no naming the 
 bud and flower together. Nobody would care for a rose- 
 tree if they didn't know the buds would grow to flowers. 
 I have told Dick in every letter I could send him what 
 a beauty you had become. If Dick could forget you, 
 I could find it in my heart to forget Dick." 
 
 " It is only a passing fear, mother. Dick is too fine 
 a fellow to be false." 
 
 " Yet you know, Loida, that many people once said 
 hard things of Dick. He partly deserved them, too ; I, 
 his mother, say that." 
 
 " Dick made a great mistake. He is doing his best 
 to put the wrong right. He has put much of it right. 
 When he pays the uttermost farthing, what else can be 
 required of him? And Dick has suffered, also. We 
 must think of that." 
 
 All that night till very late, and all the next day, the 
 two women talked of Dick. In the sweet old sunny 
 garden they talked of him, and recalled a thousand 
 things he had done and said among its fruits and 
 flowers. In every fair, old-fashioned room of the house 
 they talked of him. Every room was full of Dick. 
 Through ten years of absolute absence his personality 
 retained a hold on each. His picture at various ages 
 hung throughout the house. In one room Baby Dick 
 smiled and held his toes, and his mother stood before it 
 with her mother-soul in her face. " In another there was 
 Dick as a school-boy. In another he looked uncom- 
 fortably conscious in his academical gown and square
 
 124 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 cap. There was a full-length painting in oils of Dick at 
 his majority in the drawing-room. There was one in 
 the library of " Captain Richard Alderson " in the glory 
 of a militia uniform. Dick in cricketing suits and yacht- 
 ing suits ; Dick masquerading as Romeo ; Dick on his 
 favorite hunter ; Dick in every picturable situation was 
 present. 
 
 " They are all a great comfort to me," the mother 
 said. " When I get a fear about him, I walk through 
 the rooms and look at them all. There are so many 
 Dicks I cannot help feeling that one of them must surely 
 come back." 
 
 " The very best of Dicks will come back. Dear me, 
 mother, what a day it will be! He is sure to come here 
 first of all. You will send a man to tell me. Don't 
 trust to the post. We are so out of the way it might be 
 days before I got the letter." 
 
 " I will send the very hour Dick comes. Toby will 
 do the distance on Sylvia's back in six hours." 
 
 " I shall listen, then, for the beat of Sylvia's feet. 
 And whenever I hear a galloping horse, I shall be sure 
 it is Sylvia. O mother! mother! What if Toby was to 
 send in a month in a week the very day after I leave 
 you. Don't you feel as if Dick was nearly here ? I do." 
 
 " Sixty-five cannot feel as thirty does." 
 
 " Would you wish it ? " 
 
 " Ay, I would, just for Dick's home-coming. For an 
 hour I would like to feel as I did when I was thirty 
 feel in every nerve and pulse. Yes, I would, though I 
 used up ten years of life in that hour." 
 
 " Will he not be astonished when he comes back and 
 finds out all you have done ? "
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 12$ 
 
 " No ; I don't think he will. He would know it in 
 his heart. Dick knows his mother so well. He would 
 be sure I would do the topmost thing possible. But I'll 
 tell you what, Loida. He will be astonished and de- 
 lighted to find out how much you have helped me 
 scrimping yourself for his sake. My word! I think 
 when I tell him all you have done, he will find out tears 
 he never had before ; he will find out deep places in his 
 heart he would not ever have found out in any other 
 way." 
 
 "I see his dog is still about ; and won't he be 
 astonished to find Tabby still purring on his chair- 
 cushion ? " 
 
 "Tabby does not purr much now. She has not 
 purred much since Dick went. Really, when I come to 
 think of it, I do not think she has ever considered any- 
 thing worth purring about since. And as for Chief! 
 Chief is always watching. The look of inquiry in his 
 big brown eyes is more than I can bear sometimes. It 
 says to me so plainly : ' When will Dick come home ? ' " 
 
 This one day every year was the heart holiday of 
 Mrs. Alderson and of Loida Vyner. Whatever they 
 might have to do other days, this one was Dick's, and 
 Dick's only. They filled it with recollections of him 
 and with hopes for him. It was the heart-food on which 
 they both lived many other days. It went all too quickly 
 away. And in spite of Loida's charming anticipations, 
 no glad surprise came to them in it ; not even a white- 
 winged letter of hope. They parted as they had met, 
 in the visible presence of a sad certainty, in the passion- 
 ately expressed glamour of a future hope. 
 
 Loida's heart fell as soon as she left Alderson Bars.
 
 126 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 It grew heavier with every lonely mile. She had spent 
 her stock of hope so lavishly, she had none now left 
 for her own necessity. Her thoughts wandered far, 
 and yet brought nothing back but that truly English 
 word " Why? " Why had Dick done so wrong ? Why 
 did he not come ? Why did he not write ? The little 
 plaintive questioning word, almost poetical in itself, grew 
 tragic in its persistent iteration. 
 
 It was after sunset when she reached Atherton, and 
 that twilight dejection, which even animals feel, had in- 
 tensified the melancholy of her mood. She had ceased 
 even to expect the "improbable letter" of the future. 
 But oh, how soon all shadows fled before the light in 
 Francesca's face, and the hearty welcome in the squire's 
 greeting! How many good things were yet left her! 
 How much love! What a happy home! Her coming 
 to it made an air of rejoicing through the house. Tea 
 had been delayed that they might take it with her. 
 
 She threw off her sense of trouble and disappointment 
 by a conscious effort, as she threw off her cloak and 
 bonnet, and then turned with smiles to her brother and 
 niece. Something strange and unlocked for had hap- 
 pened ; he saw a shadow of it about the squire. She 
 perceived it in the face and manner of Francesca. But 
 they talked for a little while on the most commonplace 
 and indifferent of things the weather, the crops in that 
 part of the country through which Loida had passed, 
 the poor horse Hedmond had given her, the catching of 
 a fox in Atherton hen-coops, finally the condition of 
 Atherton village. 
 
 " It is bad enough," said the squire. " I am veiy 
 sorry for poor Lance. When trouble comes, it comes
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 127 
 
 every way at once, I think. Francesca tells me 
 Lance's father is dead. I am very sorry! " 
 
 " It is true," said Francesca, answering her aunt's 
 look of sorrowful amazement. " Lance's last letter 
 said his father was very ill ; but his death must have 
 been unexpected, I think. Lance writes like a man 
 distracted." 
 
 " He was particularly fond of his father," said Loida, 
 " I never saw a father and son so much one." 
 
 " I liked that," answered the squire warmly. " I 
 liked the way in which Lance stood by his father's ad- 
 vice and word. And I am sure Stephen Leigh was a 
 fine man. I am sorry I quarreled with him. It hurts 
 me to think I was speaking badly of him yesterday, 
 and him not on earth to answer me back. My word! 
 It is a dangerous thing to talk badly of the absent. 
 You never know whether they may not be closer to 
 God than you are." 
 
 They talked all evening of this subject, but no one 
 named it as it mainly appealed to Francesca. Her 
 first reflection had been : " Now Lance cannot go 
 away from England. There will be Garsby Mill and 
 Leigh Farm and his mother to look after." But she 
 gave no utterance to her thought, for it seemed selfish 
 and unfeeling. 
 
 Neither did the squire speak of any change in 
 Lance's prospects ; perhaps he, also, considered it 
 would be unfeeling; or perhaps he did not speak 
 of such a result because he did not wish it. At 
 any rate, it was not alluded to ; but Francesca kept 
 the possibility as a new hope in her heart. Yet she 
 felt hurt and offended that no one had foreseen sucL a
 
 128 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 change, and given her the comfort of discussing it. 
 Under the circumstances silence seemed almost active 
 ill-will against her lover. 
 
 The next morning the squire announced his intention 
 of going to Stephen Leigh's funeral. 
 
 " I can stay with my friend Thomas Idle," he said. 
 " No doubt he will be going to Leigh, and I think it is 
 t>nly right I should go, too for Lancelot's sake. Nay, 
 then, I'll not put Lancelot's cloak over my doings. I'll 
 go because I think well of Stephen Leigh. It was only 
 as the mill-owner and spinner I didn't like him. He was 
 as honest and straightforward a gentleman as ever lived." 
 
 Thus it is that death opens the eyes of the living, 
 and permits excellencies to be seen not acknowledged 
 before its revealing touch. 
 
 So that day Squire Atherton went to Idleholme, 
 from which place he sent a message of sympathy to 
 Lancelot. But he did not go to Leigh Farm until the 
 day of the funeral a soft, misty, warm day, full of a 
 Still melancholy. There was a great company present, 
 and the little graveyard on the windy wold was crowded 
 with middle-aged gentlemen, squires, and spinners, who 
 had been Stephen Leigh's friends and acquaintances 
 tall, handsome men mostly ; full of a splendid vitality, 
 subdued and solemnized by the shadow of death and 
 the thrilling words of the white-surpliced priest at tl:^ 
 open grave. 
 
 The service over, the crowd dispersed very silent!}'. 
 The majority were on their own hunters, and they rode 
 through the green lanes bordered with ripe wheat in 
 a silent, thoughtful mood. They had to pass Leigh 
 Farm, and Squire Atherton stopped there. He really
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 1 29 
 
 felt as if he ought to give Lancelot some personal 
 sympathy, and also find out how so unlooked-for a 
 calamity would affect his future movements. 
 
 The place appeared to be deserted. No one came 
 to take his horse, and he led it to 'the nearest stable. 
 Then he entered the house by an open door. He 
 could hear footsteps in the room above, but there was 
 not a sound in the lower part of the house except the 
 humming of the bumble-bees flying in and out of the 
 open windows. He saw the dead man's empty chair 
 on the hearthstone. His pipe was across the rack in 
 the chimney-corner, his tobacco-jar and almanac lay on 
 a little shelf beside it. The senseless objects had an 
 uncomfortable and pathetic eloquence. He disliked a 
 solitude so full of voices, and he touched a hand-bell 
 upon the sideboard very sharply. 
 
 The resonant call was answered by a heavy footstep 
 upon the stairs. It came toward him with a slow, fate- 
 ful sound a sound full of unhappy presentiment. He 
 had a moment's irresolution about remaining to answer 
 his own call, but as he hesitated Martha Leigh opened 
 the door and came into the room. 
 
 He was shocked by her gray, stony face, and dark, 
 glowing eyes. Her stare of inquiry frightened him. 
 But he understood at once that it was the widow, and 
 he respected a grief so evident and so awful. 
 
 " Mrs. Leigh," he said gently, " I am Squire Ather- 
 ton. I called to see Lancelot." 
 
 " He hasn't come from the funeral yet." 
 
 " He will be here soon, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I can't tell thee. He was feeling badly, and spoke 
 of going to see Dr. Thorpe."
 
 130 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " I am very sorry for your affliction, madam." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know why thou should be." 
 
 " I supposed you were aware that your son Lance- 
 lot" 
 
 Then the squire stopped; he had a sudden dislike 
 to naming his daughter. 
 
 " I know that Lance hes thought hissen in love with 
 Miss Atherton, but as for wedding with her " 
 
 " Madam, the days of death and burial are not for 
 the discussion of love and marriage. That subject can 
 wait its season." 
 
 " I was going to say a few words that wiil suit all 
 seasons going to say that there is now a reason why 
 my son can never marry Miss Atherton. He knows! 
 He knows! Find another husband for thy lass, squire. 
 She can never wed my Lance. If ta knew all Lance 
 knows, thou would put her in her winding-sheet before 
 thou would see her don wedding-clothes to be his 
 wife." 
 
 She stood with one hand upon tke large center-table, 
 looking straight into the squire's face, and she spoke 
 with a still passion that was terrible. A suspicion that 
 she was "not herself" was forced upon the squire. 
 He answered her accordingly with some indifferent 
 words, which he meant to be soothing and conciliating. 
 She listened to them with scornful temper, and 
 answered promptly: 
 
 "Thou needn't think I am out of my senses. I 
 niver had better hold of them all. I know right well 
 that thou niver wanted Lance in thy family. I don't 
 blame thee. I don't want thy fine daughter among the 
 Leighs. Well, then, thou can go thy ways home with
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 131 
 
 a light heart. Thou hated Stephen Leigh, and thou 
 hes hed the pleasure of seeing him put under clay ; and 
 thou hated the thought of Lance Leigh coming courting 
 Miss Francesco,. Now I tell thee he niver can do so 
 any more." 
 
 " You ought to give me some reason for your asser- 
 tions, Mrs. Leigh." 
 
 "Ask me no questions. I shall mebbe tell thee ties 
 if ta does. Lance knows 'why.' But Lance will niver 
 tell thee. Niver! Get thee home, now. What does ta 
 come here for, anyway ? If I was only thy match in 
 size and strength, I'd know 'why.' What does ta 
 come here for?" 
 
 She asked the question with such hatred and passion 
 the squire was really terrified. He was sure now that 
 the woman was insane, and his anger turned to pity. 
 He regarded the tall, comely widow, stricken with so 
 sad and lonely a visitation, as something sacred. She 
 had felt the finger of God, and had not been able to 
 mentally survive that mighty touch. Instead of answer- 
 ing her question, he bowed slightly, and made as if he 
 would leave the room. 
 
 She watched his movements with satisfaction. She 
 went before him to the door and held it open. 
 
 " Don't thee come here any more," she said. " I 
 want nothing to do with* thee, nor with any one belong- 
 ing to thee. I hev seen thy daughter. She is none of 
 our kind. And I'll dare Lance to talk of wedding her. 
 Make thysen easy on that score. He'll niver do it now. 
 Niver!" 
 
 " Madam, your misfortune insures my sympathy and 
 respect. Good-afternoon."
 
 132 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 " When I ask thee for sympathy or respect, then thou 
 can give them to me. And my misfortune, as ta calls 
 it, is mine, and I can bear it without thy help. Go thy 
 ways, and a ' good-afternoon ' to thee, if ta calls this 
 one." 
 
 Never in all his life had Squire Atherton been treated 
 with such painful freedom. Anger and pity strove to- 
 gether in his heart, but anger was doubtless the most 
 lasting of the two feelings. He was muttering his an- 
 noyance and offense all the time he unfastened his horse, 
 and he rode away from Leigh Farm full of wrath and 
 indignant protest. 
 
 "Just what I deserve! Just what I deserve! Why 
 did I trouble myself about Stephen Leigh? I have 
 always had annoyance, and nothing but annoyance, with 
 him and with his. It is enough to make a man vow 
 never to do a kind thing again. I came with a pitiful 
 heart, and that n .woman told me I came for the 
 pleasure of seeing Stephen Leigh put under clay. My 
 word! It is hard to do right. Dal it! I have let my 
 soft heart lead me on a fool's errand. But thanks be ! 
 I'm not bound to go that road again. And as for my 
 little lass God love her! I will see her in her winding- 
 sheet ere I'll let her take a husband out of such a railing 
 nest." 
 
 Burning with chagrin and a sense of injury, he pur- 
 sued his way. On the moor he met Lancelot. He 
 was quite alone and riding very slowly, with his head 
 bent and reins dropped loosely down. He looked com- 
 pletely worn out and exceedingly sorrowful. As the 
 squire drew near, Lancelot recognized him ; and he 
 stopped his horse altogether. But in spite of a certain
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 133 
 
 pity for the youth, the squire was intensely angry. He 
 made no attempt to stop, but touching his hat in pass- 
 ing, went rapidly onward ; apparently indifferent to the 
 lonely figure gazing after him, with eyes dilating with 
 wonder and wounded feeling. 
 
 Lancelot had a letter from Francesca over his heart, 
 which he had just received. It was full of tender love 
 and sympathy. It spoke of her father's sorrow and of 
 the genuine respect which had moved him to attend the 
 funeral. What, then, did that formal recognition mean ? 
 It was such a greeting as might have been given to the 
 most indifferent stranger. Lancelot felt the sting and 
 humiliation of this worry, even in the deep sorrow and 
 the awful doubts that gathered like thick clouds across 
 his hopes and his love. 
 
 His mother met him with a strange timidity. She 
 was not aware of it, indeed ; she was nursing purposes 
 in her heart which were at total variance with the feel- 
 ing. But when Lancelot entered the parlor, she looked 
 stealthily at him. His miserable face and his silent, 
 restrained manner troubled and yet irritated her. For 
 his sake and his interests she had robbed herself of love 
 and love's companionship, and bespoke life-long sor- 
 row and remorse. Right or wrong, she felt that her 
 self-denial ought to be recognized and appreciated. 
 For she reasoned only from her own standpoint, and 
 quite forgot that Lancelot, both by nature and educa- 
 tion, was not only incapable of reasoning with her, but 
 was firmly convinced on views taken from an entirely 
 different standpoint. 
 
 She motioned to his father's chair and drew it toward 
 the table, on which a frugal meal was laid. Lancelot
 
 134 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 shrank with visible pain from the empty seat. With 
 gentle hands he lifted the chair back to its place. Tears 
 dropped upon the cushion, and oh, what bitter-sweet 
 memories crowded around that old empty chair! 
 
 Martha Leigh watched him with gathering anger. 
 
 "Take the chair," she said in a shrill voice, full of 
 stifled feeling " take thy father's chair ; it is surely 
 good enough for thee to fill. It is thine now." 
 
 " It is not mine." 
 
 " All that was his is thine. I hev said that before." 
 
 " Nothing that was his is mine. I will not touch a 
 penny's worth. I have told you that before." 
 
 " Hes ta lost thy senses ? " 
 
 " I have at least the fullest sense of my duty to my 
 father. Father went away or was sent away before 
 his time. Whatever was his is still his ; not mine." 
 
 " It is thine." 
 
 " I swear before God it is not mine ! Nor will I 
 touch a farthing of it, nor put myself in his place for 
 one moment ! My dear, good father, who never wronged 
 me by one thought ! Shall i wrong him in all that per- 
 tained to him honor, place, land, house, and money? 
 May God slay me first! I should well deserve it." 
 
 " Thou art an ungrateful son ; a miserable Leigh. If 
 ta has any manhood in thee, speak plainly to me, and 
 not in snaffling words and riddles." 
 
 " Very well. I will ask you some plain questions 
 answer me as plainly: Did you purposely keep back 
 the proper medicines from father ? " 
 
 " Ay, I did. I was sorry I hed to do so, but it hed 
 to be done." 
 
 " And he died in consequence ? "
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 135 
 
 " He may, and he may not. I left it all in God's 
 hands. Surely to Heaven! your father was as well 
 there as in old Dr. Thorpe's hands." 
 
 " I can only hope that you were and are insane, 
 mother." 
 
 " Nay, my lad, I hev all my senses. I am as sane, 
 and a good bit saner, than either thy father was or thou 
 art. My word! Any Leigh must hev been stark crazy 
 who was standing, pen in hand as one may say, to sign 
 away house and land. And that is what thy father 
 would hev done, hed not the fever put a stop to such 
 wickedness. I hev always been told that sickness comes 
 from the hand of God. Well, then, I left thy father to 
 the will of Him that sent the fever. I didn't interfere 
 one way or t'other. God hed His awn will. Does ta 
 think old Thorpe's medicines were stronger than His 
 will ? " 
 
 " Mother, such reasoning is wicked. You know you 
 did wrong." 
 
 " I did quite right! I'll stand to that, alive of dead! 
 I saved house and land for thee. Ay, and for all that 
 follow thee." 
 
 " I will have neither house nor land. I am going 
 away from England. How could I bear to stop here ? " 
 
 " Thou wilt stop here. If ta goes away, whativer is 
 to become of the property ? " 
 
 " Do as you wish with it. If the dead Leighs are 
 more to you than your living husband and son, give 
 them the house. I will not share it with them." 
 
 " Thou art not worthy to do it." 
 
 "And if I stayed here, I should stay to carry out 
 father's desire. I would mortgage I would sell Leigh
 
 136 LOVE FOR AN HOUR 
 
 House and land and keep the mill going, for that would 
 keep a thousand families in bread." 
 
 "My word! Thou art a reprobate! Out of my 
 sight! Out of my hearing! I'll niver own thee again! 
 I know what thou is after. Thou wants to be lord 
 and master at Atherton Court. And the Leighs' place 
 may fall into anybody's or nobody's hands. Thou art 
 a wicked one, and no mistake." 
 
 " I shall never now ask Miss Atherton to come into 
 our family. How could I ? " 
 
 " Thou hed better not. I told her father an hour 
 ago she niver could marry thee. I gave the proud old 
 fellow a set-down he won't forget in a hurry." 
 
 "O mother! mother! How could you shame me 
 so? You have broken my heart twice over! How 
 could you shame me so ? " 
 
 " If ta can do nothing but cry, go to thy room. I 
 hev my awn sorrow, and it is as much as I can bear. 
 Does ta think I hev no feelings ? Does ta think that 
 doing Tny duty pays me for all I hev hed to give up ? 
 I tell thee there is a worm at my heart and a fire in my 
 brain, and they will worry and burn me into my grave 
 before they'll stop a moment ! " 
 
 She swept the table clear with passionate haste as 
 she spoke, locked the doors, and taking the candle off 
 the table, went upstairs. Lancelot remained in the large, 
 dark sitting-room. He wondered where his mother would 
 go. She went straight to the room in which her hus- 
 band had died. She had occupied it all her married 
 life ; she was evidently not going to resign her right to 
 it because Death had taken her place there for a little 
 while. Lancelot heard her close the windows ; he heard
 
 LOVE'S DESPAIR. 137 
 
 her heavy footfalls, her movements about the ambries 
 and drawers, just as the squire had heard them a few 
 hours before. She had been preparing the chamber for 
 her use then ; she was now preparing herself to lie down 
 in it, and sleep such sleep as was possible to her. 
 
 Lancelot sat still thinking. However hopeless a man 
 may be, he must still think and still plan ; for life, some- 
 how, must be got over, and a grave fairly and honestly 
 earned. At this hour all else had vanished ; hope for 
 better days seemed hopeless. He could not bear to 
 contemplate taking one penny from his father's estate. 
 He could not think of the estate as belonging in any 
 shape to him. His father's unnatural death, whether it 
 was known to others or not, was known to him. He 
 would have felt base beyond contemplation to have 
 profited himself in any way by it. 
 
 But this was only the beginning of sorrows. He 
 knew that Francesca must be given up. He compelled 
 himself to face this terrible fact. His mother was in- 
 sane, or she was in full intent a He could not say 
 the word; he tried not to be conscious of the letters 
 that spelled it, but they would come before his eyes as 
 if they were written in fire. 
 
 How could he tell Squire Atherton the real facts? 
 And yet how shameful it would be to continue his 
 engagement with his daughter, hiding them! How 
 could he tell them to Francesca ? It would be impos- 
 sible. Then what should he say to account for the 
 silence and desertion that must now cancel all their 
 sweet hopes! Every explanation he thought of only 
 made things worse ; for at the last it came to these ques- 
 tions :
 
 138 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " Can I accuse my mother to Francesca ? Can I ac- 
 cuse her to Francesca's father ? Would they be willing 
 to risk the awful dread of inheritable insanity? Would 
 they be willing to ignore the suspicion of a crime still 
 more terrible ? " In any case, was it his duty to betray 
 either the misfortune or the crime of his mother ? He 
 could not feel in himself any particle of that Brutus-con- 
 science which took the public into confidence or con- 
 sideration. His mother was still his mother. He could 
 find excuses for her no stranger would allow. He knew 
 that her punishment had already begun. His desertion 
 of her was a part of it. 
 
 Yes, in spite of his own overwhelming sorrow, even 
 with the thought of sweet Francesca breaking his tender 
 heart, he sobbed out with an almost divine compassion : 
 
 " My poor, wretched mother! God be pitiful to her! "
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 
 
 " A little sorrow, a little pleasure, 
 Fate metes us from the dusty measure 
 That holds the date of all of us." 
 
 "Ah, but alas! for the smile of smiles that never but one face 
 
 wore! 
 
 Ah, for the voice that has flown away, like a bird, to an un- 
 known shore!" 
 
 " Welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, 
 And frequent sights of what is to be borne; 
 Not without hope we suffer and we mourn." 
 
 IT is very hard to believe what goes against our 
 wishes ; and it was almost impossible for Francesca 
 to believe that Lancelot would now really leave Eng- 
 land. There seemed to be such good and valid reasons 
 for his remaining at home, that, in spite of his melan- 
 choly letters and their certain air of change, Francesca 
 would not consider his exile as a likelihood. 
 
 One morning in October, Miss Loida and her niece 
 were in the garden together. It was a fresh, frosty 
 morning, with plenty of sunshine. The squire had gone 
 into the village on electioneering business, and the 
 ladies, in spite of the contradiction in their love affairs, 
 were not unhappy. Miss Loida was talking with the 
 gardener, and she had her hands full of the latest asters.
 
 I4O LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 } rancesca stood on the terrace steps feeding her pigeons 
 and laughing at the melting eyes they made to their 
 perpetual song of "Love! Love! Love!" She was 
 dressed in a gown of dark-blue cloth ; it had little 
 turned-over cuffs and collar of white linen, and the 
 bright-brown ribbons of her straw hat fluttered about in 
 the glancing sunlight. Her whole appearance, indeed, 
 indicated a mood of serene pleasure that delightful air 
 of cheerful happiness which surrounds those who can 
 enjoy ordinary life without the excitement of passion or 
 appetite. 
 
 Now, as Francesca scattered the wheat, she looked 
 toward the house, and saw a servant approaching her. 
 He had the morning's mail on a salver, and he gave 
 Francesca a letter, and then carried one to Miss Loida. 
 Francesca's was from Lancelot. She finished giving the 
 pigeons their breakfast with a little conscious hurry, and 
 then went to the clematis arbor. Miss Loida had taken 
 her letter into the house to read ; Francesca was glad 
 not to anticipate any interruption. 
 
 She sat down with the fateful square of paper in her 
 hand and suffered her eyes to dally with her anticipated 
 pleasure. She had been sure that every letter would 
 bring her information of Lancelot's change of plans; 
 she was quite sure this particular one was to set her 
 heart at rest. In all her life she had no sorrows to an- 
 ticipate, and she had been accustomed to have all her 
 desires granted. It was inconceivable to her that 
 Lancelot should not manage to make her happy in the 
 way she desired. She had even begun to feel that he 
 had carried delay in the matter quite long enough for 
 her patience and pleasure. So she opened the envelope
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 141 
 
 finally with that air of decision which contains in it a 
 certain demand that expectation shall be satisfied, and 
 these were the words she read : 
 
 " Farewell, adorable Francesca ! Farewell ! Farewell for- 
 ever! In an hour I shall leave England, certainly for some years, 
 perhaps for the remainder of life. I do not ask for your remem- 
 brance; let me be forgotten as soon as possible. For a great mis- 
 fortune has come to me; one utterly inconceivable and unfore- 
 seen ; and I would die rather than make you a sharer in it. Only 
 believe that, though I suffer, I am innocent of all wrong in 
 thought, word, or deed. It is misfortune that I can neither avert 
 nor explain. If I say that I am broken-hearted, I say too little. 
 I am compelled to put love from me. I am compelled to abandon 
 hope. I retain life, only because it would be cowardly to resign 
 it. Forget one so miserable. Forget the sweet hours we have 
 passed together ; all our innocent dreams ; all our blessed hopes 
 for the future. I am too wretched a man to remain in your 
 thoughts. O beloved Francesca! My heart bleeds and breaks. 
 Farewell forever. LANCELOT." 
 
 She read the letter through, at first rapidly, then with 
 a forced and rigid deliberation, letting her eyes take in, 
 with clear and positive certainty, every word and letter. 
 She did not cry or faint, or evince any passionate sense 
 of the crushing sorrow that had come to her. Some 
 hot tears filled her soft, shining eyes, but they were not 
 shed. She sat still, letting every miserable word smite 
 her like a blow. Only yesterday she had wept with 
 angry impatience because a careless servant had let 
 loose into a cruel world of cats and boys a cage-bred 
 canary. But to-day she had no tears for the anguish 
 which had come to her own heart. 
 
 It was at first almost an impossible sorrow. She did 
 not, she could not believe in it. Why should such grief
 
 142 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 come to her ? " Am I awake ? " she asked, with amazed 
 and almost indignant incredulity. 
 
 She had, also, a kind of painful shame in being so 
 cruelly deserted. Why had not Lancelot come to bid 
 her " Good-bye " ? Surely there was no misfortune he 
 could not tell her about. She felt that she was strong 
 enough and loving enough to bear any misfortune, how- 
 ever great it might be, with him. Why had he not, then, 
 trusted her ? 
 
 Besides, there was an uncertainty about the letter 
 which tortured her most of all. Lancelot said he was 
 leaving England, but he did not say to what part of the 
 world he was going. He did not ask her to write to him ; 
 he had even made it impossible for her to send him a 
 letter. He said he was going away for years that he 
 might never come back. What conceivable misfortune 
 could there be to drive a lover, a young man of family 
 and wealth and fine prospects, forever from his home 
 and his native land, especially when he declared himself 
 to be an innocent and irresponsible victim ? 
 
 She could not imagine one. Indeed, Francesca was 
 singularly unable to imagine situations of sorrow or of 
 evil fortune. The world had been such a happy 
 world to her. She had never supposed circumstances 
 in the which love could fail to comfort her, or hope be 
 turned into despair. The first hour of the experience 
 was stunning and stupefying, and she was only con- 
 scious of a dumb rebellion against some terrible suffer- 
 ing and deprivation. 
 
 When Miss Loida came to seek her niece, Francesca 
 had for the first moment or two a sense of anger at any 
 intrusion into the bitterness of her grief. But the real
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 143 
 
 sweetness of her nature soon prevailed, for Loida was 
 no silly intermeddler with another's trouble. She al- 
 lowed the sorrowful girl to be still until she chose to 
 speak. She knew that it was sufficient for Frances<:a 
 to feel her at her side, and to be sure of her sympathy. 
 
 " I have had a bad letter, Aunt Loida a cruel letter, 
 I think." 
 
 Then she put it into her aunt's hand, and watched her 
 read it. 
 
 " It is a cruel letter, Francesca. And if it hurts you 
 to get it, what must poor Lancelot have suffered in the 
 writing of it! Yes, indeed! One can feel the heart- 
 break in every line." 
 
 " What can be the reason for it, aunt ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you. But I am sure Lancelot is not 
 to blame in any way. Poor fellow ! How he must be 
 suffering ! God help him ! " 
 
 " I am suffering also, aunt." 
 
 "I know you are. Oh, I know you are! But you 
 have your dear father to love and comfort you, and you 
 have Aunt Loida to suffer every pang with you ; and 
 you have a good home and plenty of money, and many 
 friends. Lancelot has just buried a father whom he 
 idolized. He has no friends but you and me. For 
 some reason I am sure a good one, as far as he is 
 concerned he is homeless, friendless, without much 
 money, and an exile from his own land and people, and, 
 above all, obliged by his love and honor to give back 
 your love and allegiance. Can you conceive of a man 
 in a more pitiable condition, of a man more worthy of 
 sympathy and love ? Yes, dear, I say love. If I were 
 in your place I should love him ten thousand times
 
 144 LOl'E FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 more for his noble resignations and resolutions ; I am 
 sure they are noble. I would not believe the whole 
 world against Lancelot's simple assertion, that he has 
 done nothing worthy of his suffering. Would you, 
 dear?" 
 
 " No, I would not." 
 
 " That is right. Then the sting is out of your sorrow. 
 To love worthily, that is everything." 
 
 " But when he tells me not to love him tells me to 
 forget him when he has hid himself away from me so 
 that I cannot even send him a letter, what am I to do ? " 
 
 " Go on loving him all the more. Go on thinking 
 about him all the more. Do everything possible to find 
 out where he has gone to, and then send him the sweet- 
 est, tenderest messages you can write. That is what 
 you ought to do, dear. I dare be sure that we shall 
 find him out. His mother will certainly know in a little 
 time. Then, of course, she would tell you, because she 
 would hope that you could bring him home ; and, of 
 course, she will want him home." 
 
 " She is a very strange woman, Loida." 
 
 " I dare say she is a very awkward and disagreeable 
 woman ; but, then, it is the motJier in the woman you 
 will have to deal with. All mothers are gentle and 
 kind, I am sure. Everything will come right, Fran- 
 cesca I am sure it will and you will love each other 
 when Lancelot comes back as you never could have 
 loved had you not been separated. Ah, Francesca, all 
 women, in one way or other, have to find out that of all 
 the sorrowful things in life the hardest of all is loving." 
 
 And the girl was for the time consoled, because Loida 
 understood that in the first hours of sorrow comfort
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 145 
 
 must often consist in promising the impossible, and in 
 asserting whatever is the desire of the wounded heart. 
 Francesca wished to believe all that Loida said ; she 
 therefore accepted her assurances, and took what hope 
 they promised her. Another course might have been 
 more prudent and less kind. As it was, Francesca 
 suffered very much. No one knew at the time how 
 much, for the circumstances seemed to suddenly develop 
 in her girl-heart a woman's reticence and noble restraint. 
 For some days the affair was not spoken of again, and 
 the squire noticed the pallor of his daughter's face and 
 the singular stillness of her manner. 
 
 " Whatever is the matter with my little girl? " he said 
 to Miss Vyner one afternoon. " She is either sick or in 
 trouble. Is it about that young man, Loida ! " 
 
 " Things are not very pleasant about him, are they, 
 Rashleigh ? " 
 
 " No, they are not. I am not to blame, am I, now 1 " 
 
 " I cannot say you are." 
 
 " Well, then ? " 
 
 " Nay, brother, I never talked much about my own 
 trouble ; it is not likely I will talk of Francesca's. I 
 dare say she will tell you sooner or later, whatever there 
 is to tell." 
 
 " Has he gone away yet ? Tell me that much." 
 
 Before Loida could answer, the door opened and 
 Francesca entered. The squire looked kindly at her, 
 and drew her chair close to his own. She sat down 
 and laid her head against his big breast, and as he 
 silently stroked her head, she began to cry. He was 
 much moved. His voice trembled with the tears in it, 
 as he said :
 
 146 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 "Francesca! Why, honey! Why, joy! Whatever 
 is the matter ? " 
 
 " Lancelot has gone away from England, father." 
 
 " He will come back, I'll be bound! " 
 
 "He says he will not come back. He gave me back 
 my troth. He says I must forget him forever." 
 
 "The impudent rascal! He gave thee back thy 
 troth! My word, but he was never worthy of thee! " 
 
 " Father, you must not say a word against Lancelot. 
 It is because he is so noble, so honorable, so truly fond 
 of me that he gave up our engagement. I want you to 
 find out where he has gone to. He did not tell me." 
 
 " Nay, my dear, I will not do that. If he has gone, 
 let him go. Francesca Atherton is not such a lass as 
 to run after a sweetheart prince or spinner." 
 
 " Father, dear, Lancelot was something more than a 
 passing sweetheart. \Ve had only one heart and one 
 life between us. If anything happens to Lancelot, I 
 shall die too." 
 
 " Nay, thou wilt not. Thou hast more sense than to 
 break thy heart for any man. Why-a! it is not maidenly 
 to talk that way." 
 
 " Father, I do not live in scraps and little bits as 
 some women do ; an hour of love and an hour of merry- 
 making, a thought about money and a thought about 
 marriage and so on I love you with all my heart I 
 would not for one week give you up, father, to be queen 
 of England. I love Lancelot in the same altogether 
 way. Lancelot has gone away because he has a mis- 
 fortune he will not let me share. I want to find out 
 where he has gone to, for I want to write to him and 
 tell him I would gladly share all his misfortunes.
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 147 
 
 Father, here is his last letter. Read it. Any one may 
 read the words of a love so broken-hearted." 
 
 The squire took the letter with some reluctance, and 
 only read it because Francesca's head upon his heart 
 made her pleading irresistible. 
 
 " It is a middling bit of despair," he said, when he 
 had glanced at Lancelot's "farewell." "And I must 
 say the lad has done the very best thing possible under 
 the circumstances." 
 
 " But what circumstances, father ? " 
 
 " My dear, I do not know that I can say ' what cir- 
 cumstances.' I may have my suspicions, but I have no 
 right to give them a name. It would never do to put 
 suspicions into words ; that might be the biggest wrong 
 of all. But I will, say this much : Lancelot is in no way 
 to blame, I am sure. I hold him to be square and 
 honorable as a man can be." 
 
 " Then find out where he has gone to, father." 
 
 " I'd rather not. Thou might write to him." 
 
 " Yes, I would write to him." 
 
 " It would not be kind of thee. Forget, and let him 
 forget." 
 
 " No ; I will not forget. He may forget, if he can. 
 I will not forget. I will remember, and I will love him 
 to the end of my life." 
 
 " Dear me ! What stubborn stuff women are made 
 of!" And he looked half reproachfully at Loida, who 
 sat, with an expression of approval on her face, opposite 
 to him. 
 
 "Brother," she answered, in reply to his accusing 
 glance " brother, it is a very good thing for men gener- 
 ally that women are made of stubborn stuff. I cannot
 
 148 LOl'E J-'OR AX HOUR. 
 
 think what men would do if women were not so made as 
 to believe black was white, and stand to their conviction." 
 
 " To be sure ! To be sure ! " 
 
 " Father, you will find out for me where Lancelot has 
 gone to. I cannot do such a thing as that for myself. 
 Can I ? " 
 
 " I should think not. Don't thee cry in such a way 
 as that. Thou breaks my heart. I will do what thou 
 asks me to do ; but I tell thee plainly I would a deal 
 rather not do it. And don't thee try my love too far. I 
 would call it taking a mean advantage of a fond heart." 
 
 He rose with the words, and going to the window, he 
 said : 
 
 " It is raining hard. But I think I will go to the 
 stables a bit. There are always things that should be 
 done there in bad weather. And they will not get done 
 if somebody does not see after them." 
 
 It was an errand made to escape the sorrowful atmos- 
 phere of the room, and perhaps neither of the women 
 was sorry for it. The squire was evidently only sym- 
 pathetic in a small degree, and Francesca felt as if the 
 world ought to turn upon the axis of her loss. Nothing 
 else in it appeared worth thinking about or conversing 
 about, and she sat down in the large chair her father had 
 just vacated, the very picture-of woe. 
 
 For a short time Loida remained silent. The rain 
 beat against the windows ; the fog shut the nearest trees 
 and shrubs from sight ; vision was restricted to the room 
 in which they sat ; and, except for the leaping, blazing 
 fire and the shining steel grate and hearth furniture, the 
 room partook of the gloom outside. The pictures were 
 dim, the furniture almost black, the carpets darkly inde-
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 149 
 
 terminate, the curtains had a depressed " hang," the 
 china ornaments a ghostly pallor, and there was no> 
 cheerful sound to appeal to another sense; only the 
 wind wailing round the garden and dashing the loose ivy 
 sprays against the casements. 
 
 Youth is so impatient of suffering, and Francesca was 
 not only amazed, but almost indignant, at the cruel fate 
 which had suddenly deprived her of her happiness-. 
 Always before, in all her small trials, she had received 
 instant and unqualified sympathy ; always before the 
 squire had been sufficient to bring her help or relief. 
 She would not believe but that he could, if he would, 
 bring back Lancelot. She was sure Lancelot was going 
 away for want of money, and she felt her father's silence 
 on this subject to be particularly unfeeling. She had 
 still a childish idea that her father's resources were un- 
 limited ; and she was certainly feeling, at that hour, that 
 the chief and most desirable use of money was to bring 
 home again her lover. 
 
 "What is the use of being rich," she asked Loida, 
 "if you cannot use riches to save love? There is 
 nothing on earth better than love, eh, Loida ? " 
 
 " Yes, there are things better than love nobler than 
 love without which any love worth having cannot 
 exist." 
 
 "That is not so, Loida. Love is everything. I 
 would give my life for my love." 
 
 " You might give your life, but yet there is something 
 you would not give, something more precious than life 
 honor. I know what you are thinking, Francesca. I 
 know you are inclined to blame your good father for 
 not offering Lancelot money enough to keep him in
 
 150 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 England. My dear, if Lancelot had taken such money, 
 I, for one, would despise him. In a little while you 
 would despise him also. A man who cannot support a 
 wife has no business with one. To take a man's daugh- 
 ter is a great demand upon any father's heart, yet a lover 
 for the daughter's sake may find courage to ask so 
 much but to take money also! We will not discuss a 
 contingency like that. It is out of honorable consider- 
 ation, and I am sure Lancelot is an honorable gentle- 
 man." 
 
 "It is easy to talk of 'honor,' Loida. Honor! 
 Honor! What is it? A noisy nothing, invented by 
 the proud. Am I to lose love for honor ? And how is 
 Lancelot's honor at stake ? I do not understand. He 
 spent all his money in that dreadful mill, for his honor. 
 Our marriage was put off because his money was gone, 
 and it was not ' honorable ' to ask for me while he was 
 poor. One can understand how poor women suffer for 
 love, in some way or other, all their lives long. But it 
 is not fair to throw ' honor ' at their hearts also." 
 
 " Being what you are, Francesca, honor obliges you 
 to be noble in all things ; and so to nobly deny yourself, 
 even in love." 
 
 " I shall die for ' honor,' then. I cannot live long 
 without Lancelot." 
 
 " Other women have loved and lost, and lived on." 
 
 " I am not ' other women.' Every one is cruel to 
 me, even Lancelot. Why did he go away without see- 
 ing me ? If there was any dishonor in the case, I would 
 have forgiven him the dishonor." 
 
 " Lancelot would never forgive himself. I should 
 say that a dishonorable thought was impossible to him.
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 151 
 
 There may be circumstances unknown to any one, mak- 
 ing it a kind of dishonor to see you again. And do not 
 speak lightly of such self-denial. For no one can annul 
 dishonor ; it is irreparable, and though its loss may be 
 forgiven, who can restore it ? A fleece stained by the 
 dyer never regains its whiteness. A character stained 
 by dishonor never recovers the glory of a stainless in- 
 tegrity." 
 
 " Do not preach to me, Loida. I am so miserable." 
 
 There was a few minutes' silence. Francesca sat 
 with her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Loida's 
 hands were busy with her crochet, but her heart was in 
 a tempest of feeling, of uncertainty, of pitiful sympathy. 
 She glanced upward ; the storm was unabated, the room 
 growing more and more gloomy. Francesca's face was 
 the image of despair ; its pallor was the dull pallor of 
 heartache. The child was suffering greatly; no one 
 knew that better than Loida Vyner. 
 
 She came suddenly to a determination. Then she 
 put aside her trifle of work and took her chair to Fran- 
 cesca's side. Francesca let her clasp her hand. It was 
 cold, and the limp fingers made no responsive effort. 
 She did not move or open her eyes or acknowledge in 
 any way her aunt's attention to her. She had made up 
 her mind to bear her sorrow without discussing it. 
 
 " Francesca, my dear." 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Loida." 
 
 " Look at me and listen to me. I am going to tell 
 you about Dick Alderson : Dick was I hope in God's 
 mercy Dick is yet my lover." 
 
 Then Francesca opened her eyes and looked with in- 
 terest into her aunt's face.
 
 152 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " I never talk to any one about Dick. I have not 
 uttered his name to mortal man or woman, except to his 
 dear mother, for ten years ; yet, Francesca, I love him 
 I love him with all my heart and soul. Must I tell you 
 about Dick ? " 
 
 " If you please, dear aunt." 
 
 " Your mother and I were co-heiresses of a small 
 estate near Tipham Market. Our parents died when we 
 were young. We had no near relatives. The Alder- 
 sons were friends ; we went there very often. Dick 
 was their only child, and Dick loved me when I was a 
 girl ten years old. At a ball in the city of York your 
 mother met Squire Atherton, and when she married 
 him I spent my time between this house and Alderson 
 Bars. You know how you love Lancelot ; so I loved 
 Dick. There never was any other lover or thought in 
 my heart. 
 
 " Dick's father and grandfather had been private 
 bankers in Tipham Market. The farmers and traders for 
 twenty miles round used Alderson's bank, and thought 
 it safer than the Bank of England. When Dick was 
 twenty-seven years old his father died, and then he suc- 
 ceeded to the business. I was then seventeen, and it was 
 decided that as soon as I was twenty Dick and I were 
 to marry. My dear, I was so happy ! I was so happy ! " 
 
 " Was Dick handsome and good ? " 
 
 " I have never seen any other man half so handsome. 
 He had a charming face and a manner no one could 
 resist. Old and young, rich and poor, loved Dick 
 Alderson ; and he really loved his fellow-creatures. 
 O Francesca, for four years we loved each other without 
 a shadow. For four years life was a love-song that we
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 153 
 
 sang together. For four years it was a wonderful love- 
 story, and we two wrote it together. In the twilight in 
 the garden ; in the sunshine on the moor ; in the dear 
 old church, praying together ; sitting hand in hand in 
 the fire-lit parlor ; dreaming the same dream, catching 
 the same words from each other's eyes and lips. You 
 know, Francesca?" 
 
 " I know I know." 
 
 " It was near the day fixed for our marriage. Our 
 house was furnished ; my bridal dresses were ready ; 
 the company was bid to the wedding-feast. I had no 
 fear of evil fortune. I thought it would always be well 
 with me. I was as gay and busy as the birds building 
 in the garden ; so gay and busy I never noticed at the 
 time that a singular shadow was on Dick's face ; that 
 he was silent and preoccupied, often making figures in 
 his note-book and writing many letters, even when at 
 home. I thought of these things afterward ; at the 
 time they were only a part of the great, the happy 
 change which was coming into our lives. 
 
 " One afternoon, Dick came home very early. I was 
 with his mother in a small parlor, and we were packing 
 up in their baize-lined mahogany cases the silver which 
 was to go with us to our own home. We stood over it 
 at a table crowded with the shining pieces. Dick's face 
 was as white as yours is at this moment. He came in 
 quickly, and then went back and shut the door. His 
 mother and I both looked inquiringly at him, he was so 
 much earlier than we expected. Then he did not kiss 
 us, as was his wont ; but laying his hand on his mother's 
 hand, he said, oh, so pitifully : 
 
 "'Mother! Loida! I am a ruined man! Every^
 
 154 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 thing is lost! I must go away instantly this very 
 hour. All will be known to morrow.' " 
 
 " Aunt, how could you bear it ? " 
 
 " We do not know what we can bear until we come 
 to the moment of trial. I went to his side. His 
 mother said :< 
 
 '"Sit down, Dick, and tell us the truth. What is the 
 trouble, my dear ? ' " 
 
 " As she was speaking, we all sat down on the sofa, 
 Dick sitting between us. I put my hand into his hand. 
 He turned his face to his mother, and said : 
 
 " ' I have been speculating in railway stock. I 
 thought it was sure and safe. The stock is worthless.' 
 
 " ' Do you mean that you used the money in the bank 
 to speculate with ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, mother.' He said the words in a whisper, 
 and never lifted his eyes as he spoke. 
 
 " ' Is there no hope ? ' she asked. ' Can we not sell 
 everything?' 
 
 " ' Mother,' answered Dick, ' hope has led me on and 
 on, and this morning I got news which leaves me ruined 
 every way. There is a meeting of the directors in a 
 day or two, and then all must be told. I can hide the 
 facts no longer.' " 
 
 "Aunt Loida, what did you say ? " 
 
 " I did not speak. His mother stood up and an- 
 swered : ' Then, Dick, 'you must tell them. You shall 
 not run away. I would keep you a prisoner myself, 
 rather than let you do such a cowardly thing. Meet 
 the men you have wronged face to face. Show them 
 how and where the wrong is. Pledge them your hon 
 your whole estate to secure the interest of their money.
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 155 
 
 Tell them you are going to this new land of gold just 
 discovered in America, to make the principal.' " 
 
 " Was that California, aunt ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear. People were then rushing there from 
 all parts of the world ; and Dick's mother told him he 
 must also go and try to retrieve his fortune. ' If you 
 will not do as I tell you, Dick/ she said, ' why, then, run 
 away like a rascal and a coward, and forget you ever 
 had a mother.' She asked me if that was not the right 
 thing to do, and I could just whisper 'Yes.' And I was 
 like a woman going out of the sunshine into a vault, 
 and all the world was a sudden black void, and life felt 
 as if it could not be borne." 
 
 " Aunt, it was worse for you than it is for me! " 
 
 " I think it was, dear. I felt then that no other 
 woman had ever met with such shame and grief." 
 
 " What did Dick do ? " 
 
 " Everything his mother advised. He saw the people 
 he had wronged and made the best arrangements pos- 
 sible. They were not hard with him : far from it. One 
 old squire, who had been his father's friend, cried for 
 very grief, and blamed himself for not advising Dick 
 better. He even offered to lend Dick money. But 
 Dick had to go away, Francesca. It is ten years since. 
 I was twenty then ; I am thirty now." 
 
 " But you hear from him ? " 
 
 " His mother does. Before he left I gave him back 
 our betrothal ring. I told him when he brought it to 
 me again with clean hands, I would marry him. He 
 will come some day. I am waiting for him." 
 
 " How long you have suffered ! Did he go to Cali- 
 fornia ? "
 
 156 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " No. He met on the voyage out a young man who 
 was going to some Mexican mines as superintendent ot 
 engineers. He strongly advised Dick not to go to Cali- 
 fornia. He said he was unfit for a struggle with the 
 preponderating population, and he offered Dick a good 
 position. The certainty seemed best, and doubtless was 
 best for Dick. He has sent home every year varying 
 sums of money, sometimes a great deal, sometimes not 
 so much. But the debt is very near clear. We think 
 he is now blockade running, for no letter has come for 
 nearly nine months. He spoke of this change in his 
 last letter, and there are no post-offices at sea." 
 
 " When you go away every year, is it Dick's mother 
 you go to see ? " 
 
 " Yes. And she writes to me whenever there is any 
 news. I do not let myself fret or fear. I get up every 
 morning wondering ' if Dick will come that day ' ; and I 
 go to bed every night saying : ' Well, then, perhaps to- 
 morrow ! Perhaps to-morrow ! ' " 
 " It is hard to be a woman, Loida." 
 " It is. No wonder tragedies are made from us." 
 "Were you always patient and hopeful, Loida?" 
 " No ; I was not. I nearly died of grief. It was a 
 living death at first. Wisdom never comes at the begin- 
 ning of a sorrow. It is the late fruit, after the tempest 
 and wind and frost of calamity." 
 
 " When Dick comes home, can your love ever be the 
 same ? " 
 
 " No. I do not hope for the impossible. We have 
 both outgrown love's first rapture. I know that, for, a 
 little while ago, I opened a volume of Moore's poetry 
 that we used to read together and think the most won-
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 157 
 
 derful poetry that ever was written. I think it now ex- 
 tremely silly,, and yet and yet, when alone at the close 
 of a year, I wonder 
 
 " ' Is the nightingale singing thereof 
 
 Are the roses still sweet by the calm Bendemeer? ' 
 
 But I know nothing will bring back the glory of those 
 days before I knew what sorrow and sorrowful love 
 meant. Neither, Francesca, do I wish them brought 
 back. Nothing you have to go back for is worth hav- 
 ing." 
 
 " You still love Dick ? " 
 
 " He is the one thought that runs through all my days." 
 
 At this point the squire entered. He was rosy and 
 damp, and had the breath of the chill rain about him. 
 For the wind had changed, and it was growing very 
 cold. He walked to the fire at once, and stirred it vig- 
 orously. 
 
 "My word! "he said. "Women will talk, if they 
 freeze." 
 
 He assumed a pleasant little bluster, and pretended 
 to be colder and damper than he was, for he wished to 
 put out of mind all memories of the conversation which 
 had sent him into the storm. 
 
 " They are doing well enough at the stable," he said 
 to Loida, " so I went over to Asquith's about some 
 timber. He does beat everything for an ill-thinking 
 man." 
 
 " Does he not live in that lonely house by the Chime- 
 of-Bells Inn ? " 
 
 " Yes. He hath a fierce dog to give you welcome, 
 and a currish voice to confirm it, and the way out of his
 
 158 LOVE FOR AN HC'^R. 
 
 place is open always. His dog and he are the only 
 good fellows in the world, he says, and my word ! 
 we should be a poor lot if they were the best." 
 
 " I heard his dog took a prize in the London dog 
 show." 
 
 " That is true. He wanted me to send my dog Sul- 
 tan to the show, also." 
 
 " Why did you not do so ? Sultan is far beyond As- 
 quith's dog." 
 
 " Loida, I am astonished at thee. Send Sultan to a 
 dog show ! Dogs have feelings, and a decent dog does 
 not like being looked at by a lot of people he does not 
 know anything about. I put it to myself. I said: 
 ' Rashleigh Atherton, how would you like to be exhib- 
 ited in a man show?' Sultan has very gentlemanly 
 feelings." 
 
 " About a dog there is a great mystery." 
 
 " To be sure there is. Sultan has a good deal of 
 humanity in him ; and of a noble kind, too. When he 
 walks out with ladies, he treats them as if he wereflreux 
 chevalier; and at such times he never notices any other 
 dog. But when he walks out with me, he likes to put 
 on airs and have a fight. He has thrashed all the dogs 
 for miles round, and he is fair melancholy for some new 
 ones to come into the neighborhood ; " then he looked 
 round, and saw that Francesca had left the room, and 
 he stooped forward and said softly : " The poor little 
 one! Is she in very deep trouble, Loida?" 
 
 " Yes, brother but she will conquer it. We all have 
 to do so, in a fashion." 
 
 Then a servant entered with candles and the tea 
 service, and the squire began to speak of Asquith's dog.
 
 LOVE TIED IN A KNOT. 159 
 
 So the little domestic play of talking of one thing and 
 thinking of another went on its usual uninteresting, 
 desultory way. The servants were not deceived by the 
 conversation. They had already decided that " some- 
 thing had gone wrong between Miss Atherton and Mr. 
 Leigh "
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AT LAST GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSINO 
 
 *' Who know themselves and know the way before them, 
 And from among them choose considerately, 
 With clear foresight, not a blindfold courage ; 
 And having chosen, with a steadfast mind 
 Pursue their purposes." 
 
 " God hath brought the tardy blessing 
 Round her at the last." 
 
 LANCELOT did not find it as easy to escape from 
 his sorrowful dilemma as he expected. The death 
 of his father and his own serious resolve to take nothing 
 from an estate fallen too early into his power made the 
 carrying out of his cotton plan difficult, and, to himself, 
 undesirable. He had not either the cash or credit to 
 personally back the scheme. And he had resolved to re- 
 main away from England some years. Indeed, as soon 
 as commercial circumstances made such a sale possible, 
 he intended to sell his own mill at Atherton, and with 
 the proceeds pursue fortune in some other land. 
 
 The resignation of his cotton scheme also left the world 
 open to him. Mexico had then no special claim on his 
 fancy or interest. On the contrary, India, Canada, 
 Australia presented far more natural opportunities. He 
 did not, however, speak of any such change of deter- 
 mination. The world around him had already accepted 
 the necessity for cotton as an excuse sufficient for desert-
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING, l6l 
 
 ing his home and apparent interests, and it seemed best 
 to allow it this resolution of whatever was strange in his 
 conduct. 
 
 He had never before supposed it would be difficult to 
 obtain two thousand pounds, but it was several weeks ere 
 his lawyer managed to effect this loan upon his Ather- 
 ton mill. During these weeks he kept himself in great 
 seclusion. To his mother he spoke very little. She had 
 accepted without dispute the charge Lancelot threw 
 upon her respecting the property, and her first step was 
 to send for the overlooker, and in Lancelot's and her 
 own name close the Garsby Mill. Then she immediately 
 hired more servants, and began a systematic and thor- 
 ough cultivation of every inch of Leigh Farm. 
 
 "Wheat and fodder will be wanted as long as the 
 world lasts," she said ; " and if folks stick to the land, 
 the land will feed them, and happen make money for 
 them." 
 
 Lancelot opposed nothing and indorsed nothing, and 
 when she found all efforts at conciliation and co-oper- 
 ation unresponded to, she hid herself entirely behind 
 a countenance cold, impassive, and expressionless. 
 Lancelot sat at meat with her ; they had nothing else in 
 common. The youth wandered alone among the thickly 
 shaded walks in the garden, or he sat musing in his dis- 
 mantled rooms. He could not read ; every subject but 
 Francesca slipped away from his consciousness ; and 
 the sound of his piano would have shocked and offended 
 him. Francesca supplied all the springs of his mind ; 
 her sweetness ; her beauty ; her confiding love ; her 
 piteous loss ; he went over and over this ground, and 
 only varied it by still sadder reflections on his father's
 
 1 62 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 death, his mother's painful condition, the national dis- 
 tress, their loss of money, the closing of both mills, and 
 the absolute necessity for his own expatriation. 
 
 He was thinking somberly of the latter circumstance 
 one morning, when his mother entered his room. She 
 had an air of business about her, the alert manner of a 
 person on whom there are great and grave charges. 
 Advancing to Lancelot, she cast a letter down upon the 
 table, and said : 
 
 " There, then ! That came half an hour since. Some 
 woman scribbling to thee, I see. If I was thee, I would 
 try and find something else to do with life, than to sit 
 still and dream it away." 
 
 He took the letter with a " Thank you, mother." 
 
 " Nay, thou needn't thank me. It hes the Atherton 
 postmark on it, and " then he looked anxiously at 
 the letter and saw it was Miss Loida's writing. Imme- 
 diately he was sure that Francesca was ill. A swoon of 
 fearful thoughts turned him sick and faint. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " will you leave me now ? I I 
 want to read my letter. I am terrified." 
 
 " About Miss Atherton ? To be sure. Thy mother 
 is to go away that thou may read about her and hev 
 thy love-feast all to thysen. Does ta think I'll stay 
 where I am not wanted? Not I. Mebbe it will come 
 into thy mind, either to live like a Christian in thy home, 
 or to get out of a place not good enough for thee, as 
 soon as iver ta can." 
 
 "I will, mother." 
 
 Then she left the room with an air of indifference, but 
 her heart was burning within her. She was truly angry 
 at Lancelot, but far more angry at herself. Her blame
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING. 1 6$ 
 
 of him was from the lips only ; she accused herself con- 
 tinually with her very soul, in words she durst not utter, 
 in tears she would not shed. 
 
 When the door was closed, Lancelot opened his let- 
 ter. He was sure it contained ill news, and it was after 
 all only a friendly note of advice. And yet, it was the 
 determining note of his future : 
 
 " Dear Sir: " Miss Loida wrote. " I hear that you are going 
 to Mexico. It is sad to be in a strange country without a friend. 
 I have a dear friend who has been at the San Lepato mines for ten 
 years. I think he may be there yet. If not, he is at some Mexi- 
 can seaport in the blockade business. His name is Richard Al- 
 derson ; and if you show him this letter, he will, for my sake, be 
 a friend to you. And he will soon love you for your own sake. I 
 have written this out of my own wish and desire to do you good. 
 Francesca loves you continually with all her heart, and I am your 
 sincere friend, LOIDA VYNER." 
 
 In the wavering condition of his mind, this letter was 
 like an anchor to Lancelot. He took it for a sign, and 
 accepted at once the destiny it should lead him to. For 
 it appeared strange that two circumstances so different 
 as the need of cotton and Miss Loida's desire to help 
 him should both point out this same country to him. 
 Surely there was some higher indication than mere chance 
 in such a double leading. 
 
 Miss Loida's letter was followed by one announcing 
 the success of his lawyer regarding the two thousand 
 pounds he wanted ; and now the gate was opened, and 
 the road cleared for his journey. His preparations were 
 otherwise perfect; he had only to bid "farewell" to 
 his mother, and write his last letter to Francesca. Mar- 
 tha Leigh knew well that, this point had been reached ;
 
 1 64 LOVE FOR AN HOUR, 
 
 but, suffer as she might, she would die ere she would 
 show the knowledge affected her. 
 
 Though not a word had been said on the subject, 
 she was aware, on the morning of Lancelot's departure, 
 that they were to eat their last breakfast together. A 
 tenderness she neither admitted nor denied led her to 
 set the table with unusual care, and to make the dishes 
 her son liked best. She was drawing her eyelids tight 
 together, and setting her lips firm, the whole time her 
 hands and feet were busy. It was bitter hard work to 
 keep back the tears, bitter hard work to keep back the 
 long, moaning cries that burst from her heart, and almost 
 choked her in their impetuous rush to her lips. 
 
 But she made no sign the woman in her would have 
 escaped into the outer space rather than do so no sign, 
 unless her specially neat attire and the rigid bordering 
 of the gray-white muslin of her widow's cap might be 
 so taken. And perhaps Martha Leigh had a distinct 
 though dim intention of this kind in her 'dress ; perhaps 
 she did wish Lancelot's last mental picture of his mother 
 to be one he could remember with respect. At any 
 rate, something of this result was obtained ; for Lance- 
 lot carried with him wherever he went this memory of 
 a tall, grave, handsome woman in a black gown, her 
 bosom crossed by white lawn, her gray hair covered 
 with that formal, desolate-looking head-gear. 
 
 When they rose from the breakfast-table, Lancelot 
 glanced at the doors. They were shut. He then looked 
 steadily into his mother's face, and her lips quivered, 
 and she forced herself to look away from him. He 
 lifted both her hands and held them a moment. She 
 still gazed outward and remained speechless. He
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING. 1 6$ 
 
 dropped her hands and took her to his breast. He 
 kissed her repeatedly, and murmured repeatedly : 
 
 "God help you, mother! God help you, mother'. 
 I shall never forget you. Mother! Mother!" 
 
 Then she broke utterly down. Lancelot had led her 
 to her chair, and was going away. She laid her head 
 backward, and a great mother-cry escaped her lips : 
 
 "My lad! My dear lad! Do not leave me! Do 
 not leave me! " 
 
 But he was gone. She heard the outer door shut. 
 She heard his quick footsteps on the gravel. She felt 
 as if her heart was torn in two ; felt all the physical 
 agony of the soul-parting. It was worse than death. 
 Her women, coming to look for her an hour afterward, 
 found her sitting like a stone in her chair, upright by 
 sheer force of will, conscious by sheer force of will, 
 white as a corpse, and with a look in her eyes as if tears 
 had turned to stone in them. 
 
 " You be sick, mistress ? " said one woman, touching 
 her almost with fear. 
 
 Then she made an effort to speak a supreme effort 
 which only succeeded in dragging from the prostrate 
 soul a few words, disconnected and hardly articulate : 
 
 " No my son gone ! " 
 
 They carried her to a couch and gave her brandy 
 and began to softly chafe her hands and feet, and so a 
 dead sleep fell upon the wretched woman and she forgot 
 for a little time her misery and her despair or, at least, 
 flesh and blood were at rest, but the soul has potentiali- 
 ties of suffering no sleep dulls. Who has not suffered 
 in the mysterious travel of dreams agonies of which 
 their waking bodies were incapable ? Vague terrors of
 
 1 66 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 nameless things ; sense of loss irreparable ; visions that 
 would blind their mortal eyes ; yea, and also consolations 
 ineffable, inconceivable, unspeakable. 
 
 Martha Leigh slept, but her soul waked, and when, 
 after hours of apparent oblivion, she rose up with a great 
 sigh and feebly walked across the room to her own 
 chair, she was a much older woman. Whatever experi- 
 ences she had had in her sleep, they had not been void 
 or misunderstood. She came back to life like a woman 
 chidden by Mighty Powers. For it is truly in the night 
 season, when deep sleep falleth upon man, that God 
 punishes and admonishes. It is 
 
 "... In quiet silence, when the night is in the midst of her 
 swift course, the Almighty Word leaps down from heaven, and 
 suddenly visions of terrible dreams trouble the wicked sore, and 
 terrors come upon them unlocked for ... lest they should perish, 
 and not know why they were afflicted." * 
 
 Martha Leigh knew at that hour why she was afflicted, 
 but, alas! knowledge is not penitence. Weary and 
 suffering, she was also resentful. Too weak and con- 
 fused yet to argue out her own case, she felt sure of its 
 justice ; and if she deferred to a fitter time her plea, 
 it was because she was confident of making it then 
 stronger and juster. 
 
 The great fact remained, however, in spite of all pleas 
 Lancelot was gone. But she positively refused to 
 think of him as gone for any great length of time. He 
 would be back in a few months. That girl at Atherton 
 Court if all other considerations failed would bring 
 him home again. 
 
 * Wisdom of Solomon, xviii. 14-19.
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING. 167 
 
 In the meantime Lancelot was nearing Liverpool. 
 The bark he was to sail in was nearly ready for sea ; he 
 had only to make a few purchases and write farewell to 
 Francesca. He delayed this letter until the last hour. 
 He had granted himself this privilege not to give her 
 up while he remained in England. As he went to the 
 ship, he posted the letter. A middle-aged woman no- 
 ticed the handsome youth drop it into the irrevocable 
 box, and she pitied the look of misery with which he 
 walked away. She comprehended his despair, and said 
 a soft "God help the lad!" as he passed out of her 
 sight. Lancelot would have been comforted by her 
 prayer and pity, had he known it ; but it is one of the 
 misfortunes of existence that society compels us to re- 
 strain sympathy unless we have a bond and right to 
 offer it. Every one is thus poorer by many a kindly wish 
 and many an honest prayer. 
 
 Driven like a blind man before his sorrowful destiny, 
 Lancelot reached the ship and crossed the narrow plank, 
 and felt himself already adrift from every hope and joy 
 that had made his youth so blessed ; and he could not 
 avoid a passion of regret for those past years that 
 would never return. Amid falling shades and a wind 
 like the Banshee they were driven down the Mersey. 
 The thick-coated murmur of the river blending with the 
 great complaining of the distant sea came through the 
 darkness, and the hoarse, melancholy voices of the 
 sailors went with it. He was utterly wretched and hope- 
 less, bruised in heart and brain, but an act so vulgar and 
 cowardly as suicide never occurred to him. The vestal 
 fires of conscience, of pure love, of honor and integrity 
 still burned within him.
 
 1 68 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Sitting alone on the edge of his rough berth he told 
 himself that, even if his life should be a tragedy of 
 never-fulfilled desires and vain strivings, and of final 
 suffering and death, he could at least make it a noble 
 tragedy a tragedy fit for the angel " cloud of witnesses " 
 to contemplate. So, though he knew it not, he was re- 
 ceiving the grandest education of which humanity is 
 capable the education that comes by reverence and by 
 sorrow ; for these are the teachers greater than Gamaliel, 
 and blessed are they who can sit at their feet. 
 
 It is always impossible to say how far the change in 
 one life may affect other lives. Lancelot's voluntary 
 expatriation was the cause of unforeseen and very im- 
 portant changes in the hitherto placid routine of Ather- 
 ton Court. The squire had been dallying with an inten- 
 tion to enter Parliament, and Francesca's despondency 
 after her receipt of Lancelot's farewell letter made him 
 decide in favor of such a course. His own influence 
 and that of a neighboring earl were sufficient to insure 
 his election without any great expense or trouble, and 
 he was possessed by the usual idea that love could be 
 cured by a change of scene and a gay social life. 
 
 But when he proposed to rent a house in London and 
 take Miss Vyner and Francesca there for the season, he 
 found that he had at least reckoned without his house- 
 hold. Miss Vyner who was daily feeling more sure of 
 Dick Alderson's return very calmly but very resolutely 
 declined the London season; and Francesca was still 
 more positive in her determination to remain at home. 
 She declared herself " too sick to go into society ; all 
 she wished was to be still and not to talk." 
 
 So the squire, with all his own unacknowledged reluc-
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING. 169 
 
 tance to political and social life, was compelled to enter 
 it alone. Francesca made a sad little joke of his scheme 
 and its failure : 
 
 " You planned so many engagements for Loida and 
 me, dear father, and now you will have them to fulfil 
 yourself. Loida, will you fancy Squire Atherton in a 
 court costume, or wearing his militia uniform, or a black 
 swallow-tail dress-coat ? " 
 
 And the squire answered : 
 
 " I shall wear my own fashions, Francesca thou may 
 be sure of that ; " and there was some faint merriment 
 about it all, but in the end the squire went alone and 
 very sadly to London and to Parliament. 
 
 But as it often happens, the lonely man was quickly 
 introduced to some charming people, and then he be- 
 came quite enamored of social pleasures. Every letter 
 received at Atherton was a gayer one. Lords and 
 ladies, great men and beautiful women, flitted across the 
 pages ; and there was specially frequent mention made 
 of a Mrs. Mott, an American lady of wealth and fashion. 
 
 Loida began to ponder this circumstance. She said 
 nothing to Francesca ; for Francesca was too much ab- 
 sorbed in her own love affair to imagine any other pos- 
 sible. Yet Loida thought it possible. The squire was 
 a very handsome man, in the prime of life. His rustic- 
 ity had imparted an idea of years which did not belong- 
 to him. She could imagine him fashionably dressed 
 and exceedingly attractive ; for his simple, straightfor- 
 ward, courteous 'nature could hardly fail to be delight- 
 ful, because it was so perfectly natural. 
 
 Yet, in spite of the squire's gay letters, the winter at 
 Atherton Court went past very dully. The hunting and
 
 170 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 the hunt dinners and balls had hitherto broken the mo- 
 notony of its winter life. The ladies had supposed these 
 breaks would not be missed, but Loida missed them. 
 She admitted to herself that the winter was long, very 
 long and weary. She wished often that her brother-in- 
 law had never gone to London ; she had a presentiment 
 that change had only begun, and she could not help 
 asking wistfully : " Where will it end ? " 
 
 At last, at last, the spring came! Everything is pos- 
 sible in spring-time. When the tulips and jonquils pushed 
 their bright leaves through the brown earth, Loida began 
 to watch, to listen, to dress herself for the hope in her 
 heart. And how sweet a thing is hope! We may ac- 
 knowledge that Hope is the brother of Fear, and only 
 the merrier fool of the two ; but it is at least good to 
 have the company of the merry one. Even Francesca 
 lifted her drooping head a little, and suffered the sun- 
 shine to fall upon her white face. She had not heard a 
 word of Lancelot, and Loida had not heard a word of 
 Dick, but when the swallows came back from over the 
 sea, it seemed natural to hope that some message would 
 follow them. Francesca often looked longingly at their 
 swift, scythe-like wings, and said to her heart : " Oh, 
 that I had wings like a swallow, then I would fly away 
 and search the whole world over for Lancelot ! " 
 
 Never had the Court looked fairer than it did that 
 Maytime. The clematis arbor was darkly green, and 
 the scent of a hundred flowers and herbs was in the air. 
 There were birds building everywhere ; the men were 
 whistling in the fields, the women singing through the 
 house as they threw open the long-closed casements and 
 hung the rooms with snowy draperies.
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARD Y BLESSING. I 7 I 
 
 But May is not all sunshine and flowers ; one morn- 
 ing, about the middle of the month, it was very chilly 
 and raining heavily. The ladies came late downstairs, 
 and they eat their breakfast without much conversation. 
 The drip of the rain was monotonous and mournful. 
 The " chirp," " chirp " of the birds had a fretful, put- 
 out-of-the-way sound. There was no mail but a letter 
 from the squire to Miss Loida ; a very long letter, from 
 which there fell some architectural plan. Francesca 
 glanced at it with a little curiosity, and Miss Loida an- 
 swered the glance : 
 
 " It is a plan for an orchid-house," she said. 
 
 " Whatever can father want with an orchid-house f " 
 
 " I will read his letter, and then we shall understand." 
 
 The letter, however, did not appear to be satisfactory. 
 Miss Loida turned it over and backward, and was cer- 
 tainly much embarrassed, and Francesca, with some im- 
 patience, asked: 
 
 " What is it all about, Aunt Loida ? " 
 
 " My dear I hardly know what to say to you. Do 
 you recollect how much your father has written lately 
 about Mrs. Mott, the American lady, who is so much 
 admired in London ? " 
 
 " Yes. Is she coming here ? " 
 
 " I think she is coming here." 
 
 " How dreadful! I cannot bear the thought of visit- 
 ors. I hope she will not stay long." 
 
 " I am sure, my dear I do not know how to tell 
 you, Francesca your father has married her." 
 
 " My father! Married! Loida, that is impossible! " 
 
 " It is true. He says Mrs. Mott preferred a quiet 
 wedding. They are gone to Paris for a few weeks.
 
 i;2 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 She wants the orchid-house built, and your father has 
 written to a man in Drayton to come here and attend 
 to the building of it. He will probably be here to-day." 
 " How cruel! How wrong of father! " 
 " No, my dear. Your father has as much right to 
 marry as you have. If you had loved him alone, he 
 would have been faithful to you, no doubt." 
 " How could I help loving Lancelot?" 
 " Perhaps your father could not help loving this charm- 
 ing American. Francesca, you have yourself to blame. 
 You fret so continually about Lancelot that it appeared 
 necessary for your health and life to do something. 
 Your father went to Parliament, hoping to take you with 
 him to London. You would neither be happy at home 
 nor yet go with him to London. My dear, the best of 
 men, the tenderest of fathers, grow weary of sorrow that 
 will not be comforted." 
 
 " Father is an old man. The idea of him marrying! " 
 "He is a very handsome man, in the prime of life. 
 The idea of his marriage is not mdre absurd than the 
 idea of your marriage." 
 
 " Aunt Loida, how can old people be in love ? " 
 " They love better, they love less selfishly, they love 
 more wisely than the very young love. And all people 
 over twenty years of age are not old. I have no doubt 
 your father has made a wise choice ; no doubt whatever 
 that Mrs. Atherton is a charming, lovable woman ; and 
 if I were you, Francesca, I should meet her on that pre- 
 sumption. Of course, there must be other changes. 
 That is always the case, for one change brings an- 
 other. I shall now leave this house, and go to my own 
 house."
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING. 173 
 
 "Aunt Loida, if you leave, I shall leave also. Let 
 me go with you." 
 
 " Your movements must depend upon your father's 
 will, Francesca. Do you remember what a little fret I 
 had the other day, because my house was not rented 
 this year ? You see now that it is a fortunate thing. I 
 can go directly to it." 
 
 " May I not live with you ? " 
 
 " Such a step would look like deserting your father, 
 and it would surely prejudice all the country-side against 
 your stepmother. But you can make me long visits." 
 
 " Things go very hard with me, Loida. If Lancelot 
 were only here, I should not care." 
 
 "You condemn yourself, and excuse your father's 
 marriage if it needs excuse by that very remark. 
 You mean that if Lancelot were here you would be 
 indifferent as to whether your father married or not ? " 
 
 " Suppose I do mean that ? " 
 
 " If you care more for Lancelot than for your father, 
 then why should not your father care more for Mrs. 
 Mott than for you? Let us be fair, Francesca." 
 
 " Father has treated you badly, also, Loida." 
 
 " No, he has not. Your father knew that as soon as 
 Dick Alderson came home, I should marry Dick and 
 leave him. Love asks its equivalent. No love abides 
 that is on one side only. Come, my dear, do not fret. 
 Let us go to my room and consider things calmly and 
 kindly. There are some preparations to make for the 
 bride." 
 
 " I will not talk about any bride. I wish I knew 
 where Lancelot was." 
 
 At this moment a servant entered the room and said :
 
 174 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " There is a person to see you, Miss Vyner. I put 
 him in Squire Atherton's office." 
 
 "Who is it, Sarah?" 
 
 " I have never seen the person before, miss." 
 
 " He can come in here, Francesca, can he not ? " 
 
 " No, he cannot, Loida. I have a bad headache, and 
 he will be talking about glass and measurements and 
 steam heat, and such things, until I am half crazy." 
 
 "To be sure, it is the man from Drayton. I had 
 forgotten. It is the orchid-house, of course. Sarah, 
 tell him I will see him in a few minutes." 
 
 She talked a little longer with Francesca, and then, 
 with the " plan " and the letter of directions in her hand, 
 went to see the builder and discuss the arrangements 
 with him. She was much depressed, in spite of the 
 calm, reasonable way in which she had taken the news 
 of the squire's marriage. The idea of a total change of 
 life was not pleasant to Loida. Her heart fell fathoms 
 deep after she had left Francesca, and she slowly walked 
 through the long and somewhat intricate passages lead- 
 ing to the squire's office. The Court had become home 
 to her. She dreaded the idea of making another home. 
 And she had grown a little despairing about Dick. She 
 would not acknowledge the feeling, but it was there ; 
 and somehow this discussion with a stranger about a 
 fancy of the new mistress pained her. She could not 
 help feeling that Rashleigh Atherton had been a little 
 selfish for his bride. She controlled herself better than 
 Francesca, but the thoughts of both women weie equally 
 bitter. 
 
 Loida was always reserved, and her manner with 
 social inferiors had distinctly an air of pride. She en.
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TAK^Y BLESSING, 175 
 
 tered the office quite conscious of this feeling, accentu- 
 ated by a sense that the discussion was disagreeable to 
 her. There was a large painting in oils of the squire 
 in hunting costume over the chimney-piece, and the 
 man stood on the hearth looking up at it. His back 
 was to the door, but he turned quickly as Loida entered. 
 She looked at him. Then she uttered a shrill cry a 
 cry of joy, of delight, of amazement : 
 
 "Dick! Dick! O Dick! Dick! Home at last! " 
 
 With the words on her lips, she reached his arms. 
 She could not have told how ; she only knew she was 
 there, and that the knowledge filled her being with a 
 delicious content. The fruit so hardly tended for ten 
 years was ripe was on their lips, and all its sweetness 
 realized. For some moments there were no questions 
 and no explanations. It was joy sufficient to be to- 
 gether again. No doubt of Dick's worthiness troubled 
 the meeting. He took from his pocket a ring, made 
 like a forget-me-not. The flower was the ornament ; 
 its golden stem was turned into a circle for the finger. 
 
 " I have worn it over my heart for ten years, Loida," 
 he said. " Will you take it from me again, dearest? " 
 
 " Dick, forgive me for ever removing it. Let me 
 have it once more, love, and not even in death will I 
 resign it." 
 
 " I have won the right to re-offer it, Loida. The task 
 is finished. I have brought with me money sufficient to 
 pay the uttermost farthing, and a little over, dear, for 
 our own use. I have sent word to every one I owe to 
 meet me in the bank parlor in ten days. After that 
 meeting, Loida, need we wait longer ? " 
 
 With the sweetest frankness she surrendered all to his
 
 176 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 will. And they talked of the glad future in that con- 
 fused, hurried way which is natural to those who love 
 and meet after a long absence. There was so much to 
 tell, nothing could be told in detail. Their whole con- 
 versation was only like a table of " contents." It named 
 the incidents, or the expectations, or indicated the plans 
 and hopes of the coming years ; no more. So that 
 nothing serious or final was arrived at, and the hours 
 went by in saying little more than : 
 
 " How lovely you have grown, Loida ! " 
 
 " How handsome and brave-looking you are, Dick! " 
 
 " How happy we are ! " 
 
 " How good it is to live! " 
 
 " How good to do right ! " 
 
 All Dick's adventures, and what he had seen, and 
 what he had done, and the money he had saved, and 
 the love and gratitude in his heart, and the ways of the 
 future all these things were but touched with a ques- 
 tion. Was there not all their lives long to talk about 
 them? 
 
 Finally, Loida remembered Francesca, and they went 
 to find her. She had gone upstairs ; she was weeping 
 bitterly. 
 
 " She wished now she had never seen Lancelot ! 
 What trouble there had been since he came that day to 
 Atherton! What changes were following him! He 
 had set a door open, and so many sorrows had come 
 through it. Oh, if she had only been a poor girl, Lan- 
 celot would have taken her with him!" And then she 
 cried out, with a fresh bitterness : " Father also is desert- 
 ing me! He promised to find out where Lancelot had 
 gone, and he has not done so. He can think of orchid-
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING. 177 
 
 houses, and of getting married ; he can think so much 
 for his new wife that he forgets his poor little daughter,, 
 though her heart is breaking ! " 
 
 In her passionate complaining she did not even notice 
 the joy in her aunt's face and manner. Her own sor- 
 row so engrossed her perceptions that she had no intelli- 
 gence for another's happiness, and no sympathy with it. 
 Loida felt chilled by this selfish absorption, and she said,, 
 with some decision : 
 
 " Francesca, you are very unjust to every one. Are 
 you the only woman that has ever suffered ? You know 
 well that your father did everything possible to redeem 
 his promise to you. He wrote to Lancelot's mother, 
 and he got what answer back? 'Thou knows as much 
 as I do.' ' He wrote to Lancelot's lawyer, and was told 
 that his client's destination was unknown to him ; that 
 he had been instructed, when the Atherton Mill was sold, 
 to deposit the price of it at Ball Moser's bank, Liver- 
 pool. Then he wrote to the bank, and was told that 
 the name of Lancelot Leigh was not on any of their 
 books. What more could he do ? " 
 
 " If this Mrs. Mott had disappeared, he would likely 
 have found out something else to do." 
 
 " Francesca, do you not see that sometning has made 
 me very, very happy ? " 
 
 Then the girl lifted her head from the pillow and 
 looked at her aunt. 
 
 "Why, Loida!" she cried. "What has happened? 
 Has Lancelot come ? " And she leaped to her feet and 
 her face was transfigured with joy and hope. 
 
 " Dick has come! Only Dick." 
 
 "Oh, dear! Oh, Aunt Loida, how could you startle
 
 178 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 and disappoint me so cruelly ? I thought it was Lan- 
 celot. Forgive me, aunt, I am disgracefully selfish. I 
 am a bad girl. I cannot feel happy with you. You 
 ought to hate me." 
 
 " My darling, I pity you most truly. I know how 
 you feel. I have felt something like it, often, only I 
 managed not to show it. Come and see Dick. Come, 
 it will do you good." 
 
 " Has he seen Lancelot ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Yet you wrote and told Lancelot to go to the 
 mines where Dick was." 
 
 " Dick had left them a year ago." 
 
 " Oh, why ? Why did he leave them ? Everything 
 goes against Lancelot." 
 
 " Come down and see Dick. It will do you good." 
 
 " I would rather not, Aunt Loida. I am so miserable, 
 I should spoil your pleasure. But, indeed, I am glad 
 Dick has come. I look selfish, but I do not feel so. 
 Leave me alone a little ; I will try and come to you in 
 an hour or two." 
 
 After all, is there any of the apostolic precepts harder 
 than that which bids us " rejoice with them that do re- 
 joice " ? The joy, the fame, the wealth that is not ours 
 offends. To weep with those that weep, to play patron 
 and comforter these are offices highly congenial to the 
 most selfish. But the gracious benignity which can re- 
 joice with those who do rejoice, which can praise the 
 worthy without a secret hatred, and respect the honestly 
 wealthy without a cleaving envy, is a much rarer virtue ; 
 and only those possess it who are the beloved of God 
 men and women after God's own heart.
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARDY BLESSING, 179 
 
 Loida felt hurt and depressed by the want of Fran- 
 cesca's sympathy, and yet the suffering girl was not 
 entirely to blame. She was enduring that most absorb- 
 ing and distracting form of sorrow a grief that was not 
 sure, that was doubled by its mystery and its hopeless- 
 ness. If Lancelot had dared to make her know the 
 whole truth, she would doubtless have borne it as bravely 
 as himself. But to be told by a piece of paper that 
 they must part forever ; to be told she must forget her 
 lover, and no reason for forgetfulness given ; to be left 
 without any personal farewell; to be left in absolute 
 ignorance of his destination, without any promise for the 
 future was a situation devoid of comfort, unless she 
 could find in pride or in anger the strength to confront 
 it. Francesca had no pride where Lancelot was con- 
 cerned, and to be angry with him long was for her im- 
 possible. 
 
 Nor was she indifferent to the coming of a new mis- 
 tress to Atherton Court. Hitherto she had been the 
 power behind all other powers. Her will had been law, 
 she had been virtually the lady of the manor. There 
 was another power coming now ; a power that had an 
 evil reputation. To lose her lover was one kind of 
 trouble ; to get a stepmother was another kind. She 
 felt as if her father was already a stepfather. As soon 
 as she was silent and sorrowful, as soon as she made the 
 house dull, he had gone away and found another to 
 amuse and comfort him. That was the way she looked 
 at the squire's action, and, of course,- if she was right, 
 the squire was wrong. 
 
 Toward evening she went downstairs and saw Dick', 
 and Dick pleased her very much. He talked with her
 
 180 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 about Lancelot and offered to write to the mines and 
 see if he was there. He promised to inclose a letter 
 which Francesca would write. He assured her that, if 
 Lancelot had reached the mines, General Bias, who was 
 now the superintendent, would find him out and deliver 
 her letter. He told her that it was utterly impossible 
 for Lancelot to forget her ; he knew, he said, by his own 
 experience. Lancelot would be compelled to return and 
 see her or die. 
 
 And love believes whatever love wants to believe. 
 Dick was so sympathetic, so hopeful, so sorry for Fran- 
 cesca, that she found herself talking freely before him. 
 He entered into her grief ; he put it into such expressive 
 words ; he saw so many ways out of it. No one had 
 ever comforted her as Dick did. For this was the man's 
 nature, his gift, his power, the attribute which had made 
 him prosperous. He was a son of consolation. 
 
 " And he is really quite handsome, Loida," said Fran- 
 cesca, as they sat alone, talking, that night. " He has 
 a fine figure, too, and such gentle ways. But what a 
 pity you did not know he was coming. You have not 
 been so unbecomingly dressed for a long^ time as you 
 were this morning, Loida. And then, to think he was a 
 man to build an orchid-house! When one waits ten 
 years for a lover, it would be nice to have a more ro- 
 mantic meeting." 
 
 All this was very true, and Loida could not avoid a 
 sigh at the contradiction of small events. Every other 
 morning, for a long time, she had put on some pretty 
 chintz or muslin gown. That morning it had been so 
 dark and wet, and she had felt so despairing, " what was 
 the good of it ? " And though she had imagined Dick's
 
 GOD BRINGS THE TARD Y BLESSING. 1 8 1 
 
 return in many a different way, it had never entered her 
 mind to suppose he might come to the house as some 
 person on business, and she go to meet him, feeling a 
 little cross at the obligation, and consciously assuming 
 the manner which, least of all, she would knowingly have 
 met her long-absent lover with. All her ideal plans and 
 expectations had been made vain by blunt reality. She 
 had looked entirely different to what she had intended to 
 look. She had worn the least pretty of all her dresses ; 
 she had been almost embarrassed in her welcome ; in- 
 deed, she had repeated over and over the same words. 
 Fate is full of such contradictions. One would think 
 she loved to dash the cup of joy she could not longer 
 delay. So Loida sighed and was a little sorry for her 
 own disappointment, though she said : 
 
 " If the heart be true and good, does the body mat- 
 ter ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think it does, aunt. I remember the moment 
 I first saw Lancelot coming up the terrace-steps, singing, 
 in the sunshine. His bare head and handsome face, his 
 fine figure, his air of happiness, and his voice, like a 
 voice out of heaven, took all my senses captive. If he 
 had been little and ugly and badly dressed, and had had 
 a disagreeable voice, do you think I should have fallen 
 in love with his good heart f I am afraid not. And do 
 you think my father would have cared for Mrs. Mott's 
 cleverness and good temper, if she had not been, in his 
 opinion, 'the prettiest, brightest little woman in the 
 whole world ' ? " 
 
 " And do you not think, Francesca, that it will be a 
 great thing to have ' the prettiest, brightest woman in 
 the whole world ' at Atherton Court ? "
 
 1 82 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " It is so easy for you to ask that question now, Loida. 
 You are not going to live at Atherton Court." . 
 
 " That is true. When your father comes home, I 
 shall go to Alderson Bars to live." 
 
 " So ' the prettiest and brightest ' will not put you in 
 the shade. You will not have a stepmother at Alder- 
 son Bars." 
 
 " Francesca, I shall have a mother-in-law." 
 
 " But suppose " 
 
 " My darling, we will ' suppose ' no more to-night. 
 We ought to be asleep." 
 
 " I cannot sleep. I shall go on ' supposing.' " 
 
 "Then," said Loida, as she stood, smiling, at Fran- 
 cesca's door, " here is a problem for your suppositions : 
 
 " ' Supposing I were you ; 
 Supposing you were me ; 
 Supposing each were somebody else, 
 I wonder who we should bet '"
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD AND SORROWFUL LOVE. 
 
 " Clear shining after rain." 
 
 " Love that left me with a wound." 
 
 THE north of England was at this time like the 
 prophet's roll written within and without with 
 desolations and mourning and woe. The total dearth 
 of cotton, the closing of the great Lancashire and York- 
 shire factories, the consequent idleness of an immense 
 population fit for no other kind of work, the famine and 
 nakedness and pestilence which no private nor yet na- 
 tional charity could far assuage, made a terrible total of 
 sectional misery. 
 
 But there was, at least, a speedy hope of peace. Dick 
 was sure that a few months a year at the utmost 
 must finally cripple the Rebellion. There would be a 
 superabundance of cotton ; then the great chimneys 
 would smoke once more, and the noise of the spinning- 
 looms make again that giant " hum " of labor, which 
 would be a song of rejoicing to the thousands ready to 
 perish. 
 
 The squire was not at this time seriously troubled 
 about these matters. He was traveling on the con- 
 tinent with his bride, and the bright, bewitching Mrs. 
 Atherton made items for the newspapers in whatever 
 capital they happened to be visiting. In the meantime
 
 1 84 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 changes were in progress at Atherton Court, which 
 would bring still greater changes. The most evident 
 was, of course, Dick's return. This return implied 
 many things, the first of which was the settlement with 
 his creditors. 
 
 The day before the one appointed for this purpose, 
 Loida and Francesca went to Alderson Bars Fran- 
 cesca a little reluctantly. She could not feel the inter- 
 est she wished to feel, and would have been glad to 
 remain at Atherton alone, to brood over her sorrow. 
 But Loida was anxious to show her both Alderson Bars 
 and Vyner Hall. It was not yet certain which place was 
 to be the future home of Dick and herself. Loida, 
 with a beautiful generosity, insisted on their living with 
 Dick's mother. She told Dick it would be cruel to go 
 away from her. No other woman had so much de- 
 served the joy of his constant presence. 
 
 But Mrs. Alderson had an equal generosity. She in- 
 sisted on the young people going to Vyner Hall. She 
 pointed out the fact that the two places were only a 
 short distance from each other. She was sure they 
 would be happier in their own home. She was good 
 enough to pretend that she also would be happier to be 
 alone in her home. It was a contest of generous feel- 
 ing, and it was at least likely that age would be the 
 most persistent in its self-denial. 
 
 Francesca was charmed with both places. Vyner 
 was a much smaller place than Alderson, but its grounds 
 had been made very beautiful by Loida's father, its pos- 
 sibilities were great, and it would not require many serv- 
 ants to keep it in order. It was a happy day at Aider- 
 son Bars when Dick once more crossed its threshold,
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 185 
 
 holding Loida's hand. All the sorrows and labors of 
 ten years vanished in that tread. They looked into 
 each other's eyes and were satisfied. Francesca also 
 exerted herself to add to the general contentment, and 
 the evening was a very joyous one. 
 
 But the greatest joy of it came when Francesca had 
 retired, and the three loving bearers and toilers for 
 honor's sake could sit down together and discuss the 
 eventful meeting of the next day. The call for this 
 meeting had created a sensation throughout the country- 
 side. When Dick had made the promise to his creditors 
 ten years previously, there had been in his few resolute 
 words something which inspired belief ; and the York- 
 shire farmers of that day did not readily give up an im- 
 pression. If any of them had ever doubted Dick's as- 
 surance, they now positively denied the doubt. One and 
 all said they had been " as easy in their minds as could 
 be ; and things hed happened so, as showed they were 
 about right." 
 
 It was, then, a pleasant crowd that gathered in the old 
 bank. The building stood in the main street of Tipham 
 Market, a plain, low house of two stories, the windows 
 of the lower one being covered with dust and cobwebs. 
 The upper rooms were inhabited by an old clerk who 
 had been connected with the bank from his boyhood. 
 Everything relating to its affairs were in John Stead's 
 head and hands. He knew its indebtedness to a far- 
 thing. He had paid out for Mrs. Alderson every shilling 
 of interest. The books of the bank were the pride of 
 his life ; he could show them balanced to date, on de- 
 mand, at any time. 
 
 To this old man and his wife and their middle-aged.
 
 1 86 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 sons and daughters the " clearing up " of Alderson's bank 
 was an affair that stirred their little world to its center. 
 John Stead had a new suit of black broadcloth made 
 for the occasion ; and Mrs. Stead and her two daugh- 
 ters, having cleaned their rooms to a point of shining 
 perfection, put on their best dresses and sat down in the 
 parlor as if it was Sunday. 
 
 They were unexpectedly rewarded. Not only did 
 Dick Alderson come upstairs they expected so much 
 of Dick but Dick brought with him his mother and 
 Miss Vyner. It was the first time the ladies had ever 
 been in the bank rooms, and the Steads congratulated 
 themselves ever afterward on their forethought in having 
 them in such exquisite order. For in spite of their pre- 
 occupation with Dick's affairs, both ladies perceived 
 where praise would be delightful, and both gave it with- 
 out stint. 
 
 Yet they were listening with ^11 their souls, the while 
 they talked of the most commonplace matters listening 
 for Dick's voice, for he had promised to call them at 
 a certain point of the proceedings. They could hear 
 the murmur of voices, the opening and shutting of 
 doors, the vague stir more apprehended than real, which 
 is never absent where there is a number of human be- 
 ings together. 
 
 Depositors of small amounts had been paid off long, 
 long ago ; it was only those to whom the bank owed 
 large sums who were to be satisfied that day. About 
 sixty men were present, and it seemed to Loida that it 
 took a very long time to give each man a check which 
 was already made out. But as she was impatiently 
 listening to an account of Miss Margaret Stead's attack
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 1 87 
 
 of ague, there was a sudden sense of movement, and 
 then a loud and oft-repeated cheer, and Mrs. Alderson 
 rose up nervously and looked at Loida, and Loida 
 hasted to her side, and the ladies went downstairs to- 
 gether. They saw Dick at the foot of them, and Loida 
 called to him : " We are coming, Dick ; " and in a few 
 moments they entered the bank with him. 
 
 The company were all standing. Some had checks 
 in their hands, others were buckling them up in their 
 capacious pocket-books. Such a crowd of large, rosy, 
 pleased-looking men! It gave a sense of new life to 
 go among them. They were all talking, and all talk- 
 ing together. Hearty laughs emphasized their words. 
 They had all been partakers in a deed which made them 
 think well of their kind, and they were as happy, and as 
 satisfied with themselves, as if they had each individu- 
 ally been the doer of it. In one sense they had. For 
 if Dick Alderson had worked and saved, they had 
 trusted and waited ; and they all felt that their forbear- 
 ance had not only given Dick a chance, but had also 
 strengthened the hands and heart of his mother to do 
 her part. 
 
 When she entered the room, they gave her a ringing 
 cheer. They crowded round, and shook her hands, and 
 told her she had a fine son, and that they were glad 
 to see him home again. And when she said " Gentle- 
 men ! " they hushed in a moment their noisy talk, and, 
 hats in hands, stood still to listen to her. 
 
 She looked at them with a happy smile. 
 
 "Gentlemen! Dick has done his best to atone for 
 his fault. I, his mother, ask you to blot it out of your 
 memories; to give him your respect and your confi-
 
 188 LOVE FOR AN HOUX. 
 
 dence as if he had never forfeited them ; to meet him 
 at church and at market as you used to meet his father. 
 If you cannot do this, be honest, straightforward men, 
 and say : ' Nay, we cannot forget.' Then Dick will 
 go away from here, and I will go with him ; and we 
 will begin life elsewhere. But, gentlemen, I can trust 
 Dick. I can, indeed ! " 
 
 " And I can trust Dick, too. I can trust him with 
 all my happiness, with all my estate, with all the days 
 of my life, even unto the grave. Friends, if the love of 
 life is also the love of heaven, I can trust Dick for all 
 eternity." 
 
 It was Loida Vyner who spoke. She looked at the 
 gathered gentlemen, and then she turned to Dick ?.^d 
 put her hand in his. 
 
 There was a confusion of smothered ejaculations. 
 Men looked into their hats and fingered the Madras 
 .silk handkerchiefs which lay in them. They were all 
 much moved, and not quick in expressing feelings of 
 this kind. For a moment there was a painful silence, 
 and many eyes were turned upon one old man, Squire 
 Gerald Granby, a magistrate and a person of great so- 
 cial power. He was restless while Loida was speaking, 
 and he looked steadily at the young man standing be- 
 tween his mother and his betrothed. Not a man to de- 
 cide quickly about anything, Squire Granby, in this 
 case, came to an instant determination. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " we have the name of being 
 honest men. Dick Alderson has proved he is an honest 
 man. That is about the difference between him and 
 us, eh ? " 
 
 "To be sure! To be sure, squire !"
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 189 
 
 " In this respect, then, he has an advantage over us. 
 We know not by words, but by deeds that Richard 
 Alderson is an honest man. I will give him a hearty 
 welcome on my heart and at my table. I will give nim 
 my vote and my friendship in the hunt and the militia, 
 and if he chooses to open the doors of his father's and 
 his grandfather's bank, he may put the check he has 
 just given me down as the first deposit." 
 
 Then what a tumult there was! " Hear, hear! " cried 
 some. " Hurrah for Granby and Alderson ! " cried 
 others. A crowd shook Dick's hands again ; another 
 crowd gathered round the generous speaker. Mrs. Al- 
 derson leaned upon her son's shoulder and cried for joy. 
 Loida went to Squire Granby, who was an old friend of 
 the family, and gave him both her hands, and he said : 
 
 " Thou spoke like a good woman, Loida. More good 
 women like -thee would make more good men. Tell 
 me when thou marries Dick, and I will come and give 
 thee away. Good girl! Good girl! God love thee, 
 my dear!" 
 
 And so with kind wishes and kind words tumbling 
 over each other, the happy company departed. Then 
 the chief actors in the little drama also went homeward. 
 The hour dreamed of, worked for, endured for, waited 
 for, through ten long years, had been realized. Mrs. 
 Alderson wept softly and happily, and Dick and Loida 
 kissed her tears away. Dick was silent with his felicity. 
 Loida, in all her life, had never been so beautiful and so 
 lovable. Her long seclusion had given a kind of antique 
 bon ton to her that was charming, and her affectionate., 
 loyal nature imparted to her presence a living sweetness. 
 
 Into this wonderful joy Francesca could not enter.
 
 190 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 She was glad to return to Atherton Court. There were 
 places there in which Lancelot's personality was still 
 strong. She could not bear to think of him in strange 
 rooms, for in places they had never been together she 
 could not catch the spirit of those impalpable impres- 
 sions of Lancelot which remained like pictures in the 
 air of those spots familiar to their love and their hopes. 
 
 And she did not like to trouble Loida's late joyful 
 spring with the gloom of her own despair. Perhaps, 
 too, Loida's spontaneous sympathy was not now as act- 
 ive as Francesca's needs demanded. In spite of every 
 effort she could make, in spite of the new hopes on 
 every side of her life, Francesca was very miserable. If 
 she could only hear of Lancelot! If she only knew 
 where he was! If she only knew he was well! If she 
 only knew that he still loved her, then she could better 
 bear to live. As it was, she hated every day, for she 
 went weeping to sleep, and woke up sighing to think of 
 the long hours she must face with a serene countenance 
 and a breaking heart. 
 
 She thought that nobody now cared for her that is, 
 they did not care about Lancelot, or put themselves to 
 any trouble to find out what had become of him. Her 
 father's long absence convinced her that he had his 
 heart and his happiness with him. It made her sad to 
 think he could be dining and feasting and going on all 
 kinds of pleasure-makings, and never remember her de- 
 spair. And Loida was so entirely taken up with Dick and 
 the refurnishing of Vyner Hall, and the getting ready of 
 her new bridal garments, not to speak of the charge she 
 kept at Atherton, that Francesca never could get a long 
 talk with her about Lancelot. Some person or thing
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 191 
 
 always interfered. Every one was forgetting Lance- 
 lot but herself. She could feel that his very name was 
 a bore, an intrusion, a cloud across the sunshine, a false 
 note in the song of happiness. 
 
 So the summer sped away. The squire was expected 
 home in September, and Loida and Dick would be mar- 
 ried immediately afterward. All the old life at Atherton 
 Court would then be past forever. A new mistress,, 
 with new ways, would take Loida's place, and Francesca 
 knew that her father would, in many respects, be a 
 different man. There would be changes of which he 
 might not be conscious, but which would be painfully 
 evident to her. For no one can live among strange 
 people and under strange influences for months and 
 remain unaltered by the circumstances. 
 
 These considerations moved her to take a desperate 
 step. 
 
 " Loida," she said, one evening, as they sat sewing 
 and thinking " Loida, will you go with me to Idle- 
 holme ? " 
 
 "To Idleholme! Why, Francesca, Jane is in Italy. 
 Why do you want to go there ? " 
 
 " I want to see Lancelot's mother. We could stay a 
 day or two at Idleholme, and I would ride over to 
 Leigh. Perhaps perhaps I might find something out." 
 
 " I do not think that course would be quite right, 
 Francesca." 
 
 " Yes, it would. Yes, it would. Remember, Aunt 
 Loida, that you are going away from me. I shall be 
 left here with a strange woman, who never saw Lancelot. 
 Who am I to speak to ? Father will not listen to me ; 
 and if he would, can I talk to him now? Dear Loida,
 
 192 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 before you go, as a last kindness to me, give me this 
 satisfaction. If my mother were alive, I am sure she 
 would let me go. This morning I found a verse which 
 I said weeping to her, and then the thought of going 
 to Leigh came into my mind. It was this verse : 
 
 " ' Mother, mother, up in heaven, 
 
 Stand upon the jasper sea, 
 And be witness I have given 
 
 All the gifts required of me. 
 Hope that blessed me, 
 Bliss that crowned, 
 Love that left me with a wound.' 
 
 Let me go to Leigh, Aunt Loida." 
 
 " You shall go, dear. I will ask Dick to go with us. 
 But could not Dick go for you ? " 
 
 " No. I am , sure I can do better than any one. 
 Lancelot's mother is a very strange woman. Dick 
 would not know how to manage her ; but I think she 
 will be kind to me, for Lancelot's sake." 
 
 "Then we will go to Idleholme in a few days per- 
 haps next Monday." 
 
 " That is nearly a week away. I cannot, cannot wait 
 so long, Loida. Why not go to-morrow ? Dick returns 
 to Alderson Bars on Saturday, and he may not come 
 back for several days. Loida, days seem whole years 
 to me. I am so wretched that every moment is an 
 hour." 
 
 "Then we will go to-morrow. Leaving at nine 
 o'clock, we can gallop there in five hours, and Dick will 
 be a sufficient escort." 
 
 The decision and promptitude of Loida's acquies- 
 cence gave some heart and hope to the sorrowing girl.
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 193 
 
 and she was almost cheerful next morning when they 
 cantered together through the park and on to the high- 
 road to Leigh. It was a beautiful morning, and the 
 physical effort being made in the direction Francesca 
 herself desired, it did her a great deal of good. And 
 at Idleholme they met a glad welcome from the squire 
 and Mrs. Idle. Almund was in Italy with his sister. 
 
 " He wanted us to go with him," said the squire, " but 
 my mistress thinks nothing of foreign countries and their 
 ways." 
 
 " Thomas is right," answered Mrs. Idle. " I say the 
 West Riding is good enough for any Christian. And 
 it is very dangerous traveling about, what with steam- . 
 boats, and railway-carriages, and custom-houses, and 
 such like, not to speak of the unknown things you get 
 to eat and drink. When I was in France, four years 
 ago, I never felt safe a minute ; did I, Thomas ? " 
 
 Still, they were much interested in Dick's Mexican ex- 
 periences, and a very pleasant evening was spent. And 
 in the morning a little diplomacy secured to Francesca 
 the circumstances necessary for her visit to Lancelot's 
 mother. Dick went with her, and he was precisely 
 such an escort as she desired. He did not trouble her 
 to talk, yet if she wished to converse about Lancelot, he 
 was full of sympathy and hope. 
 
 There was no sunshine when they left Idleholme 
 only a mild, hazy, diffused light ; and just as they 
 reached Leigh House a soft rain began to fall. Fran- 
 cesca looked at Dick, and he smiled assuringly back, 
 as he said : 
 
 " I am not afraid of rain. I will do as we proposed 
 ride on to Crossley Hall. I want to talk a coupk of
 
 194 LOl'E FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 hours there ; then I will call at Leigh for you. Is that 
 what you wish ? " 
 
 She said it was, but her heart fell as she entered the 
 farmyard of Leigh. There were several men busy in 
 its precincts, and one of them assisted her from her sad- 
 dle. He said Mrs. Leigh was at home, and opened a 
 half -door which was on that side of the house, and told 
 her to go to the room at the end of the passage. She 
 followed his directions, treading as softly as if she wished 
 to conceal her presence. At the door indicated she 
 stood still ; she was sick with uncertainty and fear. She 
 was afraid now to provoke the answer of her doubts. 
 Perhaps suspense with hope might be easier to bear 
 than the certainty she had come to ask for. 
 
 In a few moments she tapped at the door, and then 
 opened it. There was no one in the room, and she sat 
 down. The place was familiar to her. She had been 
 warmed and refreshed there on the day the snow-storm 
 drove her to refuge in Leigh. The very same parlor, 
 .and yet there were changes. The big oak chair of the 
 master was not on the hearth. It was set back against 
 the wall in a corner of the room. His slippers and pipe 
 were not visible ; the dogs he loved were no longer 
 stretched on their sheepskin rug; one was dead, the 
 other had voluntarily left his home and gone over to 
 -Crossley's to live. The violin and books that had been 
 Lancelot's special tokens were removed. Excepting the 
 big Bible on the folded-down table, there was not a book 
 visible. No pile of newspapers, no guns in the corner 
 or. trout-rods against the walls. The room, in short, 
 had the air of a room into which men never came. 
 
 Francesca was glad of a few moments' reprieve. A
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 195 
 
 depressing sense of sorrow stole over her. She could 
 not escape its penetrating influence. It was as much in 
 the air as the moisture was. She felt ill at ease, half-in- 
 clined to run away and abandon her intention. But the 
 fear was not positive, and her intention was. So she sat 
 still opposite an open casement, watching the slow, per- 
 sistent rain. It made little ado, but it was drenching 
 everything. The birds sitting droopy and silent on the 
 ivy boughs were already draggled and miserable in it. 
 
 When Martha Leigh entered the room, she went 
 straight to the open window and closed it. Her move- 
 ments were hasty and irritable, and she turned angrily 
 to Francesca, and said : 
 
 " Thou might hev hed the sense to shut the window 
 when it was raining, I do think. Whativer does ta want 
 here ? And who art thou ? " 
 
 Francesca's first feeling was one of proud resentment, 
 but when Martha turned her face and she saw the mis- 
 ery it reflected, she was humbled before such sorrow. 
 Rising gently, she went close to Mrs. Leigh, and said : 
 
 " I do not wonder you have forgotten me. I am so 
 much changed." 
 
 " I see. Poor lass ! What has been the matter with 
 thee ? Why-a! Thou art Squire Atherton's daughter. 
 I do believe thou art." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And whativer does thou want here ? " 
 
 " I want to know where Lancelot is." 
 
 " I can't tell thee. I don't know where he is." 
 
 There was a tone in her voice that shocked Fran- 
 cesca, it was so final and so broken-hearted. 
 
 " Have pity on me. You are his mother, you must
 
 196 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 have a kind heart. You are his mother, you must know- 
 where he is. Have pity on me. I am so miserable." 
 
 " I cannot help thee any." 
 
 " You can tell me where he is if he is alive if he 
 is well if he still thinks of me." 
 
 She was holding Martha's arm ; she was trying to 
 make the wretched woman meet her imploring eyes. 
 Martha would not look at her. She removed Fran- 
 cesca's hand and led her to a chair. 
 
 " Sit thee down," she said. " I cannot tell where he 
 is. I don't know whether he is alive or dead, well or 
 sick ; and if he hes forgotten his awn mother, is it likely 
 he thinks about thee ? What did ta come here for ? 
 Crying and taking on in such a way! Thou oughtn't 
 to do it. Will ta hev a cup of tea ? " 
 
 " I want nothing but a word or two you will not give 
 me. Do you not see I am dying of grief? " 
 
 " Don't thee talk to me about dying of grief. I bore 
 the lad. I nursed him at my breast. I lived and 
 moved and hed my being in him for seven and twenty 
 years afore thou iver put eyes on him. Dying! What- 
 iver are women made of now ? If I can bide his loss, 
 I think thou may make shift to live without him. He 
 was none of thy lad, anyway." 
 
 "He was! He was! He loved me, and I loved 
 him. I love him yet, better than my life." She covered 
 her face with her hands, and sobbed as a child in over- 
 whelming distress might sob. 
 
 Martha was not much touched. She had a con- 
 tempt for a weeping woman. She did not know 
 what to do in such cases. Petting, coaxing, consoling, 
 treating them as wounded, suffering babies, was quite
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 197 
 
 out of her power. She went restlessly about the room, 
 moving a chair here and there, putting things out of 
 and then into their place, scarcely knowing the motive 
 of her movements. Only she was annoyed. The sob- 
 bing girl whom she could not comfort whom, indeed, 
 she did not want to comfort worried and vexed her 
 patient mind. She could think of nothing but a cup of 
 tea, and she made one and set it before Francesca, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " There, now. Thou art nervous and fractious. Take 
 a drink of tea. It's a good thing for crying women." 
 
 Francesca pushed it away. And in the act she caught 
 Martha's eyes, and compelled the woman to look at her, 
 as she said : 
 
 " I ask you, by God's pity, to give me a word from 
 Lancelot, and you offer me a cup of tea. It is a shame 
 of you ! What a cruel heart you must have ! Lancelot 
 was his father's son, not yours not yours." 
 
 Francesca had got beyond tears now. She felt 
 wronged and insulted, and she spoke with an indignant 
 reproach that brought color into her cheeks and fire into 
 her eyes. Martha was angry, but the mood suited her 
 better. And she noticed then how really ill Francesca 
 looked how her pretty face had paled and thinned 
 how slight her figure had become what general ravage 
 corroding, sorrowful suspense had made. 
 
 " Is that the way ladies talk nowadays ? " she asked 
 scornfully. "My word! When I was a girl, I would 
 hev ' got it ' if I hed spoke to any older than mysen in 
 such fashion." 
 
 " Forgive me mother. I was to have been Lance- 
 lot's wife. May I call you mother?"
 
 198 LOVE FOR AN HOUR, 
 
 "Nay, I think not. I am sure not. Thou hes just 
 said Lancelot was not my son." 
 
 " I did not mean it. I was angry. I was wrong. 
 Let me call you mother. I have no real mother; 
 only a stepmother." 
 
 "A 'stepmother'! Niver! Hes thy father got wed 
 again ? " 
 
 " Yes, many months ago." 
 
 " Poor lass ! " 
 
 " Why do you not want me to marry Lancelot ! Tell 
 me, mother." 
 
 "I will! I will! Because Lancelot would leave his 
 own house and land for thy house and land. He would 
 go to live at Atherton Court, and this dear house be let 
 to strangers or go to empty ruin. And there is them 
 that would not like it" 
 
 " But I like this house. I would come here and live 
 with Lancelot. I would like to come and stay with 
 you sometimes. May I ? " 
 
 " No. Thou hed better keep away from here. But 
 if ta married Lancelot, would ta live part of thy time 
 here, and keep the house open and in fair order ? " asked 
 Martha. 
 
 " I would like to do so ! Mother! Mother! If you 
 know where Lancelot is, for Lancelot's dear sake tell 
 me. He would like you to tell me. I am sure he 
 would." 
 
 " I don't know where he is. I hed a line or two 
 from him when he landed in Vera Cruz. He said he 
 was going into the ' interior,' wherever that is, and he 
 would write again when he got there. He hes niver 
 written me another line."
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 1 99 
 
 " What did he go away for, mother ? " 
 " It was said he went to buy cotton." 
 " Do you think he went to buy cotton ? " 
 " My lass! Don't thee ask me for my thoughts." 
 Then there was a pause. Both women were silent. 
 Both were thinking and feeling intensely. The day had 
 grown darker and darker. The rain poured now. 
 There was npt a breath of wind. It was one of those 
 lifeless, motionless storms which are such dead-weights 
 on the mind. And the gray light in the room made 
 everything gray, except Francesca's face, which had a 
 kind of shining pallor that attracted Martha's attention, 
 in spite of herself. Its expression was so hopeless, and 
 full of that sense of " bearing " which women understand. 
 This mood Martha could sympathize with ; at least she 
 was not made angry by its still endurance. After a few 
 minutes' thought she said : 
 
 " Would ta like to see my big picture of Lancelot ? " 
 " You could show me nothing I would like better, ex. 
 cept himself." 
 " Come, then." 
 
 She led the way to the new wing, and with a trifling 
 hesitation turned the key of Lancelot's room. It was 
 quite dark. She groped her way to a window and 
 opened the wooden shutters, and the gray light looked 
 in upon the deserted place. The furniture was still in 
 its proper positions. Lancelot had only removed a few 
 small souvenirs. The walls were covered with pictures, 
 but one stood against the wall unhung. It was an oil 
 painting of Lancelot, taken at his majority. Its place 
 was in one of the usual sitting-rooms, but Martha had 
 been unable to bear its presence, and she had removed it.
 
 2OO LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 The lifelike presentment was like the opening of the 
 flood-gates of sorrow to Francesca. She stood before 
 it gazing as if her gaze could force the silent lips to 
 speak to her ; then she knelt down, and kissed the face 
 with flowing tears and words of fond endearment. 
 Martha turned away from grief so poignant ; she occu- 
 pied herself in opening the other windows ; in altering 
 the position of chairs ; in a kindly and rather noisy dis- 
 traction, not devoid of sympathy, though expressed so 
 strangely. And she neither hurried nor interfered with 
 the passionate sorrow of the distressed girl. And per- 
 haps that was the best of all sympathy, for in a short 
 time Francesca's bitterly sweet orison was made. She 
 took from her throat a square of white silk, and covered 
 the dear face with it. Then she went to Martha and 
 said simply : 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 She would have liked to kiss the cold, gray face above 
 her. To her it was not repellant. But Martha held 
 herself away from any such demonstrations. She only 
 said: 
 
 " If ta hes done, we can go downstairs again. I 
 can't ask thee to stay any longer. I hev a lot to do to- 
 day." 
 
 Francesca was standing by the piano. She opened it 
 and touched the notes with a slow, uncertain hand. 
 They fell thin and strange into the empty air. Yet the 
 melody was a familiar one to both women. Mrs. Leigh 
 had often paused at her work, or sat still with her sew- 
 ing in her hand, to listen to it. She stood watching the 
 girl at the instrument, her face catching color, her eyes 
 light ; the notes growing stronger, sweeter, firmer, till at
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD, 2OI 
 
 the last strain she found strength in her heart to voice 
 the melody 
 
 ' ' Oh, so -white ! Ok, so soft ! Oh, so sweet is she ! " 
 
 The words fell one by one, with all the festive magnifi- 
 cence of accompaniment that love had given them. 
 Martha had heard Lancelot ring them out in such clear, 
 happy tones, as only birds in spring can reach. Fran- 
 cesca's voice was but their thin, far-away echo. But 
 something in the effort had comforted her. She rose, 
 and Martha put her gently aside, and began to close 
 and cover up the instrument. 
 
 " I wouldn't hev let any one but thee put a finger on 
 it," she said ; " no, not even Queen Victoria hersen." 
 
 Francesca was standing at a table on which lay a 
 book open, and turned face downward. She thanked 
 Martha, and then lifted the book. It was a compilation 
 of poems from various sources, but one was broadly 
 marked, and looked as if it had been purposely left to 
 attract attention. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Martha. 
 
 " A book of poetry." 
 
 " He was always reading such nonsense. It did him 
 a deal of harm. Love! Love! Love! As if life 
 was nothing but a kiss and a song and such miff-maff ! " 
 
 " The poem he has marked so broadly look at it 
 it is not about love. It is about ' Haunted Houses.' " 
 
 "Niver!" 
 
 "It is, really. See how he has penciled those four 
 verses. Read them." 
 
 " I hevn't my spectacles. I don't believe I could 
 read poetry, unless it was maybe a hymn of Bishop
 
 2O2 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Ken's. 'Haunted Houses! ' I niver heard of poetry 
 like that. I wish ta would read it to me. It must be 
 varry queer stuff." 
 
 Then Francesca lifted the book again and read in a 
 soft, solemn voice the verses marked by Lancelot : 
 
 " All houses wherein men hare lived and died 
 
 Are haunted houses. Through the open doors 
 The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, 
 With feet that make no sound upon the floors. 
 
 " We meet them at the doorway, on the stair, 
 
 Along the passages they come and go, 
 Impalpable impressions on the air, 
 
 A sense of something moving to and fro. 
 
 " There are more guests at table than the hosts 
 
 Invited ; the illuminated hall 
 Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts, 
 As silent as the pictures on the wall. 
 
 " We have no title deeds to house or lands ; 
 Owners and occupants of earlier dates, 
 From graves forgotten, stretch their dusty hands, 
 And hold in mortmain still their old estates." * 
 
 "That beats all!" said Martha. "Is that poetry? 
 My lass, it is true as gospel! I know! I know! 
 'Hold in mortmain! ' Of course. Leigh Farm is held 
 in dead hands, and no living ones can alienate it. That 
 is the truth. Give me the book. I wouldn't wonder 
 but it was put there for me by them that know. I am 
 obliged to thee for showing me such a bit of comfort. 
 Come ; we will go now." 
 
 She was averse to speak after this incident, though 
 she clasped the book tightly and took it away with her. 
 * Longfellow.
 
 FORTUNATE GOLD. 2 03 
 
 And Dick was waiting ; there was no excuse for longer 
 delay. But Francesca felt that she had gained a little 
 good will, and she ventured to ask, as she said " Good- 
 by": 
 
 " Mother, if you do hear anything will you let me 
 know ? " 
 
 "I shall not hear. Don't thee hev any such false 
 hope." 
 
 " But if you do ? He may write. Can we not at 
 least hope he will ? " 
 
 " To be sure, if we are set on that kind of folly we 
 can hope to catch larks if ever the heavens should fall. 
 Thou wilt get a wetting ; take care and not get a cold. 
 That will be worse than love I can tell thee that!" 
 
 And she turned dourly in, seeming almost to leave a 
 shadow where she had stood.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 
 
 Ah, who shall help us from overtelling 
 
 That sweet, forgotten, forbidden lore! 
 
 E'en as we doubt in our hearts once more, 
 With a rush of tears to our eyelids welling, 
 Love comes back to his vacant dwelling. Austin Dobson. 
 
 Going to die! For who shall waste in sadness, 
 Shorn of the sun, the very warmth and light, 
 
 Miss the green welcome of the sweet earth's gladness, 
 Lose the round life that only love makes bright ; 
 
 There is no succor if these things are taken ; 
 None but Death loves the lips by love forsaken. 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 A BOUT the middle of September the squire and his 
 1\ bride returned to Atherton Court. Great prepara- 
 tions were made for this event, and Loida took a special 
 pride in delivering up her household charge with that 
 kind of eclat which spotless purity and elaborate adorn- 
 ment can give. The new mistress of Atherton stepped 
 across a threshold whose antique beauty was radiant 
 with the flowers gathered that morning dahlias and 
 asters, lavender and marigold, and all the treasures of 
 bronzing ferns and the autumn amaryllis. 
 
 She stepped across it with a smile of irresistible at- 
 traction a smile that deprecated premature judgment, 
 that asked for affection, and insinuated all it asked. 
 She was a very pretty woman, quite forty years of age,
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 205 
 
 but looking much younger. Her dress was the perfec- 
 tion of taste dark, rich, and of faultless fit. She was 
 exquisitely booted and gloved, and her hat was piquant 
 and becoming ; altogether she gave the idea of a dainty 
 bird in its fresh spring plumage. 
 
 Francesca and Miss Loida were in full dinner dress, 
 and there was the stir and air of a festival throughout 
 the house. Mrs. Atherton was charmed and charming, 
 and the squire happy because she was happy. They 
 came to the dinner-table together as radiant and as mag- 
 nificently dressed as a bride and bridegroom ought to be. 
 Indeed, the squire had renewed his youth. Instead of 
 the slippered, indolent gentleman who had reluctantly 
 gone to London, there was an alert, handsome man, 
 quick at every point, appreciative of his fine wines and 
 good cook, anticipating changes he had already pro- 
 jected. In fact, a man full of the reserved strength 
 of many years, who had been suddenly awakened and 
 vitalized by an absorbing affection. 
 
 He was, indeed, too happy himself and too much ab- 
 sorbed in his plans to notice much change in his daugh- 
 ter. Francesca was beautifully dressed in a pink silk 
 frock, and its glow and shimmer gave to the fading 
 beauty of the girl a fictitious color, which the squire did 
 not analyze. He thought his daughter looked very well 
 and very lovely ; he thought Loida looked ten years 
 younger, and he had become learned enough in toilet 
 matters to know that she was a trifle old-fashioned in 
 her style of dress. He bantered her about it, and was 
 answered with a shade of offense : " Dick liked her 
 dress, and she had the pleasure of dressing for Dick
 
 206 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Perhaps neither Francesca nor Loida thought the 
 squire was quite as fine a gentleman as when he left 
 them. He used to think for every one but himself, and 
 now 
 
 " He cares only for his new wife," said Francesca. 
 " He used to be so quiet, so restful, so easy to please ; 
 now I am tired of the laughing and talking and dress- 
 ing, and going out, and he is as particular about our 
 dress and the sen-ing of the table as if he had a dinner- 
 party every day." 
 
 Which complaint was true enough. The careful state 
 of the home-coming dinner was not relaxed; and if 
 Francesca did not attire herself in accordance with it, 
 she was made to feel that her father disapproved her 
 carelessness. Mrs. Atherton was the keynote of the 
 house, and she kept it up to its highest pitch of elegant 
 order. And the marvelous thing was, the servants 
 made no complaints. Under Miss Loida's authority 
 the least extra work was done under protest ; the extra 
 work under Mrs. Atherton became regular work, and 
 they did it with alacrity and cheerfulness. 
 
 The very morning after her arrival she went into the 
 conservatory and ordered the gardener to cut a large 
 quantity of his finest flowers for the house. Loida was 
 amused at the man's face. He had always been stingy 
 to the last degree of the conservatory treasures ; Mrs. 
 Atherton ordered them with lavish prodigality. The 
 man gave her a look which had been wont to abash 
 Miss Loida and Francesca, and even the squire ; but 
 Mrs. Atherton appeared quite unconscious of his disap- 
 proval. She went about the guarded walks, snipping 
 here and snipping there, and laughing lowly, and mak-
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 2O/ 
 
 ing merry asides to Francesca as she cut the rarest and 
 loveliest blooms. 
 
 It was a just retribution for long-continued oppres- 
 sion, and Loida and Francesca could not help feeling a 
 certain satisfaction in it. 
 
 " That man is a boor," said Mrs. Atherton, as they 
 returned to the house ; " and he will have to learn good 
 manners or go." 
 
 And Francesca answered : 
 
 "You have cut more flowers this morning than he 
 ever parted with before. He would scarcely give us 
 any for the table the day you came home. If we should 
 go back now, you would find him crying or in a pas- 
 sion." 
 
 Mrs, Atherton went back. The man was in both 
 conditions. 
 
 " Send the flowers I cut to the house at once, Barker," 
 she said. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. Excuse me. You have spoiled the 
 conservatory, ma'am." 
 
 "That is of no importance, for the house will be 
 lovely, and the conservatory is to supply the house. I 
 shall want more flowers in two days. I hope you will 
 have them for me." 
 
 She did not notice either his distress or his temper ; 
 and the flowers were cut again on the second day. 
 
 With equally capable hands she took hold of the 
 somewhat neglected village. Guided by her the squire 
 found work for idle men, in ways he had never dreamed 
 of. Mrs. Atherton saw fields that required draining; 
 young plantations that required thinning; old timber 
 that ought to be removed and cut up for use ; cottages
 
 208 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 on the estate that wanted whitewashing and thatching, 
 and she said : 
 
 " What is the use, Rashleigh, of charity, when you 
 can give work? Work is like mercy; it blesses him 
 that gives and him that takes." 
 
 In October Loida was married. There was a little 
 discussion about the place proper for the ceremony, but 
 it was speedily settled in favor of Alderson Bars. It was 
 impossible for Dick's mother to come to Atherton Court ; 
 she found any number of reasons rendering it impossi- 
 ble ; and yet it was surely right she should be present 
 at her son's marriage with Loida. The two women had 
 worked and hoped together for Dick, and Loida wished 
 her to share in all the results so patiently and lovingly 
 waited for. 
 
 And at Atherton Dick was not enthusiastically wel- 
 come. The squire was not proud of his alliance. He 
 would rather that the sister of his first wife had married 
 a man whose past could give an enemy no advantage. 
 He thought Loida was throwing herself away, and Dick 
 was sensitive to the feeling. Besides, Tipham Market 
 church was Loida's own parish church, and the friends 
 of both families worshiped there. 
 
 So Loida went to Alderson Bars a week before the 
 wedding, and Francesca went with her. The squire 
 and Mrs. Atherton arrived in time to take part in the 
 actual ceremony, and they did not remain long after it. 
 In some respects there was an air of disappointment 
 about the festival. Dick and Loida were too quietly, 
 solemnly happy for the typical idea. People do not 
 work and wait ten years for a joy, and then take it with 
 the careless enthusiasm of children. But Dick's face
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 2OQ 
 
 shone with rapture, and Loida, in her bridal white, was 
 like a fair lily, serene and still, and sweet as a lily from 
 the gardens of Paradise. 
 
 It was while the bridal party stood around the altar 
 of the ancient church that Mrs. Atherton was first for- 
 cibly struck by the appearance of Francesca. She was 
 smiling, but Mrs. Atherton had a glimpse of the heart 
 behind the smile. 
 
 " That little girl is miserable," the shrewd woman said 
 to herself, " and I suppose it is that lover Rashleigh told 
 me about. What was it he said ? Did he not go away 
 from her without a word ? Something shabby of that 
 kind I know it was. It is time I looked after that affair." 
 
 But she never found it easy to look after Francesca. 
 She was sick and in trouble, and she took every oppor- 
 tunity to escape to the solitude in which her sorrow was 
 most bearable. Mrs. Atherton could not tell whether 
 this was a natural or an exceptional attitude, and she 
 felt a delicacy in discussing it with her husband. It 
 was so easy to appear unkind ; so difficult to gain con- 
 fidence against unspoken prejudice. Still she watched 
 Francesca, after her return from Loida's marriage, with 
 an interest not devoid of a sincere liking. The proud, 
 shy, quiet girl attracted her, because she was sure she 
 was neither proud nor shy, nor yet specially quiet by 
 nature. The character was a cloak, assumed to repel 
 or to conceal, and in either case she felt sorry for so 
 young a heart thus hiding its sorrow. 
 
 Once or twice she said to the squire : 
 
 " Do you think Francesca is quite well ? Is she as gay 
 and glad as an English girl in her position ought to be ? " 
 
 And the squire looked anxiously at his child and pre-
 
 2IO LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 varicated a little in his answer. He saw the change in 
 Francesca, but, in the first place, he did not see its full 
 extent or estimate its danger, because in his presence 
 Francesca was at her highest point. For this was the 
 natural attitude of a proud girl who feels her grief is not 
 shared, not even sympathized with. 
 
 Then, again, the squire really believed Francesca was 
 mentally pouting. First, because he would not discuss 
 Lancelot with her ; secondly, because he had himself 
 found another love and married. The supposition was 
 a natural one ; but even if the squire admitted some 
 justice in it, he was a little angry at his daughter when 
 he considered her changed air and manner. And, at 
 the last, he always found the excuse which Francesca's 
 love for Lancelot gave him ; had she not loved so un- 
 wisely, so extravagantly, so regardlessly of himself and 
 his happiness, he never would have gone to London, 
 he never would have met his Clara. If, for instance, 
 Francesca had married Almund Idle, he would have 
 lived and died a widower, content with her happiness, 
 and finding a new youth in her children. But this 
 and that and the other had happened, and by the time 
 the squire had considered all the conditions, he was 
 ready to leap to his feet and emphasize his thoughts 
 with an impatient stamp, and so away for comfort to his 
 wife or his business, muttering : 
 
 "It was Lancelot here and there and everywhere. 
 Lancelot and the mill, Lancelot and cotton and Mexico. 
 It was Lancelot's father and mother ; it was a, e, i, o, 
 u, and sometimes w and y yea, the whole alphabet of 
 worries ; and I was right to get a bit of comfort to my- 
 self, and I am glad I did it."
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 211 
 
 One day, some time after the new year, when cotton 
 was beginning to be plentiful, and mills were at work 
 again all over the country, Mrs. Atherton said : 
 
 " Rashleigh, I have been in the village to-day ; it is 
 nearly deserted by the men. They have tramped off to 
 get spinning elsewhere and left their families until they 
 can send for them. The distress is very great still, and 
 I say now what I said at first give them work." 
 
 " But how can I, my dear Clara ? My fields and 
 woods are already clean as a park or garden. I cannot 
 make work much longer." 
 
 " Yes, you can. Open that fine mill, and set the men 
 and the women to spin cotton." 
 
 " I am not a cotton-spinner, and the mill is not mine," 
 said the squire, in a decidedly angry voice. They were 
 sitting at the dinner-table, and he lifted the decanter and 
 poured out another glass of Chambertin, and so tried to 
 turn the conversation. But Clara was persistent. 
 
 " Rent the mill." 
 
 " I cannot, Clara. The fellow that owns it went off 
 without a word one morning. Nobody knows where he 
 went to." 
 
 Francesca's face flushed scarlet, and she stood up and 
 said: 
 
 " Father, ' the fellow ' is my intended husband. I 
 love 'the fellow.' I believe him to be an honorable 
 gentleman in every respect." 
 
 Then, with considerable passion, she pushed her chair 
 aside and left the room. 
 
 An hour afterward Mrs. Atherton knocked at her door. 
 
 " Francesca! My dear Francesca, let me come in," 
 she pleaded.
 
 212 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Francesca opened the door, and, holding it, stood 
 looking at her stepmother. She had been crying until 
 she was sick. Her face was piteous, her eyes hope- 
 less, but she had told herself as she went to the door : 
 " I am the daughter of Atherton and the lady of the 
 manor. I will not let this stranger either pity or scold 
 or deceive me." 
 
 The thought gave dignity to her grief. She looked 
 straight at her visitor, and waited for her to speak. 
 
 " Francesca, dear, let me come in. I want to talk 
 to you to comfort you to advise you." 
 
 The poor girl shook her head at the mention of " com- 
 fort " ; but she suffered Mrs. Atherton to enter. She 
 went to a sofa and motioned Francesca to sit beside her. 
 With some reluctance Francesca did so. She took her 
 hand. It was cold and without response. The fingers 
 lay limp in her own. 
 
 " I am sorry, Francesca, I named the mill. I have 
 made you weep, and I wish only to make you happy. 
 Do you believe me ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 " Say Clara; I do not wish you to call me ' mother.' 
 I am not your mother; no one ever could take a 
 mother's place ; but I am your friend, your true friend 
 Clara. Tell me what you wish me to do for you." 
 
 " There is nothing to be done. But for all that, I 
 am miserable. I am dying of grief, and nobody sees 
 it ; and I fear no one cares for me." 
 
 "My dear, I see and I do care." 
 
 " I have no one to speak to now. Even before Loida 
 went away she was so busy, and her heart was so full 
 and happy, it was not pleasant to trouble her and she
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 213 
 
 forgot if I did not speak and I was humbled and sad- 
 dened by every one's neglect, and I could only go away 
 and be silent. My heart is breaking. I feel a little 
 weaker constantly. I have such hopeless days such 
 long, weary nights. I never thought that life could be 
 so hard to bear. I want to shut my eyes and forget 
 everything. No, I do not want to forget Lancelot." 
 
 " If you would only tell me about him, then I could 
 talk to you, and we could consider what ought to be 
 done. Francesca, my dear, I was once very deep in 
 sorrowful love myself. I wanted to die ; and the man 
 came back and we were married, and in three months I 
 wished he had never come back, and in a year I had 
 left him forever. When he died I was glad." 
 
 " You cannot comfort me in that way, Clara. If an 
 angel stood there and said there was anything wrong, 
 anything unkind in Lancelot's heart, I would know he 
 was an evil angel full of malice and wickedness. I will 
 tell you what Lancelot is ; " and then she did what Clara 
 wanted her to do, opened her heart, told all its secret 
 fear and doubt, all its heart-wringing uncertainty and 
 suspense. "If I knew where he was! If he would 
 only write! If I could write to him! If I durst go 
 and find him!" These "ifs" were the thorns and nails 
 of her poor heart's crucifixion. " But I am a fine lady. 
 I cannot move. I cannot go anywhere." 
 
 " If we only knew where he is, Francesca, I would 
 find a way for you to go there." 
 
 " You would ? You really would, Clara ? " 
 
 "Indeed I would. There are few men like your 
 Lancelot. He ought to be found and brought home. 
 I am going to have his mill opened and set to work if
 
 214 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 possible. If your father will not do it, I have lots of 
 money of my own. I will open it. It is a shame to 
 see such a fine building useless ; such wonderful ma- 
 chines rusting away." 
 
 And then the poor girl cried again, and hid her face 
 in her hands, and tried to hide her sobs in her heart ; 
 and Clara put her arm round the slender form trembling 
 and shaking in its storm of sorrow ; and after awhile 
 gently uncovered the wet, white face and kissed it. 
 
 " Listen, Francesca ! There are men whose business 
 it is to find out hidden things and to discover where lost 
 people go to. You say Lancelot landed in Vera Cruz 
 from the bark Thetis. I am going to send one of these 
 men across the Atlantic to Vera Cruz. I will give him 
 orders to find Lancelot if he be in this world. Now 
 you can write as long and as sweet a letter as you desire 
 to your lover ; this man shall take it with him. And 
 whatever else you say, tell Lancelot he must come home. 
 Tell him his honor, his mother's honor, your life, depend 
 upon his coming." 
 
 "His honor! I do not think that 'honor' is con- 
 cerned in his absence." 
 
 " My dear, do not stand upon words. You have to 
 use hyperboles to move a man at all. Some men care 
 for ' honor ' that are not touched by love or happiness, 
 or even death. In love and war all expedients are Idw- 
 ful. The . word ' honor ' seems to me a very honorable 
 expedient. Now, write your letter to Lancelot, and I 
 will go and write to Captain Benton. Both letters will 
 leave here to-morrow morning, and twenty-four hours 
 afterward Captain Benton will be on the way to Mexico. 
 What do you think of that plan, dear ? "
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 215 
 
 " It is so wonderful, so comforting, so quick ! I can- 
 not take it in. I cannot understand it all." 
 
 " Never mind about ' understanding ' now. You will 
 have time to understand while Benton is going about the 
 business. Have you pen, ink, and paper? Good. 
 Then go to work. When you do not know what to do 
 then is the very time to do something. When you can- 
 not bear a thing any longer, then stop bearing, and make 
 a move in one direction or another. The direction is 
 evidently Mexico. Mr. Alderson has been in Mexico ; 
 why did you not set him to work? He must know 
 people there. He could surely have written some let- 
 ters made some inquiries ? " 
 
 " Dick was so taken up with Loida and other things. 
 I did not like to trouble them. They did not know I 
 was suffering so much. They did not see." 
 
 " Lovers see nothing but each other. They are an 
 abominably selfish crowd. I know because I have been 
 there. There ought to be churches specially for them, 
 and constant sermons on ' seeking not one's own,' and a 
 lovers' litany, with an imploration to be delivered from 
 selfishness." 
 
 " Have I been selfish ? " 
 
 " Perhaps and very unselfish also. I do not think 
 I could have been so patient and smiling and ladylike 
 with other lovers as you have been. In most respects 
 you have behaved admirably. It takes a fine, well-bred 
 nature to bear. A very vulgar one can do" 
 
 However, it is very certain that the only way out of 
 the Slough of Despond is by action. It is like move- 
 ment in a nightmare ; stir under the incubus and it is 
 gone. And though Francesca's despairing grief was
 
 2l6 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 not removed by action,'it was sensibly lightened. There 
 was a movement made which admitted of hope's en- 
 trance. Something was being done for Lancelot, and 
 it was not all simple endurance. There was also great 
 comfort in Clara's sympathy. It was an active, loving 
 sympathy ; it resolved itself always into " what can be 
 done ? " If this effort fails what is the next move ? She 
 never thought of advising Francesca to forget her sor- 
 row, or even to submit to it. The idea of resistance, of 
 getting the better of adverse circumstances, was funda- 
 mental in Clara's character. 
 
 Consequently, even when Captain Benton had gone 
 to Mexico, she was still mentally busy in forecasting 
 probabilities and preparing to meet them. And she 
 very soon found out two weak places in their first move- 
 ment. 
 
 " You ought to have seen Mrs. Leigh before we sent 
 Benton," she said to Francesca, " and we ought to have 
 taken Dick Alderson into our confidence. Mrs. Leigh 
 may have had another letter. Dick could have given 
 advice worth having. However, we can send any in- 
 formation worth sending after the captain. When did 
 you see Mrs. Leigh last, Francesca ? " 
 
 " It is nearly half a year ago." 
 
 " You poor child ! No word for half a year? And 
 no one remembered your anxiety. What a selfish set of 
 barbarians we have been! It is possible Mrs. Leigh 
 has had several letters. And we may have sent Benton 
 in a wrong direction." 
 
 " How unfortunate ! " 
 
 " Not worth fretting over. If we have, then we must 
 send some one in the right direction immediately. Do
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 21 7 
 
 not look so hopeless and frightened. I have plenty of 
 money that ought to be on the move. Money is made 
 round in order that it may roll. The first thing is to see 
 Mrs. Leigh. Suppose we go to Idleholme to-morrow. 
 We owe Squire Idle a visit. Your father may not wish 
 to go. If so, the way to Leigh is plain and open. If 
 he is so contradictious as to feel his social obligations 
 pressing, and I dare say he will be so very natural, then 
 we must seize the best opportunity that offers." 
 
 " And if none offers ? " 
 
 "Then we must make one." 
 
 Before the subject could be further discussed, Squire 
 Atherton entered. He was going to covert, and was 
 dressed in a dashing Milton-Mowbray uniform of scarlet 
 and green. It was the first time he had worn it since 
 his marriage, and he came into the room with a little 
 conscious satisfaction in his own appearance. Certainly 
 he looked in it a very proper English squire, and Clara 
 was enthusiastic in her approval. He blushed like a 
 great, happy school-boy to her compliments, and asked 
 both ladies to drive to cover and see the meet. 
 
 " We shall find a good dog-fox at Ashley pasture, and 
 get away with him up wind. There will be some crack 
 riders present, Clara. Francesca knows; don't you, 
 little girl!" 
 
 " Yes, indeed," she answered, with a pretty flush com- 
 ing into her cheeks. " Who can ride like Squire Ather- 
 ton? Clara, there is a bullfinch hedge of fifty years' 
 growth on Ashley pasture. It is so high that no horse 
 can clear it, but Squire Atherton charges it at full speed 
 and gets to the other side, while the bushes close after 
 him and his horse as if a bird had hopped through
 
 2l8 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 them. If the fox goes that way, would you not like to 
 see my father go through ? " 
 
 " No," answered Clara, with a comical shake of her 
 head. " I do not care about seeing your father go 
 through a hedge. And my sympathies are with the fox. 
 I think it is a pity to teach such fine hounds such bad 
 ways." 
 
 " Bless thee, Clara, it is as natural for dogs to hunt 
 foxes as it is for men to hunt them. I don't know a 
 much finer sight than a good pack all together, with 
 heads up and tails down. My word! You'd think 
 then that my Crafty and Gypsy and Gaylass and the 
 rest of them were well worth the painting. Such scent 
 and such sense! Fine pedigrees! Every one of them 
 knew by instinct that a sheep was too sacred an animal 
 for them even to look at ; but I shall be late if I go on 
 talking in this way. Will you go ? I can send Crocker 
 with the trap in ten minutes." 
 
 " No, Rashleigh, we will not go this morning. I 
 want to go to Idleholme to-morrow. We owe a visit 
 there that can no longer be delayed. Will you go with 
 us?" 
 
 " Yes. I ought to go. My friend Thomas Idle is 
 always glad to see me. Yes, I will go, Clara. Did you 
 say to-morrow ? " 
 
 " To-morrow. We shall stay all night, of course." 
 
 " Very well. To-morrow I am at' your service. To- 
 day " 
 
 " You hunt a dog-fox. It seems to take quite a num- 
 ber of men and dogs to kill one dog-fox. I should like 
 to see the fox better than the men. Good-morning, 
 Rashleigh."
 
 HOPE AND Tll'O SAD WOMEN. 2ig 
 
 " Did I not tell you, Francesca, that the squire would 
 be sure to wish to see his friend Thomas Idle ? " 
 
 " I had a similar presentiment, Clara." 
 
 " My dear, there is no need of ' presentiments ' about a 
 man's movements. If you know him ever so little, you 
 may reckon upon his ' whys ' and ' wherefores ' as cer- 
 tainly as a sum in simple addition. How far is Leigh 
 Farm from Idleholme ? " 
 
 " Six miles or thereabouts. We pass it. The large 
 gates are on the highway." 
 
 " Then we must go direct to Idleholme, stay there all 
 night, and the following morning I will ask Mrs. Idle to 
 let a man drive you to Leigh. Your father and Squire 
 Idle will doubtless be in the stables or kennels ; that is 
 their usual after-breakfast visit. You can dismiss the 
 Idleholme man at Leigh, and as we shall not leave until 
 afternoon lunch, you will have several hours with Lance- 
 lot's mother." 
 
 " Then you will call for me as you return to Ather- 
 ton ? " 
 
 " Yes. Try and be at the gate, so that your father 
 may have no time to grumble and forecast darkness and 
 danger and tribulations of all kinds." 
 
 The plan was so simple that it was scarcely possible 
 for it to miscarry. The Atherton party arrived at Idle- 
 holme the following afternoon, and met a hearty wel- 
 come. Almund was at home, and there was a brilliant 
 evening. For the new mistress of Atherton exerted 
 herself to the utmost, and met in Almund a spirit bright 
 enough to stimulate her pleasantries and also to under- 
 stand them. Yet his attentions to Squire Atherton's 
 wife did not interfere with the young man's devotion to
 
 220 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Francesca ; and the two old men watched it with appreci- 
 ative glances ; they thought no one read but themselves. 
 
 So every one was in a happy temper ; even Francesca 
 threw off her depression, and played accompaniments to 
 Clara's singing, and smiled sweetly to Almund's confi- 
 dences, for she was thinking of the morning, and that 
 possibly in a few hours she would hear something of 
 Lancelot. 
 
 It was fortunately a fine morning, though very cold. 
 There had been a little snow, but not sufficient to hinder 
 rapid driving ; and as soon as the two squires had trailed 
 off to the stables, with their pipes between their lips and 
 half a dozen hounds at their heels, Mrs. Atherton said a 
 few words to Mrs. Idle, and before Francesca was quite 
 ready, a light gig was waiting for her. 
 
 " We shall call for you about two o'clock ; be waiting 
 for us : " and Clara drew the pretty, pale face down to 
 her own, and with whispered good wishes kissed the 
 girl and sent her away. And as Almund had gone into 
 retirement, in order to smoke his first cigar in contem- 
 plative peace, no one but Clara saw Francesca depart 
 on her loving errand. 
 
 The horse was a fine roadster, and the man a capital 
 driver ; in a very short time she was at the large gates 
 of Leigh Farm. They were rusty with disuse, and only 
 moved with considerable effort ; but when they had 
 been opened sufficiently for her entrance, she sent the 
 servant back to Idleholme. His name was Jonathan 
 Child, and he had the reputation of being a silent, self- 
 ish fellow ; but when Francesca gave him a crown, the 
 touch of the silver went at once to his nervous center, 
 and awoke what good feeling he possessed.
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 221 
 
 " Miss," he said, as he gathered up his reins again . 
 " Miss Be you going in there, miss ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Into t' varry house, miss ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, I wouldn't, if I was you." 
 
 He even turned his head to watch the slight figure 
 walking quickly up the long, winding avenue. And 
 Francesca felt the chill of the implied warning as she 
 caught sight of the house. It was hardly possible to 
 realize the change that had taken place in half a year. 
 Certainly there was some allowance to be made for the 
 want of the summer's leaves and flowers and sunshine, 
 but even admitting this natural reason, there was a 
 change that the season was not responsible for. 
 
 The place looked deserted. The avenue was totally 
 neglected. Long, dead grass clung around her ankles, 
 and her feet sunk in the sodden masses of decaying 
 leaves. There are moments when matter weighs upon 
 us ; when it is as mysterious and unsympathetic as spirit. 
 The hard earth, the dead leaves, the bare, dripping 
 branches overhead, seemed a part of her heavy heart. 
 And why were they there at all ? When ? How ? What 
 for ? No answer. No understanding of anything. The 
 sadness that comes from sorrow endured without avail, 
 invaded and, before she reached the door, conquered her. 
 
 The great white door! How blank and cold and 
 unresponsive it looked ! Indeed, she had to give up all 
 attempts to enter by it, and go around the building to 
 the smaller door in the other side. It was easily moved 
 by an ordinary latch ; and after knocking several times 
 without being answered, Francesca went in. All was
 
 222 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 silent as the grave. She went to the room with which 
 she was familiar. Martha Leigh was there. There 
 was a little fire in the grate, and she was bending over 
 it. She lifted her head as Francesca entered, and looked 
 at her with a quick inquiry ; then, divining her disap- 
 pointment, let her head fall down again. 
 
 " Mother, may I come to you ? " 
 
 " Ay, come thy ways in. It is a cold day." 
 
 " Have you been ill ? " 
 
 " Ay, I suffer a bit. Rheumatism. If Death would 
 but come and deliver me, I'd make him freely welcome. 
 I would that." 
 
 Then Francesca told her what Mrs. Atherton had 
 done ; but she listened without any enthusiasm, and she 
 said, with an air of despair : 
 
 " If love can't bring him home ; if such prayers and 
 cries as I send after him can't bring him home willing 
 or not willing does ta really think a bit of money can 
 do it ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Atherton says money can do everything." 
 
 " She is far wrong. It can promise everything, but it 
 is a long way between promising and heving a varry 
 long way indeed." 
 
 Mrs. Leigh kept her eyes upon the fire. Francesca 
 put her little wet feet toward its blaze. She wondered 
 Martha did not notice how wet they were ; wondered 
 that she did not offer her any refreshment. For hospi- 
 tality was second nature with Martha Leigh. She must 
 have got far off from life in some way to forget its 
 claims. 
 
 After a few minutes, Francesca asked if she might go 
 up to Lancelot's room.
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 22$ 
 
 " Does ta want to see his picture ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 " Here is the key. Go thy ways, poor lass. But 
 don't thee touch t' piano. I couldn't abide to hear it. 
 I hevn't got the mournful music thou made on it out of 
 my ears yet. Don't thee touch a note." 
 
 " I will not. I only want to see Lancelot's face." 
 
 " If ta loved him as I love him, thou wouldn't need a 
 bit o' painted canvas to see his face. Why-a! I see 
 the lad go in and out ivery hour of the day. I see him 
 all night long. Sleeping or waking, I see him." 
 
 She rose up, as if to go with Francesca, but sat down 
 again. She was suffering from rheumatism severely, 
 and the house was cold and damp enough to induce the 
 malady. So Francesca went alone. She opened the 
 wooden shutters of one window, and knelt down before 
 the pictured face. No painted saint had ever truer and 
 purer worship. She kissed the smiling lips as the dead 
 are kissed. She kissed the beaming eyes as if she was 
 closing them forever. She wept before her lover with 
 that passion of grief which comes from long suppression. 
 No one there could see or hear her heart breaking. 
 She could lament and wring her hands and cry out, as 
 she longed to cry : 
 
 " O Lancelot ! Lancelot ! How gladly would I have 
 gone with you! Oh, my love! My love! My love!" 
 
 No one interfered with her sorrowful visit. She wept 
 her anguish in some measure away, and went down- 
 stairs calmed and comforted. Martha had spread a 
 little table and made up the fire. She pointed to the 
 teapot and the loaf, and permitted her to wait upon 
 herself.
 
 224 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " I sent away all the servants at the end of the 
 year," she said ; " ay, a bit before it. A bad, wasteful, 
 grumbling lot as iver was. I was glad to be rid of 
 them." 
 
 " Do you live here alone ? " 
 
 " I live here but not alone. How many men and 
 women hev lived here before me, does ta think ? I hev 
 plenty of company. We are varry thick with one an- 
 other varry good friends. They know I have done 
 right to Leigh. They are satisfied. Stephen Leigh hes 
 found out, and Lancelot Leigh will find out. There is 
 no need to hurry. The ' time to come ' is a long year 
 it is that. I hev something to ask of thee." 
 
 " I will do anything you ask me, if it be possible." 
 
 " What for should thou ? " 
 
 " You are Lancelot's mother. I love you." 
 
 " I am a crabbed, queer old woman ; how can ta love 
 me?" 
 
 " I love you. What is the use of asking ' why ' or 
 'how'?" 
 
 " To be sure. Listen, then. I am going the way of 
 all the Leighs varry soon. Don't thee say ' no ' or think 
 I want comfort. I do not. I want to die. I'll shake 
 hands with Death, and welcome him. There is only 
 one thing I want to live for. I want to keep possession 
 till Lancelot comes home. If I die before he comes, 
 thou must try and find him ; try and hear from him ; 
 thou must hear from him whether or not. Dost thou un- 
 derstand ? whether or not" 
 
 " I shall hear from him. I feel certain of it." 
 
 " Ay, thou wilt hear for if there is no other way, / 
 will come and tell thee. Mind that! As sure as I am
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 22$ 
 
 a living spirit, I will come and tell thee where he is. 
 For he must let the world know he is alive." 
 
 " What has the world to do with Lancelot's life or 
 death ? " 
 
 " If Lancelot were dead, Sally Wood of Wood Hall, 
 eldest daughter of my husband's eldest sister, is the next 
 heir. And what does ta think? Joshua Newby is 
 courting her. Newby says he is bound to hev Leigh, 
 either by wedding or deading, if gold willn't do it ; and 
 I hev told him, he niver shall hev the right to enter 
 Leigh. But does ta see what the scoundrel is after? 
 His son will wed Sally Wood, and then he will buy the 
 right from Sally, and come in here, and spread himsen 
 before the living and the dead, as master of Leigh. I 
 could not bide that, neither for the love of heaven nor 
 the fear of hell. I would come back and slay him, 
 someway. I would! I would! So thou must keep 
 Lancelot in the land of the living. That is thy part. 
 Thou understands ? " 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 " If any one says, ' Lancelot is dead,' threep them 
 down as liars. Leigh House must stand empty till a 
 Leigh comes to dwell in it. It niver hes gone in the 
 female line, and it niver shall." 
 
 The subject excited her very much, and Francesca 
 tried to pass it over, and talk of Martha's own condi- 
 tion. 
 
 "You ought, for Lancelot's sake," she said, "to 
 live, and so take care of yourself. If Lancelot could 
 see you and his home now, how distressed he would 
 be!" 
 
 "Thorpe says I hevn't long to live. If I \vanted to
 
 226 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 live, I shouldn't die ; but I don't want to live. I can 
 do a deal more for Leigh out of the body than in it." 
 
 " Should you not have more warmth, more comforts, 
 a servant to wait upon you ? " 
 
 " I live as I want to live. I hev plenty of money. 
 I need not grudge mysen any comfort and I don't. 
 But heat or cold, comfort or discomfort, when you are 
 companying with death and racked with pain what 
 does it signify? Nothing at all." She was silent a 
 little, and then she asked suddenly : 
 
 "Thou means to marry Lancelot when he comes 
 back ? " 
 
 " Yes. I mean to marry no one else." 
 
 " I will be glad to think of thee here. I like thee now. 
 I wish I hed always liked thee ; things might hev been 
 a good bit different. Come here as often as ta can, 
 when ta is married to Lancelot. I shall know it, I'm 
 sure, and I will give thee a blessing." 
 
 So they talked until it was near two o'clock. Then 
 Francesca bid her " Good-bye." She did not wish to 
 make Clara's conciliation harder than need be, and she 
 walked in the avenue until she heard the Atherton car- 
 riage approaching. It stopped at the gates of Leigh 
 House, and Clara met her with that effusiveness of 
 welcome which indicated a prior dispute. The squire 
 was undoubtedly angry, but he folded the carriage 
 wraps tenderly round his daughter, and felt a painful 
 sense of heartache when he saw how wan and sorrow- 
 ful she looked. 
 
 " How is Mrs. Leigh ? " 
 
 It took him a few moments to compel himself to this 
 courteous inquiry, but the kindness done, he felt its
 
 HOPE AND TWO SAD WOMEN. 22J 
 
 influence ; and when Francesca answered, " She is 
 dying, alone, without a friend, and careless of all help 
 or comfort," he felt honestly sorry. 
 
 " She is a very proud, sensitive woman," he said, 
 " She was very rude to me once, but she did not know. 
 It was the day of the funeral. I thought her slightly 
 off her judgment. God pity her! " 
 
 And even while the kindly prayer was uttering, 
 Martha, half-unconsciously, was making for herself the 
 same petition : 
 
 "God pity me! I meant to do right! God pity 
 me if I hev done sinfully ! " 
 
 For her punishment had become almost unbearable. 
 The silence of her son was a cruel sorrow, but if the 
 law should construe this silence as death, and suffer the 
 next heir even a partial or limited possession, how could 
 she bear it f She did not like her niece Sally ; she hated 
 young Newby. Sometimes she felt she could live in 
 perpetual agony, only to live and keep Leigh House 
 until her son came home to claim it. Then a miserable 
 doubt invaded even this resignation. Would Lancelot 
 live in it if he came back ? Perhaps not. Still, his 
 right would keep others out. And she had a hope that 
 Francesca understood and would carry out her desires. 
 
 But what miseries sat in the lonely house with the 
 lonely woman. She fought them with all her power ; 
 but intolerable pains and intolerable despairs filled her 
 with mortal and immortal suffering. The house per- 
 meated with such influences took on, as a countenance 
 would, an expression of being haunted. An unhappy 
 atmosphere was reflected from it, and at night its one 
 feeble light in an upper room thrilled every heart thaJ
 
 228 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 looked toward the forlorn dwelling with pity and with 
 terror. What Martha Leigh was doing there and what 
 she was enduring, no one knew. She made no com- 
 plaint, and asked for no human help. In moments of 
 intolerable anguish it was God she spoke to. It was 
 to God only she cried : " Pity me ! Pity me ! Re- 
 member that I am but dust! "
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE, 
 
 A Soul . . . 
 
 Joying to find herself alive, 
 Lord over nature, Lord of the visible earth, 
 
 Lord of the senses five. Tennyson. 
 
 We hurry to the river we must cross, 
 
 And swifter downward every footstep wends ; 
 
 Happy, who reach it ere they count the loss 
 
 Of half their faculties and half their friends. Landor. 
 
 A LIFE filled with duty may be a very noble life, but 
 II the heart craves some tender resting-places built 
 by love, and wanting them, duty is very like a day of 
 sunshine, or an orchard without singing birds. It was 
 these little resting-places built by love and sympathy 
 that made life endurable to Francesca during the fol- 
 lowing weeks. Her hopeful conversations with Clara 
 the tears she could shed in her company the letters 
 sent here and there for information the things supplied 
 topics of conversation that touched Lancelot, and made 
 tangible sources of comfort and compassionate inter- 
 change of feeling, and thus enabled the unhappy girl to 
 bear the long recurring days that brought her yet no 
 tidings of her lover. 
 
 They were not days, however, devoid of interest in 
 other directions. Clara was moving them in many re- 
 spects to wise and kindly ends ; for, from her first com-
 
 230 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 ing to Atherton, she had been grieved by the desolation 
 of the village and the stagnation of interests which 
 ought to have been working steadily for the good of 
 all. The squire laid the blame on the war, and felt 
 himself easy in thus shifting the responsibility. It was 
 not pleasant, therefore, to have Clara continually intro- 
 ducing an unpleasant subject. 
 
 " That mill ought to be opened, Rashleigh," she said 
 again one day, as they rode through the village together. 
 "Look at those cottages standing empty." 
 
 " I do look at them very often," answered the squire, 
 with some temper. " I spent a great deal of money 
 building those cottages, and while the mill was running 
 the rents were worth gathering. Now they are going 
 to ruin, or they are sheltering some miserable family 
 whose head has gone to Oldham or Clitheroe or even 
 to America, in search of work. I look at them very 
 often, Clara." 
 
 " Open the mill, Rashleigh." 
 
 " I tell you it is not mine, Clara. It belongs to that 
 young man whom Francesca is killing herself about." 
 
 " You ought not to speak of Miss Atherton as killing 
 herself ; though I suppose we all do kill ourselves, in 
 some way or other, eating, drinking, loving, fretting, 
 working, even hunting. Squire Foxly chose hunting. 
 But I am talking about the idle mill and the empty cot- 
 tages. I should rent the mill, if I were you, and set 
 every loom to work. I do not like to see Atherton vil- 
 lage so mournful and poverty-stricken." 
 
 " It is poverty-stricken ; there are so many people 
 here who have no business here." 
 
 " Then find business for them. Open the mill."
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 231 
 
 " Clara, if I did not love you so much, I should be 
 angry at this monotonous cry of yours. Can you not 
 understand that I should feel it a great degradation to 
 become a cotton-spinner, a mere trader ? " 
 
 " I cannot understand it at all. Why should it be 
 more degrading to spin cotton to clothe people than to 
 grow wheat to feed them ? The occupations seem to 
 me equally honorable. As for trading, it is the most 
 ancient, honorable, and enterprising of occupations." 
 
 "The agricultural and pastoral life stands higher, 
 Clara." 
 
 " Then it ought not to stand higher. And you have 
 too much sense to think it does." 
 
 " Its antiquity " 
 
 " Antiquity is worn out. Besides, if antiquity is worth 
 anything, trading has plenty of it. Those agricultural 
 patriarchs, counting their sheep and oxen and squab- 
 bling about water-holes in the desert, are commonplace 
 enough put against the great merchant companies from 
 Midian traveling down into Egypt with camels and 
 swordsmen and all kinds of wealth. Rashleigh, I have 
 heard with considerable weariness your monotonous 
 cry about doing your duty by the land. Well, sir, 
 you are neglecting your duty shamefully; you ought 
 to double the value of every foot of land in Atherton 
 village." 
 
 " There are certain prejudices, Clara " 
 
 " I am sure you have strength of character enough 
 to follow your convictions and your interests, and let 
 ' certain prejudices' go to the limbo appointed for such 
 useless lumber. I should rent the mill, if I were you ; 
 then you can rent your empty cottages and make every
 
 232 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 one happy and Squire Atherton rich. Mr. Horsfall has 
 begun to spin cotton." 
 
 " I do not indorse Mr. HorsfalPs opinions." 
 
 "Squire Drayton is vaporing about ' landed gentle- 
 men ' and coming to you to borrow money. I do not 
 suppose you indorse Squire Drayton's opinions. You 
 see, you could rent the mill from Mr. Leigh's lawyer, 
 and when Mr. Leigh returns he will doubtless relieve 
 you in a very profitable way of your responsibility. I 
 have such a fine idea of the plan, that if you decline it, 
 I think I shall speculate myself. ' Clara Mott Ather- 
 ton, Cotton Spinner,' would not be a bad name for a 
 firm. I have a lot of money as good as idle." 
 
 Squire Atherton looked at his wife with some anxiety. 
 He could not tell whether she was in earnest or not. 
 Clara made the impossible thing happen so often. Her 
 face was speculative and thoughtful; she was smiling, 
 and yet she appeared to be mentally adding up a sum. 
 He thought it best to turn the suggestion into an unmis- 
 takable and preposterous joke, and she only smiled a 
 little more, and said, with a nod of her head : " You 
 will see." 
 
 And no man's heart is proof against the continual 
 drop, drop of an idea. The idea either wins the heart 
 or hammers it hard as iron. Squire Atherton's heart 
 could not be hard to his wife's reasoning, and she taught 
 him such clever ways of answering and combating prej- 
 udices that he soon felt a kind of pleasure in provoking 
 an antagonist to conflict. He was sure of victory, for 
 he never doubted his own arguments, and he never sus- 
 pected his opponent had any argument worth consider- 
 ing. Clara taught him the word " obsolete," and he
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 233 
 
 blandly defined all old customs and prejudices by that 
 word. She led him to have a special contempt for that 
 condition she called " behind the times " ; and so glori- 
 fied the present era, with all its progressive thought and 
 movements, that Squire Atherton, in adopting them, 
 conceived a huge respect for himself as being a man 
 greatly in advance of his neighbors. 
 
 Such changes were not, of course, made at once, and 
 yet they were quickly made ; for the mind, when put 
 into favorable conditions for growth, progresses with that 
 marvelous celerity which distinguishes all mental move- 
 ments. It takes years for the boy to become a man, 
 but a few hours is often sufficient to make a man turn 
 out of doors his present mind and welcome one entirely 
 different. 
 
 Squire Atherton's transformation was effected more 
 gradually. He floated in his wife's companionship al- 
 most imperceptibly into a higher and wider stratum of 
 thought. Her opinions, repelled at first, still struck fire 
 against his feelings and intellect, and day by day he 
 became possessed and enthused by them. To make 
 money, to make himself the bread-giver to thousands, to 
 become a living fountain of wealth, to double the value 
 of Atherton land these ideas grew into stringent mo- 
 tives for action, and he was led into a mental condition 
 he would once have repudiated with scorn as one false 
 alike to his principles and his order. 
 
 It must be admitted that the squire was also in- 
 fluenced by Dick Alderson, for Dick and Loida made 
 frequent visits to Atherton ; and Dick's descriptions of 
 the Mexican grandees, who drew their immense reve- 
 nues from mining, greatly impressed his imagination.
 
 234 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 If Mexican nobles were miners, why could not English 
 squires be manufacturers ? Indeed, it often seemed to 
 Clara that Dick had a secret longing for the life he 
 had abandoned. She noticed that every time he came 
 to Atherton he dwelt with more loving enthusiasm on 
 the adventurous existence which he had led for ten 
 years. She noticed that he had not reopened the 
 bank, though he had been requested by a unanimous 
 call of the people in the vicinity of Tipham Market to 
 do so. And Clara, putting these and other things to- 
 gether, argued that Dick did not find riding about his 
 fields and going to the hunt a sufficient exchange for 
 the excitement, the danger, and the rich results of his 
 Western experience. 
 
 It is true, he had Loida and he had his mother, and 
 he had one, nay, two, really charming homes. What 
 more could he want ? 
 
 " The trivial round, the common task, 
 May furnish all we ought to ask, 
 Room to deny ourselves ; " 
 
 but Dick could not attain to this condition. And 
 Clara sympathized with him. Loida's sweet repose, her 
 gentle content with life and Dick, her failure to see 
 Dick's restlessness, irritated her. She felt herself com- 
 pelled to try and rouse in the placid lady a thought that 
 this sameness, though a sameness of love and happi- 
 ness, might become a little fatiguing to restless spirits. 
 One of these discussions brought out a fact which made 
 her think well of Dick's forethought, and also showed 
 her a way full of possibilities as far as Francesca was 
 concerned.
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 235 
 
 They were all sitting together one evening, in the fall 
 of the year. It was chilly and rainy, and there was a 
 little fire in the grate. The squire was smoking, Fran- 
 cesca reading, Loida sewing, Dick looking into the fire 
 or the far West Clara doing nothing with her hands, 
 for her restless mind gave her sufficient employment,.. 
 The languid melancholy of autumn was distinctly pres- 
 ent, for unless it be in characters of vivid vitality, it is 
 true that 
 
 " The swift beat of the brain 
 Falters, because it is in vain 
 In autumn, at the fall of the leaf; " 
 
 and the chief joy seems to be quiet and to muse secretly 
 over our own dreams. 
 
 " I suppose this is what is called a peaceful, simple, 
 sweet, idyllic life," said Clara. " I think ' peace ' and 
 ' simplicity ' idols quite as little entitled to worship as 
 graven images are. What can people do in such lives 
 but fold any solitary talent they have in a napkin and 
 bury it in a field ? " 
 
 "But ther, Clara dear," said Loida, in her sweet, 
 low voice, " we are out of danger and out of tempta- 
 tion, and the very air is full of peace and rest, and our 
 hearts are full of love, and what more can we desire it 
 this unhappy world but peace and rest ? " 
 
 As she spoke she looked at Dick, who did not lift his 
 eyes or indorse her statement by even the faintest of 
 smiles, while Clara's looks contradicted the assertions 
 even as they were made. And as soon as Loida ceased 
 speaking, she said : 
 
 " ' Peace ! ' ' Safety ! ' ' Out of temptation! ' I do 
 nc't think much of such words. They are mere words
 
 236 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 the Dogberry and Verges of morality." And then, 
 with a charming mockery, she quoted : " ' You are to 
 bid any man stand in the prince's name. But how if 
 he will not stand in the prince's name ? Why, then, 
 take no note of him, but let him go, and presently call 
 the watch together, and thank God you are rid of a 
 knave.' Peace and rest, indeed ! You may bid peace 
 or restj or even love, stand in any name you like ; but if 
 they do not stand ? And if all you can do is to call 
 the watch together, and try and thank God, and talk 
 about knaves, what then ? " 
 
 " Did you say ' love,' Clara dear ? " 
 
 "Yes, Loida dear, I said 'love.' I think peace and 
 rest are suffocating atmospheres for love. That is the 
 reason I have labored like a galley-slave to set Rash- 
 leigh to work in a mill. I am in hopes the mill will stir 
 the stagnant air, and give love some chance to live and 
 grow. Any plant but a weed dies in perpetual sun- 
 shine." 
 
 Dick looked at her with a bright, thoughtful face. 
 
 " Have you heard of Nirvana ? " he said. " And 
 what do you think of such a state, Clara ? " 
 
 " I think Nirvana might be the heaven of a Platonic 
 oyster, or a jelly-fish in tropical seas. I could never 
 dream of Nirvana." 
 
 " But, Clara, the jelly-fish has already explained that 
 it is destitute of a sensorium." 
 
 " And that is where it is, Dick. We have sensoria, 
 and sensoria make Nin'ana impossible ; though, in- 
 deed, I have been at some places here that were even 
 worse. Shall I ever forget Mrs. Sykes and her even- 
 ing party f "
 
 MARTHA LEIGPI ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 237 
 
 " I was not there," said Loida. 
 
 " Unfortunately Francesca and I were there. It is 
 easily described : We sat about the room, quiet as a 
 funeral, in the midst of many candles. I was hysterical 
 with the silence. I had to go to the piano and sing, 
 or I should have shrieked. I am anticipating the 
 opening of the mill. What a pleasure to hear the rush 
 of steam, the rattle of machinery, and the ' hum-m-m ' 
 of wheels." 
 
 " Clara dear, I have heard the noise of the mill. I 
 thought it dreadful. If cotton could only be spun with- 
 out noise." 
 
 "I do not suppose it would then be spun at all. 
 Fancy a silent factory! " cried Clara. " How oppressive 
 it would be! No one could do monotonous work 
 without noise; it would be unendurable; it would 
 drive the workers crazy." 
 
 Dick sprang to his feet. 
 
 "By Saint George, you are right, Clara!" he cried. 
 "I have seen such noiseless mines in Mexico penal 
 servitude. Dear me! I was thinking of Mexico, feel- 
 ing glad that I still had a hold on the country. After 
 all, there was a great charm in going to work every 
 morning with the hope of a ' find ' that might be a fort- 
 une. You sow a field, and know almost to a shilling 
 how much its harvest will be worth. You go to your 
 -.nine, hoping everything, for everything is possible ; and 
 in mining you set your hopes to the possible, not to the 
 probable." 
 
 " You still have a hold on the country ? " asked Clara. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I did not sell my right in the San Rayas mine. I
 
 238 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 could not sell advantageously at the time, and now I 
 am glad of it, for my last letters from Mexico say that 
 there has been a new labor opened up that is, a new 
 vein of silver. I may have to return and look after my 
 interests in it." 
 
 Loida dropped her work and seemed unable to speak. 
 Dick took her hand and answered her terrified inquiry 
 with an assuring smile. 
 
 " I shall take you with me, Loida if I have to go." 
 
 Then Clara perceived a singular advantage, and she 
 glanced intelligently at Francesca as she answered for 
 Loida, the quiet English lady being nonplused by the 
 very suggestion of her going to Mexico : 
 
 "Loida, how charming! How delightful! How 
 perfectly delightful! Loida, how I envy you! To go 
 to Mexico! To breathe its exquisite air! To see such 
 a picturesque life! I would give a great deal to be 
 you. Rashleigh, I am sorry now I persuaded you to 
 begin spinning. We might have gone to Mexico with 
 Dick and Loida. What a trip it would have been! 
 And then we could have come back by way of New 
 York." 
 
 The squire could hardly have looked at his wife with 
 more amazement if she had suggested a summer's trip 
 to Jupiter, with a return call at the moon. And he an- 
 swered, with an almost comical decision : 
 
 " I shall never go to any part of America in this life, 
 Clara." 
 
 Clara shook her head with the air of one who pities 
 and consoles. 
 
 " Never mind, Rashleigh," she said. " This life is 
 only a chapter in an eternal book of life. The scene
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 239 
 
 of the next chapter may, perhaps, be laid in America. 
 I think we have good reason to hope so. An American 
 wife in this life is a kind of I O U to an Englishman 
 that his next experience may be in America. Regard 
 me then, Rashleigh, as 'a promiser of good things to 
 come.' " 
 
 She was happy, she was hopeful, she saw a door open- 
 ing for Francesca, though Francesca did not yet see it 
 for herself. And as Clara was not ready to draw any 
 attention to it, she talked in a fashion which no way rep- 
 resented her real thoughts, but which always gave the 
 squire and Loida and Francesca plenty of occupation 
 to apprehend. 
 
 In the morning there was a very large mail, and no 
 one had the leisure to perceive that Francesca received 
 some unusual communication. It was an old-fashioned 
 letter, folded as letters were folded before the days of 
 envelopes, and it was sealed with wax, though wax had 
 long given place to mucilage. But the writer of this 
 letter was Martha Leigh, and Martha was faithful to 
 the old methods she had used in her youth. 
 
 " I'll niver seal my letters any such way," she said to 
 Lancelot, when envelopes were first brought to Leigh 
 House ; " it's a way out of nature, and I'll niver be the 
 one to asK my tongue to do the work of my hands." 
 
 Francesca guessed in a moment the writer of the let- 
 ter, and her loving heart beat with a fresh hope. 
 
 " Surely Mrs. Leigh had heard from Lancelot, or 
 perhaps even Lancelot had come home ! " 
 
 She slipped out of the breakfast-parlor as quickly as 
 possible, and, after a moment's hesitation between the 
 garden and her room, she chose the garden. The
 
 24O LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 maids would be upstairs, and she felt as if she could 
 not endure the eye and the ear of any woman. So she 
 walked down the terrace to the lower garden, and, in 
 the solitude of the apricot standards, broke the seal. It 
 was from Martha Leigh. And every letter of the sad 
 epistle, though large and clear, was shaken by the palsy 
 of death. 
 
 " My dear," said the dying woman, "my dear, I am going 
 out into the great dark. I may live one week or happen two 
 weeks, no longer ; so come to me if you can. My lad has never 
 sent me another line. His silence has been a sharp knife; it has 
 dug my grave. But he is not dead. He will come back here 
 again. Tell him I died blessing the very thought of him. Tell 
 him not to judge me. I am going to the righteous Judge of the 
 whole earth. My sentence is with Him. I have suffered since I 
 saw you. I have been racked with pain and with heart-longing 
 and with fearful looking forward. I would like to see your face 
 once more ; but I can die alone. My dear lass, it is a hard fate 
 to dree when you have to stand in the way of Fate. I did what I 
 thought was right to every one dead and alive and I got the 
 wage of the stand-between ill from both and all. Sally Wood 
 has married young Newby ; they think Lancelot is dead. He is 
 alive. Stand by that. Say you are sure of it. You may be. 
 One that does not lie has told me so. And Lancelot dead would 
 have spoken a word to his mother. It is the living that forget us : 
 the dead have better memories than the living. God bless you! 
 I fear I shall see your face no more. It is very dark to go away. 
 If there was one to hold my hand! Have I done wrong? Noth- 
 ing has come right. It is all a maze of sorrow and trouble. I 
 have been three days writing this; I am just stepping into my 
 grave. Good-bye, my dear. Tell Lance it is all over. I can 
 write no more pain and pain and sorrow and a thick cold dark- 
 ness. God be merciful. Pray for the soul of Martha Leigh." 
 
 No word from Lancelot. No word at all. The 
 letter was ablow. Some how, she had always anchored
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS VNTO PEACE. 241 
 
 to the belief that Lancelot's mother and home would 
 bring him back. And the strange old woman, with her 
 heart full of love, was dying. All her longing had been 
 useless. Lancelot had not felt it. What did it matter 
 if he was alive, when the circumference of the world 
 was between them ? For the first time she had a senti- 
 ment of anger against her lover. No circumstances 
 could excuse such cruel neglect of his mother. And 
 oh, how cruel his silence to her was! 
 
 She did not weep. She had passed that possible 
 comfort. The source of her tears was dry. With the 
 letter in her hand, she went back to the house. Loida 
 was there and Clara. To one of them she must speak ; 
 and after a moment's thought she looked into the parlor 
 in search of Clara. The quick sympathy in her bright 
 face answered the unspoken request. In ten minutes 
 she was sitting by Francesca's side, listening to the last 
 words of the lonely woman going out into the dark 
 without a word of love to cheer her. 
 
 " Francesca, you must go at once to Leigh House,'* 
 said Clara. 
 
 " I will go as soon as possible, Clara. I must get 
 my father's permission." 
 
 " I will give you that. Your father has gone to Hare- 
 top, and may not be back until to-morrow night. I 
 would go at once this very hour." 
 
 Francesca smiled. " Of course you would go this 
 very hour, Clara. I could not do anything in such a 
 hurry. It would make me ill. Things have to be con- 
 sidered." 
 
 " I had forgotten that it takes an English lady three 
 days to consider, and then three more to move upon
 
 242 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 her consideration. That is a week. And the poor, 
 heart-broken woman has given you a week; so you 
 may possibly see her alive. If she had written to me, 
 Francesca, I should have packed a valise and been on 
 the way to her at this very moment." 
 
 " You have been trained to think and act as if im- 
 pediments did not exist, Clara. I have not. Hurry 
 petrifies me. I should be ill and a trouble instead of a 
 help." 
 
 " If the house was on fire, you would brush your hair 
 and put your collar on, I have no doubt. If you saw 
 Lancelot coming up the terrace, you would wait until 
 the footman brought you his card. Francesca dear, if 
 you would only be in a hurry, or go into a passion, or 
 shriek, or say a few dreadful words, or do any other 
 womanly thing, you would not need the doctor. In 
 spite of your heart-sickness, you would get some life 
 and some color. Do put the house in a fuss, and send 
 impossible messages to the stables, and be on the way 
 to Leigh in forty minutes. I will help you." 
 
 " Mrs. Leigh will not expect me for a few days, and 
 J do not think I ought to go without father's permission. 
 He is so jealous wherever Lancelot is concerned." 
 
 " Very well. I often wonder if the earth going 
 round its axis does not put on the drag when passing 
 England. Life's wheels run so slowly here." 
 
 " I suppose there is nothing new to tell Mrs. Leigh ? " 
 
 " Nothing I would tell her. I had a letter from 
 Captain Benton this morning." 
 
 " Is there any hope, Clara ? " 
 
 " None, my dear. The captain says he easily found 
 traces of him at Vera Cruz, at Bocca del Rio, and at
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 24$ 
 
 other towns between Vera Cruz and Mexico. He 
 stayed at the Mercado Hotel, in the Plateros Mexico, 
 and his trunk remained there for many weeks." 
 
 " Then Benton supposes him to be dead ? " 
 
 " He thinks so. Assassinations are as common as 
 the nightfall. A stranger's life is not worth a dollar 
 unless he is able to 'protect himself. So Benton says." 
 
 " He found no certain trace of Lancelot's death f " 
 
 " No more than of his existence." 
 
 " Then I will believe Lancelot's mother, and she says 
 he is alive. A dying mother knows more than a detect- 
 ive. She sees further, and feels where she cannot see."' 
 
 "When you come back from Leigh, I have some- 
 thing to say to you." 
 
 " You can say nothing, Clara, that I will not grate- 
 fully listen to. All your words are good words." 
 
 " Thank you, dear! " 
 
 And Clara kissed the pale, young face, so full of sad- 
 ness and repressed suffering, and wondered that the 
 little mystery in her speech roused neither interest nor 
 curiosity. 
 
 " I will get ready to leave, Clara, and when father 
 returns, if I have his permission, there need be no de- 
 lay." 
 
 And, not unkindly, Clara expressed by a slight move- 
 ment of her shoulders her incomprehensibility of such 
 deliberate movements. 
 
 On the evening of the next day Squire Atherton re- 
 turned from Haretop. He had had a very pleasant 
 visit, he was in a particularly happy mood, and he did 
 think it a little hard to have his sporting adventures in- 
 terrupted by a discussion concerning Martha Leigh.
 
 244 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 That night he refused to see any reason at all for Miss 
 Atherton visiting the dying woman. Indeed, he as- 
 serted that from his own observation he thought her a 
 very improper person to visit. 
 
 " She isn't herself at all," he said. " She gave me 
 such a turn as never was, and if she should go into one 
 of her tantrums with Francesca, there is no telling what 
 would happen. Why-a ! It was only last month Joshua 
 Newby tried to have her put in safe keeping. He 
 said his son had married the next heir failing the 
 missing one and that he was sure she would burn 
 the house down if things went as she did not want them 
 to go." 
 
 " Lancelot will come back," said Francesca, with a 
 quiet decision. 
 
 " I wish to goodness he would, I am sure. I would 
 then, mebbe, have some good of my own daughter, and 
 my own wife would not be bothering my very life 
 out to run his mill. I wish to goodness he would 
 come! It seems like his very name spoils a pleasant 
 evening." 
 
 The next morning, however, he had changed his 
 views on the subject ; that is, Clara had had an oppor- 
 tunity to reason with him, and he had adopted her 
 views. He had been made to see the lonely, broken- 
 hearted woman at the grave's mouth, and he had been 
 informed of the utter failure of Benton to find any trace 
 of Lancelot. 
 
 " He says Lancelot Leigh was last seen in the neigh- 
 borhood of the Necatitlan Square, a place always dan- 
 gerous for a man in a European dress. There was a 
 bull-fight in the vicinity, and it is supposed he went
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 24$ 
 
 there. Benton says, further, that it is a haunt of cut- 
 throats of men who would murder a foreigner for a 
 few piastres and he feels sure that the next day 
 Lancelot's body lay behind a certain strongly grated 
 window between the Alameda and the Paseo of Bucareli 
 the window of the Mexican morgue." 
 
 " Have you told Francesca ? " 
 
 " Not as I have told you. She still believes her lover 
 is alive and I think so, also." 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 " I do not know ' why.' If I had reasons for my 
 belief I should not believe. Let Francesca go and see 
 Mrs. Leigh. It can do her no harm, it may do her 
 much good. She looks very frail and ill. Dick will 
 drive her there If she stays at all, it will be at the 
 Idles '." 
 
 And of course Mrs. Atherton won her plea. The 
 squire came downstairs next morning with the permis- 
 sion on his lips, and he gave it to his daughter with a 
 kiss full of affection. 
 
 "Thou art such a little lass as never was!" he said 
 fondly. " Thou hast Clara as much in thy power as 
 thou hast me and everybody else." 
 
 It was full eleven o'clock, however, ere Francesca 
 left Atherton, and it was fully four days since Martha's 
 letter had been -posted. In that space of time she 
 might be much worse, or the attack might be past and 
 she might be recovering. If so, it was- agreed that 
 Dick should see her. He could tell her many things 
 about Mexico, and perhaps give her some fresh hope 
 about her lost son. Under the circumstances, he 
 thought it would be a kind act to speak of his possible
 
 246 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 journey back to Mexico as a certainty. He was going 
 to ask permission to see Lancelot's likeness, and he had 
 no doubt he could learn the face by heart and remem- 
 ber it. 
 
 The conversation resulting from such plans and hopes 
 was of course all in one direction ; but it was full of 
 interest to both Dick and Francesca. Dick liked to 
 talk of Mexico. He was in the middle of an animated 
 description of the Merchants' Arcades, "where the 
 crowd was as thick as smoke," when they came in sight 
 of the little churchyard on the wold Francesca had 
 passed the day on which she first saw Martha Leigh. 
 There was a crowd in the yard, and many carriages 
 outside the gate. 
 
 " It is a funeral," she said, laying her hand on Dick's 
 arm to stay his conversation. " It is Mrs. Leigh's 
 funeral, I am sure. Oh, why did she not send for me 
 sooner!" 
 
 In silence they drove to the church gate. Several 
 men were standing around watching the horses. They 
 were not talking, and the solemn voice of the priest at 
 the grave-side seemed to fill all the space around them. 
 Dick asked very softly whose funeral it was, and the 
 man questioned answered : 
 
 " It is Mistress Leigh's burying. She died Monday 
 night some time. It was sudden at last, I should 
 think." 
 
 Then they entered the yard and joined the crowd 
 around the grave. Squire Idle was among them, and 
 he and a white-headed man, whom Francesca instinct- 
 ively knew to be Doctor Thorpe, assisted the rector and 
 the sexton in the last sad rites. The doctor was weep-
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 247 
 
 ing. In days long gone by he had loved Martha very 
 fondly. So also had Squire Idle. It was these two 
 friends of her youth that laid her in her grave. All 
 that her son ought to have performed they did ; and 
 Francesca was glad to see even this affectionate sorrow. 
 
 As the crowd dispersed, she drew closer. She loos- 
 ened the knot of white ribbon from her throat, kissed 
 it, and dropped it upon the coffin. Squire Idle had gone 
 away unconscious of their presence. Doctor Thorpe 
 remained at the grave until it was filled and the turf laid 
 back upon the clay. D^.ck and Francesca walked into 
 the church and read the gravestones, and talked softly 
 of what was best to be done. 
 
 They decided to return to Atherton, and were about 
 to enter their carriage when Doctor Thorpe approached. 
 He said, shortly : 
 
 " I am Doctor Thorpe, and I know you are Miss 
 Atherton. She was very restless to see you. I thought 
 of writing to Atherton a week ago. I wish I had." 
 
 " I wish so, with all my heart." 
 
 " Poor Martha ! Poor Martha ! How she suffered ! " 
 
 " Who was with her ? " 
 
 " Not a soul I mean no human friend or helper. 
 There are indeed a poor old man and woman in the 
 house poor, far-off relations, but they were asleep." 
 
 " Why did Lancelot go away ! Oh, Doctor Thorpe, 
 if you know, tell me ! " 
 
 " I cannot tell you ' why.' I may know ' why ' ; I 
 think I do know ' why ' ; but it is not my place to talk. 
 Far from it. I loved Martha Leigh when she was little 
 more than a child. If her son left her, I think he did 
 right. I promised Martha to take care of everything
 
 248 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 for him. It is the last thing I can do for the woman I 
 loved." 
 
 " Her death was very hard ? " 
 
 "Very! Very! She longed for just one word out 
 of the great silence ; she never got it. She was tortured 
 by her conscience and tortured by her heart. She lived 
 in another world to ours. No one knew her. No one 
 can judge her. She had hopes and despairs beyond 
 our bearing. I hope she has peace at last, if, indeed, 
 to such a shade peace be any blessing." 
 
 " She must have known she was dying. Indeed, she 
 wrote and told me so." 
 
 " She knew right well. She had tied* a napkin care- 
 fully under her lower jaw to support it. She was 
 stretched decently in a winding-sheet. Her eyes were 
 closed, her hands clasped. She had, in fact, prepared 
 herself for her burial. A strange, strong, loving, hating, 
 immortal woman. For I cannot though her body lies 
 there I cannot think of her as dead." 
 
 " Whence come we ? Whither go we ? " Dick's face 
 was full of speculation and trouble. He was thinking 
 of many a tragic death which he had seen, but of none 
 so mournfully tragic as this lonely, conscious outgoing 
 of Martha Leigh. 
 
 " Whence come we ? Whither go we ? " 
 
 Again Dick asked the mighty questions, with a 
 troubled, far-off look into the wide horizon, and the 
 doctor repeated them after him, adding : 
 
 " There is no answer ; not even an echo from the 
 shores of the Unknown." 
 
 And then there was a sad pause, which was broken 
 by Dick saying slowly one of Sir Alfred Ly ell's verses :
 
 MARTHA LEIGH ATTAINS UNTO PEACE. 249 
 
 ' All the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod, 
 Are the people eternally seeking for the signs and steps of a 
 
 Godf 
 
 Westward across the ocean, and northward across the snow, 
 Do they all stand gazing as ever? And what do the wisest 
 
 know?' " 
 
 "Ah, Dick! Ah, doctor!" cried Francesca, clasping 
 her hands in the fullness of her soul's enthusiasm. " We 
 know that we shall be satisfied. The land of our desire, 
 the land which we call heaven, is not a dream ; it is a 
 reality." 
 
 " My dear, I have seen I have seen all kinds of 
 souls go forth ; brave, strong ones, like Martha Leigh's, 
 who sent word to her dead that she was coming, and 
 bid them meet her ; others that lay down with as little 
 concern as if they were going to sleep for a little while ; 
 others that went dry-shod over the dark river in the 
 morning' light, with a vision of the waiting shining ones ; 
 and, again, wise, thoughtful souls, who felt at the last all 
 faith and hope gulfed, and in an agony of fear and 
 doubt groped everywhere in the universe for the black 
 doors of annihilation. And, in spite of all we know, 
 life and death are the great mystery. Sometimes I 
 have even thought they were synonymous terms, and 
 that when I stood by the dying I came to see fresh life 
 given, in a certain sense, to aceouch death. We are 
 alone. All have gone away and left poor Martha, and 
 we must go, also. It grows late, and you have a long 
 drive. Good-bye." 
 
 Francesca stayed him yet a moment while she asked : 
 
 " You will not let anv one enter Leiffh House ? J* 
 would grieve her even yonder."
 
 25O LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " While I am keeper of the threshold no one shall 
 enter that she would bar the door against. I will live 
 there myself, if it be necessary. I have the power, or 
 can take it. Adieu! " 
 
 They watched him ride slowly away, a plain-looking, 
 oldish man, small, stout, and commonplace, but living 
 amidst the great mysteries of life, and nourishing and 
 cherishing his soul on them. Dick unfastened his 
 horses and prepared for their homeward drive, and 
 while he did so Francesca walked alone to the new- 
 made grave, and vowed a vow to the woman whose 
 clay image it kept. 
 
 And for a long while she was very silent, and Dick let 
 her think. His own mind was busy. He was thou- 
 sands of miles away, when he heard a low voice .singing 
 the saddest little wail of minor music. It was at his 
 side. It was Francesca. He came sharply and sor- 
 rowfully back to reality, and the mournful notes of the 
 dirge fitted his restless, solemnly wondering mood so 
 well, he could not choose but listen to them and anon 
 catch their meaning, and sing them also : 
 
 " ' They have buried her here to-day, 
 Set, sun, set out of my sight ; 
 They have buried her here to-dajr, 
 Come, deepening gray twilight ; 
 Stay, lingering gray twilight ; 
 And afterward come the night.' "
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 *THEY WHO LOVE SHOW THEIR LOVE.** 
 
 " Every time 
 Serves for the matter that is then born in V 
 
 " Hope, 
 
 Best apprehender of our joys, whieh hast 
 So long a reach, and yet canst hold so fast." 
 
 "Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie 
 Which we ascribe to heaven." 
 
 Strong reasons make strong actions. Shakespeare. 
 
 THE night was dark and rainy, and the ride back to 
 Atherton* very melancholy ; but how pleasant was 
 the thought of home and all its love and comfort! 
 From afar the lighted windows of the Court showed 
 them a welcome ; and the little surprise of their earlier 
 return added a kindlier tone to their reception. Dick 
 thought he had never before seen Loida look so charm- 
 ing ; certainly she had never before met him with such 
 a delightful show of her affection. For if Dick had one 
 fault with his beautiful wife, it was that she restrained 
 too much all show of the really deep love she bore him. 
 But this night she rose up blushing with delight at his 
 entrance. She took his hands ; she let her eyes seek 
 from his the embrace he was proud and happy to give. 
 Part of this sweet effusion was doubtless due to the un-
 
 252 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 expected joy of his return that night ; but mostly it was 
 due to some words Clara had let fall as they sat together 
 that afternoon. 
 
 The squire had just left them for his usual tramp, and 
 perhaps there was or perhaps Clara thought there was 
 the faintest shadow of wonder or contempt on Loida's 
 face at his boyish delight in the affectionate compli- 
 ments and charges of his wife. " He was to be sure 
 and take care of himself not to get his feet wet not 
 to ride horses nobody else would mount if he took his 
 gun, not to try and hop through a hedge as if he thought 
 himself a bird " and so on indefinitely. And after all, 
 a quick following of him to the open door for a final 
 kiss, though Clara pretended that " she had forgotten 
 to look whether he had his gaiters on or not." 
 
 All this demonstrativeness of love Avas foreign to 
 Loida's ideas and experience, rather than it was aside 
 from her real disposition. Perhaps if Clara had an- 
 alyzed the shadow on her companion's face, she would 
 have found more of longing than of wonder or contempt 
 in it. However, it was Clara's way always to face 
 what annoyed her, and she said reflectively as she re- 
 sumed her sewing : 
 
 " Men do so love to be petted ; they are as hungry 
 for a few sweet words as a baby for its mother's breast. 
 And when it is so easy to make them happy, do you 
 not think, Loida, that we ought to do so ? " 
 
 " I suppose we ought." 
 
 " Rashleigh went away with such a glow in his heart, 
 so elated, my dear, that nothing on earth could hurt 
 him. He would ride like a spirit or swim like a fish, 
 or do any mortal thing as an immortal ought to do it.
 
 " THE Y WHO LO VE SHO W THEIR LOVE." 253 
 
 My dear, if you can kindle such a glow in a man's 
 heart, you may send him into the Stock Exchange to 
 make a fortune out of nothing, or do any other impos- 
 sibility. I dare say if you had written letters to Dick 
 full of red-hot adjectives, he would have been home, 
 with his pockets full, in five years. Men are made that 
 way, my dear." 
 
 She said a great deal more on the same subject, 
 touching with a delicate, clever innuendo the fact that 
 Dick was a man specially needing love's loving-kind- 
 ness ; and as she talked, the voices of both grew more 
 earnest, and the one woman was brave enough to say 
 and the other woman was brave enough to hear words 
 that touched two lives with a fresh glory even to the 
 grave. And the first result, as far as Dick was con- 
 cerned, was that unusual welcome home the blush, 
 the kiss, the eager inquiry as to his desires, the ready 
 service love gives so gracefully. And Clara, with a 
 pretty tact, made her anxiety about Francesca a screen 
 for Loida's unprecedented show of tenderness. She in- 
 sisted on twenty practical inquiries into damp and chill 
 and hunger and thirst, and finally left the girl cuddled 
 close to her father's side, to give special orders about 
 supper for the travelers. 
 
 Then the squire said : 
 
 " Thou art home a deal sooner than we thought for. 
 Has something gone wrong ? " 
 
 " I hope not ; I think not, father. Mrs. Leigh is 
 dead. We were just in time to join the funeral. Squire 
 Idle was there, but he seemed full of thought, and he 
 did not see me." 
 
 " God give her soul eternal rest! She was a woman
 
 254 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 full of whimsies and troubles. A very strange woman. 
 A very sorrowful woman, I think." 
 
 " In this world, father, who are quite happy ? " 
 " Sometimes some of us fancy we are happy ; eh, 
 Dick?" 
 
 Dick was sitting quiet, with a smile on his handsome 
 mouth. At that hour Dick at least was happy. But 
 when the squire explained his question, a quick solemnity 
 absorbed the dreamy light of joy, and he answered 
 slowly : 
 
 "As far as I have seen, every soul has trouble of 
 some kind." 
 
 " And for every one, Dick, there is also death." 
 " My dear Francesca, I do not call death sorrow. I 
 have seen death watched for, longed for, and prayed 
 for. This little earth is but a lodge in the universe, and 
 we are but tenants at will of our place in it ; but 
 
 " ' The heavens are measureless ; the dead are free! 
 With their brief day on earth, their sorrows cease. 
 O Grave, this is thy victory! 
 O Death, this is thy peace ! ' 
 
 I heard a man dying, alone at the bottom of a deep 
 mine, say those words. He said them in a rapture^ 1 
 He was a young Englishman whom I tried to befriend. 
 I never saw a smile on his face until the hour of his 
 death. But if there be a true joy upon earth it springs 
 from love from love's labor or from love's sacrifice, or 
 love's pleasure shared or love's sorrow shared. All 
 other joys are but the shadows of joy. They fly away 
 and are not." 
 
 At this moment there was a simultaneous opening of
 
 " THE Y WHO L O VE SHO W THEIR LOVE." 255 
 
 doors, and from the kitchen there came the sound of a 
 fiddle and laughter and interrupted strains of song. 
 Dick listened curiously. 
 
 " I could almost swear," he said, " that I have heard 
 an old Spanish gypsy sing as some one is singing in 
 your kitchen, squire." 
 
 " Not unlikely, Dick. It is a gypsy singing, and 
 doubtless he is singing a song as old as their thieving 
 race. My word, what thieves they are! My game- 
 keeper calls them ' the foxes of menkind.' Toro, who 
 is singing, says he respects me because he never could 
 pick my pocket. Have you gypsies in Mexico ? " 
 
 " Plenty of them, and never two or three together 
 without a horse or an ass among them. They make 
 fortunes there by telling those of other people. Miners 
 are superstitious. Well, squire, I do not believe any one 
 can work hundreds of feet under ground and not get 
 superstitious. Everything is mysterious in those living 
 graves. There was a man at San Rayas who was 
 rich, and he had never lifted a pick. He had always 
 the good fortune to be out of such work; he toiled 
 with a piece of paper and a pencil, and made more than 
 I did." 
 
 "Was he a gypsy?" inquired Francesca, who was 
 listening with a face full of interest. 
 
 " No ; he was a native of London. He had been at 
 Eton and Oxford, but he had what he called ' celestial 
 affinities,' and he lived among the stars. In other 
 words, he was an astrologer." 
 
 " Such nonsense ! " said the squire contemptuously. 
 
 Dick shook his head. 
 
 " If you had heard Saville talk, you would not have
 
 256 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 answered him with / nonsense !' Answer me his first 
 argument." 
 
 " What was it ? " 
 
 " Admit that our world was at one time a part of the 
 sun. Is not that so ? " 
 
 " I do not deny it ; but what then ? " 
 
 " Admit that day and night, seasons and tides, would 
 be unintelligible were no account taken of the sidereai 
 influences." 
 
 " Well, what by that ? " 
 
 "It is contrary to all analogy that their influence 
 stops there. The magnetic storms which rage through 
 the earth synchronize with corresponding phenomena in 
 the sun. The rays of some planets have more power- 
 ful chemical action than others. When certain planets 
 arrive at certain points, we have earthquakes; and a 
 famous scientist connects the solar spots with famine, 
 and, consequently, with financial stringency and com- 
 mercial disaster ; and so, you see, sends us to the sun 
 for forecasts of the money market." * 
 
 " Now, Dick, thou had better stop romancing! " 
 
 " Romancing! Saville said that, with the single ex- 
 ception of astronomy, astrology was the most exact of 
 all the sciences. You see, he was sure it was a science. 
 He asserted that man, being a product, not only of the 
 earth, but of the universe, was also profoundly affected 
 by the telluric influences in ascendancy at the time of 
 his birth. He showed me published 'nativities' of 
 famous men who were either insane or whose genius 
 touched insanity, and they were all born under the same 
 stellar influences." 
 
 *Huth's " Life of Buckle."
 
 ' ' THE Y WHO LOVE SHO W THEIR LO VE." 2$f 
 
 " Does he mean to say that every one born at such 
 conjunctions is insane? What nonsense!" 
 
 " No ; he did not say that, because there are count- 
 less hereditary and other modifications; but he said 
 that insanity rarely, or never, happened without the 
 conjunction of Saturn or Mars with the moon or Mer- 
 cury. Nine notoriously insane princes were born under 
 this conjunction. Swift, Southey, Moore, Faraday had 
 the same conjunction ; it was genius in early life, it was 
 insanity at the close of life. The astral influences are 
 modified by the physical conditions waiting for them, as 
 the produce of a seed is modified by the soil into which 
 it is dropped. I tell you this as told to me ; take it for 
 what it is worth." 
 
 "Well, Dick, I should say it was not worth much. 
 Clara, come here, my dear. Thou has missed a queer 
 thing about the stars. Come and listen to Dick. He 
 thinks he is in Mexico, I'll be bound." 
 
 Clara came forward with a letter in her hand. 
 
 " Toro brought it," she said, " and he wants a shilling 
 for his trouble. He has got the maids hysterical with 
 his singing and dancing, and I am trembling for my sil- 
 ver spoons." 
 
 Dick took the letter, and as he looked at it his face 
 flushed and his hands nervously broke the seal. 
 
 " It is from Mexico," he said, " from my old partner 
 he wants me he wants me at once there is an offer 
 for the mine a big offer. I must go as soon as pos- 
 sible. What luck it is!" 
 
 He had carelessly given a servant a piece of silver 
 for Toro, and was reading and commenting as he read, 
 with the utmost enthusiasm. Loida had risen and gone
 
 258 LOl'E FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 to his side. The squire was watching him curiously. 
 Clara stood on the hearth looking thoughtfully into the 
 fire, until she suddenly lifted her face and darted an 
 inquisitive glance at Francesca. She, of all present, 
 seemed quite undisturbed by the letter. That Dick 
 should get a letter from Mexico was natural enough ; 
 she scarcely considered the circumstance ; but as soon 
 as the current of the conversation changed, her mind 
 went voluntarily back to the channel in which it loved 
 best to move and to speculate. Would Lancelot in any 
 way hear of his mother's death f Would it bring him 
 home? She had a hope that Doctor Thorpe knew 
 \vhere Lancelot was. Surely he would write to him ? 
 In a few minutes she began to remember that Dick 
 might meet Lancelot that he might even try to find 
 him. Looked at on the map Mexico did not seem such 
 a very large country, and she had an idea that Dick 
 had some unusual power or influence there. 
 
 She looked up at Dick. He was talking to Loida 
 and Clara in an excited manner. The squire had gone 
 to see Toro beyond temptation. He knew the gypsy's 
 fingers stuck to a bridle. And yet he liked the brown 
 Antinous. He had been born on Atherton moor, and 
 was, in a fashion, one of his people. 
 
 " Come, Toro, I will walk to the gate with you," he 
 said kindly, touching the gypsy on the shoulder. 
 
 " Too much honor for the poor person, squire." But 
 Toro put his fiddle in its green baize bag, and laugh- 
 ingly rose. 
 
 " Doctor Dyson says you bought his horse a bad 
 brute he is." 
 
 " No, no, squire badly managed. I know a horse
 
 "THEY WHO LOVE SHOW THEIR LOVE." 259 
 
 the minute I see him, temper and everything. The 
 doctor's horse is quiet with me." 
 
 " Why did you walk into poor Hodgson's hen-house, 
 Toro ? " 
 
 " Did I, squire f " 
 
 "Yes. Why?" 
 
 " Because he is poor. I do not spare the poor person 
 because he has little. No one is poor but them God 
 hates. That is the Rommany creed." 
 
 "It is a wicked one. You promised, when I gave 
 you a bit of land, to stay on it." 
 
 " The dog who travels about finds bones, squire." 
 
 " Are you sending your boys and girls to school ? " 
 
 " In the highways and byways. Good-night, and 
 good luck to you, squire. Did you fear I would put 
 dras in your mangers f None of us would hurt Ather- 
 ton or Atherton's horses." 
 
 " I know you do not wish to, Toro ; but sometimes 
 the devil " 
 
 " The 'good baron] squire, must have the good word. 
 He may be at our elbow." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, Toro." 
 
 But the squire laughed, and let the gypsy pass 
 through the gate with the laugh, and as he turned 
 toward the house the whole interview slipped from his 
 memory like a vagrant thought. He felt a sudden 
 melancholy assail him, and he qaickened his footsteps 
 and gladly re-entered the house. In the parlor Clara, 
 Loida, and Dick were standing together on the hearth- 
 rug, talking with great animation ; but Francesca's 
 face was upturned to the group with a shadow of pain 
 upon it.
 
 260 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " Well, Dick, is it to be Mexico again ? " 
 
 " Yes, squire, and at once. Loida is going with me." 
 
 " That is a nonsensical thing, Dick. It isn't a jour- 
 ney fit for a woman at all." 
 
 " Rashleigh, it is a lovely journey," said Clara. 
 " There is no danger whatever, and very little discom- 
 fort. If you were not so full of business about the mill, 
 I should ask you to take me also. What a splendid 
 party it would be ! " 
 
 Squire Atherton looked at his wife as a mother looks 
 at a child who cries for the moon. He did not consider 
 the supposition as a serious one. 
 
 " You see," continued Clara, " they have only to take 
 a fine Cunard steamer to New York, and pray what 
 danger or discomfort in that ? None at all. I know, 
 for I have crossed half a dozen times. From New 
 York they can take a steamer to Mexico, or they can 
 go to New Orleans and take a Mexican steamer from 
 that port. As Dick and Loida had no wedding-trip, I 
 think this journey together may just take its place. No 
 one knows what kind of stuff his or her love is made of 
 till they have tested it on a journey together. We came 
 near to shipwrecking our good opinion of each other 
 when we were on the continent once or twice. Eh, 
 Rashleigh ? " 
 
 " We did nothing of the kind, Clara." 
 
 " We certainly did, whether you know it or not. You 
 were so English so rampantly English all through 
 France and Germany, so tremendously Church-of-Eng- 
 land in Rome, that any sensible cosmopolitan, any lover 
 of human nature in all its charming variety, must have 
 felt chafed and restricted. I did. But as fast as my
 
 " THE Y WHO LOVE SHO W THEIR LO VE." 26 1 
 
 intelligence blamed, my heart excused you. For, upon 
 the whole, Rashleigh, you were a most unselfish, delight- 
 ful traveling companion. I only hope Loida may find 
 Dick as really effective and sensible as you were. It is 
 not likely, though." 
 
 And she gave Dick a deprecating sigh, and turned to 
 her husband with the smile which always won her way 
 to his heart which always put his wishes or his will 
 under the feet of her least desire. 
 
 Loida had grown quite enthusiastic during the discus- 
 sion. The squire looked at her heightened color and 
 shining eyes with amazement. A year ago, a journey so 
 far and so hurried would have been to the deliberate, 
 methodical Englishwoman like a journey into an open 
 grave. Now she was absolutely at Dick's desire. 
 
 " She could be ready in a week, in half a week, in 
 twenty-four hours, if necessary." 
 
 "There is no time to lose, sir," said Dick to the 
 squire. " From what I learn, an English company pro- 
 pose to buy the mine, in which I still hold a controlling 
 interest. It will b,e a great thing for me. I shall then 
 have all my money in England. I can buy land ; I can 
 build a new house, and take the place in the county 
 that" I desire to take." 
 
 And this last argument was one that always appealed 
 to the squire. He was at once satisfied. 
 
 " Will you be long away, Dick ? " 
 
 " Not longer than half a year, and, as Mrs. Atherton 
 says, it will be a delightful trip. Loida will enjoy every 
 hour of it. It is time the dear little woman saw some- 
 thing of the world she lives in." 
 
 " And what of your mother, Dick ? " asked Francesca.
 
 262 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 "What is to be done for Mrs. Alderson? How will 
 she like your going away, and to Mexico again ? " 
 
 There was a tone of reproach in Francesca's voice. 
 At the moment it annoyed Dick. 
 
 " I have not forgotten mother," he said, " and mother 
 never puts herself before my interest. The letter went 
 to Alderson, and she, seeing it was from Mexico, and 
 marked ' Immediate,' sent Toro here with it. Mother 
 will be glad to have Loida and me take a journey to- 
 gether, especially when the journey is a necessary one." 
 
 Then the details of this journey furnished a long and 
 interesting discussion. Clara knew so much about New 
 York, and Dick knew nothing at all ; so all Clara's 
 directions and advices were to enter in his pocket-book. 
 Dick knew everything about Mexico, but all his propo- 
 sitions were to discuss by the fresh element of womanly 
 taste and requirements. And there are matters which 
 require more time * to discuss than to realize ; it took 
 Loida about three hours to resolve to take one trunk only 
 with her ; it did not take one hour to pack that trunk. 
 
 It was already morning when " good-nights " were 
 said, and there was little sense of rest, even then, in the 
 house. Francesca, on reaching her own room, could 
 not find heart to unclothe herself. There was a harder 
 look on her lovely face than it had ever known before ; 
 and perhaps it was not unreasonably there. For in all 
 these discussions and suppositions, Lancelot had not 
 once been named. Dick and Dick's fortune and 
 Loida's comfort and pleasure had occupied all surmises, 
 and been reason sufficient for every preparation. No one 
 had even suggested the possibility of making a fresh 
 search for her lover, on the very spot of his disappear-
 
 "THEY WHO LOVE SHOW THEIR LOVE." 263 
 
 ance, in the general enthusiasm over Dick's good fort- 
 une and the extraordinary event of Loida actually going 
 to cross the ocean. 
 
 Her loving heart burned with indignation. She told 
 herself that she had rejoiced with Dick and Loida, and 
 that she had some right to expect they would at least re- 
 member she was weeping for her own loss. She felt as 
 if every one did Lancelot injustice, as if every one will- 
 fully forgot him ; yea, even at that moment she felt 
 angry at his mother for deserting him. " I would have 
 lived on in loneliness and suffering had I been in her 
 place," she mused ; " lived on, if only to pray for him, 
 and to welcome him home again." Then the thought 
 of the sorrow-haunted woman came to her with ex- 
 traordinary power and sympathy. She was instantly- 
 contrite for her angry memory, instantly and strangely 
 conscious of the agony that had consecrated every 
 room of that old, empty house, which but a little while 
 ago echoed to Lancelot's voice and step. 
 
 She could not keep her spirit at Atherton. It wan- 
 dered away to Leigh, and to that forlorn little church- 
 yard on the wold ; and there, reluctantly compelled by 
 some influence she could not escape, she remained 
 sleeping or waking the whole night she remained there 
 hesitating, trembling, mourning with every spiritual 
 sense, feeling the dead that were below and the souls 
 that were overhead. 
 
 Very early, while it was yet scarcely dawn, a tap at 
 her door awakened Francesca from her troubled visions. 
 She was glad to see it was Clara, glad to feel her living 
 face, the touch of her warm lips, and the clasp of her 
 soft, strong hands.
 
 264 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " I was unhappy about you, Francesca," said the 
 pleasant, sympathetic woman, sitting down on the side 
 of Francesca's bed. " I thought I heard you moaning 
 in your sleep somewhere far off have you been 
 dreaming badly, my dear ? " 
 
 " Yes, all night ; dreadful dreams." 
 
 " About Lancelot ? " 
 
 " Not exactly. Do not speak of him." 
 
 " I have come purposely to speak of him. I have 
 come to advise you to go to Mexico and seek him 
 yourself. I would if I were you. No one should pre- 
 vent me. Loida can go. Then you, also, can go." 
 
 " They never named him last night. They only 
 thought of themselves." 
 
 " You cannot tell their thoughts, nor yet their reasons 
 for not naming him. I, for instance, was quiet because 
 I knew it was not the time to speak to your father, and 
 I did not wish an ill-considered decision to prejudice a 
 wiser application. But it is certain your presence will 
 give diligence and interest to the search, and it is my 
 belief love will find out whatever is hidden." 
 
 " What will people say ? " 
 
 " Whom do you love ? ' People ' or Lancelot ? " 
 
 " Will father let me go ? " 
 
 " Ask him." 
 
 " If you would " 
 
 " No ; not unless you fail. There is a point which 
 honor forbids me to cross. Your father will refuse me 
 nothing. For that reason I cannot impose on his love. 
 He has an affection still deeper for you. Test it this 
 morning. You will find his love strong enough to grant 
 you this favor, I make no doubt. Would you like to
 
 "THEY WHO LOVE SHOW THEIR LOVE." 265 
 
 go to Mexico? Lancelot disappeared from sight in 
 that city. Will you trust to Dick and Loida making 
 inquiries, or will you go yourself? What do you 
 wish ? " 
 
 " I wish to go. Clara, I wish with all my heart to 
 go. Help me, dear! How shall I manage? What 
 shall I do ? " 
 
 "Go to your father. Tell him your desire. I will 
 stand by you." 
 
 " I will ! I will ! Clara, thank you for coming. 
 How blind, how stupid I am not to have thought of the 
 plan last night." 
 
 " No, Francesca ; the plan was one entirely out of 
 your mental horizon. If a girl has been taught she 
 must not see beyond her own four walls, she is hardly 
 likely to suppose she can see across the Atlantic. I 
 was taught to believe that the whole world and the full- 
 ness thereof was mine." 
 
 "O Clara, you give me such good hope! I feel 
 happy happier than I have felt for such a long time. I 
 must get up. I cannot rest. I wish breakfast was over. 
 Would it do to speak to father before breakfast ? " 
 
 Clara thought it would be better to postpone the 
 great question till the squire had got a good hold of 
 himself, and was in a mood to regard the subject from 
 his usual views, so that there would be no after-disput- 
 ing. Then, with a few brave, kind words, she left the 
 girl to think the matter over in her own heart. 
 
 The subject was not an entirely new one to Fran- 
 cesca. Many times such a project had flashed across 
 her mind, but it had appeared too chimerical, too sur- 
 rounded with insurmountable difficulties to entertain or
 
 266 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 consider. It came and went like a flash, without ap- 
 parent reason or result. But now it appeared to be the 
 most reasonable of projects, and this change of feeling 
 in some singular way influenced her physical bearing 
 and appearance. In that hour the touch which removes 
 immaturity was given ; she looked no older, but she did 
 look more perfect. When she went to the squire's 
 room after breakfast, she went with a step and an air 
 as yet new to herself ; she went as a suppliant indeed, 
 but as a suppliant conscious of rights. 
 
 The squire was smoking, and reading his newspaper. 
 Francesca's presence was never an intrusion ; he smiled 
 to her over the top of the Leeds Mercury, and finished 
 the editorial he was reading. Then he looked again 
 at his daughter, and said : 
 
 " Art thou come to talk to me, love ? " 
 
 "Yes, father. I want to go with Dick and Loida, 
 and so I came to ask your permission." 
 
 "I never heard tell of such a thing! Does thou 
 know what thou art saying ? My love, it means cross- 
 ing three thousand miles of stormy water, and, for aught 
 I know, as many more miles when thou gets on the 
 other side of the world. It means living with strange 
 people, and sleeping in strange beds, and eating all man- 
 ner and makes of strange dishes. From all that I ever 
 read, or heard tell, when thou does get to Mexico thou 
 wilt be in a country where no life is safe. Fighting 
 and talk of fighting is all that goes on." 
 
 " Dick and Loida will take care of me." 
 
 " Happen they will, and happen they will not be able 
 to take care of themselves. Surely thou art not in 
 earnest ? "
 
 "THEY WHO LOVE SHOW THEIR LOVE." 267 
 
 " Indeed I am." 
 
 " Well, then, I cannot listen to such sheer nonsense. 
 I thought thou was joking. Go to Mexico! Thou 
 must have lost thy senses." 
 
 " Father, I have been sad and sick for a long time. 
 I have not been such a happy, pleasant daughter as you 
 deserve to have." 
 
 " Thou hast not that is the truth." 
 
 " It is about Lancelot. You know ? " 
 
 "To be sure I know I know too well." 
 
 " I think if I went with Dick and Loida, the sea 
 would do me good. It would make me mentally and 
 physically stronger. When I get to Mexico, I will see 
 that Dick looks after Lancelot. I do not think Captain 
 Benton ever did anything but spend money. I do not 
 think Lancelot is dead ; but if I myself can find out 
 nothing, then I shall know it is so. That would be a 
 great point. One can learn to accept the inevitable. 
 It is the alternations of hope and despair that kill." 
 
 " To be sure. If Lancelot is found, what then ? " 
 
 " I shall ask him to come home." 
 
 "Thou wilt not marry him, and stay in Mexico? 
 That would fairly kill me." 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 " Because thou knows thou art my only child ; thou 
 art Lady of Atherton Manor ; thou could not leave thy 
 father and thy home and thy land, and the duty thou 
 owes to each and all, just to please thyself. Thou could 
 not do a thing like that, Francesca." 
 
 " I could not be Francesca Atherton and do such a 
 thing. Lancelot must come back home if he wants to 
 marry me. If he will not come home for my sake, do
 
 268 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 you think I will wrong you and every one that love? 
 me, and that looks to me, for his sake ? No, father. 1 
 will then give him up forever. I will come home to 
 you." 
 
 " And then thou wilt worry and fret thy life out." 
 
 " I will be a good daughter. I will then do all 
 you wish me to do." 
 
 "God love thee! I will make no bargain with my 
 own dear little lass. If I let thee go, I will let thee go 
 freely ; for no matter how things turned, I could not 
 press a bargain with thee. Could I, Francesca ? " 
 
 " No, my father. You would lose your last hope 
 first." 
 
 " Now, then, listen, and don't thee be put out at 
 what I say. I must help thee to look at every side of 
 so important a question. It means so much to so 
 many. Maybe then thou wilt find Lancelot easier thaa 
 thou thinks for. Maybe thou wilt hardly know th<i 
 man whom thou hast loved so truly. He has been liv- 
 ing in one kind of a way, and thou hast been living in 
 another kind of a way. Perhaps thou wilt meet an al- 
 together different Lancelot to the image thou has nursed 
 in thy own fond heart a Lancelot thy high, pure nature 
 could not love and could not trust. What would thou 
 do in such a case as that ? " 
 
 "If he came back to England must I not keep my 
 word ? I have no fear of Lancelot changing for the 
 worse." 
 
 " Keep thy word ? Not always. Circumstances alter 
 cases. It is pretty easy to do blundering wrongs under 
 the name of truth and honor." 
 
 " I never heard you talk in such a way before, father.' 1
 
 "THEY WHO LOVE SHOW THEIR LOVE." 269 
 
 " Maybe not. I went with Clara into the village 
 school the other day, and heard a lad saying some 
 verses they call ' Casabianca.' Clara called them very 
 silly verses, and I came to think she wasn't far wrong." 
 
 " Father!" 
 
 " Silly, and no mistake. Now, then, don't thee stand 
 to a foolish promise, but get off the burning deck of an 
 unhappy marriage without waiting for any orders but 
 thy own. As Clara said : ' If that boy Casabianca had 
 been a better sort of a hero, he would have known 
 when to act under orders and when to use his own 
 common sense.' There is a nobler way than mere 
 stupid obedience. Nelson refusing to see his admiral's 
 signal at the battle of Copenhagen was a bit of disobe- 
 dience that meant glorious victory. My dear lass, there 
 is a deal of be-praised Casabiancaism in this world, and 
 there is no worse form of it than sticking to the promise 
 of a marriage that has become unsuitable and is like to 
 be unhappy. There would be more honor and truth in 
 keeping off that kind of a burning deck than in stand- 
 ing by it. So if Lancelot found is not all thy fancy 
 has painted him, just issue fresh orders to thyself. But 
 I have not said yet that I would let thee go at all. I 
 must talk to Clara about it. I do not know what she 
 will say to such a move. I will tell thee plainly it is a 
 very great trial to me only to think of parting with thee. 
 But, my dear, I would lay my hands under thy feet to 
 make thee happy. It must be something more than my 
 own feelings that says ' No ' to any wish of thine." 
 
 And, of course, Clara combated all doubts and fears 
 and reluctances with a tact that left the squire without 
 a single reasonable opposition. She would not admit
 
 270 LOVE FOR AX HOUR. 
 
 that the customs and traditions of other ladies of Ather- 
 ton ought in any way to control Francesca's life. Fran- 
 cesca lived in a different period, surrounded by changing 
 ideas and by changed circumstances. Old models 
 would not fit her conditions; she was compelled to 
 order her life to its own individuality. As for danger, 
 Clara would not admit the possibility. She had been a 
 great traveler; many ladies of her acquaintance had 
 traveled still more. Slight inconveniences there might 
 be, but it would be good for Francesca to have her 
 thoughts diverted from the loss of her lover to little 
 physical inconveniences. 
 
 " You know, squire," she said, " how pressing and 
 absorbing such trials can be ; for I once saw you fret 
 for a whole week about the loss of your shaving-soap 
 on your wedding-trip, too ! " 
 
 "She may come across that young man, Clara. 
 Women are not only good seekers, they are good find- 
 ers ; and I do not wish her to meet him again." 
 
 " I never saw the young man, Rashleigh, and I can- 
 not say I am much impressed in his favor. Any reason 
 for his total silence, within the bounds of honor, seems 
 to me improbable. I think, with you, that Francesca 
 ought to do better. But it is necessary to get abso- 
 lutely rid of this old lover before Francesca can be in- 
 duced to consider a new one. I know something of 
 Mexico. If young Leigh is in that country, he will not 
 be easy to find. The Mexican dress is picturesque. 
 No handsome man would deny himself the pleasure of 
 adopting it. And his name will have suffered that 
 change which Latin races delight themselves in making. 
 The wisest way is to let Francesca go with her friends
 
 'THEY WHO LOVE SHOW THEIR LOVE." 2"Jl 
 
 Young girls believe their attachments to be immortal 
 They scout the idea that any material thing can influ- 
 ence them. My dearest husband, the sea air, the change 
 of air, the fresh men and women, the wonderful cities, 
 the new clothing to wear and the new viands to eat, 
 will all insensibly blot out that sentimental idea which 
 has been so well nursed by her seclusion among the 
 very scenes and circumstances which gave it birth. 
 When Francesca comes back, we will give her a season 
 in London and marry her to a lord." 
 
 " I would rather she married a middling well-to-do 
 Yorkshire squire." 
 
 " Very good. Then we will have fine house parties 
 and bring some well-to-do young squires to her feet." 
 
 " My word, Clara ! Thou can talk a man out of his 
 boots." 
 
 " That is a poor compliment, Rashleigh, after I have 
 talked a Yorkshire squire out of his heart." 
 
 And the squire drew himself up to his full inches, and 
 a flush of pride and love covered his large, open face ; 
 and he bowed to his wife, as men have almost forgotten 
 how to bow in these days a noble inclination of both 
 soul and body, a mingling of veneration, courtesy, high- 
 breeding and a sincere desire to please something very 
 different from the casual nod or the passing tilt of the 
 hat. 
 
 Half an hour afterward, Clara and Francesca were 
 trying to decide upon the proper trunk for the Mexican 
 trip, and the proper clothing with which to fill it.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN SEARCH OF LOVE. 
 
 " Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, 
 But cheerly seek how to redress their harms." 
 
 " For Love's sweet sake they bid her stay ; 
 She hung her head but answered straight 
 ' For Love's sweet sake I go my way.' " 
 
 WHEN a current of life sets strongly in one direc- 
 tion, it is remarkable how many smaller currents 
 set in the same direction. Within two days there came 
 a letter from Doctor Thorpe to Francesca, asking her 
 if she could give him any information about Lancelot. 
 
 "The next heirs," he said, "are already moving to get charge 
 of the property, on the supposition that so long a silence indicates 
 death." 
 
 This letter set Clara to asking questions, and finally 
 induced in her a strong belief that Doctor Thorpe was 
 at least acquainted with the reasons for Lancelot's 
 strange and determined silence. 
 
 "And you ought to know these reasons, whatever 
 they are," she said, positively, to Francesca. " Indeed, 
 my dear, they may be such as would justly prevent your 
 seeking your lover, because a meeting might only be 
 re-opening a wound. You must go and see Doctor 
 Thorpe. You can go to Leigh this afternoon, stay 
 with Mrs. Idle all night, and return to Atherton early
 
 SEARCH OF LOVE. 
 
 273 
 
 to-morrow. I dare say your father will like to drive 
 you." 
 
 To this plan there were no objections made, and both 
 father and daughter threw away all thought of their 
 parting and endeavored to make the trip as charming 
 to each other as possible. Doctor Thorpe's house was 
 not far from Idleholme, and in the evening Francesca 
 found him there and at liberty. 
 
 How is it that a bachelor's house can be known the 
 moment it is entered ? Everything was in the neatest 
 order, but Francesca knew there was no wife in the tidy 
 place. Doctor Thorpe sat by a large fire ; he had his 
 slippers on, and was reading and making notes from a 
 folio on a table before him. He was a little astonished 
 at Francesca's appearance, and said, with an air of 
 apology : 
 
 " My dear young lady, a letter would have answered 
 my letter." 
 
 " No, it would not, doctor. At least, I want to tell 
 you something, and ask you something. I am going to 
 Mexico to look for Lancelot unless you know of any 
 good reason why Lancelot and I ought never to meet 
 again. If you do, in such a case as this I not only 
 ask, I deserve, your confidence." 
 
 " Going to Mexico to look for Lancelot! My dear, 
 let me kiss you for the thought! My dear, if I was 
 not an old man I would kiss the feet that dare so sweet 
 and true a pilgrimage! My dear, you should have 
 lived a century ago. I will tell you the truth the 
 whole truth, for you do indeed deserve it. And may 
 God send you and Lancelot together, for he is a good 
 lad a lad any good girl may safely love."
 
 2/4 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 " Why has he never written to me ? Why has he hid 
 himself away ? If there were reasons forbidding our 
 marriage, he might at least have told me them. He 
 might have come and bid me 'farewell.' He might 
 have sent me occasionally some token of his remem- 
 brance." 
 
 " When Lancelot left his home and his love, he be- 
 lieved that there were insurmountable obstacles to his 
 marriage with you, not only at that time, but forever. 
 He believed " and then the doctor drew his chair 
 close to Francesca's and dropped his voice to its lowest 
 key " my dear, he believed that his mother was either 
 an insane woman or a murderess. I had the same 
 awful doubt. I had loved Martha Leigh as you love 
 her son, and I understood what the young man suffered. 
 My dear, he was the most hopeless and broken-hearted 
 of men ; and though he looked at me with such eyes as 
 almost tempted me to say a word of comfort to him, I 
 did not dare at that time, to do so. Now, I am con- 
 vinced of two circumstances which materially affect his 
 position." 
 
 "What are they, doctor? Surely you will tell them 
 to me." 
 
 " The first is that Martha Leigh was actually insane 
 and quite irresponsible for her action ; the second, that 
 her insanity was an individual trait ; she had no taint 
 from her forefathers, and she transmitted none to her 
 children. In fact, her insanity was the result of long- 
 continued anxiety ever tending to the same end. The 
 strain was too great upon certain faculties ; indeed, my 
 dear, when we try to see beyond the grave while still
 
 IN SEARCH OF LOVE. 275 
 
 on this side of it, we must either miserably deceive or 
 fatally injure ourselves." 
 
 " She was insane, then, when Lancelot left ? " 
 
 " She had undoubtedly lost her mental balance. But 
 when Lancelot left, there was still so much method in 
 her madness, she was so insistent on her own sanity, 
 that it was impossible even for me to say, 'This 
 woman is insane ; ' and yet equally impossible to say, 
 'This woman is practically a murderess, for she has of 
 purpose and wicked intent withheld the medicines 
 which would have saved her husband's life.' Do you 
 understand what a cruel strait Lancelot was in then ? " 
 
 "Yes! Yes! But was such absolute silence neces- 
 sary ? " 
 
 "I am sure it was the only wise and kind thing. 
 What could he have told you? How could he have 
 told you ? Can a son accuse his mother ? Would you 
 have continued to love him if he had done so ? And 
 let me tell you that his utter silence is the expression of 
 the noblest self-denial and self-effacement. If his life 
 was ruined, he did not wish to ruin yours also. He 
 hoped you would forget him, and love and be happy 
 with some more fortunate lover. A small, selfish man 
 would have demanded remembrance, if he had broken 
 your heart to obtain for himself such consolation to his 
 pride and self-love. Poor Lancelot! He was made 
 of earth's best blood and noblest aspirations. Some 
 men would have called his honor to his dead father and 
 his refusal to touch a penny of what he believed ought 
 still to have been his father's a very quixotic proceed- 
 ing ; I think he acted under the noblest impulse that
 
 276 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 governs us love grounded upon justice and honor. 
 Now now he may wisely and lawfully be more 
 worldlike. Now he may take what death has left him 
 without a single reproach from his sensitive conscience." 
 
 " May I tell my father these things? He has been a 
 little set against Lancelot." 
 
 " I do not blame him for being set against Lancelot. 
 Any father judging in the dark would be. Yes, you 
 may tell the squire. He has no small places in his 
 make-up. When he sees the right, he will say the 
 right." 
 
 These were the main points of a conversation which 
 lasted far into the night. Every fact and detail in it 
 spoke to Francesca for her absent lover. She remem- 
 bered Lancelot's great love for his father, she under- 
 stood the living agony of the affectionate son in the 
 presence of doubts so terrible of love so tender. The 
 tragedy was too great for realization at once, but it 
 drove away sleep and compelled her through the long 
 midnight hours to suffer all its pangs ; not only with 
 her lost lover, but with the lonely, unhappy mother, who 
 had slowly died with her heart's unutterable longings 
 and despairs unsatisfied and unlightened. 
 
 As they rode slowly back to Atherton, Francesca told 
 her father with conscientious distinctness all that Doctor 
 Thorpe had confided to her. The squire listened 
 silently, bending slightly forward, with set lips and eyes 
 cast resolutely down. But when all had been spoken, 
 and she asked, " Do you blame Lancelot now, fa- 
 ther?" he answered, "No! I do not blame Lance- 
 lot. I say he acted like a man of honor should have 
 done. I am sure his mother was out of her mind."
 
 IN SEARCH OF LOVE. 277 
 
 "And I remember that you thought her very queer 
 on the day of her husband's funeral." 
 
 " On the day of Stephen Leigh's burying she behaved 
 to me as no woman in her senses would have done. 
 And I did wonder at it ; because for simple worldly 
 wit and plain common sense the Le-ighs, father and 
 son, mother and daughter, have been known far and 
 wide for many a generation. I have heard said since I 
 was a boy ' that a bird out of Leigh's nest was always 
 a wise bird ; able to make its way, and to hold its 
 day.' " 
 
 " Doctor Thorpe said she had become insane with 
 fretting about Mr. Leigh's speculations endangering her 
 home ; and by encouraging the idea that she could see 
 and talk with the dead." 
 
 "Poor woman! Maybe now she was born when 
 those bad planets and the moon were opposing one an- 
 other. Thou heard what Dick said about Saturn and 
 Mars and Mercury, and I am very sure Mrs. Leigh was 
 insane enough to have been born in the thick of their 
 opposition. It is a queer world, Francesca, and what 
 we do not know about it would make a big book, my 
 dear." 
 
 " I thought I ought to tell you all that Doctor Thorpe 
 said to me." 
 
 " To be sure. Thou would have been a poor daugh- 
 ter to have put such secrets out of my hearing. My 
 dear girl, I trust thee like my own soul. The honor of 
 thy name and of thy father's house is in thy hands. In 
 England or Mexico, this side the world or the other, 
 thou wilt remember that. The past has a lien on thee, 
 and the future has a right in thee. No man and no
 
 2/8 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 woman can live for themselves alone, unless they be 
 selfish as the brutes that perish." 
 
 Then she lifted her face and kissed him, and he saw 
 her pure, strong soul shining through her eyes, and he 
 felt the assurance it gave him to be beyond all spoken 
 words or oaths or written bonds. As soon as Francesca 
 and the squire returned to Atherton, Dick and Loida 
 went back to Alderson Bars, to complete their own 
 arrangements. From Alderson they would go to Liver- 
 pool, and the squire and Clara promised to bring Fran- 
 cesca there to meet them. Between now and then 
 there was only to be an interval of twelve days, but 
 Clara said even that was ten too many. The small 
 deliberations, the doubts evoked purposely to be talked 
 away, the fears useless to combat while they were so 
 far off, the small consultations about the care of cloth- 
 ing, the formal little notes of farewell to every acquaint- 
 ance, the wonderful forethought about such trifles as 
 pins, needles, and hair-dressing all these petty incident- 
 als of travel amused and a trifle annoyed a woman so 
 ready and impulsive as Clara. 
 
 "A ticket taken and ten hours' notice, and I am 
 ready to go round the world by the great Wall of 
 China," she said ; " and you are taking lots of things, 
 Francesca, that you will throw away before you get 
 back." 
 
 However, all events come and go whether we have 
 patience or not, and the moment arrived for Francesca's 
 last words of farewell. She said them with tears, with 
 an undisguised emotion, with a desperate feeling that 
 even at this final moment she must abandon her inten- 
 tion, and stay by the father whose blank, speechless
 
 IN SEARCH OF' LOVE. 279 
 
 grief and anxiety were so pitifully evident through all 
 his attempts at smiles and nods and waving kerchiefs. 
 
 The squire and Clara did not wait for the lifting of 
 the anchor. The squire thought it was not lucky to 
 watch those going away out of sight. 
 
 " If you do, they never come back again," he said, 
 with a childlike pathos. 
 
 " Rashleigh, I do hope you are not superstitious an 
 observer of freits and signs." And Clara shook her 
 head gravely. 
 
 " No, no, Clara! I am not superstitious; not a bit 
 of it. But, then, it is just as well to have the signs on 
 the right side. Eh, my dear? " 
 
 She laughed, and turned the conversation on Loida. 
 
 " How complacently cheerful and satisfied she looked 
 upon Dick's arm! Did you notice her, Rashleigh? 
 Her whole air seemed to say : ' Look at Dick Alder- 
 son at my Dick Alderson! Consider Dick's wisdom 
 and Dick's bravery and Dick's knowledge of everything. 
 Did ever any husband love his wife as much as Dick 
 loves me ? Were ever any couple happy before ? Does 
 not every sensible person wish to be as Dick and I 
 are?' Women who marry late in life are such fools 
 about their husbands." 
 
 " Clara, when you married me, you were " 
 
 " I know, Rashleigh I know. I was a fool, also, 
 about my husband. I thought you handsomer than you 
 are, and better than you are. I invented for you all 
 the good qualifies which nature had not given you. 
 Yes, I was decidedly foolish about you." 
 
 The jolting of the cab and its rattle over the cobble- 
 stones broke the confession into charming little bits.
 
 280 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 In spite of his gloomy forebodings, the squire could not 
 help smiling. He felt bound, also, to defend Loida's 
 absorption in her husband. 
 
 " She suffered a deal for him, Clara," he said, " and 
 she lost ten years of her love-life. She has to make it 
 up some way, my dear. Think of that." 
 
 " I do reflect upon these things, Rashleigh ; and 
 Loida is really a very delightful woman, besides being, 
 in her present state of Dick-adoration, a most sensible 
 companion for Francesca. She will talk of Dick and 
 wonder about Dick a good deal ; and that is a great 
 deal better than an hourly canonization of the young 
 Saint Lancelot. How dismal is this dismal square, and 
 the old yellow church, and the rain trailing down the 
 dirty windows! How dreadful is black rain and bleak 
 winds inclosed between stone houses!" 
 
 " Let us be thankful we have got under cover. Now, 
 then, draw the blinds and come to the fire. It is very 
 cheerful." 
 
 Clara laughed. 
 
 " An open fire," she said, " is an Englishman's fetich ; 
 he thinks it ought to give comfort under all circum- 
 stances." But she put a chair before the blaze and 
 tried to fall into her husband's mood of concentration, 
 and she soon found herself discussing with animation 
 the probabilities of the little drama at which they had 
 both been assisters and spectators. 
 
 " It is possible they may come across Lancelot Leigh, 
 but not at all probable. We will consider first the pos- 
 sible. Suppose, Rashleigh, that Lancelot is found; 
 suppose Francesca and he are married, then what is to 
 be done with them ? After marriage comes housekeep-
 
 IN SEARCH OF LOVE. 28 1 
 
 ing ; and young men who go away to seek a fortune 
 never find one." 
 
 " Lancelot has his father's estate. There is no reason 
 why he should not take possession of it. He can sell 
 the mill property for a pretty sum at this time ; and the 
 house " 
 
 "It would be a crime to sell the house. Besides, that 
 poor old woman could never rest in her grave if such a 
 thing wafc done. I think the feelings of the dead ought 
 to be consulted a little. You would resign the mill at 
 Atherton to Lancelot ? " 
 
 "Most gladly. I am running the mill for the sake of 
 the village, not for the profits." 
 
 " There is the Dower House. It is a pretty spot, 
 and upon Atherton ground, Rashleigh." 
 
 " My dear, when I die that is your house, and " 
 
 " Indeed, it is not my house, sir. Do you imagine I 
 could subside into a second-rate dowager ? If I am so 
 unhappy as to survive you, I have my own house in 
 Boston, United States of America. I shall go to it at 
 once." 
 
 "Then the Dower House can be refurnished and 
 beautified. Lancelot had a wish to buy more land, and 
 it is not right for the lady of the manor to live away 
 from the manor." 
 
 " Francesca has not yet come to her kingdom. 'I am 
 Lady of Atherton Manor at present. There cannot be 
 two at the same time ; so that is no reason for putting 
 Leigh House out of consideration. It is a pretty old 
 place, and it has associations that no money can buy. 
 Francesca has told me about its fine rooms full of sad 
 consciousness. She said she could shut her eyes and
 
 282 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 fancy shadows walking quietly about them, every one in 
 dark garments and wearing their veils so great and 
 long." 
 
 " Hush, my dear! Thou makes me feel creepy and 
 eerie as can be." 
 
 " And the queer old garden, too, with its zigzag ways 
 and its somber clusters of shrubs, its twisted trees and 
 strange plants. Francesca fancied she heard voices be- 
 hind them and strange words and weird trembling " 
 
 " Wilt thou be quiet, Clara ? Now, then, let us talk 
 of the mill and something this-worldlike other world- 
 liness is none of our business yet.'' 
 
 " Very well, Rashleigh. I suppose it is the fire 
 makes me remember such things the fire is full of 
 dreams. Or perhaps it is the pattering outside, or 
 those dismal church-bells, or that most wretched 
 woman's voice, singing love-songs in the storm, the 
 while she is starving for a crust of bread. Open the 
 window and give her a shilling. Poor soul! If you 
 want something this-worldlike, I am sure she will do." 
 
 The squire obeyed his wife's wish, and then sat down 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " Francesca is far out at sea now," he said, " but she 
 will return in six months, eh, Clara ? " 
 
 " In six months she will return, cured of the Leigh 
 fever or at least convalescent or she will come back 
 Leigh-forever! In the first case, we must carry her to 
 pastures new for new lovers." 
 
 " And in the second, what then, Clara ? " 
 
 " There is a choice of Atherton Mill and the Dower 
 House, or of Garsby Mill and the old Leigh home. Is 
 there not a choice ? "
 
 IN SEARCH OF LOVE. 283 
 
 " Not yet, not yet, Clara. Whatever is the use of 
 handicapping fate by forespeaking it ? I'm very tired. 
 Day and day is quite enough. Let six months alone. 
 That is what I say, eh, Clara ? " 
 
 " You are right, Rashleigh ; day and day, and the 
 comfortable night to round each day with a blessed 
 sleep."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG! 
 
 "White-handed Hope, 
 Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings ! " 
 
 " Who, as they sang, would take the prisoned sonl 
 And lap it in Elysium." 
 
 Such sober certainty of waking bliss! Milton. 
 
 For all we know 
 Of what the blessed do above 
 Is that they sing, and that they love. Waller. 
 
 FAR out at sea! The squire had remembered the 
 fact with a quick, sick terror of heart ; and at the 
 same moment Francesca was beginning to realize the 
 full importance of the step she had taken. She sat in 
 her solitary state-room like a child cast adrift from 
 home and love, and she was afraid of' the dark ship and 
 the moaning winds and the breaking of the waves 
 against her temporary shelter. The water was so close 
 to her only a plank between her and eternity! 
 
 At that hour she was too much depressed and too 
 much terrified to remember how much in love she was. 
 Her father and her dear home, and the orderly, calm 
 life to which she was accustomed was the supreme 
 craving of her heart. Some days of inert misery fol- 
 lowed, and then the worst was over ; a brilliant sunshine, 
 an atmosphere charged with oxygen and ozone soon
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG I 285 
 
 made life not only possible but also full of anticipated 
 delights. 
 
 And after the infinite monotony of nine days at sea, 
 how charming, how wonderful was the first glimpse of 
 that great city rising, as it were, out of it! It was also 
 the happy month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, 
 and New York was wearing all her holiday decorations, 
 and displaying all her beauty and all her wealth. 
 
 There had never been the least supposition that Lan- 
 celot had drifted so far north as New York, yet Fran- 
 cesca felt herself to be ever on the watch. The comers 
 and goers in the hotel, the gay company in the theaters, 
 the loitering crowd on the main thoroughfares, were 
 under her constant inspection. It was impossible to say 
 in what place Lancelot might be found ; therefore she 
 would seek him wherever her footsteps led her, and surely 
 love would bring them in some happy hour together. 
 
 But New York had nothing to tell her and nothing to 
 give her, and as far as Lancelot was concerned Wash- 
 ington and New Orleans were equally destitute of hope 
 and comfort. However, as Dick said : " No one had 
 the least expectation of either meeting with or hearing 
 of Lancelot in the United States. The young man had 
 gone to Mexico, he had been heard from in Mexico, 
 and it was his opinion he would be found in some small 
 interior village of that country." 
 
 And Francesca answered : 
 
 "To be sure. She did not expect anything until 
 Mexico was reached." 
 
 And Loida pitied her effort to smile, knowing that her 
 heart was heavy and anxious, and that home-sickness 
 and love-sickness were striving hard within it.
 
 286 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 At length they were in Vera Cruz, that melancholy 
 city of unfinished and decaying grandeur. Dick was 
 now quite at home. Francesca thought she had never 
 seen him so important, so full of a pleasant authority, 
 so very much Senor Alderson. He assumed again a 
 semi-Mexican costume ; he spoke the language with a 
 fluency and a force that astonished the ladies. Indeed, 
 Loida timidly suggested " she believed Dick was really 
 swearing at the servants ; she hoped he was not, but it 
 sounded very like it." 
 
 Dick only smiled at a still more pointed inquiry on 
 this subject, though he was rather inclined to volunteer 
 information of all kinds to his companions. And as it 
 was not the bad season, he was enabled to show them 
 the city, with its domes of various colors, its grand 
 cathedral, its steeples shooting up into the air, its large, 
 gloomy houses, with their massively grated balconies. 
 The rich, picturesque dresses of the men of all grades 
 and of the lower orders of women added greatly to the 
 Eastern look of this far Western city. And after sunset 
 there was something dreamlike and mysterious in the 
 quiet streets. For then the presence of the noble and 
 wealthy women was revealed by the murmur of voices, 
 the rustling of fans, and the white-robed beauties 
 blanched by the rays of the moon sitting behind half- 
 opened Venetian blinds. 
 
 But though Dick went carefully over the ground 
 already examined by Captain Benton, nothing new was 
 discovered. Lancelot had stayed two days at the hotel 
 San Juan de Ulloa, and had then gone forward to 
 Bocca del Rio. Here his stay had been short, but it 
 was proven that there he had become intimate with a
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG! 287 
 
 Mexican lawyer, and that they had gone forward to- 
 gether to the gorges of Cerro Gordo and the great 
 bridge over the river Antigua, called the Puente 
 Nacional. At this point they separated, the lawyer 
 returning to Vera Cruz, and Lancelot going forward to 
 Lancero. Then Dick found out the lawyer, but he 
 could tell him nothing that was not already known. 
 
 So the party went forward to Lancero, where they 
 rested for some days ; for here the sight of the oak-tree 
 announced to the travelers that they had passed the 
 region of fever and pestilence. Loida was exceedingly 
 depressed and weary with the constant excitement and 
 change. She was suffering from climatic influences, 
 also, and life seemed impossible to her until she had re- 
 covered strength to take a fresh hold upon its strange 
 and many-colored threads. Francesca was singularly 
 well. A feeling of expectancy upheld her. At Lancero 
 Lancelot had remained a week. Here there were 
 plenty of traces of the young man. At the venta where 
 he had lodged the host and his wife remembered him 
 well. He had bought a horse there, and had become 
 familiar with the people in the jacales. Also, he had 
 been entertained by the officer in charge of Santa 
 Anna's country-house at Lancero, and Francesca went 
 with Dick to the little building, with its red-stained 
 walls and modest veranda surmounted by a belvedere 
 of glass. She sat in the chair Lancelot had used, and 
 Dick translated for her such of the conversation as the 
 man remembered. 
 
 Hope grew apace in such favorable conditions. At 
 last she began to feel that her pilgrimage of love was 
 not predestined to sorrow and fatigue and failure. Here
 
 288 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 also they procured a litera, or kind of palanquin, in 
 which Loida and Francesca passed over the Tierra 
 Caliente, or Burning Land, between this part of the road 
 and Jalapa, where they arrived one day about noon. 
 For the first time since they had left the United States 
 Loida and Francesca were enthusiastic, and forgot their 
 small personal interests in the beauty of the place and 
 its environs. 
 
 For Jalapa, with all its enchantments, was upon them 
 the steep streets, with the blue and red houses peep- 
 ing out of clumps of guava trees, of liquid-ambar and 
 palms ; the hedges of datura and jasmine and honey- 
 suckle ; the mountains overhanging the town ; the rocks 
 covered with convolvuli ; the thousand streams from 
 their sides ; the deep blue of the sky and the deep blue 
 of the hills blending into one. Surely, if there was a 
 heaven for love on this earth, it was here here at 
 fair Jalapa. 
 
 At the " Posada Francesca," Francesca was sensible 
 of that conviction of desire accomplished which so often 
 ends in disappointment. She was sure Lancelot had 
 lodged in this very house. Its name of " Francesca " 
 would make it dear and attractive. She stepped hap- 
 pily through the piazzas surrounding the spacious court, 
 and watched the bubbling fountain in its center to 
 thoughts of Lancelot. Doubtless he had stood there, 
 and thought of her. 
 
 But there were no positive traces of Lancelot at 
 Jalapa. And, after a short rest, the travelers took 
 advantage of an American coach running between 
 Jalapa and the City of Mexico. At every stopping- 
 place inquiries were made, and at Las Vegas and Perote
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG/ 289 
 
 there were some doubtful memories of the young man ; 
 but it seemed hopeless to look for anything definite 
 nearer than the capital. 
 
 Francesca had become depressed. She spent all her 
 time in studying the language of the country, but her 
 heart had deceived her at Jalapa, and she had now no 
 confidence in its monitions. When love's labor is con- 
 tinually lost, love is at last conscious of a sense of weari- 
 ness and of succumbing to fate. 
 
 In the City of Mexico they found an American hotel, 
 and gladly made their stay there. Dick was now at 
 the point where both his own affairs and Francesca's 
 would be likely to detain him for some weeks, and the 
 ladies endeavored to give to their rooms as distinctively 
 a home air as was possible. Then life assumed a some- 
 what regular aspect. Every morning Dick attended to 
 the mining business which had brought him to Mexico, 
 and which was delayed by the absence of a person im- 
 portant to its settlement. In the cool of the day he 
 wandered about the city, penetrating into all the favor- 
 ite haunts of the leperos, or Mexican lazzarone. For 
 Dick was certain that some of this class knew the fate 
 of Lancelot, if assassination had terminated it. 
 
 And as soon as his business permitted the temporary 
 absence, he resolved to go to the San Lepato mines. 
 He had indeed written there, and received an answer 
 which contained a hope he did not think it wise to give 
 Francesca ; because he was aware of the difficulties en- 
 compassing the recognition of an Englishman, who, if 
 there at all, had speedily left, and who understood very 
 little that was said to him. Indeed, the many doubts 
 thrown around the visitor presumed to be Senor Leigh
 
 2gO LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 appeared to Dick to far outweigh any likelihood of 
 assured information. 
 
 He had resolved to go alone to San Lepato, but he 
 found Loida and Francesca had quite determined to 
 see the mines, and it was in vain he represented to them 
 the mountains they must climb or the many dangers 
 and fatigues of the Canada they would be required to 
 traverse. Both women were sure they could "go 
 wherever Dick could go " ; and Francesca's face bright- 
 ened with delight at the idea of proving her affection 
 by her fortitude in weariness, by her contempt for her 
 own comfort and safety, and her resolution to discover 
 her lover at all risks. 
 
 " He would be most likely to disguise himself," she 
 said ; " he might even change his name ; but under any 
 disguise and under any name, I should find him out." 
 
 And after all, the journey was not so very fatiguing. 
 The season being early, there was some suffering from 
 cold ; but the air was so vivifying, and such perfect 
 arrangements had been made for their rest and refresh- 
 ment, that all declared the journey to San Lepato had 
 been, as yet, the most delightful part of their trip. Yet 
 toward the close of it they were obliged to go very 
 slowly, while their mules with cautious steps picked 
 their way over the crests of lofty hills, or oe -i deep 
 gullies where towering cliffs darkened the noonday. 
 But which way soever they rode, they crossed frequently 
 reins of precious ore, marked even at the superfices of 
 the ground by a red oxide of silver streaking the clefts 
 of the rocks, as bright as a trail of cinnabar. 
 
 The scene affected the whole party profoundly. 
 Francesca found it impossible to converse. A deep
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG! 2$1 
 
 solemnity hushed her heart and closed her lips. Loida 
 answered Dick's remarks in a low voice. Dick only 
 asked such questions as his care for their safety and 
 comfort required. They were in one of Nature's grand 
 cathedrals, they felt the presence of the Infinite, and 
 their souls said reverently : " How awful is this 
 place!" 
 
 At length they reached the mines. The director had 
 been notified of the visit, and every preparation possi- 
 ble had been made for their comfortable accommoda- 
 tion. Dick was at home. He showed Loida the little 
 hut in which he had lived so many years, his office, his 
 old books of accounts, and a great number of the 
 miners who had worked under his orders, and who re- 
 ceived him with noisy delight. 
 
 Then such mementos as had been left by visitors were 
 examined ; and finally the director remembered a slip 
 of paper upon which two gentlemen had written their 
 names. It was found, and given to Dick ; and the two 
 names were Lancelot Leigh and Richard Gilleland. 
 Then the director, being urged to remember all he could 
 concerning these gentlemen, said that "he was sure 
 they only remained two days. The younger of them 
 had gone down the mine unto the third gallery, and had 
 then been so ill that it was with danger and difficulty 
 he had been brought to the surface." 
 
 " It was the young senor who fainted. He fainted 
 when the sunshine fell again upon him. His friend took 
 him away the next morning." 
 
 "It was doubtless Lancelot," said Francesca. " He 
 loved the sunshine. He would faint and perish in the 
 gloom and death-air of a living pit. It was surely
 
 2Q2 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 Lancelot! I would have said so even if he had left 
 no name behind him." 
 
 Nothing further could be learned. Many visitors 
 came to the mines, and went down them as a matter of 
 curiosity. They excited no particular interest, except- 
 ing for the amount of gratuity left for the poor miners. 
 These two gentlemen had been very generous, and the 
 paistres they donated had become the measure by which 
 all future gifts had been counted ; and this circumstance 
 had preserved a clearer memory of their personal ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 Inquiries among the miners who had seen them left 
 no kind of doubt in the mind of Francesca as to one of 
 the visitors being Lancelot. " A beautiful young man, 
 with a sad face, who walked like an emperor." 
 
 How could it be any one else ? Vague as the de- 
 scription was, it satisfied Francesca ; and she was sure 
 she was now treading the very places where Lancelot's 
 feet had been. 
 
 She wished to go down the mine as far as Lancelot 
 had gone. Dick could not frighten her from the inten- 
 tion. "Had ladies ever gone so far?" Dick was 
 obliged to confess that " a party of American ladies had 
 gone even two galleries deeper.". 
 
 " Very well, then, Dick, I am certain to go as far as 
 Lancelot went," said Francesca. " When we do meet, 
 Lancelot will understand the feeling which led me to 
 follow him. At the point he turned, my mind may 
 catch the thought of his mind ; and my soul may feel 
 after his soul, and I may divine whether he went north 
 or south or east or west." 
 
 Never had Francesca been so set upon any move-
 
 AND NOW LOl'E SANG I 
 
 293 
 
 ment as upon this descent into the San Lepato. And 
 in a few hours her enthusiasm had stimulated Loida, 
 so that these two timid Englishwomen, who a year ago 
 had been in the dark afraid of a walk about their own 
 house and garden, were now eager to explore the gal- 
 leries of a mine hundreds of feet below the ground. 
 
 There were some points in the descent favorable for 
 them. The mine was a dry one, and when Dick had 
 been its superintendent, he had substituted railed lad- 
 ders for the uncouth piece of notched wood which had 
 been the only road down to the depths, and up to the 
 daylight. And the strength of their race was in the two 
 women. They had determined to see the mine, and 
 they demanded of their souls to be strong enough for 
 the task they had undertaken. Dick found them 
 dressed for the visit, pale but resolute, cheerful and 
 quite calm. 
 
 The mine was entered by a horizontal gallery. Af- 
 ter walking three hundred yards along it they came to 
 the first perpendicular shaft; and as shaft succeeded 
 shaft in a slantwise position the lights that shone from 
 the bottom of the mine could be partially seen at the 
 top of the first shaft; besides which the ascending 
 miners, each with a candle in his helmet, made a singu- 
 lar moving glow that faintly indicated the loaded gnomes 
 passing up and down. 
 
 Dick went first, Loida followed. Then Dick returned 
 for Francesca. No word was spoken. They stood still 
 together on the first gallery. Gigantic shadows trem- 
 bled over the walls. Great vaults stretched away into 
 the darkness. Rough, glittering pilasters sustained 
 them, and the noise of footsteps reverberated in the
 
 294 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 somber caves. From time to time lights struggled 
 through the deep gloom, the head-lights of the miners, 
 whose long, floating nair and bronzed, nearly naked 
 bodies looked gigantic, ominous, supernatural. 
 
 At the bottom of the second shaft a singular sight 
 arrested their steps, and made them feel the thrill of 
 emotions that touch another world. In a square of 
 glittering rocks the miners had constructed a rude 
 chapel ; an altar, lighted by several wax tapers, was in 
 the center, and a large cross of pure silver, bearing the 
 image of The Crucified, was upon it. Kneeling on the 
 very steps of this altar was an old man, whose long, 
 white hair flowed down upon his naked breast and 
 shoulders. He was lost in adoration. He perceived 
 not the presence of strangers. Suddenly he stood up- 
 right and began to chant : 
 
 " ' Santo Dios, santo puerte, santo imortal, 
 Libra nos, senor, detodo vial,' " 
 
 and instantly his companions in the rocky caverns joined 
 in the solemn melody until it echoed and reverberated 
 through the whole mine, so that even the lowest labor 
 was vocal with prayer and praise. 
 
 " Out of the depths they call unto Him ! " said Loida 
 softly. Francesca's hands were dropped and clasped, 
 her head bent, her eyes closed. She was experiencing 
 one of those divine Intimacies which are the blessed 
 earnests of our immortal destiny. 
 
 Dick was less moved ; the scene was familiar to him, 
 but its familiarity had never induced indifference. He 
 said, with considerable feeling : 
 
 " It is the 'Agios o Theos agios ischiros! ' of the Greek
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG! 295 
 
 Church. Is it not enough ? Higher than all creeds, far 
 above all superstitions ? " 
 
 After a short pause Francesca said, " Let us go back," 
 and they went very quietly back to the visible earth and 
 sunshine. 
 
 The next day they began to retrace their steps to the 
 City of Mexico. A great despondency had fallen upon 
 Francesca. Loida perceived that hope in her heart was 
 dying. The gayeties of the metropolis gave her no 
 pleasure, and she ceased to make inquiries of Dick as 
 she used to do. Either she did not believe in his exer- 
 tions, or she had accepted the idea of a final separation 
 from her lover. Dick felt her attitude to be a little 
 provoking. He knew that he had done everything 
 possible to trace the young man, and he also knew 
 that Francesca only half believed that everything had 
 been done. 
 
 At length his own business was settled, and there 
 seemed to be no further reason for delay. Loida, though 
 she had thoroughly enjoyed her trip, was beginning to 
 think of her English home. It was April, and she could 
 not help saying continually in her heart : 
 
 " ' Oh, to be in England, 
 
 Now that April 's there! 
 And whoever wakes in England 
 Sees some morning, unaware, 
 That the lowest boughs of the brushwood sheaf 
 Round the elm-tree's bole ar.e in tiny leaf, 
 While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough, 
 In England now.' " 
 
 One day, when Dick was feeling that a move home- 
 ward must no longer be delayed, he met in the lobby of
 
 296 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 the hotel an American, who pleasantly accosted him, 
 and then added : 
 
 " Had you stayed another day at San Lepato, we 
 might have traveled in company." 
 
 " You have been at San Lepato, then ? " 
 
 " Yes. I saw your names in the director's office. It 
 is a little singular how many Yorkshire people go there. 
 The last time I went to Lepato I went with a Yorkshire 
 gentleman." 
 
 Dick was on the alert instantly. 
 
 " A Mr. Lancelot Leigh, I suppose ? " 
 
 " That was the name, sir. I had the pleasure of sav- 
 ing his life and helping him to a sort of settlement. A 
 very nice young man, I think." 
 
 " Saving his life ! In what way had he put his life in 
 danger ? " 
 
 " In the most innocent way in the world. He was at 
 Guadaloupe at the time of the feast of Our Lady of 
 Guadaloupe. So was I. When the holy image of the 
 Virgin, preceded by the Host, appeared, Mr. Leigh stood 
 and gazed at it." 
 
 "That was natural enough." 
 
 " But it was construed by the populace as an insult to 
 their faith and to the Mexican people, and the muttered 
 curses at his attitude soon grew to cries of indignation 
 and to drawing of stilettos. Mr. Leigh was quite igno- 
 rant that he ought to have prostrated himself, and that 
 his failure to do so was an offense worthy of death." 
 
 " How did you make peace ? " 
 
 " I knew the people and the language, which Mr. 
 Leigh did not, and with great difficulty I explained his 
 ignorance. But the stubborn fellow would not do horn-
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG! 297 
 
 age to Our Lady of Guadaloupe, even to save his life, 
 and my task was only accomplished by promising an 
 enormous gratification in money for the offense." 
 
 " How much did he have to pay ? " 
 
 "He paid nothing. As soon as the procession had 
 passed on, we rode for our lives northward, and did not 
 stop until the Lepato mines were reached. Mr. Leigh 
 expected to find a friend there, but he had left the mines 
 when we arrived." 
 
 " Did you stay there any length of time ? " 
 
 " No. Mr. Leigh thought he might be secure in the 
 mines, but he found himself unable to endure their heat 
 and gloom. Indeed, he was made ill by a very short 
 experience of their horrors, and he declared that not for 
 all the silver coined from them would he remain twenty- 
 four hours in their depths." 
 
 " Can you tell me in what direction he went after 
 leaving San Lepato ? " 
 
 " He went to Texas in my company. I parted with 
 him in San Antonio. I should not wonder if he bought 
 land in that vicinity. He was powerfully taken with 
 that part of the country. Never saw a man who, gener- 
 ally speaking, went more naturally to camping out and 
 using a rifle." 
 
 " Your name is Richard Gilleland ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, that is my name. I have no occasion to 
 shirk it." He was a sallow, long-haired, fiercely 
 whiskered man, whose great bell-spurs tinkled to his 
 long steps, and made a soft chime to the ring of coins 
 on the bar counter. 
 
 "Do you really think he is now living near San An- 
 tonio ? "
 
 298 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 "Why do you wish to know, stranger? I would be 
 sorry to get any man into trouble. I would be particu- 
 larly sorry to trouble Lancelot Leigh." 
 
 " I am his friend. I am seeking him in order to make 
 him happy." 
 
 " Then I should say : Seek him within a hundred 
 miles of San Antonio. I do not know for sure he is 
 there, but I would feel myself as likely as not to come 
 across the gentleman in that direction." 
 
 This information seemed to be the most positive yet 
 received, but Dick was not sure whether he ought to 
 tell PYancesca. One hope after another had proved 
 false, and she was beginning to believe that she would 
 never see Lancelot again. It appeared to be a kind of 
 cruelty to unsettle the resignation she was trying to at- 
 tain to by a hope which might prove as futile as all pre- 
 ceding it. 
 
 He did not even tell Loida, for he knew that, sooner 
 or later, Loida would reveal all to Francesca. His busi- 
 ness relations and necessities had already frequently 
 proved a most elastic and convenient reason for any 
 movement he thought it best to make. All other reasons 
 Loida and Francesca argued and modified to suit their 
 own wishes ; but business reasons they had a profound 
 respect for. To submit to them was a necessity of their 
 sex and their fortune. So Dick calmly announced that 
 his business compelled him to go to San Antonio. He 
 said, if the ladies wished, he would take them to New 
 Orleans and leave them there, while he made alone the 
 Texan journey. Or, if they would like a camping-out 
 trip, nothing could be more charming in the spring of the 
 year than a leisurely journey across the Texan prairies.
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG! 299 
 
 Loida perceived that Dick wished the latter course. 
 She considered it very natural he should do so, for it 
 permitted Dick to have her with him. She was instantly 
 and warmly in its favor ; and as Dick went on to de- 
 scribe the arrangements he would make for their com- 
 fort, she became enthusiastic. 
 
 "Will it not be charming, Francesca?" she cried. 
 " We are to have horses when we wish to ride and a 
 cariole when we wish to take a rest. Think of it! 
 Riding through miles and miles of flowers and waving 
 grass, in the exhilarating atmosphere of Texas, with its 
 glorious blue sky above us! And Dick will get an 
 army tent and lots of blankets and mattresses and a 
 commissary wagon and a good cook, and we shall have 
 the whole State of Texas for a bedroom and a dining- 
 room." 
 
 " I wish to go home as quickly as possible now, Loida. 
 I do not wish to go to Texas. I wish to go to England. 
 I am so tired of travel." 
 
 " How can you be tired f And it is possible we may 
 find Lancelot in Texas. I should think after Mexico 
 his first thought would be Texas." 
 
 " I wish you would not speak of Lancelot. Finding 
 him is becoming a wearisome farce, Loida. I wonder 
 that I was ever beguiled by it. I am tired of promises 
 that always fail". 
 
 She spoke with some temper, and Loida thought her 
 very unjust. 
 
 " I am sure," she answered, " everything, yes, every- 
 thing, possible has been done. Is it Dick's fault that 
 Lancelot has hid himself so well "? " 
 
 " I did not say it was any one's fault. I wish I was
 
 300 LOVE FOR AN HOL'R. 
 
 a man! I wish Clara had come with us. 1 She thinks 
 of so many things." 
 
 " I am sure, Francesca, you are very ungrateful. 
 Dick has put himself to a great deal of trouble." 
 
 " I am much obliged to Dick." 
 
 She was indifferent, and she shrugged her shoulders 
 in a way which angered Loida, as far as it was possible 
 for that placid lady to feel anger. Dick said nothing. 
 He was not in the least offended with the disappointed 
 girl. He understood better than Loida did that she was 
 more angry at her fate than dissatisfied with him. He 
 could feel that she had come to a point when she felt 
 even Lancelot's name to be an offense. If people could 
 not help her in deeds, then words were as well unspoken. 
 This was her present mood, and Dick sympathized with it. 
 
 So he said not a word of the fresh hope. He only 
 so moved Loida's imagination that she was delighted at 
 the idea of going back to England by way of Texas, 
 and Francesca acquiesced in that spirit which silently 
 declares all things to be equally indifferent. Sometimes, 
 when Dick saw her hopeless eyes and listless manner, 
 he was tempted to give her the encouragement he was 
 acting upon, but at the end he always resisted the temp- 
 tation. For Dick had his superstitions, as all men have, 
 and he believed that it is in silence hope grows to frui- 
 tion. 
 
 " You may talk away the good fortune of anything 
 you purpose to do. I will be quiet and see what comes 
 of silence." And upon this resolve Dick acted. 
 
 For several weeks nothing came of it. Through an 
 earthly paradise they traveled day after day, and Fran- 
 cesca was not able to resist the vivifying airs and sun-
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG I 301 
 
 shine and the ineffable peace and glory of a Texas 
 spring. In spite of all her sorrow she grew light-hearted. 
 She was in such radiant health she could not, even if she 
 tried, be sorrowful. In the mornings she and Loida 
 cantered by Dick's side, singing together, for the very 
 joy of living. In the evenings they spread their blankets 
 amid the flowers and grass, and talked happily till they 
 fell into sweetest slumber. They traveled very slowly, 
 being only anxious to make the journey last as long as 
 possible. 
 
 Very frequently they camped at night near some cat- 
 tleman's cabin, or some camp of soldiers or rangers. 
 Then they had visitors, and the sound of the violin or 
 guitar, and the hearty chorus of men singing with all 
 their hearts, filled the great still places, and made even 
 Silence pleased to listen to their glad music. 
 
 At length the delightful journey was nearly over. 
 They were within a few hours of San Antonio. To-mor- 
 row they would become conventional beings again. 
 They would bid the great sweet heart of Nature " good- 
 bye " and go back to the restless life of men and women. 
 
 This last night, therefore, they resolved to taste every 
 moment of a joy so soon to vanish. 
 
 The sun set as they finished supper and sat down be- 
 neath the wide-spreading live-oaks. A full, golden moon 
 was rising to the zenith. The white asphodels shone like 
 stars all over the prairie. A mocking-bird was singing, 
 and stopping, and then beginning again. A Mexican 
 lying alone was singing softly to a mandolin. Others 
 were playing cards ; and one silent, dark Jarocha from 
 Vera Cruz was kneeling apart, making a " novena " for 
 his "dearly-beloved angel on earth" Dick was smoking,
 
 3O2 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 and Loida sat beside him, with her head against his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Francesca's heart was like the moon at full. She was 
 thinking of Lancelot as she had not lately permitted her- 
 self to think with love and hope with a certainty of 
 seeing him with a devotion that she felt to be only 
 strengthened by disappointment and delay. Lately she 
 had absolutely forbidden herself to speak of her lover, 
 but as they sat in the divine, soul-subduing light, she be- 
 gan to recall in a gentle voice the days that were gone. 
 
 " They will come no more, Loida," she said tenderly ; 
 " and though I am almost compelled to think of Lance- 
 lot as dead, yet to-night I feel it a joy to hope that he 
 may be alive." 
 
 " My dear Francesca, you must remember those who 
 love you and who are certainly living. Your father " 
 
 "Ah, Loida! Do not think you need to plead for 
 my father. I promised him when I returned, if Lance- 
 lot was not found, to be his good, loving daughter. I 
 mean to be so. It will give me pleasure to make his 
 pleasure." 
 
 " He will think of a marriage between you and Al- 
 mund and Almund, I am sure, desires it." 
 
 " My father will hold his little daughter to no heart- 
 bargaining. I shall say to him frankly : ' My dear, I 
 cannot love any one but Lancelot. Living or dead, I 
 can only love Lancelot. Let me stay near you alway.' 
 And I know he will answer : ' God love thee, Fran- 
 cesca! God gave thee, and God forbid I should send 
 thee away.' My father will not bend me either this way 
 or that way. He can trust to my honor and my affec- 
 tion, as I can trust to his."
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG I 303 
 
 " But, my dear, there is the estate. You ought to 
 marry for the house and the land." 
 
 " I will tell you a secret that Clara told me before I 
 left. When I get home I may have a sister I may 
 even have a brother! Think of that, and of my father's 
 joy!" 
 
 Loida did not answer. She could not bear to think, 
 at first, of her niece as anything less than Lady of 
 Atherton Manor. The secret made a slight embarrass- 
 ment, and Francesca rose and walked away into the 
 broader moonlight. Every little asphodel had a super- 
 natural beauty in it. Angels might have thought them 
 flowers of heaven and taken them by handfuls. They 
 made Francesca remember that glorious harvest night 
 when Lancelot gathered the August lily and sang her 
 the song that was all her own ; and she set her feet care- 
 fully between the white buds, for she had put into each 
 a golden memory, and she would not crush it. 
 
 Let no one say nature has no voice of comfort. That 
 exquisite hour was eloquent of hope. The asphodels 
 said to her, "ffe will come! " The mocking-bird sang, 
 "He will come! " The lover with the mandolin in his 
 hands and the lover with the rosary in his hands moved 
 her to their own hope. Her heart swelled to the beam- 
 ing moon, and whispered her, "He will come!" A 
 strong, sweet conviction swept away all doubt and fear. 
 She smiled to its promise. She stretched out her arms. 
 She whispered to the secret, sacred intelligences around 
 her: 
 
 " O my love! My love! Send him to me! " 
 
 Then suddenly, out of the space beyond, there came 
 a wonderful voice a clear, silvery snatch of song that
 
 304 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 was distinct from all other sounds. It thrilled the moon- 
 lit atmosphere as if it had been vibrant. It moved 
 Francesca as if a hand had touched her. She lifted her 
 head and looked all around. There was nothing to be 
 seen, but the voice was coming nearer. A little wood 
 of pecan-trees was to the right ; she turned to it, and as 
 she did so a horseman came from out its shadow. He 
 stood still in the broad moonshine ; he lifted his hat, and 
 let the cool gulf-wind stir his hair, and as he sat motion- 
 less, looking to the horizon, he sang : 
 
 " ' Then it would not seem miles 
 Out to the emerald isles ; 
 I should be there as soon 
 As the white birds at noon ; 
 Blue night and golden moon 
 Rising o'er me.' 1 " 
 
 As she listened her soul cried out with wonder and 
 joy. If this was not Lancelot, then she had never loved 
 him. No voice but Lancelot's could make her heart so 
 beat and tremble with rapture. She was impelled by 
 the spirit of love within her. Forward, into the broad, 
 white moonshine, she passed swiftly as a bird, and sing- 
 ing as she had never sung before. Her hands were out- 
 spread, her face was uplifted, and the melodious words 
 left her lips as if each word cried : "Lancelot ! " 
 
 " ' Have you seen but a bright lily grow 
 Before rude hands have touched it? ' " 
 
 The horse leaped forward, then it was instantly still ; 
 his rider was intently listening. And Francesca went 
 steadily toward him, singing as she went. 
 
 " It was Francesca! It was impossible! He must
 
 AND NOW LOVE SANG/ 305 
 
 see her! He must fly!" Such thoughts went like fire 
 through his brain and heart. "What should he do? 
 What should he do ? " 
 
 Oh, what use to ask himself ? He could see her face! 
 He could hear her! Feel her! She came closer! He 
 ran with outstretched arms to meet her. The song was 
 silenced against his beating heart. He kissed its melody 
 off her lips. For very rapture they could not say each 
 other's names. They were weeping for purest joy. 
 And all over them the moonshine fell like a silvery cloud, 
 and all around them the soft winds blew the scents of 
 flowers and the low sounds of love ; and they were held 
 some moments in a speechless trance an elysium of 
 supernal joy. It was in broken words of infinite tender- 
 ness they began at length to speak : 
 
 " I was thinking of you, dearest ! " 
 
 " I was looking for you, beloved!" 
 
 " * Francesco.! " 
 
 "Lancelot! " 
 
 "Oh, Heaven!" 
 
 "Oh, love! Oh, joy!" 
 
 Then Loida, in the shadow of her tent, grew restless, 
 and she said : 
 
 " Where is Francesca ? " 
 
 And Dick rose and looked into the moonshine, and 
 asked, with a kind of triumph : 
 
 " But who is with her ? " 
 
 " Dick, it is Lancelot ! Lancelot at last ! " 
 
 And earth must coin the words of heaven to tell the 
 heartful exaltation of the hours that followed. Who 
 thought of sleep ? Who dreamed that morning could 
 ever come ? Transported, ravished with perfect love
 
 306 LOVE FOR AN HOUR. 
 
 with sorrow turned into perfect joy with doubt turned 
 into ecstasy they watched the dawn come up the east, 
 while they were still telling each other how they had 
 loved how they had trusted and never faltered, because 
 they knew right well 
 
 *' Though Fate may part, 
 And seas may sever, 
 Love for an hour 
 Is love forever I " 
 
 THE END.
 
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