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WITHIN THE PRECINCTS
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AUDS.
WITHIN THE PRECINCTS
BY
MRS OLIPHANT
ACTHORESS OF
'THE CHROKICLES OF CARLINGFORD' &C.
OZ/jbAsk^^t M^y^atet 0/,}/>aAt CWi'lso^
A NEW EDITION, WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1888
[/I// rights rexerveil ]
VJS7
CONTENTS.
KX
CHAPTER p^gj
I. St. Michael's 1
n. The Chevaliers' Lodges . , . . 11
III. The Abbey Preclncts 21
IV. Ladt Oarolixe 33
V. Ai THE Deanery 45
"VI. Law .57
VII. A New Light 04
Vlll. Triumph aitd Terror 73
IX. Visitors h4
X. The AIenok Canon UG
XI. Another Evening at the Deanery . .107
XII. Brother and Sister 118
Xm. Captain Despard 128
XIV. The Workroom 136
XV. Romance and Reality 147
XVI. The Signor's Household .... 158
XVII. The Musician at Home 168
XVIII. Young Purcell 17i)
XIX. Business, or Love? ]!)0
XX. An Unconscious Trial . . . ]!)!)
XXI. Searchings op Heart 208
XXII. A Chance tor Law -J-JO
1
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
XXIII.
Good Advice
PAGB
, 230
XXIV.
A Crisis
241
XXV.
What Followed
, 251
XXVI.
The Fool's Paradise
261
XXVII.
A Terrible Interruption . . . ,
, 270
XXVIII.
The Captain's Wife
281
XXIX.
The Heatings of the Earthquake
. 292
XXX.
Lottie's Fate
304
XXXI.
What other People Thought
, 313
XXXII.
What Eollo had to Marry on
322
XXXIII.
Lottie's side of the Question
. 333
XXXIV.
A Crisis
346
XXXV.
Family Duty : according to Mrs. Despard
. 356
XXXVI.
Family Duty : by a Finer Artist
. 369
XXXVII.
Another Chance
379
iXXVIII.
Lottie Resentful
. 390
XXXIX.
Lottie Subdued
401
XL.
The Effect of Good Fortune: Law .
. 413
XLI.
The Effect of Good Fortune: Rollo
421
XLII.
' Till Friday.'
. 434
XLIII.
The End of the Dream .
447
XLIV.
Apres?
. 460
XLV.
Conclusion
469
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
The two musicians stood looking aj<ter her
as she walked majestically homewards .
She sat down on the little white bed and
began to think
She STOOD and listened, peeling all her
TROUBLES CALMED
' The question is : Do tou like me ? ' . ,
Frontispiece
"ofaceji. 74
» 249
„ 418
WITHIN THE PEECINCTS
CHAPTER I.
ST, miciiakl's.
The Abbey Church of St. Slichael's stands on a low hill in a
Hat and fertile country. The holy places which are sacred to
the great archangel t:eem to settle naturally upon a mount ;
and this, one of the noblest structures consecrated under his
name, had all the effect of a very higli elevation — so wide-
spreading was the landscape round, so vast the sweep of plain,
fields, and woods, great parks and commons, and gleaming
white villages like ships at sea, Avhich could be seen from its
walls and terraces. Though the settlement was ecclesiastical,
the place had been walled and defensible in the days when
danger threatened wealth whatever form it assumed. Danger,
liowever, had long been far from the thouGfhts of the difmiticd
corporation which held its reverend court upon the hill.
The Abbey was as splendid as any carthedral, and possessed a
dean and chapter, though no bishop. It was of Late Gothic,
perpendicular and magnificent ; and the walls and towers
which still surrounded it, and even the old houses within the
precincts, were older still than the Abbey, and could have
iurnished many ' bits ' to make the heart of a mediaeval
architect glad. The very turf which filled the quadrangle
and clothed the slope of the Dean's Walk was a production
of centuries ; the Chapter House was full of historical
documents, and the library of rare books; and there were
antiquarian fanatics who protested that the wealthy living.s
belonging to the Abbey, and its old endowments, were the
least of its riches. Nor was this establishment on the hill
I "WITHIN THE PEECIXCTS.
confined to ecclesiastical interests only. The beautiful church
was the chapel of an order of knighthood, and opposite to it —
forming an integral part of the pile of buildings — Avas a line of
small ancient houses, forming a kind of screen and inner wall
of defence to the sacred citadel, which were the lodges of a
supplementary order of pensioners — Chevaliers of St. Michael
— which at the time of the foundation had given such a
balance, as the Middle Ages loved, of Christian charity and
help, to the splendour and braggadocio of the more glorious
knights. Thus the little community which inhabited this
noble old pile of buildings was varied and composite. The
highest official in it was the costly and aristocratic Dean, the
lowest the lay clerks, who were housed humbly in the shadow
of the church in a little cloister of their own, and who daily
filled the Abbey with the noblest music. The Deanery was
close to the Abbey, and embraced in its irregular group of
roofs the great tower, which showed for miles round, with its
lighted windows, rising up into the niglit. The canons'
houses, if not equally fine, were still great old houses, stand-
ing on the edge of the hill, their walls rising straight from
the green slopes dotted with trees, roimd the foot of which a
little red-roofed town had gathered ; and the Abbey itself
stood between those stately habitations and the humbler
lodges of the Chevaliers, which shvit off the lower level of
sloping bank on the other side. The Dean himself was of a
great family, and belonged not only to the nobility, but,
higher still, to the most select circles of fashion, and had
a noble wife and such a position in society as many a bishop
envied ; and among his canons were men not only of family,
but possessed of some mild links of connection with the
worlds of learning and scholarship — even it was said that one
had writ a book in days when books were not so common.
The minor canons were of humbler degree ; they formed the
link between gods and men, so to speak — between the Olym-
pus of the Chapter and the common secular sphere below.
We will not deceive the reader nor buoy him up with hopes
that this history concerns the lofty fortunes of the members
of that sacred and superior class. To no such distinction can
these lumible pages aspire ; our office is of a lowlier kind.
On Olympus the doings are all splendid, if not, as old chroni-
cles tell, much wiser than beneath, amid the humbler haunts
of men. All that we can do is to tell how these higher circles
ST. MICHAEL'S. 3
looked, to eyes gazing keenly upon iIumu from the mnllioned
"windows which gave a subdued light to the httle rooms of
the ChevaHers' lodges on the southern side of St. IMichael's
Hill.
These lodges were two storeys in height, with small rooms
and very solid masonry, little gardens in front of them, and
II tower at each end. Many creeping plants clung about tlic
t)ld Avails, and especially there Avere clouds of Virginia creeper
which made them glorious in autumn. It was, however, on
a summer afternoon, at the time this history begins, that
Lottie Despard — the only daughter of Captain Despard, a
Chevalier not very long ajipointed to that office — sat, with
her head oat through the open windoAv, framed between the
muUions, Avatching the broad slope of the Dean's "Walk
Avhich lay betAveen her and the church, and led to the
Deanery and the heights beyond. The Deanery Avas at this
moment the most important place in the Avorld, not only to
Lottie, but to many other spectators Avho thronged the slope
beneath her AvindoAV. For this day a great event had hap-
pened in St. IMichael's. The Dean's only daughter, Augusta
Huntington, had been married that morning Avith all the
pomp imaginable. It had been like a royal Avedding, sump-
tuous in ritual, in music, and fine company ; and noAV, after
taking a little repose during the time Avhich the Avedding-
party spent at breakfast, the Abbey precincts Avere beginning
to fill again Avith gazing groups, and all the people within
Avere coming to their Avindows to see the bride and bride-
croom eo aAvav.
Lottie Despard Avas beyond all comparison the prettiest,
and she Avas also the youngest, of all the ladies in the lodges.
She Avas of Irish descent, and she had the AA'hiteness of skin,
the blackness of abundant hair, the deep blue eyes that so
often go Avith Milesian blood. Such eyelashes had never
been seen at St. Michael's; indeed, they had ncA'er been seen
anvAvhere ' out of Mrs. Jarley's AvaxAvorks ! ' some ill-natured
critics said. Sometimes, Avhen Lottie Avas specially pale or
weary, they seemed to overshadoAv her face ; but she Avas
neither Aveary nor pale at this particular moment. She Avas
in great excitement, on the contrar3\ and flushed Avith ex-
pectation. Though she Avas on'y the daughter of a ]ioor
Chevalier, Lottie had advantages Avhich separated her from
the rest of that little com]innv. Her father Avas of good
b2
4 V.'ITIIIN THE Pni:CIXCTS.
family, a point on "which she insisted strenuously ; and sho
herself Avas the possessor of a beautitul voice. The iornier
particular would not have been of much advantage to her,
for what was the Despards' old and faded quality to the great
people at St. Michael's ? But a voice is a different matter ;
and there had arisen between Miss Iluntinaton and the
Chevalier s daughter a kind of intimacy very flattering (the
neighbours thought) to Lottie. They had sung together so
much and seen so much of each other, that the lodges ex-
pected nothing less than that Lottie would have been asked
to the weddino:. or even — greater honoiir still ! — to be a
bridesmaid; and Lottie herself had been wounded and disap-
pointed beyond measure when she found herself left entirely
out. But there was still the possibility that the bride might
show she had not forgotten her humble friend altogether;
and it Avas for this that Lottie was waiting so anxiously as the
time of departure approached. A word, a sign, a wave of
the hand surely would be vouchsafed to her as the carriage
passed. Her heart was beating loudly as she leant out — a
jn-etty sight to see from without, for the window was framed
in luxuriant Avreaths of green, with trailing tendrils of the
young delicate leaves which iu autunm flamed like scarlet
flowers against the wall. The people who were gathering on
the road below gave many a look at her. And, though the
yomig ladies from the shops, Avho had got half-an-hour's
leave to see how their handiwovk looked in the bride's
travelling-dres.«, Avere deeply sensible of the fact that a poor
Chevalier's daughter Avas not much richer than themselves,
yet they could not help looking and envying Lottie, if only
for the AvindoAv at A\'hich she could sit in comfort and see
CA'erything that Avent on, instead of standing in the sun as
they had to do. They foi-got lier, hoAvever, and everything
else as the carriage drove up to the Deanery to take the
bridal pair aAvay. The Dean's daughter Avas so much the
princess of the community that a comi)romise had been made
ItetAveen popularity and decorum ; and it Avas in a carriage
partially open, that an admiring people might behold her as
she passed, that she Avas to drive aAvay. There Avas the usual
lono: Avaitiuff at the door Avhile the fareAvells Avere made,
during Avhich time the outside Avorld looked on respectfully ;
and then, Avith a croAvd of 'good-byes' throAvn after her, and
a few — but only a very fcAv, for the Deanery Avas nothing if not
ST. Michael's. 5
decorous — white satin slippers, and a prance and dash of the
impatient horses, and a flourish of the coachman's whip, and
a ])arting gleam of the wedding favour on his breast, the
bridal pair rolled rapidly past, and all was over. How
quickly they went, everybody siiid, and how well she looked ;
and how Avell that brown dress looked, though it had been
thought rather dowdy for such an occasion ; and the feather
in the hat, how well it matched, about which there had been
so much trouble ! Some, who had the time, paused to see
the wedding guests disperse, and catch other beatific glimpses
of fine bonnets and gay dresses ; but most o£ the spectators,
atler this last and crowning point of the performance,
streamed down the slope and out at the great gateway, and
were seen no more.
Lottie drew in her head from the window the moment
the carriage passed. She grew red when other people grew
pale, being pale by nature ; and her face was crimson as she
withdrew it from the opening, and came in again to the little
room in which most of her life was spent. Her lips were
closed very tight, her soft forehead contracted ; the fire in her
blue eyes, gleaming with anger and disappointment, was
(most unwillingly) quenched in tears. She clasped her
hands together with a vehement clasp. ' It would have cost
so little to give a look ! ' she cried ; then bit her lips and
clenched her hands and stamped her foot upon the floor, in a
forlorn but vicrorous effort to restrain her tears.
'What does it matter to you?' said a tall young fellow,
sufficiently like Lottie to prove himself her brother, who had
looked out lazily over her head while the carriage was passing.
He had his hands in his pockets and a slouching gait gene-
rally, and looked too big for the little room. She had almost
pushed against him in her rapid movement, for his movement?
were never rapid; and he had not had time to take one hand
out of his pocket before slie flashed round upon him with two
red spots on her cheeks and fury in lier heart.
'What does it matter? Oh, nothing! nothing!' cried
Lottie. ' Why should anything matter? It only shows me
a little more, a very little more, how cold the world is, and
that nobody has a heart ! '
' Few people have very much, I suppose,' said the young
man ; ' at least, so the governor says. But what good or
harm could it do you to have a parting sign from her? I
6 WITHIN THE PKECINCTS.
]cnev.' she Avould never give it you. I knew she would be
thinking of nobody but herself '
' What did you know about it ? ' cried the girl. ' You
were never a friend of hers ! you were never begged and
prayed to go and sing at the Deanery ! she never came down
the Abbey Hill to look for you ! But me she has done all
that for; and when I thought just for once she would let
everybody see that Lottie Despard was a friend — Oh, Law,
for the love of Heaven, go and work at something, and don't
stand there staring at me ! '
' What a,m I to work at ? ' said the young man, with a
yawn. ' It's past working hours ; besides, in summer how
can anyone work ? I can't make head nor tail of that Euclid
when the sun is shining.'
' But when the sun is not shining. Law?'
'Oh! then,' said the youth, with a smile breaking over
his somewhat cloudy face, ' I can make out the head, but not
the tail, and the sting is in the tail, you know! Good-bye,
Lottie, and never mind any mother's daughtei' of them. They
cannot inake us anything hut what we are, whatever they
may do.'
' And what are Ave ?' said Lottie to herself, as her brother
strolled lazily out. There was more air to breathe when he
was gone, which was something. She sat down upon the
little old faded sofa, and shed a few more bitter tears of dis-
appointment and mortification. We all like to think well of
ourselves Avhen that is possible ; to think well of our belong-
ings, our people, our position in the world — all that makes
up that external idea of us which avc make acquaintance with
years before we know our own real being. No one can tell
Avhat the atmosphere of well-being, of external credit, and
])ublic esteem is to a child ; and this Lottie had never known.
They had been poor, but poverty is no hindrance to that
feeling of harmony with the world around which is the higher
soul of respectability. But there had not been much about
the Despards to respect. The father had been a good officer
in his day, and, if he had not been without money and in-
terest, and everything that could help him on, might have
been distinguished in his profession. But those were the days
of ' purchase,' and Captain Despard had remained Captain
Despard, and had bitterly resented the fact. His wife, too,
thoULjli she was Lottie's mother, had not been of a kind to
ST. jiichael's. " 7
reclaim for her husband the flxiling credit of his life. They
had lived as most poor officers on half pay, with pretensions
to gentility and hankerings after pleasure, do live. They were
in debt all round, as need not be said ; and Mrs. Despard's
life would ha\e been rendered miserable by it if she had not
escaped from the contemplation by means of every cheap
merry-making or possible extravagance she could attain to.
All had been huggermugger in Lottie's early life ; a life not
destitute of amusements, indeed, but full of bitterness, small
mortifications, snubs, and the cold shoulder of social contempt.
Lottie herself had heard in childish quarrels, through the
frank recriminations of her childish companions, the frankest
statements of what other people thought of her parents ; and
this had opened her baby eyes prematurely to the facts of the
case. It must be supposed that there was some respectable
grandpapa, some precise and orderly aunt in the Despard
kindred, who had given to Lottie a nature so different from
that of her immediate progenitors. As she grew older every-
thing about her had looked to Lottie as the fairy splendour
looked in the eyes of the disenchanted human spectator. Her
mother's gay dresses, which she once thought so pretty, came
to look like the miserable finery they were; her mother's
gaiety had become noise and excitement. Her father's grand
air grew the poorest false pretension ; for must he not know,
Lottie thought, how everybody spoke of him, how little any-
one thought of his assumption ? And the house was miserable,
dirty, disorderly, mean, and gaudy, full of riot and waste and
want and poverty — one day a feast, another nothing. Even
careless Law — the big boy who was too much at home, who
was scarcely ever at school, and who often had no clothes to
go out in — even Law saw how wretched it Avas at home,
though he was hopeless as Avell as careless, and asked his sister
what was the good of minding, what could they do? But
Lottie was not of the kind which can let ill alone, or well
either, for that matter. She did mind ; and as she grew older,
every week, every day, added to the flame of impatience in
her. Just, however, when riiin seemed coming beyond the
possibility of further staving-olF, INIrs. Despard fell ill and
died ; and Lottie at sixteen was leit alone, miserable, with
remorseful thoughts of having secretly blamed the mother
who was now out of reach, and to whom she coiild never
make amends for those iiijiu-iuus secret fault-iindings ; and
8 WITIIIX THE PRECINCTS.
full of anxieties unspeakable — forlorn wonderings what she
was to do, and eagerness to do something. Her grief, how-
ever, was lightened by the feeling that nOAV she had every-
thing in her hands and could ' make a change,' — even when
it was made more heavy by the thought that she had found
I'ault in her heart with the mother who was dead. It seemed
to the girl that she must be able, by dint of devoting herself
to it, to change everything — to keep the house in order if she
did it with her OAvn hands, to pay the bills, wherever the
money came from. She was overflowing with life and energy
and activity, and disapproved of all the ways of the past. She
was like a new king coming to the throne, a new ministry of
idealists bent upon undoing all their predecessors had done,
and doing everything as it ought to be done. Alas, poor
Lottie ! the young king with all the stiff precedents of a
lumdred years against him, the young ministry confronted
by a thousand problems, and finding their ideal pronounced
impracticable on every side, were nothing to the heaven-born
relbrmer of the household with a pleasure-loving impecunious
father to whom debt was second nature, and who had always
preferred fun to respectability. And she dashed at her
reforms too boldly, as was natural to her age, insisting upon
brushings and sweepings till Betty threw up her situation,
and asking for money till her father swore at her. ' It is to
pay the bills, papa! I want to pay the bills!' she had said,
reduced to plead for that which she thought she had a right
to demand. 'D the bills!' Avas all Captain Despard
replied.
And even Law, when Lottie tried to order him off to
school, was inimanageable. He was no reformer like his
sister, but on the whole preferred going just when it suited
him and lounging at home between whiles. To be sure home
was less amusing now that poor mammy, as they called her,
was gone. Her laughter and her complaints, and her odd
vi-sitors, and all her slipshod Avays, had kept noise and move-
ment, if nothing more, about the house. The tawdry women
and the shabby men who had been her friends were all afraid
of the dulness which naturally follows a death in the family.
Some of these women, indeed, had come to Lottie all tears
and kisses, ofTering to stay with her, and asking what they
could do ; btit their sympathy did not comfort the girl, who
even in her deepest grief was all tingling with plans and
ST. Michael's.
desires to be doing, and :in eager activity and impatience to
make the changes she Avished. But they buttered away, every
one, when the first excitement was over and the duhiess that
is inevitable fell upon the house. To do them justice there
"was not one among them Avho would not have come daily to
'sit with' Lottie, to comfort her with all the news that was
going, and tell her that she must not mope. But Lottie
wanted none of their consolations, cand did not miss her
mother's iriends when they abandoned her. She did not miss
them, but Law did. Yet he would not go to school ; he sat
and made liices at her when she ordered and scolded him.
' If I didn't do what she told me, do you think I will do what
you tell me?' said Law ; and then Lottie wept and prayed.
' What will become of you. Law ? what will you ever be good
for? Papa has no money to leave us, and you will not bo
able to do anything.'
' Who said I wanted to do anything ? ' said Law flippantly ;
and then, 'who said I should not be able to do anything?'
lie added, Avith offence. ' I can pick it up Avhenever I like.'
But Lottie, preternaturally, awfully wise, feeling the burden
of the world upon her shoulders, knew that he could not pick
it up when he pleased. She knew that education had to be
acquired painfully, not sipped a little mouthful at a time.
She had never had any education herself, but yet she knew
til is, as she knew so many things, by instinct, by constant
critical observation of the habits which she disappi'ovcd.
There are few more vigorously successful ways of finding out
what is right, than by living among people whom we feel
indignantly to be wrong.
' You may think what you like,' !<he said, ' Law — but I
loiow that you cannot learn anything in that way. Three
days at home and one at school ! I wonder they let you go
at all. I wonder they don't turn you out. I wonder they
did not turn you out long ago ! '
' And that is just what they are always threatening to
do,' said Law laughing ; ' but they have not the heart of a
mouse, the fellows at the grammar-school. And they'll
never do ir, though I shouldn't mind. I sh<>uld be free then,
and never have to trouble my head about anything at all.'
' You'll have to trouble your head when you have to work
and don't know how,' said Lottie. ' Oh, if 1 was a boy ! It's
no use wishing. I am only a girl ; and you are a great lump,
10 ■^•ITniX THE PRECINCTS.
neither one nor the other ; but if I were only a boy, and
could get something to do, and a little money to pay those
bilk — -'
' Oh, dash the bills, as papa says. He doesn't say " dash," '
said Law, with provoking calm ; ' but, then, I musn't swear."
' Oh, Law, I should like to beat you ! ' said Lottie,
clenching her little fists in impotent anger and setting her
teeth. But Law only laughed the more.
' You had better not,' he said, Avhen he had got over his
laugh, ' for I am a deal stronger than you.'
And so he was, and so were they all, much stronger than
poor Lottie ; even Betty, who would not scrub, but who was
too well used to all the ways of the fomily and aware of all
tlieir troubles, to be sent away. She fought for a time hard
and bitterly, striving with all her might to clean, and to dust,
and to keep things straight, to the infinite discontent of
everybody concerned. But yet perhaps the girl's struggles
were not utterly without nse : for Avhen the next astonishins:
change came in their lives, and their little income Avas sud-
denly increased by half, and a removal made necessary.
Captain Despard, of his own accord, turned Lottie's despair
in a moment into hope and joy. He said, ' Now, Lottie, you
shall have things your own Avay. Now you shall see Avhat
you can do. This is a new start for us all. If you can keep
us respectable, by Jove, you shall, and nobody shall stoj) you.
A man ought to be respectable when he's made a Chevalier
of St. IMichael.' Lottie's heart leaped up, up from Avhere it
lay fathoms deep in unutterable depression and discourage-
ment. ' Oh, papa, papa, do you mean it ? Will you keep
your word ? ' she cried, happy yet dubious ; and how he
kept it, but with a difference, and hoAV they set out upon this
new chapter in their career, shall be told before we com^e
back again to Lottie in her proper person, in the little drawing
room in the Chevaliers' quarters Avithin the Abbey precincts,
on Miss Huntington's Avedding-day.
THE chevaliers' LODGES. 11
CHAPTER 11.
THE chevaliers' LODGES.
The name of a Chevalier of St. jMichael sounds very splendid
to innocent and uninstructed ears. It is a title which stands
alone in England at least. Poor Knights have been heard of
both in flesh and blood and in confectionery, in other places ;
but the title Chevalier is preserved in St. Michael's, and there
alone. Lottie thought it very imposing, and her heart leaped, '
partly with a sense of her own injustice all her life to her
father, of Avhose merits, in youthful irreverence, she had
hitherto thought but little. He must be, she thought in-
voluntarily, a great deal braver, better, and altogether o£
more importance than she had supposed, when his qualities
could Avin him such a distinction Irom his country ; for that
it Avas a distinction accorded by the country Lottie had no
manner of doubt in those davs. She Avas overaAved and o\'er-
joyed : first of all on accouct of the people in Fairford, Avhere
they had hitherto lived, and who had shoAATi but little respect
for the family : but much more on her OAvn account. She
felt reconciled to herself, to her kind, to all her cu'cumstances,
Avhen she reflected that she Avas the daughter of a CheA'alier
of St. Michael, and that Betty Avould never leave Fairford,
and that Captain Despard had expressed himself in favour of
respectability as a thing to be cultiA'ated. Life suddenly
took a new aspect to her. She thought they would be able
to shake off" every incumbrance Avhen they went away. Her
father Avould henceforward live a stately and dignified life as
became his position. He Avould not haunt the place Avhere
billiards Avere played, and Avear a number of shabby coats,
each Avorse than the other, but eA^eryone Avith a floAver in it.
The floAver, Avhich most people Avould have thought a softening
clause, was intolerable to Lottie; it looked like a piece of
braggadocio, a wilful defiance of public opinion or declaration
of independence. But henceforAA^ard if he mustAvear afloAver
it must be at least in a tolerable coat ; henceforward he Avould
be trim and smooth, and come in at a respectable hour ;
henceforward there should be no bills except Aveekly ones,
12 "VnTIIIN THE rRECIXCTS.
and Law slioukl go to school — nay, Law was too old for
school now — but at least he would read with a tutor, and
prow into a creature of whom his sister might be proud.
Perhaps this Avas but another way of expressing the domestic
tyranny of which Lottie's will was full. She was so anxious
to be able to be proud of her father and brother ; Avasnot that
another way of s<^ying that she wanted to get them up,
or down, to her feminine standard, and control and bind and
keep them at her apron-string ? So, perhaps, a cynic might
have said. But Lottie was unconscious of any such inten-
tion. She was eager to have something which she had not,
the opposite of what she had — and thus, too, it may be said,
she fell into a commonplace.
But when the family got to St. IMichael's, Lottie's hopes
came to a melancholy conclusion. Not only did Captain
Despard remain very much the same, which was a thing that
most people anticipated — and Law decline the tutor, upon
whom Lottie had set her heart, but St. Michael's itself and
the Chevaliership turned out something very different from
the girl's exalted expectations. She found that this office
Avas not looked upon on the spot as a reward of distinguished
Aierit bestowed by the country, but only as a sort of retiring
pension for a number of old soldiers Avhose friends had
interest enough to have them thus provided for. She found
a hierarchy of a totally different kind constituted and reign-
ing, in which the Chevaliers had no place. And she found
herself — yhe whose chief inspiration was this proud and eager
desire to be somebody — in a phice Avhere she could never be
other than nobody, and where no nobler self-denial on the
part of her father, no virtue in Law, could call forth the
acclamation of the world. In Fairford there were people as
poor as themselves whom all the world thought well of, and
of whom Lottie was envious ; but here she was one of a
class who Avere poor among the rich, and did not get the
social honours Avhich many of them deserved; Avhile at the
same time, close before her eyes, daily visible, appeared
another class Avhich seemed to fulfil all Lottie's requirements :
refined people Avith beautil'ul houses, living serene in an
atmosphere of univer.«al respect. But alns, these were eccle-
siastical people, not the Chevaliers : and shoAved little dis-
position to notice Lottie. Lottie did not like this. She had
expected something .cq different. Society, she thought, and
THE chevaliers' lodges. 13
a hri;.'litcr world ^\•ere goinp; to open upon lier; and lo !
nothing at all opened n})on her that ^vas new. It is very-
hard, especially when you leel yourself to be, as the proverb
sivys, as good a gentleman as the king, to find yourself in con-
tact -Nvilh a higher class -vvhich ignores you. jNIost of us have
to bear something of the kind, and learn to take it with j)hi-
losoph}'. But Lottie was very young and sadly disappointed.
ISobody took any notice of her save the other Chevaliers, their
wives and daughters, and these were not very much more
splendid people than the society she had been used to. Lottie
was sore, and disappointed, and humbled in her own conceit.
And there was another way in which the word of promise
was kept to her ear, Avith far other meaning than she had
hoped. Ca])tain Dcspard had a very serious interview with
his daughter when they arrived in their little house. He
called her out of the little box which was her drawing-room
to the other little box where he had established himself, and
deigned to enter upon the question of income.
' Now, Lottie,' he said, ' you have chosen to bother me
lately about money, and expressed views which I could not
sanction about weekly bills.'
' Only to save you trouble, papa,' said Lottie ; ' if we do
it every week, we may hope to keep within our income ; but
how can you ever do that when you leave butchers and bakers
for a year ? '
' 'My child,' said Captain Dcspard, with his grand air,
* circumstances have enabled me to yield to your wishes. I
don't say if it's a system I approve or don't approve. I say-
to myself, Lottie is my only girl, and she is like her dear
mother ; she shall have her Avay. From this day, my dear,
the new income which I receive from my country Avill go
straight into your hands. It is but a pittance. A poor
soldier stands a poor chance in these times, but such as it is,
my love, it shows your iiither's trust in you. Take it, Lottie,
and pay your bills according to your pleasure. I will ask no
questions ; weekly, monthly, or once a (juarter, as long as I
have a bit of dinner and a cup of coffee Avhen I Avant it.
Your father's confidence in you is perfect, Lottie, and I leave
it all to you.'
' Papa ! ' said the girl, trembling, half delighted, half
frightened, half taken in by that grand air. But he would
hear no more. He kissed her forehead Avith the iavourite
14 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
action o£ the 2'>ere noble, and hurried away. ' No thanks, my
child ; no thanks,' he said.
It was a pittance. Lottie stood where he left her gazing
after him, her veins tingling with mingled disappointment
and pleasure. To the inexperienced it seems always possible
to do a great deal with a little, and the power of paying
bills at all seemed a heavenly power. But Captain Despard
chuckled to himself as he went away. He had purchased by
that fine address the right to be disagreeable ever after, to
wave his hand loftily, and to decline all knowledge of details.
' Keep to your bargain, my dear, and I'll keep to mine,' he
had the right to say ; and whereas some of his former income
always had to be wasted upon the household, let him make
Avhat resistance he would, at least that would be the case no
longer. Thus Lottie had her Avay, but in such a changed
form that it no longer seemed her way. With the addition
of the St. Michael's allowance she had hoped that there would
be plenty for all needs ; but what Avas she to do with the
St. Michael's allowance and no more ? Nevertheless, Lottie
plucked up a heart. To feel that she had something was
always exhilarating, and inexperience has wild hopes wdiich
knowleds;e does not venture to share. Her little room was
full for a week after of little bits of paper scribbled over with
calculations. She was determined to do it. If the dinner
was not good enough for papa, he must just go and dine else-
where. And there was no Betty to make herself disagreeable,
but only a young girl, whom Lottie, heaven save her ! meant
to train. Once a week or so Law and she could very well do
without a dinner. They were both still great on bread and
butter, and capable, not knowing anything about digestion, of
swallowinij innumerable cups of tea. Her fond hopes of
furniture and 'picking up things' to make the little old
house pretty, must be relinquished, it was true ; but, still, at
nineteen one can put up with a great deal in the present.
There is always the future, so much of the future, like the
sky and the plain from St. Michael's Hill, spreading above,
below, everywliTe, without limit or bound, save in the eyes
which can only reach a certain distance. So Lottie comforted
herself for 'just now,' and marched on into her life, colours
flying and drums beating, taking as little heed as she could of
those stragglers who would always fall out of the ranks — her
father alwaj's shuffling of£ to some new haunt or other, the
THE chevaliers' LODGES. 15
places -which such men find out by iiistinct in the least-known
locality, and large loose-limbed Law, whose vague career was
always dubious, and who could not keep step. Never mind !
Lottie herself set out, brave, head erect, eyes straight, all her
faculties in fullest attention to the roll of her own cheerful
drum.
The earliest part of her career here, however, Avas bright-
ened yet disturbed by a discovery which considerably confused
her mind in her outset, and seemed to open better prospects
before her. Lottie found out that she had a voice. She had
kjiown that she could sing long before, and had performed
many a time in the little parlour at Fairford to the admira-
tion of all hearers, singing every new comic song that burst
upon the little provincial world from the music-halls in
London, and knowing no better, so long as she was a child.
There was no harm in the songs she sang, nothing but abso-
lute silliness and flippancy, such as are natural to that kind
of production ; but as Lottie grew into womanhood, and
began by instinct to know better, she gave them up, and
knowing no others except some ancient sentimental ditties of
her mother's, gave up singing so far as a musical creature can
give up Avhat is another kind of breathing to her. But when
she heard the choir in the Abbey church, Lottie woke up,
Avith such a delightfid discovery of what music Avas, and such
an ecstatic finding out of her own poAvers, as Avords cannot
express. She had an old jingling Avorn-out piano, and
had ' learned to play ' from her mother, Avho knew nothing
about it, except as much as could be taught to a school-girl
tAventy years before ; but this meagre instruction, and the
bad instrument, and the half-dozen ' pieces ' Avhich Avere all
Mrs, Despard's musical library, had not attracted the pupil,
•rUid it Avas not till she heard the organ pealing through St.
Slichael's, and the choristers singing like angels — though they
Avere not like angels out of doors — that Lottie awoke to a
real consciousness of her OAvn gift. She had never had any
education herself. Though she was so anxious for school
for Law, it had not occurred to her that she Avanted any
schooling. Lottie Avas narroAV-minded and practical. She
did not understand self-culture. She Avanted LaAv to learn,
because Avithout education he could not do anything worth
speaking of, could not earn any money, could not get on in
the world. Perhaps it is true that Avomen have a natural
16 WITHIN THE PKECINCTS.
inclination to calcnlate in tliis poor way. She did not care a
straw for the cultivation of Law as LaAV — but that he should
be made good for something, get a good situation, have some
hopes of comfort and prosperity. For herself, what did it
matter ? She never could know enough to teach, and Captain
Despard would not let his daughter teach ; besides, she had
plenty to do at home, and could not be spared. She could
read and write, and do her accounts, the latter very well
indeed ; and she had learned to ' play ' from her mother, and
slie could sew, rather badly at first, rather well now by dint
of practice. What did a girl want more ? But Lottie dis-
covered now that a girl might want more.
' Is there any place where they will teach you to sing
without money?' she said one day to old Mrs. O'Shaughnessy,
her next-door neighbour, the old lady of all her neighbours
whom Lottie liked best.
'Me jewel,' cried the old lady; * is it Avithout paying
you're meaning ? They send an account if you do but look
at them here, me dear.'
'All of them?' said Lottie; 'for I can sing, and I
should like to learn to sing ; but, you know, I can't pay —
much '
'I know; nothing at all, if you're like us, me honey.
But maybe you're better off. O'Shaughnessy, Ave don't make
a secret of it, rose from the ranks, and we've never had a
penny — I don't care Avho knoAvs it — barring ovir pay.'
' We are not like that,' said Lottie, draAving herself up.
' Papa Avas always a gentleman,' (' Then I don't give much
for such gentlemen,' murmured the other Chevalier's lady
under her breath), ' and Ave have a little. That is — I mean,
that he has a little — papa has a little ' — the girl said on
the edge of a confidence ; and then stopped suddenly short.
' It don't do much for the children, I'll go bail,' said the
old lady. 'That's the Avorst of fine gentlemen, me dear.
O'Shaughnessy he asks me for a shillin' Avhen he wants it,
bless him — and that's the only Avay Avhen there's small pay.
Singing, is it ? If you're ahvays to make such a stand on
being a lady, me friend Lottie, I don't see hoAv I can help
you ; but if you will come in free and comfortable, and take a
dish of tay Avhen Eowley's there — oh, to be sure, pufE ! my
lady's off — but there's no harm in him ; and he'll make you
die with laughin' at him, him and his airs — but they tell me
THE CIIEVALIEHS LODGES. 17
lie has tlie best voice and the best method of any of tlie lay
clerks.'
' A singing man ! '
' Well, and that was what ye wanted ! ' paid the old
woman. ' You know as well as me, Miss Lottie, there's no
singin' woman here.'
Lottie protested that she could not consent to appear in
such company — that papa would not allow it — that it was
impossible. But she ended by promising to ' run in ' before
old Major O'Shaughnessy began his rubber, and see the
singing man. And the result was that, half out of friendship
for his Irish hosts who did not pretend to be above him, and
half out of pride to be interrogated so graciously about his
invalid daughter by a young lady who gave herself such airs,
Eowley, the first tenor, agreed for so low a rate as had never
been heard of before to train Miss Despard's beautiful voice.
* If the young lady had been a little boy, and if the Signor
could but ha' gotten hold on it ! ' Rowley said, in enthusiasm.
It was the voice, Avhich is impersonal, of which he spoke, and
the Signer was the organist. But good fortune had not as
yet thrown him in Lottie's way. Soon, however, Rowley
began to whisper it about that he had got a pupil who was
quite good enough for Exeter Hall, if not for the Italian
Opera, and the whole community was interested. Lottie
herself, and her pretty looks, had not attracted any notice —
but a voice was a very diflerent matter. And then it was that
steps were taken to make, for Lottie's behalf, a practicable
gap in the hedge of prickles which surrounded the Cloisters
and kept intruders out. Miss Despard was invited to join the
St. IMichael's Choral Society, in which the Divinities on the
hill did not disdain to mingle their voices even with the
lower-born outside the Abbey walls. And when it became
known what a voice Lottie's Avas, a remarkable thing hap-
pened. The Dean called ! It was not Lady Caroline, but
the Dean ; and a gentleman's visit, as is well known, is not
tlie same thing as a lady's. But Lottie, who knew nothing of
the laws of society, was flattered and happy, and saw a
hundred lovely visions vmfolding before her Avhen the Dean
invited her to go to a private practice, which was then going
on in the Deanery draAving-room. ' My daughter bade me
fetch you, Miss Despard, if you would be good enough to
come,' he said, gravely ; but Avaited very impatiently till she
c
18 ■WITHIN THE rRECIXCTS.
was ready, in great terror lest ' the father ' should make his
appearance, and his visit be construed into a call upon
Captain Despard. Lottie put on her hat with her heart
leaping and bounding. At last she had done it ! At last
Paradise was opening before the Peri ! At last the wrongs of
fate were to be set right, and herself conveyed back into her
natural sjjhere. She went by the Dean's side demurely, \vith
downcast eyes, across the slope to the Deanery garden. The
very stones felt elastic under her feet, there was a ringing of
excitement and delight in the air and in her ears. She
arrived breathless at the door, though they had not walked
fast. So absorbed was she by all that was about to happen
that Lottie never thought of the sensation that ran throucrh
the Abbey when the Dean was seen walking to his own
dignified door in company with Captain Despard's daughter.
Miss Despard ? Lottie ? The Chevaliers, and their wives
and daughters, could not believe their eyes.
Lottie held her head as high as usual when she came
back. It no longer drooped with diffidence and delight.
Once more she had come down with a jar into the realms of
reality from those of hope. She was not received with open
arms in that higher celestial world. Miss Augusta Huntington
said, ' How do you do. Miss Despard ? ' very sweetly, but
Lady Caroline only bowed with her eyelids — a new mode of
salutation which Lottie did not understand — and kept aloof;
and no one else said anything to Lottie, except about the
music. They gave her a cup of tea when all Avas over, but
Lottie had to drink it in silence, while the others laughed and
chatted. She was not of them, though they had brought
her among them for the sake of her voice. * Are you going.
Miss Despard ? ' said the Dean's daughter, putting on the
same sweet smile. ' We are so much obliged to you for
coming. The next practice is next Tuesday. Will you come
as early as possible, please ? ' It Avas on Lottie's lips to say
' No ' — to tell them that she was a lady too, a better gentle-
woman than they were, since she would not have treated any
stranger so. But she was fortimately too shy to say anything,
and made her exit hastily, and not so gracefully as the others,
who were at home. But she would not allow, even to her-
self, that she had come down again in that painful tussle with
reality, which is so much different from dreams. She kept
very quiet and said nothing, which seemed the wisest way.
THE CHEVALIEIIS' LODGES. 19
And as she Wfilked home with a much more stately gravity
than was her wont — a state put on to console herself for
humiliation and disappointment, and to vindicate, so to speak,
her own dignity to herself, but which the lookers-on gave a
very different interpretation of — Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, nodding
and smiling, and in a state of great excitement, threw up the
window and called to her, as she was going past. ' Come up,
come up, and tell me all about it,' the old lady said, so audibly
that some of the ladies and gentlemen who had been in the
Deanery turned round to look, and smiled at each other,
making Lottie furious. As she could not stand there and
explain before all the world, Lottie obeyed the call, and
rushing upstairs to the kind old Irishwoman's little bit of a
drawing-room, appeared, crimson with shame and wrath, at
the door.
' How could you call out so loud and make them laugh ? '
she said, with a strong inclination to burst into hot tears.
' Laugh, was it? and sure I'm ready to laugh too. To see
you and his Keverence the Dean, Miss Lottie — no less would
serve you ! — arm in arm like a pair of young '
' We were not arm in arm,' said Lottie, stamping her foot.
Then she had the sense to perceive that the wicked old Irish-
woman would but laiigli the more at her petulance. She put
her music on the table with a recovery of her dignified man-
ners, and sat down.
' What did he say to ye ? and what did me Lady Caroline
say to ye? and were they all ^vild over yer beautiful voice,
me honey ? ' said the old lady. * Come, take off your hat, me
pet, and ye shall have the best cup o' tea in the Abbey. And
tell me all about it,' she said.
'I have had a cup of tea, thank you,' said Lottie. * Oh,
3'es, they are all nice enough. Nobody talked to me — but
then, I didn't expect them to talk to me. They Avanted me
to sing — and I sang ; and that was all.'
' And what more would you have, me jewel ? ' said Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy. ' Now, you take my advice, Lottie. I'm
old, and I know the world. Take what you can get, me dear,
and wait till your time comes. Don't go and take offence
and throw up the cards, and lose all you've got for a tantrum.
Tantrums pass off, but life goes on If they don't sprak to
you, it's their loss, for you have a clever little tongue o' your
own. And you'll not be lono; there till they find out that.
c'2
20 WITHIN TllC PHECINXTS.
] )on't say a word, nic hcm.y. I'll not bother you ; but never
tiike offence with the gentry '
' The gentry ! ' cried the girl furious, startuig to her fee*.
•I am as nuich a lady as any of them— and more, for I woulJ
not lie such 1 Avould not be unkind '
i -Well — well — well ! There, I have put my foot in it l'
said the old lady. ' I was thinking o£ meself, me dear, as if
ye were a girl of my own. But you ai-e a lady, honey; one
has but to look at you,' said the astute old woman ; ' and just
you wait a bit, and all will come as it ought — sure, I know it
will.' ^ ,
Lottie did not much trust the assurance, but she took the
advice, feeling a quick admonition within herself as to the
absurdity of her complaint, and the horrible possibility of
anybody supposing that she felt herself not to be of the
gentry, as good as any Dean's daughter. So she went to the
next practice, taking no notice of any want of courtesy : and
the result was that there arose a kind of intimacy, as has been
indicated, between Miss Huntington at the Deanery and the
dauMitcr of the Chevalier — an intimacy, indeed, of a peculiar
kind, in which all that was given came from the side of the
poorer and more insignificant, and the great young lady Avas
content with taking all that poor Lottie was so willing to give.
She simg the solos in their private little concerts, and though
her science was less perfect than her voice, her ear was so
good that Lottie was able to be of a great deal of use. They
sent for her when they bad parties, when there was anyone
who wanted entertaining, and put Lottie to the only unneces-
sary personal expense she had ever gone into — a white muslin
frock to make her presentable among that fine company. And
thus she had gone and come, and had been called upon on all
occasions, but without making any nearer advance than at
first. Lady Caroline still made her a little inclination of her
eyelids, though now and then she went so far as to say,
* How do you do, Miss Despard?' All of this, however,
Lottie would have pardoned, if the bride, when she went
away, had Imt at least remembered her, and made her sonie
little .-iju of firL'.veli.
THE ADDEY IMIECIXCTS. 21
CHAPTER III.
THE ABBEY PRECINCTS.
The bells began to ring for evensong soon after the bridal
party dispersed. Some of them, indeed, stayed for the beau-
liiul service, which was a thing that visitors from a distance
thought a great deal of, and there Avere a number of fine
bonnets and dresses in the stalls when Lottie went in. The
daily service Avas part of the daily life of the dwellers in the
Abbey. There Avere those Avho Avent for devotion, and those
Avho Avent for the music, and those Avho Avent because they
had nothing else to do. It Avas an occupation and an amuse-
ment at the same time, and some people thought it a duty.
To listen to the service more or less critically, to note if any
of the boys' voices Avere breaking, and Avhether RoAvley sniffed
as usual, or Bowler, the great bass, Avas hoarse ; to observe
hoAV the minor canons sang, if they Avere in too great a hurry
to get through the service, and who it Avas that read the
lessons ; to look at any notable persons that might be there,
visitors to the Deanery, or other persons of distinction; to
Avalk in the nave Avhile the Signer played the voluntary ; and
finally to pause and talk to one's friends before going home
to tea, was the established rule of St. IMichael's. The old
Chevaliers mixed Avith the ladies, here and there one. They
Avere obliged to go in the morning, and they seldom repeated
their church going in the aftei-noon ; but still there Avere
always two or three, and very interesting to strangers Avere
the old soldiers, Avith their old moustaches and upright bear-
ing. Some of them might have been veteran generals Avell
entitled to command an army, and, indeed, there Avas valour
•enough among them, and such achievement as personal bravery
is still cafiable of — enough to equip a dozen generals; but
fortune had not been on the side of these noble old soldiers ;
and you may be sure there Avere no prosperous commanders
among them. They stood about on the terrace in front of
the Lodges, and talked for five minutes or so before they Avent
in to tea. But Lottie, Avhen she came out of chapel, and saAv
the last of the fine people streaming away in their light dresses
22 -WITHIN THE rRECINCTS.
through the aisle, did not feel much disposed to go indoors to
Law and the bread and butter. They could wait. She went
and leaned on the low Avail close to the library, and gazed
out upon the landscape below. At the foot of the slope was
the street of the little old town, a sweep of steep masonry,
with old-fashioned red houses, like trees in autumn, on the
other side ; and beyond these the river meandered between
its leafy banks in endless windings, and the great breadth of
champaign swept away towards the horizon. At this time
of the year it was rich and cloudy with foliage : the trees
arranging themselves in every kind of way, singly and^ in
clumps, and groves, and long hedgerows, and surrounding
every house and every vilhige and every church spire as far
as you could see. The billowy greenness thus spreading far
into the silvery-grey of the distance ; the sky of a pale blue,
faint with summer heat and long drought : stretched out like
a map before the gazer from that mount of vision. The
mottled clouds were floating together and rolling into masses
as if with the intention of putting a stop to this long reign of
brightness, and the level lines of the landscape and the great
vault of the sky dropped together into a haze which also spoke
of rain. Lottie leaned disconsolately over the wall, spreading
abroad her thoughts over this vast breadth of space and silence.
She let them go like a Hock of birds flying to all the winds.
Tlioughts ! they were not thoughts but feelings, vague move-
ments of the mind, half sentiment, half-personal sensation.
Why she should have been so deeply affected by this marriage
she could not have told anyone. She did not herself know.
It seemed to penetrate through and tlirough her system of
life, unsettling everything. After the disappointments of her
beginning at St. Michael's, this connection with the Deanery
had seemed a thread of promise, a clue to something better;
not a very splendid i)romise indeed, but still something ; a
little link of ambition which looked finer and more noble after
it was snapped than it had ever done before. It was not veiy
noble in itself. Lottie felt vaguely that to have so strong
a desire for admission within that charmed circle Avas not a
vorj' lefty thing. The people she had seen within it had not
pati.'ifK'd her ideal. E.xcopt that they dressed better (some of
them at least), they had been very much like the humbler
claHses with wliicli sh«; was acquainted ; and to Avish for a
footing among them only because they were better off and
THE ACCEY TRECINCTS. 23
more highly tlioiight of than her own neighbours, was not an
elevating sentiment. In the perpetual disappointments to
wliich she had been subject, the slights she had been obliged
to put up Avith, Lottie had felt a great many pangs of shame
mingled witli the stings oE humiliation. She had felt that it
was the poorest of ambitions which had taken possession of
her. And now that it was over, this sense of unworthiness still
mingled with her consciousness of failure and exclusion. But
though it might not be a door into heaven, still to feel that it
was shut, to be obliged to turn away, and to see no other
door at which she could enter, was hard. Her heart sank
down into painful depths of abandonment, and tears came to
her eyes in spite of herself. She had nothing to cry about,
but her lips quivered and two big tears rose and hung sus-
pended under her long eyelashes, so filling up the whole space
beiure her, that Lottie saw nothing but a waving greenness
and blueness, a blurred shadow of earth and sky.
It Avas just at this moment, while she was still uncertain
whether she could get these tears swallowed or -whether they
must fall, betraying her. that she Avas aware of some one at
her elbnw. ' I think we shall have rain, Miss Despard,' said
a deliberate voice ; ' do you not think Ave shall have rain ?
Tlie summer has been so fine that Ave have no right to
grumble. You Avere the one lady in all St. Michael's Avhom
I most Avanted to sec.'
' I, Signer ? I do not know Avhat you should Avant Avith
me,' said Lottie, forced by circumstances into rudeness. She
did not Avant to be rude, but the shock of his sudden address
had brought doAvn that shower, falling like drops of a thunder-
storm, and she Avould not turn round to show him her wet
eyes. He smiled a little to himself at this petulance, and
that was all. He Avas used to AvayAvardness in young ladies.
He Avas a spare, olive-colov;red man, not tall, but Aviry and
close-knit. He had all the aspect of an Italian and the name;
but he Avas not really an Italian, being an Englishman born,
a good Tory and a good Churchman, and all that the organist
of St. Michael's ought to be. But he was not disinclined to
keep up a mystery on this score, having a little love of
mystery by nature, and feeling, musically, that his foreign
name and looks Avere in his favour. How far back the Signor
liad to go for his claim to bo considered an Italian, nobody
kncAV, but everybody (except the perverse and disagreeable,
24 \viTiiix Tiin: pkecinxts.
v;Iio would occasionally say Mr. Eossinetti to annoy him)
called the musician the Signor. His complexion, his mous-
taclie, the ■wonderful dark eyes, which Avere the chief feature
in his face, were all of youthern origin ; and he spoke with a
curious delib'iration and clear pronunciation of every syllable,
which almost looked as if, at one time, there had been diili-
culties about the language, and as if he had not courage even
yet to take any liberties with it. But his accent was as good
English as could be desired ; and in respect to this as well as
to ail other questions about his origin the community of St,
I\Iic])aers were entirely in the dark, as he intended them to be.
' This event,' said the Signor, in his clear slow voice,
will bring our little societies, our practisings, to an end. Miss
Despard. We were getting on very well. I am sorry to come
to an end of anything, and of these above all.'
' Yes, I suppose so,' said Lottie, drearily. ' Will it, dc you
think ? She had not very much of a voice.'
' Xo ; Init there are other things besides voice. You have
a very beautiful voice, Mi.-s Despard.'
'But Iliave nothing else,' said Lottie, forgetting her pre-
cautions and turning quickly upon him; 'that is what you
mean to say ? And you never even allowed before tliat I had
a voice.'
' No, not much else,' said the deliberate organist ; ' you
have no science, no method. You don't know how to manage
what you have got. It is a line organ by nature, but you
cannot produce it as you ought, because you do not know how.
To have so nuich and to do so little is a great pity. It is a
waste of a great gift, it is '
' How dare you tell me all this to my face ? ' said Lottie,
transported with vivid anger. She would have taken it more
quietly if she liad not been weakened in spirit by the dis-
couragement into which she had fallen before. Her fierce,
sudden glance was even still unwillingly softened by the Avet-
noss ot her eyes. But the Signor did' not flinch. There was
a kuid of .smile in liis own as he met her look. He was not
afraid of ht-r. He looked, indeed, amiably, genially at Lottie
—as she had never seen him look before— and as she turned
round she became aware that he was not alone. Over his
.shoulder, with an alarmed, indignant aspect, which half
nmu>ed while it consoled her, was another face with Avhich
Lottie was very well acquainted. It was the face of his
THE ARKKY PnECIXCTS. 25
favoniitfi pnpil, a young man avLo followed the Signer about
like his t;hadow, always a few steps behind him, always iu
devout contemplation of him. But young Purcell Avas not of
this mind to-day ; he was looking at his beloved master -with
a mixture of rage and pathos very droll in their combination.
Lottie was easily moved, and almost before the words of de-
iiance liad left lier lips a laugh forced itself alter them. She
had to turn round again to conceal the conflict of sudden
uiirth in her face.
' Would you rather I said it to others than to you ? No,
because that Avould do you no good '
' And do you really think that I — I ' Why should
she laugh ? Young Purcell's face brightened slightly, Ijut
took a still more curious look of bewildered inquiry. As lor
the Signor, he thought she had become hysterical, which he
believed Avas a conmion weakness with womankind in general,
and he was alarmed.
'I beg you a thousand pardons if I have seemed rude,' he
said. ' xVU that 1 wanted was to begin the conversation; Ibr
I have — a little proposal to make.'
• Do you call that beginning a conversation, to tell me I
am quite ignorant, and cannot sing, and waste my voice ? ' said
Lottie, recovering her indignation. ' It is not a very civil way.'
' Miss Despard, I think you will miss the society's singing,
and I want to tell you it was not good for you. These peojde
were dazzled by your voice,' said the organist, with uninten-
tional confusion of metaphor, ' and they made use of it. AH
tlicse fine pecjple, they make use of us, and often forget to say
" thank you ! " I was sorry that you should suffer, too ; so
Av;is Purcell ; he knows what it is — a little. And you have
luul no teaching, you have not had a thorough professional
training as he lias '
Lottie turned upon him with flashing eyes ; and this time
she did not laugh at the young man who, over the Signer's
shoulder, followed every movement of hers with such eager
attention. His look of wonder and fear was not less comic
than the other changes which had come over his countenance,
but she took no notice of it. *I don't know what you mean,'
she said, 'by professional training. What do I want Avith
professional training? What has Mr. Purcell to do with it.'
"What do you mean, or how should I suffer ? If they thank
me, or if they don't thank me, what is that to me?'
26 WITHIX THE PRECIXCTS.
The Signer cast a glance round at young Purcell, who
answered with a look of despair. ' If you would but confide
in us, we thought we could help you. Indeed, Miss Despard,
it is no presumption on PurceU's part, only a fellow-
feeling '
' Only a feeling — of respect ! ' This Purcell timidly
gasped out, witli alarm painted on every feature. Lottie,
turning her back to the Avail and confronting the tw^o
musicians, solemnly made them a very awful curtsey. It
Avas an art she had learned (though the teacher Avas unaAvaro
of the fact) from Lady Caroline ; and therefore it Avas of the
very finest and most imposing kind.
' The puzzle is,' she said grandly, in a A'oice not unlike
Lady Caroline's, ' AA'hat the link between us may be.'
They Avere both silenced by this speech, and by her im-
posing aspect generally ; for Lottie Avas very handsome, and
this defiant grandeur suited her. Purcell felt disposed to
.sink into the earth, and shoAved it ; but as for the Signor,
he Avas less alarmed, and, indeed, a little amused — he had seen
a great number of heroines, both in public and priA-ate life.
' It is ahvays AATong to beat about the bush,' he said.
* Perhaps I haA'e made a mistake ; I thought you probably
intended to sing, Miss Despard, as a profession.'
' I ! ' Lottie's voice broke into a half shriek. ' I ! ' The
suggestion gave her a shock Avhich it Avas hard to get over.
She felt a trembling of giddiness and insecurity, as if the
ground had suddenly been cut from under her ; she could
have cried for mortification, injured pride, horrible humbling
and downfall. She Avho had been mournino; this chansre as
taking from her all chance of ascent into the society she had a
right to, the society she really belonged to, and they thought
it was professional Avork, a profession that she Avas thinking
of! She drcAv back unconsciously to the support of the wall,
and propped herself by it. She could have cried, but pride
Avould not let her. ' You are mistaken, altogether mistaken,'
she said. ' I don't suppose that you mean to insult me ; but
you forgot that I am a gentleman's daughter.'
Here the ghost of a smile fiitted across the Signer's olive-
coloured face. It Avas as momentary as the passing of a
FliadoAv, but yet Lottie saAv it, and it stung her as nothing
cl.sc could have done ; she Avas angry before, but this excited
Let to passion. She could have llowu at him .':nd stran^rled
Tiin ABHEY rK::cixcTS. 27
hiin for this smile; she understood it well enough. 'You
smile ! ' she said. ' You think, perhaps, tliat a poor Cheva-
lier, a soldier who is not rich, is not a gentleman. You think
it is only money that makes a gentleman. There are many
people who are of that opinion ; but,' said Lottie with a,
smile, ' you will perhaps not be surprised if I think dil-
ferently, I will bid you good evening, please, now.'
* One moment,' said the Signor ; ' you must not go away
with a wrong impression. Forgive me the mistake, if it is
a mistake. You are mistaken, too, ]\Iiss Despard, if you
think a gentleman's daughter may not sing — to the great
generous public as well as to poor little coteries that never
say thank you. You mistake, too ; but never mind. I
meant to have offered, if you would let me, to help you '
' Thank you, very much ! ' said Lottie with great state,
* it is not necessary. When I want lessons, I can — ask for
them, M. Eossinetti.' She had been about to say pay, but
Lottie was honest, and though she longed to inflict the in-
sult, would not say what was not true. She did not even
see young Purcell's pathetic looks as he gazed at her, with
the air of a suppliant on his knees, over his master's shoulder ;
but she Sciw the half shruo; of the Signer's shoulders as he
stood aside to let her pass. And perhajjs had she but known
it there was something comic, too, in the dignity Avith which
she swept past with a little yvuxe o£ her hand. It was like
Lady Caroline, though Lottie did not intend it to be so. The
two musicians stood looking after her as she walked majestic-
ally homewards, with so many commotions in her bosom.
She bad to pass through the little square in which the lay
clerks lived, on her way, and as if to accomplish Lottie's
humiliation, Kowley the tenor — who was her teacher — was
standing at his door as she passed. The Chevaliers of St.
Michael's took little notice of the lay clerks, as may be sup-
posed (except the O'Shaughnessys, who were not particular) ;
and though Lottie was his pupil, Rowley had never trans-
grossed the due limits of respc^ctfulness or pretended to any
friendship with the young lady. But the wedding had
affected the morals of St. IMichael's generally, and made a
revolution for the day ; and as Lottie passed, the tenor took
advantage of the opportunity. ' How are you. Miss ? ' he
said, Avith a sniff and a lurch which showed the source of his
boldness; ' won't you come in and have a chat? won't you
23 AVITIIIN THE PRECINCTS.
come in and have some tea with my little girl, Miss Lottie?'
Good heavens ! what had Lottie done to be addressed in this
way ? and she knew that the two others would hear this
demonstration of intimacy. She rushed past, stumbling over
lier dress, wild with resentment and mortification. This was
what it Avas to be poor, to be in a flilse position, to be a poor
jientlewoman among the rich ! One mortification had fol-
lowed another, so that she did not know how to bear it.
Augusta's neglect, the Signor's insulting suggestion, and
liowley's fiimiliarity ! Lottie did not know which was the
most hard to l)ear. She never drew breath until she had
reached her own door.
' Is that you, Lottie ? and where have you been ? ' said
Law. 'Let's have tea now ; I've been waiting and waiting,
wanting to go out, and wondering what had become of you.'
He had begun his bread and butter on the spot,
' Where is papa, Law ?'
' Papa ? How should I know ? You didn't expect him,
<lid you ? I say, I'm going out — do make haste. And look
here ! I wish you'd speak to him. Lottie. I wish you'd tell
him he oughtn't to ; I'd give twenty pounds (if I had it) not
to have sucli an uncommon name ! '
' It is a very good name — better than anyone else's
I know. The Despards never were anything but gentle-
men.'
' Oh ! it's a great deal you know about it,' said Law, with
a groan. * Perhaps once upon a time we w^ere somebody
wlien everybody else was nobody ! But when it turns the
other way, when Ave are nobody and everybody else some-
body, and when it's known wherever you go whose son you
an'
' You don't need to continue nobody,' she said ; ' you are
,1 boy, you can do what you like. If we are down now, you
need not .stay down. Law. But then you must not hang
about and lose yoiu- time any longer. If you will work, you
can soon change that.'
' Can I ! ' said the youth ; ' that shows how much you
know. I have never been taught to do anything. If I had
bt-en put apprentice to a butcher or a baker when I Avas
young — but you never did anything but bully me to work
-.Mid fjo to .scliool. What good is school? If you are to do
anytliiiig, you ought to be taught when you are young. I
THE ABDEV PnECINCrS. 20,
have been mismanaged. I doubt it' I will ever be good lor
much now.'
' Oh — h ! ' cried Lottie, Avith a deep breath of aspiration
from the depths of her chest, ' if it wa3 only me ! I should
find something to do ! I should not be long like this, loung-
ing about a little bit of a place, following bad examples,
doing no work. Oh, Law ! if I could put some of me into
you ; if I could change places with you ! Fancy Avhat was
siiid to me to-day : the Signor cfiUie up to me when Ave came
cut of chiu-ch, and asked me if I was going to sing — for a
profession.'
' By Jove ! ' cried Law : he woke up even from his bread
and butter, and looked at her Avith sparkling eyes.
' I had almost said, " You may be very glad my brother
is not Avith me to hear you ask such a question." But on the
Avhole I am glad you Avere not. I said all that Avas necessary,'
said Lottie Avith dignity. ' He Avill never repeat such an
insult again.'
' By Jove ! ' LaAV repeated, taking no heed of Avhat she
said, but looking at her Avith visibly increased respect. ' Do
you mean to say that he thought you good enough for that ? '
' Good enough ! ' she said, Avith severe contempt. ' I always
kneAV I could sing ; even poor mamma kneAv. But I did not
condescend to say much to them. I said, " I am a gentle-
man's daughter," and Avalked aAvay.'
' Well, girls are very funny,' said LaAv. ' Hoav you bully
me about Avorking ! morning, noon, and night, you are never
done nagging ; but the moment it comes to your oAvn turn '
' To my own turn !' Lottie looked at him aghast.
'To be sure. Oh, that's all very fine about being a gen-
tleman's daughter. We know pretty Avell Avhat that means,
and so does everybody. I Avonder, Lottie, you that ha,A'e some
sense, hoAv you could be so silly ? He must haA-e laughed.'
' Oh, hold your tongue, LaAV ! I suppose they think
nothing counts but money. When you are poor you are
always insulted. I should not care for money, not for itself,
not for the gold and sih'er,' said Lottie ; ' nor even so very
much for the nice things that one could buy; but, oh, to be
above people's remarks, to be knoAvn for what you are, not
looked doAvn upon, not insulted '
' It depends upon Avhat you call being insulted,' said Law ;
* if any n>an had said that to me, I should luiA'e thought him
30 •U'lTIIIX THE PRECINCTS.
next to an angel. What is insulting about it? If you like
money (and who doesn't like money /) why there's the easiest
way in the world of getting it. Sing ! I'd sing my head off,'
said Law, ' if that was all that was wanted. And you sing
for -pleasure,'^ you lihe singing! I can't tell what you are
thinking of. If I had known you were so good as that — but
one never thinks much of one's own sister, somehoAv,' the
youth added, with easy frankness. He was so much excited,
however, that he left his tea, and strode up and down the
room (three paces and a half, th^t was all the size of it)
repeating ' by Jove ! ' to himself ' If you mean not to do it,
you had better not let him know you could do it,' he an-
nounced, after an interval. Never in his life before had the
easy-going young man been so moved. ' It's untold the
money they make,' he said.
As for Lottie, her whole being was in a ferment. She
looked at her brother with a gasp of pain. The bread and
butter had no charms for her on that night of emotion. She
took up her basket wliich was full of things to mend, and sat
down in the window, speechless with vague passion, pain,
discontentment. Lottie was not a wise or enliahtened vountr
Avoman. She had not even taken the stamp of her age as
many people do who are not enlightened. She had never
learned that it was desirable that Avomen should have pro-
fessions like men. Her thoughts ran entirely in the old-
fashioned groove, and it seemed to her that for ' a gentleman's
daughter' to Avork for her living, to be known publicly to
Avork for her living, Avas a social degradation beyond Avords
to express. It implied — Avhat did it not imply? That the
family were reduced to the lowest level of poverty ; but that
AA'as a small part of it — that the men Avcre useless, worthless,
Avithout pride or honour ; that they had no friends, no means
of saving themselves from this betrayal of all the secrets of
pride. These Avere the foolish feelings in her mind. Gentle-
men's daughters Avere governesses sometimes she had heard,
and Lottie pitied the poor girls (orphans — they Avere ahvavs
orphans, and thus set aside from the general rule), with an
ache of compassion in her heart ; but it Avas her private im-
pression that this was a stigma never to be Aviped off, a stain,
not upon the girl, but upon her family Avho could permit such
a sacrifice. Lottie's vieAv of sacrifice Avas one Avhich is rarely
expressed, but Avhich exists not the less among women and
THE ABBEY PRECIXCTS. 31
all other persons from whom sacrifices are (Icmanclecl. Coul J
Alcestis have the same respect after for the man who could
let her die for him ? Could she go on living by his side, and
think just the same of him as if he had borne his own burden
instead of shuffling it off upon her shoulders ? The ancients
did not trouble themselves Avith such questions, but it is a
peculiarity of the modern mind that it does. And Lottie,
though her point of view was very old-fashioned, still looked
at it in this modern way. When Law, whom it was impos-
sible to stir up to any interest in his own work, became so
excited over the thought of a possible profession for her, she
looked at him with something of the feeling with Avhich
Isabella contemplated the caitiff brother in his prison who
would have bought his life by her shame. What ! would he
be ' made a man ' in such a way ? would he buy idleness and
ease for himself by exposing her to a life unworthy of ' a
gentleman's daughter ' ? She knew he was lazy, careless, and
loved his own gratification ; but it hurt her to her very heart
to think so poorly of Law, who was the only being in the
world whom she had ever been able to love heartily as be-
longing to herself
Let it not be thought, hoAvever, that any unAvillingncss
to Avork for Law, to make any sacrifice for him, was at the
bottom of this disappointment in him. She A\'as ready to
have Avorked her fingers to the bone, indoors, in the privacy
of the family, for her father and brother. She did not care
Avhat menial offices she did for them. Their 'position' de-
manded the presence of a servant of some kind in the house,
bxit Lottie Avas not afraid of Avork. She could SAveep and
dust ; she could cook ; she could mend Avith the most notable
of houseAvives, and sang at her Avork, and liked her people all
the better because of Avhat she had to do for them in the
course of nature. That Avas altogether different ; there Avas
no shame to a lady in doing this, no exposure of the family.
And Lottie AA^as not of the kind of Avoman Avho requires per-
sonal service from men. She was quite Avilling to serve them,
to Avait upon them if necessary, to take that as her share of
the AVork of life ; but to Avork piibliciy for her living, Aviiat
Avas that but to proclaim to all the Avorld that they Avere in-
capable, that they Avere indifferent to their duties, that tliere
AA'as no faith to be put in them ? If Law had leaped up in
wrath, if he had said, ' No, it is my place to Avork ; I will
32 WITHIN THE rKECINCTS.
work; no one shall say that my sister had to earn her living,'
how happy, how proud Lottie would have been ! That was
the ideal for a man. It was what she would do herself if she
was in his place ; and. oh, if she could but put herself in his
place, and do what Law would not do ! oh, if she could but
put herself, a bit of herself, into him, to quicken the sluggish
blood in his veins ! When Law, having exhausted all that
Avas to be said on the subject, went out (and where did he go
when he went out?), Lottie sat at the window and darned
and darned till the light failed her. She ploughed furrows
Avith her needle in the forefinger of her left hand ; but that
did not hurt her. Oh, if she could but move them, inspire
them, force them to do their duty, or at the worst do it for
them, so that the world might suppose it Avas they Avho were
doing it ! That was the aspiration in her heart ; and how
liopelcss it was ! ' Oh, if I could put some of me into him !'
Lottie thought, as many a helpless soul has thought before
her. But to move out from the shadow of the house, and
betray its nakedness, and take the burden visibly on herself,
that Avas Avhat Lottie felt she Avould rather die than do.
JNIeanwhile, in the soft evening, vaiious people Avero pro-
menading up and down between the Abbey church and the
lodges of the CheA-aliers. Some of the old Chevaliers them-
selves Avere out, Avith their Avives hanging on their arms.
Either there Avould be two old gentlemen together, Avitli the
Avife of one by his side, or tAvo ladies Avith a Avhite-liaired old
gallant Avalking along beside them, talking of various things,
perhaps of politics Avhen there Avere two men, and of any
.signs of Avar tiiat might be on the horizon ; and if two Avere
Avomen, of the Avedding, and how Lady Caroline took the
marriage of her only daughter. The Signor Avas practising
in the Abbey, and the great tones of the organ came rolling
forth in a splendour of softened sound over the slope Avith its
sloAvly strolling groups. Some of the townspeople Avere there
too, not mixing Avith the others, for the Signor's practising
iiiglits Avere known. The moon began to climb after a Avhile
behind the Chevaliers' lodges, and throAV a soft Avhiteness of
broad light upon all the pinnacles of the Abbey; and Lottie
dropped her Avork on her knee, unable to see any longer.
When the moon rose, she Avas thrown into shade, and could
Avatch the people Avith the light in their faces at her ease.
And by and by her attention was canght by two single figures
LADY CAROLINE. 33
which passed several times, coming from different directions,
and quite distinct from each othei\ They botli looked up at
her window each tinie they passed, calling forth her curiosity,
her scorn, her laughter, finally her interest. Watching them
she forgot the inunediate presence of her oavu annoyances.
One was the young musician Pui'cell, at whom Lottie had
secretly laughed for a long time past, at his longing looks and
the way in which the vicissitudes of her countenance would
reriect themselves in his face. But the other she could n )t
for a long time make out. It was not till, seeing no one, he
stood still for a full half-minute in the light of the moon, and
looked up at her, that she recognised him — and then Lottie's
heart gave a jump. It was young Rollo Ridsdale, Lady
Caroline's nephew, the best man at the wedding; and what
could he want here ?
CHAPTER IV.
LADY CAROLINE.
Lady Caroline -was in the drawing-room at the Deanery
alone. Now that her daughter Avas married this was no
unusual circumstance. It was late in the summer evening,
after dinner, and she lay on a great square sofa so placed
tliat the view from the large window w'as dimly visible fronx
it, had she cared for the view. As a matter of I'act, at no
hour of the twenty-four, however bright or tempting it might
be, did Lady Caroline care much for the view ; but still,
when a room is artistically arranged, such a possibility cannot
be altogether kept out of consideration. This evening, how-
ever, there was no light to see anything by. The room was
dark, nothing distinctly A^sible in it but the great bread
Elizabethan window which filled one end. The upper part
of this window was filled with old painted glass in silvery
tinted quarries, soft greys and yellows, surrounding the
golden and ruby glories of several blazons of arms, and
drawing the eye irresistibly with the delight of radiant colour;
underneath opened the great plain all dim and wide, a sug-
gestion of boundless air and distance rather than a landscape,
while in the room itself nothing was distinct but here and
34- WITHIN THE PnECINCTS.
there a glimmer of reflection from a mirror breaking the long
line of the walls. Nor was its only occupant very distin-
guishable as she reclined upon her sofa in absolute stillness
and ti-anquillity. The lace on her head and about her throat
showed faintly Avhite in the corner, that was all. Perhaps if
the mind could have been seen as well as the body, Lady
Caroline's individual sold, such as it was, would have told for
little more amid the still life around : a something vaguely
different from the chairs and softly cushioned sofas, a little
more than one of the dim mirrors, a little less than a picture,
was this human creature to whom all the rest belonged. She
had lived irreproachably on the earth for a number of years
(though not for nearly so many years as the most of her fur-
niture), and fulfilled all her functions very much as they did,
honestly holding together, affording a temporary place of
repose occasionally, convenient for household meals, and
ordinary domestic necessities. Perhaps now and then Lady
Caroline conferred something of the same kind of solace and
support Avhich is given to the weary by a nice warm soft
easy-chair, comfortably cushioned and covered ; but that was
about the highest use of which she was capable. She was
Avaiting now quite tranquilly till it pleased the servants to
bring her lights. They were in no hurry, and she was in no
hurry. She never did anything, so that it was immaterial
Avhether her room was Hghted early or late, and on the whole
she liked this dim interval between the active daylight, when
people were always in motion, and the lamps, Avhich suggested
work, or a book, or something of the sort. Lady Caroline,
though she had not very much mind, had a conscience, and
knew that it was not quite right for a responsible creature to
be without employment ; therefore she made certain efforts
to fulfil the object of her existence by keeping a serious
volume on the table beside her, and putting in a few stitches
now and then in a piece of wool-work. But at this hour
tlicre was no possibility for the most anxious conscience to
speak, and Lady Caroline's was not anxious, only correct, not
troubling itself with any burden beyond what was necessary.
It may be supposed, perliaps, that she was sad, passing this
twilight quite alone, so soon after the marriage and departure
of her only daughter ; but this would have been a mistake,
for Lady Caroline was not sad. Of course she missed
-Vugusta. There was no one now to wake her up when she
LADY CAHOLIXE. oO
dozed, as now and then happened, in a 'warm afternoon after
luncheon ; and, as a matter of fact, one or two visitors had
actually been ushered into the drawing-room while her head
■was drooping upon her right shoulder, and her cap a little
aA\Ty. But at this tranquil hour in the dark, when nobody
expected anything of her, neither without nor within — neither
conscience, nor the Dean, nor society — it cannot be said that
any distressful recollection of Augusta mingled with her
thoughts. Nor, indeed, had she any thoughts to mingle it
Avith, which was perhaps the reason. She Avas very com-
fortable in the corner of her sofa, with nothing to disturb her.
Had Jarvis her maid been at hand to tell her what was ffoino:
on in the precincts, or any bit of gossip that might have
floated upward from the town, it would probably have added
a little more flavoiu- to her content ; but even that flavour was
not necessary to her, and she Avas quite happy as she w^as.
Some one came into the room as she lay in this pleasant
quiet. She thought it Avas Jeremie coming to light the
candles, and said nothing; but it Avas not so dignified a
person as Mr. Jeremie, the Dean's butler, who Avas generally
taken for one of the Canons by visitors unacquainted A\dth
the place. This Avas indeed a shirt-front as dazzling as
Jereraie's Avhich came into the soft gloom, but the OAvner of
it Avas younger and taller, Avith a lighter step and less solemn
demeanour. He gave a glance round the room to see if
anyone Avas visible, then advanced steadily Avith the ease
of an habitue among the solas and tables. ' Are you here,
Aunt Caroline ? ' he said. ' Oh, you are there ! Shall I
ring for lights ? it must be dull sitting all by yourself in the
dark.'
'If you please, my dear,' said Lady Caroline, who, having
no Avill of her oAvn to speak of, never set it in opposition to
anybody else's ; answering a (question as she did thus promptly,
there Avas no occasion at the same time to ansAver a mere
remark.
' I am afraid you are moping,' he said, * missing Augusta.
To be sure, it does make a great difference in the house.'
' No, my dear,' said Lady Caroline, ' I can't say I was
thinking of Augusta. She is quite happy, you know.'
' I hope so,' he said, laugliing. ' If they are not hap{)y noAV,
Avhen should they be happy ? the honeymoon scarcely over,
and all sorts of delights before them.'
d2
36 WITHIX THE PREC1XCT3.
* Yes ; that is just what I was going to say,' said Lady
Caroline ; ' so why should I mope ? '
' Why, indeed ? ' He took his aunt's soft hand into his,
and caressed it. Rollo was fond of his aunt, strange though
it may appear. She had never scolded him, though this Avas
the favourite exercise of all the rest of his family. When he
came home in disgrace she had always received him just the
same as if he had come in triumph. Whoever might find
fault with him for wasting his talents, or disappointing the
hopes of his friends, his Aunt Caroline had never done so.
He could not help laughing a little as he spoke, but he
caressed her soft white hand as he did so, compunctious, to
make amends to her for the ridicule. Lady Caroline, it need
not be said, attached no idea of ridicule to his laugh. ' But
I have come to tell yoi;,' said Eollo, ' that I have been out
again walking up and down the Dean's Walk, as I did the
night of the wedding, and I have not been able to hear a note
of your singer — the girl with the wonderful voice.'
'Did I say there was a girl with a wonderful voice, my
dear? I forget.'
'Not you, but Augusta; don't you remember. Aunt
Caroline, a girl in the Cloisters, in — in the Lodges, a Miss —
I don't remember the name? Lottie something, Augusta
called her.'
' Ah ! Augusta was too ready to make friends. It is
Miss Despard, I suppose.'
' Well ; might we not have Miss Despard here some
evening? If her voice is as fine as Augusta said, it might be
the making of me. Aunt Caroline. An English prima donna
Avould make all our fortunes. And unless I hear her, it
is not possible, is it, I appeal to your candour, that I can
judge?'
' But, my dear ! ' ' But ' was a word which scarcely
existed in Lady Caroline's vocabulary. It meant an objec-
tion, and she rarely objected to anytliing. Still there was a
limit to which instinct and experience alike bound her. She
was not unkind by nature, but rather the reverse, and if
thfte was anything that approached a passion — nay, not a
passion, an emotion — in her nature, it was for the poor. She
wlio was little moved by any relationship, even the closest,
alnicst loved tlie poor, and would take trouble for them,
petting tlniu wlicn tliey were sick, and pleased to hear of all
LADY CAROLINE. 37
their affilrs when they were well — conscience and inclination
supplementing each other in this point. But the poor, the
real ' poor,' they who are so kind as to be destitute now and
then, with nothing to eat and all their clothes at the pawn-
broker's, and their existence dependent upon the clergyman's
nod, or the visit of the district lady — these were very different
from the Chevaliers in their Lodges. There even Lady Caro-
line drew the line. She did what was suggested to her in a
great many cases, but here she felt that she could make a stand
when necessity required. Not the people in the Lodges !
people Avho though they lived in small houses on small in-
comes considered themselves to be ladies and gentlemen as
good as the Royal Family themselves. The very mildest,
the very gentlest, must pause somewhere, and this is where
Lady Caroline made her stand. ' ]\Iy dear,' she said, some-
thing like a flush coming to her sallow cheek, for Jeremie by
this time had brought the lamps and lighted the candles and
made her visible; 'I have never visited the people in the
Lodges. I have always made a stand there. There was one
of them appointed through my brother Courtland, you know
— your papa, my dear — but when Beatrice asked me to notice
them I was obliged to decline. I really could not do it. I
hope 1 never shrink from doing my duty to the poor ; but
these sort of people — you must really excuse me, Eollo ; I
could not, I do not think I could do it.'
Mr. Kidsdale had never seen anything so near excitement
in his aunt's manner before. She spoke Avith little move-
ments of her hands and of her head, and a pink flush was on
her usually colourless face. The sight of this little flutter
and coumiotion which he had caused amused the young man.
Jeremie Avas still moving noiselessly about, letting down a
loop of curtain, kindling a distant corner into visibility by
lighting one of the groups of candles upon the wall. The room
was still very dim, just made visible, not much more, and
Jcremie's noiseless presence did not check the expression of
Lady Carolme's sentiments She made her little explanation
with a fervour such as, we have said, her nephew had never
belbre seen in her. He Avas greatly astonished, but he was
also, it must be allowed, somewhat disposed to laugh.
' You must pardon me,' he said, ' ibr suggesting anything
you don't like, Aunt Caroline. But did not Augusta have
Miss Dcspard here ? '
38 WITHIN THE PKECINCTS.
' Oil, yos — with the rest of her people who sang. Anqusta
was always having her singing people — who were not in our
set at all.'
' I suppose that is all over now,' said Rollo, in a tone of
regret.
" ' Oh, not quite over. Mrs. Long brought some of them
the other day. She thought it would amuse me. But it
never amused me much,' said Lady Caroline. ' Augusta was
pleased, and that was all. I don't want them, EoUo ; they
disturb me. They require to have tea made for them, and
comiiliments. I am not so very fond of music, you are
aware.'
'I know; not fond enough to give up anything for it;
but confess it is often a resource after dinner when tlie people
are dull ? '
' The people are always just the same, Eollo. If they
have a good dinner, that is all I have to do with them. They
ought to amuse themselves.'
'Yes, yes,' he resumed, laughing. 'I knoAV you are never
dull. Aunt Caroline. Your thoughts flow always in the same
gentle current. You are never excited, and you are never
bored.'
A gentle smile came over Lady Caroline's face ; no one
understood her so well. She was astonished that so many
people found fault with Eollo. He was, she thought, her
favourite nephew, if it Avas right to have a favourite. ' It is
no credit to me,' she said. ' I Avas always brought up in
that Avay. But girls do not have such a good training now.'
' No, indeed — the very reverse, I think — they are either
in a whirl of amusement or else they are bored. But, Aunt
Caroline, people in general are not like you. And for us Avho
have not had the advantage of your education, it is often very
dull, especially after dinner. Noav you are going to have a
gathering to-morrow. Don't you think it would be a good
thing to have a little music in the evening, and ask ^liss
Despard to come and sing ? Have her to amuse the people,
just as you might have Punch and Judy, you know, or some
of the sleight-ol-hand men ? '
' I sliould never think of having either the one or the
other, Eollo.'
* But a great many people do. It was qiiite the right
thing for a time. Come, Aunt Caroline ! My uncle is oft^n
LADY CAHOLlKn. 39
bored to death ■with these duty dinners. He will bless you if
you have a little music afterwards and set him free.'
' Do you really think so ? I can't understand why you
should all talk of Jaeiug bored. I am never bored,' saitl Lady
Caroline.
' That is your superiority,' said the courtier. ' But we
poor wretches often are. And I really must hear this voice.
You Avould not like to stand in the way of my interests now
when I seem really about to have a chance ? '
'It is a very curious thing to me/ said Lady Caroline,
stimulated by so much argument to deliver herself of an
original remark, ' that such a clever young man as you are,
Rollo, should require to connect yourself with singers and
theatres. Such a thing was never heard of in my time.'
' That is just it,' he said, putting on a mournful look. ' If
I had not been a clever young man, things would have gone a
great deal better with me. There was nothing of that foolish
description I am sure, Aunt Caroline, in your time.'
' No,' she said ; then added, almost peevishly, ' I do not
know how to communicate with the girJ, Rollo. She is so
out of society.'
' But only on the other side of the way,' he said, ' Come,
write her a note, and I will take it myself, if Jeremie or
Joseph are too grand to go.'
' JMust I write her a note ? I never in my life sent a note
to the Lodges,' said Lady Caroline, looking at her hands as if
the performance would soil them. Then she added, with a
look of relief, ' I very often see her when I am out lor my
drive. You can tell the coachman to stop if he sees her,
and I will tell her to come — that will be much the better
way.'
'• But if she should be en2raged ? '
Lady Caroline gave him a very faint smile of amiable
scorn and superior knowledge. ' You ibrget these people are
not in society,' she said.
To make head against this sublime of contempt was more
than Rollo could do. Lady Caroline vanquished him as she
had vanquished many people in her day, by that invincible
might of simple dulness against which nothing can stand.
Mr. Rollo Ridsdale was one of the many very clever
young men in society who are always on the eve of every
kind of fame and ibrtune, but never manage to cross the
40 WITHIN THE PKECINCTS.
border between hope and reality. He had been quite sure of
success in a great many different ways : at the universit}'',
where he was certain of a first-class, biit only managed to
' scrape through ' the ordeal of honovirs in the lowest room ;
— in diplomacy, Avhere he was expected to rise to the highest
rank, but spoiled all his chances by a whisper of a state
secret, of no importance to anybody, when only an impaid
attache ; — in the House of Commons, Avhere he broke do-\vn
in his maiden speech, after costing what his fomily described
as a ' fortune ' to secure his election ; — and finally, in com-
merce, where his honourable name was just secured from the
eclat of a disgraceful bankruptcy by the sacrifice of a second
' fortune ' on the part of the f;imily. It is but fair to add,
however, that RoUo had nothing to do with the disgraceful-
ness of the commercial downfall in which he was all but
involved. And here he was at eight-and-twenty once more
afloat, as the fashionable jackal and assistant of an enter-
prising impresario, indefatigable in his pursuit of the prima
donna of the future, and talking of nothing but operas. This
was why he had made that moonlight promenade imder Lottie
Despard's windows on the evening of his cousin's wedding-
day. He did not know her, but Lottie knew him as tlie
populace know all, even the most insignificant, members of
the reigning family. Lady Caroline's nephew, Augusta's
cousin, was of much more importance to the comnumity than
any of the community had been to him up to this moment,
though the thoughts which passed through Lottie's mind, as,
with extreme surprise, she recognised him gazing up at her
window, suggested a very different hypothesis. What coifld
Lottie imagine, as, with the most bewildering astonishment,
she identified Mr. Kidsdale, but that he had seen her as she
liad seen him, and that it Avas admiration at least, if not a
more definite sentiment, which brouglit him to wander in front
of the window, as poor young Purcell did, whose delusion she
regarded without either surprise or compassion? Kollo Kids-
dale was a very different person ; and Lottie had been too
much bewildered by his appearance to found any theory upon
it, except the vaguest natural thrill of flattered pleasure and
wonder. Was it possible ? — When a young man comes and
stares at a lady's window, going and returning, waiting ap-
parently for a glimpse of her — what is anyone to suppose ? —
There is but one natural and ordinary ex[)Ianation of such aii
LADY CAHOLIXE. 41
attitude and proceeding. And if Lottie's fancy jumped at
this idea, how could sire help it? It gave her a little shock
of pleasure and exhilaration in her depressed state. Why
should she have been exhilarated ? It is difficult to say. She
did not know anything of Mr. Ridsdale — whether his admira-
tion was worth having or the reverse. But he was Lady
Caroline's nephew, who had always been inaccessible to
Lottie ; he was Augusta's coiisiu, who had neglected her.
And if it really could be possible that, notwithstanding this,
lie had conceived a romantic passion for Lottie, what could
be more consolatory to the girl who had felt herself hu-
miliated by the indifference and contempt with which these
ladies had treated her ? The idea broudit the lie;ht back to
her eyes, and her natural gay courage revived again. She
would make reprisals, she would 'be even with them,' and
pay them back in their coin ; and where is the girl or boy to
whom reprisals are not sweet ?
This, however, is a digression from Lady Caroline, v/ho
Avent to her tranquil couch that night with a heavier heart
than she had known for years. It was a revolution which had
occurred in her life. During Augusta's reign she had been
passively resistant always, protesting under her breath against
the invasion of the singing people of all kinds into her sacred
and exclusive world. She had supported it with heroic calm,
entrenching herself behind the ladies who were really in
society, and whom she could receive without derogation ; but
to Lottie and the other people who were outside of her Avorld
she had never shown any civility, as she was glad to think,
on surveying the situation that night. She had not brought
it on herself. She had never shown them any civility. A
salutation with her eyelids, a cup of tea from her table, the
privilege of breathing the same air Avith her — this had been
all she had ever done for her daughter's ;)ro^'^t'es, and hitherto
nobody, she Avas obliged to allow, had presumed upon it. But
that JNIiss Despard Avas not like the timid and respectful
singing ladies from the toAvn. She Avas a bold young Avoman,
Avho thought herself as good as anyone, and looked as if she
ought to be talked to, and taken notice of, as much as any-
one. And it Avas not possible to get rid of her, as the ladies
in the town could be got rid of Lady Caroline could not go
out of her OAvn door, could not go to church, Avithout meeting
IMiss Despard, and feeling Avhat she called Avithin herself, ' the
42 ■'.viTiiix THE prj:ciN'CTS.
broad stare ' of that dangerous girl. And now was it possible,
Avas it conceivable, that she was herself to take the initiative
and re-invite Miss Despard ? Not for years, if indeed ever
in her life, had Lady Caroline gone to bed with such a weight
on her mind. She sighed as she laid down on that bed of
down — nay, not of down, which is old-fashioned and not very
wholesome either, now-a-days, people say — but on her
mattress of delicately arranged springs, which moved with
every movement. She sighed as she lay down upon it, and
the springs swayed under her ; and she sighed again in the
morning as she woke, and all that had happened came back
into her mind. Poor dear Eollo ! She did not like to cross
him, or to go against him, since he had made so great an ob-
ject of it. Oh ! that Augusta had but held her peace, and
had not inflamed his mind about this girl's voice ! After all,
her voice was nothing Avonderful ; it Avas just a soprano, as
most girls' voices were ; and that she, Lady Caroline, should
be compelled to exert herself — compelled to go against her
principles, to come into personal contact with a person of a
different class ! She who had always been careful to keep
herself aloof ! — It was very hard upon Lady Caroline. She
sighed at breakfast so that the Dean took notice of it.
' It there anything the matter ? ' he said. ' Eollo, do you
knoAV Avhat is the matter? This is the third time I have
heard your aunt sigh.'
' I am sure she docs not look as if an)'thing Avas the
matter,' said Eollo, Avith that filial flattery Avhich Avomen like,
at Lady Caroline's age.
She gave him a faint little smile, but shook her head and
sighed again.
' Bless my soul ! ' said the Dean, ' I must look in upon '
Enderby, and tell him to come and see you.'
' Oh, there is nothing the matter Avith me,' Lady Caroline
said ; but slie had no objection to see Enderby, Avho Avas the
doctor and always very kind. It even pleased her to think
o£ confiding her troui)les to him, for indeed she had the
humbling consciousness upon her mind that she had never
been a very interesting patient. She had never had anything
but headaches and mere external ills to tell him about. She
had never till noAv been able to reveal to him even a headache
which liad been caused by trouble of mind. Lady Caroline,
though she Avas dull, had a faint wish to be interestinn; as Avell
LADY CAr.OLIXE. 43
as otlier people, and it would be a relief to pour cut this
trouble to his sympathising ear.
The idea of meeting Lottie when she went out was a
very happy one, Lady Caroline thought. She could not but
feel that necessity was producing invention within her. Per-
haps she might not meet Lottie, perhaps Lottie might be
frin;htened and Avould decline to come. She drove out that
afternoon with a little excitement, full of hope, if she felt also
the palpitation of a little fear. These emotions made quite a
pleasant and unusual stir in the dull fluid that filled her veins.
She was half disturbed and half pleased when she found that
Rollo proposed going with her, a very unusual compliment
from a young man. He said it Avas because he had hurt his
foot and could not walk. ' Dear me ! ' Lady Caroline said,
* I will send Jarvis to see if it is a sprain.' ' Oh no, it is not
a sprain,' he said ; ' a little rest is all it requires.' ' You will
find carriage exercise very nice,' Lady Caroline said ; ' a per-
fect rest — and much more amusement than walking, which
tires one out directly.' And thus they set out perfectly
pleased Avith each other. But the coachman had got his
instructions carefully from RoUo's own lips, and there Avas
now no possibility of escape for the poor lady, over whom
liollo himself had mounted guard. They had not gone aliove
a few yards from the Deanery door, when the carriage sud-
denly drew up with a jar, to the side of the high tenace
pavement Avhich lay in front of the Lodges. Rollo, who was
on the alert, looked eagerly out, and saAV a light erect figure,
full of energy and life, coming up, in the plainest of morning
frocks, one of those simple toilettes which fashion has lately
approved. She looked perfectly fresh, and like the summer
morning, as she came along, Avith a little basket in her hand ;
and suddenly it burst upon Rollo, as Lottie raised her eyes
Avith a glance of astonished interest in them, AA'ondering Avhy
it AA'as that Lady Caroline's carriage should stop there, that
this unknoAvn girl Avas extremely handsome — a tiling for
Avhich the young man had not been prepared. 'Is this Miss
Despard ? bi;t she Avill be gone unless you send to her. Shall
I go and call her to you ? ' he said.
' Oh, she Avill come Avhcn she sees I AA'ant her,' said Lady
Caroline. But the only ansAver he made Avas to jump up and
let himself out of the carriage before Joseph coidd get off
from tlie box. He Avent up to Lottie Avlth his hat in his
44 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
hand, very much surprised in his turn by the vivid blush
which covered her cheeks at sight of him. He was flattered,
and he was surprised ; was it a mere trick of unformed
manners, the gancherie of a girl who had never been in
society, and did not know how to behave herself ? or was it
that she saw something unusually fascinating in himself,
liollo ? To see so handsome a girl blush at his approach was
a tribute to his attractions, which Eollo was not the man to
be indifferent to. He almost forgot the business side of the
transaction, and his hunt after a prima donna, in the pleasure
of such an encounter. Could she have seen him somewhere
before and been ' struck ' with him ? Rollo wondered. It
was an agreeable beginning. He went up to her with his
hat in his hand as if she had been a princess. ' I bes your
jiardon,' he said, ' my aunt, Lady Caroline Huntington, has
sent me to beg that you would let her speak to you for a
moment.' Lottie looked at him bewildered, with eyes that
could scarcely meet his. She could hardly make out what
he said, in the sudden confusion and excitement of meeting
thus, face to face, the man Avhom she had seen under her
window. What was it? Lady Caroline asking to speak
with her, awaiting her, in her carriage, in the sight of all
St. Michael's ! Lottie stood still for a moment, and gazed at
this strange sight, unable to move or speak for wonder.
"What could Lady Caroline have to say ? She could not be
going, on the spot, out of that beautiful chariot with its
prancing horses, to plead her nephew's suit with the girl Avho
knew nothing of him except his lover-like watch under her
window. Lottie could not trust herself to make him any
reply — or rather slie said idiotically, * Oh, thank you,' and
turned half reluctant, confused, and anxious, to obey the
call. She Avent to the carriage door, and stood without a
word, with her eyes full of Avonder, to hear what the great
lady had to say.
But it was not much at any time that Lady Caroline had
to say. She greeted Lottie with the little movement of her
eyelids. 'How do you do, INIiss Despard?'she said. *I
Avanted to ask if you would come to the Deanery this evening
for a little nuisic ? ' There was no excitement in that
calmest of voices. Lottie felt so much ashamed of her
wonderful vague absurd anticijiations, that she blushed more
hotly than ever.
AT THE DEANERY. 45
* At half-past nine,' said Lady Caroline.
*Yoii have not presented me to Miss Despard, Aunt
Caroline — so I have no right to say anything ; but if I had
any right to speak, I should say I hope — I hope — that Miss
Despard is not engaged, and that she will come.'
How earnest his voice was ! and what a strange beginning
of acquaintance ! Lottie felt half disposed to laugh, and halt
to cry, and could not lift her eyes in her confusion to this
man who — was it possible? — was in love with her, yet Avhom
she did not know.
' Oh, I am not engaged — I shall be very happy.' What
else could she say ? She stood still, quite unaware what she
was doing, and heard him thank her with enthusiasm, while
Lady Caroline sat quite passive. And then the splendid
vision rolled away, and Lottie stood alone wondering, like a
creature in a dream, on the margin of the way.
CHAPTER V.
AT THE DEANERY.
Lottie stood as if in a dream, hearing the ringing of the
horses' hoofs, the roll of the carriage, and nothing more ; all
the sounds in the world seemed to he summed up in these.
She could scarcely tell what had happened to her. A great
honour had haj)pened to her, such as might have impressed
the imagination of anyone in that little world of St. Michael's,
but not so great a thing as she thought. Lady Caroline had
asked her to tea. It was something, it was much : it Avas
what Lady Caroline had never done to anyone in the Lodges
before. Even ]\Irs. Seymour, whose husband Avas really one
of the Seymours^ people said, and whom Lady Courtland had
begged Lady Caroline to be kind to, had not been so
honoured. But for all that, it Avas not Avhat Lottie thought.
She stood there Avith her heart beating, feeling as if she had
just fallen from the clouds, in a maze of bewildered excite-
ment, scarcely able to realise what had befollen her — and yet
that Avhich had befallen her Avas not Avhat she thought. IMost
things that happen to us are infinitely better in thought and
in hope than they are in reality ; but this Avas doubly, trebly
46 WITH IN THE rr.ECiNCTS.
tlie case -with poor Lottie, who found the cause of this new
happiness of hers in a delusion, a mistake, most innocently,
most unAvittingly, occasioned. It was not a thing that any-
body had intended. Kollo liidsdale had meant no harm
•when he strolled along the Dean's "Walk in the evening on
two separate nights, looking up at Lottie's window and hop-
ing to hear her sing in order that he might tell his partner of
a new voice to be had for the asking. And neither had
Lottie meant any harm ; it was not vanity, it was the most
natural conclusion from what she saw with her own eyes.
How could she doubt it ? He must have seen her when she
was not aware of it, and fallen in love with her, as people
Siiy, at first sight ! a romantic compliment that always goes
to a girl's heart. There was no other interpretation to be
put upon the fact of his lingering about looking up at her
window. She had said to herself it was nonsense ; but how
could it be nonsense ? What other explanation could anyone
give of such a proceeding ? And now he had managed to
make Lady Caroline, she who was the queen of the place and
txna:pproachable, take his cause in hand. For Avhat other
jiossible reason could Lady Caroline, who never noticed any-
one out of her own sphere, have paid this special and public
compliment to Lottie, and invited her to Paradise, as it were —
to tea — not afternoon tea, whicli means little, but in the
evening ? But here Lottie's fancies became so bewildering
that she could not follow herself in her thoughts ; much less
would it be possible for us to follow her. For if Lady
Caroline had thus interfered on her nephew's behalf, securing
for him a personal introduction and an opportunity of making
her acquaintance, what could this mean but that Lady Caroline
was on his side and meant to help him and approved of his
sentiments ? This thought was too wonderful to be enter-
tained seriously ; it only glanced across the surface of Lottie's
mind, making her laugh within herself Avith a bewildered
sense that there was something absurd in it. Lady Caroline
stoop from her high estate to lift her, Lottie, to a place upon
that dazzling eminence ! The girl felt as if she had been
spmi round and round like a teetotum, though it was an un-
dignified comparison. She did not know where she might
find herself when, dizzy and tottering, she should come to
l)er.self. ^\.ll this time ]\Irs. O'Shaughnessy, at her window,
"where she always sat surveying everything that went on, had
AT THE DEANEUY. 47
been knocking an impatient summons witli her knuckles on
the pane ; and this it was at kist which brought Lottie to
herself. She obeyed it with some reluctance, yet at the same
time she was glad to sit down somewhere till the giddiness
should go off and the hurry of her thoughts subside. Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy met her with a countenance full of interest
and eagerness ; a new incident Avas everything to her. She
was as eager as if it was of vital importance to know every
word that Lady Caroline said.
' Then what was she saying to ye, me dear ? ' cried the old
lady, from whom excitement almost took away the breath.
' She did not say anything,' said Lottie, relieving her
feelings by a little laugh. ' She never does say anything ;
she asked me to tea.'
' And you call that nothing, ye thankless creature ! It's
spoilt ye are, Lottie, me darling, and I always said that was
what Avould come of it. She asked you to tea ? sure it'll be
afternoon tea for one of the practisings, like it was in i\Iiss
Augusta's day ? '
' No 1 I am to go in after dinner. It is not the first time,
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy ; Augusta has often a^ked me.- What
else did I get my white frock for ?^^for there are no parties
here to go to. She used to say : " Come in, and bring your
music." It is not me they want, it is my voice,' said Lottie,
assuming a superiority of wisdom which she did not possess.
'All in good time, me dear,' said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy.
*And did my Lady Caroline bid you to bring your music,
too ? The daughter is one thing, and the mother is clean
another. I hope you've got your frock in order, me darlin' ;
clean and nice and like a lady ? You should send it to Mrs.
Jones to iron it out; she's the plague of my life, but she's a
beautifid clear starcher — that I will say for her ; and if you
want a ribbon or so, me jewel, or anything I have that ye may
take a fancy to — there's my brooch with O'Shaughnessy's
miniature, sure ne'er a one of them Avould find out who it
Avas. You might say it was your grandpapa, me honey, m
his red coat, with his medals ; and fine he'd look on your
Avhite frock '
' Thank you ! ' said Lottie in alarm ; ' but I never Avear
anything, you know, except poor mamma's little pearl locket.'
' Sure I know,' said the old woman Avith a laugh ; ' a body
can't Avear Avhat they haven't got ! Bat you needn't turn up
48 WITHIN THE PREOIXCTS.
your little nose at my big brooch, for when it was made it
Avas the height of tlie fashion, and now everything that's old is
the height of the fashion. And so me Lady Caroline, that's
too grand to say " Good morning to ye, ma'am," or " Good
evening to ye," after ye've been her neighbour for a dozen
years, stops her grand carriage to bid this bit of a girl to tea,
and j\Iiss Lottie takes it as cool as snowballs, if ye please.
Well, Avell, honey ! I don't envy ye, not I ; but you're born
to luck as sure as the rest of us are born to trouble, and that
all the Abbey can see.'
' I born to luck ! I don't think there is much sign of it,'
said Lottie, though with a tumultuous leap of the heart which
contradicted the words. * And what is there, I should like to
know, that all the Abbey can see ? '
' If you think I'm going to tell you the nonsense that is
flying about, and put fencies in your little head ! ' said the
old Irishwoman, 'go your ways, and see that your frock's in
order ; and I'll run in and see you dressed, my pet, and I'll
bring the brooch and the box with me best ribbons; may be
at the last you'll change j^our mind.'
Lottie went home with her head in the clouds ; was she
indeed * born to luck ' ? Was she going to be transplanted at
once without the tedious probation which even in poetry,
even in story-books, the good heroine has generally to go
through, into that heaven of wealth and rank and luxurious
surroundings which she felt to be her proper sphere ? It was
not that Lottie cared for luxury in its vulgarer forms ; she
liked what was beautiful and stately — the large noble rooms,
the dignified aspect whicl:f_life bore when unconnected with
those small schemes and strugglings in which her existence
was spent ; but above all she liked, it must be allowed, to
be uppermost, to feel herself on the highest round of the
ladder — and hated and resisted with all her soul the idea of
being inferior to anybody. This was the thing above all
others which Lottie could not bear. She had been brought
up with the idea that she belonged by right of nature to the
upper classes, a caste entirely removed by immutable decree
of Providence from shopkeepers and persons engaged in
trade, and to whom it was comparatively immaterial whether
they were poor or ricli, nothing being able to alter the birth-
riglit which united them with all that was high and separated
tliein from all that was low. But this right had not been
AT THE DEANERY. 49
acknowledsied at St. Michael's. She and her family had been
mixed up in the crowd along with the O'Shaughnessys, and
other unexalted people ; and nobody, not even the O'Shaugh-
nessys, had been impressed by the long descent of the
Despard famil}'- and its unblemished gentility. Something
else then evidently was requisite to raise her to her proper
place, to the sphere to which she belonged. Lottie would not
have minded poverty, or difficulty, or hard work, had she
been secure of her ' position ' ; but that was just the thing of
which in present circumstances she was least secure. It was
for this reason that Lady Caroline's notice was sweet to her —
for this that she had been so deeply disappointed when no
sign of amity was accorded to her on the wedding day. And
this was why her heart leapt with such bewildering hope and
excitement at the new event in her career. She did not
know I\Ir. Eidsdale ; perhaps his admiration or even his love
were little worth having ; and nothing but what are called
interested motives could have possibly moved Lottie to the
thrill of pleasure with which she contemplated his supposed
attachment. A girl whose head is turned by the mere idea
of a lover Avho can elevate her above her neighbours, without
any possibility of love on her part to excuse the bedazzlement,
is not a very fine or noble image ; yet Lottie's head was
turned, not vulgarly, not meanly, but with an intoxication
that was full of poetry and all that is most ethereal in ro-
mance. A tender, exquisite gratitude to the man who thus
seemed to have chosen her, without any virtue of hers, filled
her heart ; and to the great lady who, though so lofty, and
usually cold as marble to the claims of those beneath her,
could thus forget her pride for Lottie. This feeling of grati-
tude softened all the other emotions in her mind. She was
ready to be wooed, but then the very manner of the first
step in this process, the lingering outside her v/indow, Avhich
was a sign of the tenderest, most delicate, and reverential
love-making (but she did not think it so in the case of poor
young Purcell), showed what a respectful, ethereal, poetical
wooing it would be. Thus Lottie's whole being was full of
the most tremulous, delicious happiness, all made up of hope
and anticipation, and grateful admiration of the fine generous
sentiments t>f her supposed lover, even while it was founded,
as you may say, on self-interest and ambition, and sentiments
which were not crenerous at all.
50 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
And with what a fiutter at her heart she put out her
Avhite rausiin frock, which (not having any confidence in
Mrs. Jones) she ironed herself most carefully and skilfully,
Avith such interest in keeping it fresh as no Mrs. Jones in the
world could have. For girls who have no ornaments to speak
of, how kind summer is, providing roses, which are always
the most suitable of decorations ! One knot of them in her
hair and one at her breast — what could Lottie want more ?
Certainly not the big brooch with Major O'Shaughnessy in his
red coat, which her old friend was so anxious to pin the roses
with. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy thought it would be ' such a
finish,' and prove satisfactorily that it was not poverty but
fancy that made Lottie decorate herself with fresh flowers
instead of the fine artificial wreath with a nice long trail down
the back, which was what the old lady herself would have
preferred. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, however, was mollified by
the girl's acceptance of the Indian shawl which she brought
to wrap her in. ' And you might just carry it into th.e room
with you, me dear, as if ye thought ye might feel chilly,'
said the old lady, ' for it's a beauty, and I should like me
Jjady Caroline to see it. I doubt if she's got one like it.
Good-night and a pleasant evening to ye, me honey,' she
cried, as, under charge of Law, and with her dress carefully
folded up, Lottie with her beating heart went across the
broad gravel of the Dean's "Walk to the Deanery door. It
was a lovely summer night, not dark at all, and the Signer
was practising in the Abbey, and the music rolling forth in
harmonious thunders rose, now more, now less distinct, as the
strain grew softer or louder. A great many people were
strolling about, loitering, when Lottie came out, skimming
over the road in her little white shoes, with the roses in her
hair. All the rest of her modest splendours were hidden by
the shawl, but these could not be hidden. The people about
all turned their heads to look at her. She was going to the
Deanery. It was the same in St. Michael's as visiting the
Queen.
The Dean's dinner party had been of a slightly heavy
description. There vrere several of the great people from the
neighbourhood, county people whom it was necessary to ask
periodically. It was so distinctly made a condition, at the
beginning of this story, that we were not to be expected to
describe the doings on Olympus, nor give the reader an insight
AT THE DEAXEKT. 51
into the behaviour of the gods •and goddesses, that we feel
ourselves happily free from any necessity of entering into the
solemn grandeur of the dinner. It Avas like other dinners in
that resrion above all the clouds. The ladies were fair and
the gentlemen wise, and they talked about other ladies and
gentlemen not always perhaps equally wise or fair. ]\Ir.
RoUo Ridsdale was the greatest addition to the party. He
knew all the very last gossip of the clubs. He knew what
Lord Sarum said to Knowsley, upbraiding him for the indis-
cretion of his last Guildhall speech. ' But everybody knows
that Knowsley is nothing, if not indiscreet,' Kollo said ; and
he knew that, after all, whatever anyone might say to the
contrary, Lady Martingale had gone oiF with Charley Crow-
ther, acknowledging that nothing in the world was of an}'
consequence to her in comparison. ' Such an infatuation ! '
for, as everybody knew, Charley Avas no Adonis. Lady Caro-
line shook her head over this, as she ate her chicken (or
probably it Avas something much nicer than chicken that
Lady Caroline ate). And thus the menuvia?, Avorked through.
There Avas but one yovtng lady in the party, and even she
was married. In Augusta's time the young people Avere
ahvays represented, biit it did not matter so much now.
When all these ladies rose at last in their heavy dresses that
swept the carpet, and in their diamonds Avhich made a flicker
and gleam of light about their heads and throats, and swept
out to the draAving-room : all, Avith that one exception, over
middle age, all Avell acquainted Avith each other, knowing the
pedigrees and the possessions each of each, and Avith society
in general for their common groitnd, the reader Avill tremble
to think of such a poor little thing as Lottie, in her Avhite
muslin, Avith the roses in her hair, standing trembling in a
corner of the big draAving-room, and Avaiting for the solemn
stream of silk and satin, and society, in Avhich she Avould have
been engulfed at once, swalloAved up and seen no more. And
what Avould have happened to Lottie, had she been alone, Avith-
out anyone to stand by her in the midst of this overfloAving,
Ave shrink from contemplating; but happily she had ulre.'idy
foimd a companion to hold head Avith her against the stream.
For when Lottie came in, she found some one before her
in the draAving-room, a tall, very thin man, Avith stooping
shoulders, Avho stood by the corner of the mantelpiece, on
which there were candles, holding a book very close to his
e2
52 Avrniix the pkecixcts.
eves. When Lottie went in, with her heart in her mouth, he
turned round, thinking that the opening of the door meant
the coming of the ladies. The entrance, instead, of the one
young figure, white and slender, and of Lottie's eyes encoun-
tering him. full of fright and anxiety, yet with courage in
them — the look that was intended for Lady Caroline, and
which was half a prayer, ' Be kind to me !' as well as perhaps
the tenth part of a defiance — made a great impression upon
the solitary inmate of the room. He was as much afraid of
what he thought a beautiful young lady, as Lottie Avas of the
mistress of the house.
After this first moment, however, when she perceived that
there was nobody alarming, only a gentleman (an old gentle-
man, Lottie contemptuously, or rather carelessly concluded,
though he was not more in reality than about five-and-thirty),
she regained her composure, and her heart went back to its
natural place. Lottie knew very Avell who the gentleman
was, though he did not know her. It w^as Mr. Ashford, one
of the minor canons, a very shy and scholarly person, rather
out of his element in a community Avhich did not pretend to
much scholarship or any special devotion to books. Perhaps
he was the only man in 8t. Michael's whom Lottie had ever
really desired to make acquaintance with on his own account ;
but indeed it was scarcely on his own account, but on account
of Law, about Avhom she was always so anxious. Mr. Ashford
took pupils, with whom he was said to be very successful.
He lived for his pupils, people said, and thought of nothing
else but of how to get them into shape and push them on.
It had been Lottie's dream ever since she came to "St. Michael's
to get Law under Mr. Ashford's care ; and after she had
recovered the shock of getting into the room, and the mingled
thrill of relief and impatience at finding that there was nobody
there as yet to be afraid of, Lottie, Avhose heart always rose
to any emergency, began to speculate how she could make
friends with Mr. Ashford. She was not afraid of him : he
was short-sighted, and he was awkward and shy, and a great
deal more embarrassed by her look than she was by his. And
lie was being liadiy used — so she thought. Why was not he
asked to dinner like the others? Mr. Ashford did not himself
leel the grievance, but Lottie felt it for him. She ranged
herself instantly, instinctively, by his side. They were the
iwc who were being condescended to, being taken notice of —
AT THE DEANEUV. 53
they Avere the natural opponents consequently of the fine
p(?ople, the people who condescended and patronised. Mr.
Ashlbrd, on his side, stood and looked at her, and did not
know what to do. He did not know Avho she was. She was
a beautiful youn.r? lady, and he knew he had seen her in the
Abbey; but further than this Mr. Ashford knew nothing of
Lottie. The signs which would have betrayed her lowly con-
dition to an experienced eye said nothing to him. Her white
muslin might Lave been satin ior anything he could tell, her
little pearl locket a priceless ornament. He did not know
how to address such a dazzling creature; though to any
ordinary person in society Lottie's attire would have sug-
gested bread-and-butter, and nothing dazzling at all.
' It is a beautiful evening,' said Lottie, a little breathless.
* It is scarcely dark yet, though it is half- past nine o'clock.'
To both these unquestionable statements Mr. Ashford saia
' Yes,' and then he felt himself called upon to make a contri-
bution in retiwn. ' I have just found a book which somebody
must have been reading,' he said, growing red with the effort.
' Oh, yes ! is it a very interesting book ? What is it
about ? ' said Lottie, but this was something for which INIr.
Ashford Avas not prepared. He got redder than ever and
cleared his throat.
' It does not seem about anything in particular. I have
not really had time to read it ; ' then he made a hasty dash
at an abstract subject, and said, with a falter in his voice,
* Are — are you fond of reading ? ' Tliis question at once lit
up Lottie's face.
' Oh, very, very fond ! But I have not many books nor
much time. I always envy people who can read everything
they please. Mr. Ashford, I Avonder if I might speak to you
about something — before they come in,' said Lottie, coming a
step nearer, and looking eagerly at him with her dangerous
blue eyes.
]\Ir. Ashford got the better of his shyness in a moment.
It did not embarrass him when there was anything to be
done. He smiled upon her with a most beautiful beaming
smile which altogether changed the character of his face, and
put a chair for her, which Lottie, however, did not take.
' Surely,' he said, in his melodious voice, suddenly thawed
out of the dryness which always got into his throat when he
spoke first to a stranger. It has not yet been said that Mr.
54 'WITH IX THE rRECINCTS.
Asliford's chief quality as respected the community at St.
Michael's was an unusually beautiful mellow voice. ' If there
is any way in Avhich I can be of use to you ? ' he said.
* Oh, yes; so much use! They say you think a great
deal about your pupils, Mr. Ashford,' said Lottie, ' and I
have a brother whom nobody thinks much about '
That was the moment Lady Caroline chose to return to
the drawing-room. The door opened, the ladies swept in one
by one, the iSrst looking suspiciously at both Mr. Ashford
and Lottie, the second, who knew Mr. Ashford, giving him a
smile of recognition, and looking suspiciously only at Lottie,
the rest folloAving some one example, some the other. Lottie
knew not one of them. She looked trembling for Lady
Caroline, and hoped she Avould be kind, and save her from
the utter desolation of standing alone in this smiling and
magnificent company. But Lady Caroline coming in last of
all, only made her usual salutation to the stranger. She said,
' Good evening. Miss Despard,' as she swept her long train
of rustling silk over the carpet close to Lottie's trembling
feet, but she put out her hand to Mr. Ashford. ' It was so
good of you to come,' she said. Alas ! Lottie was not even
to have the comfort of feeling on the same footing with the
minor canon. He was carried off from her just as he had
begun to look on her with friendly eyes. The stream flowed
towards the other side of the room, where Lady Caroline
seated herself on her favourite square sofa. Lottie was left
standing all alone against the soft grey of the wall, lighted up
by the candles on the mantelpiece. When a person belong-
ing to one class of society ventures to put a rash foot on the
sacred confines of another, what has she to expect ? It is an
old story, and Lottie had gone through it before, and ought
to have had more sense, you will say, than to encounter it
again. But the silly girl felt it as much as if she had not
quitn known what would happen to her. She stood still,
feeling unable to move, one wave of mortification and indig-
nation going over her after another. How could they be so
cruel ? What did they ask her for, if they meant to leave
her to Htiind there by herself? And Mr. Ashford, too, was
cruel. She had made up her mind to stand by him ; but he
liad been carried away by the first touch; he "had not stood
by lier. Ijottic could have torn ol¥ the roses with which she
had decked herself so hopefully, and stamped her foot vipon
AT THE DEANERY. 55
them. She ahiiost Avished she had the courage to do it, to
cry out to those careless people and let them see what un-
kindness they were doing. Meantime she made a very pretty
picture Avithout knowing it. ' Look at that pretty, sulky girl
against the Avail,' said the young married lady to her motb.er.
'Lady Caroline must have set her there on purpose to look
handsome and ill-tempered. How handsome she is ! I
never saw such eyelashes in my life ; but as sulky as a
thunder-cloud.'
' Go and talk to her and then she will not be sulky,' said
the mother, who, though by instinct she had looked suspici-
ously at Lottie, Avas not unkind ; nay, Avas a kind Avoman
Avhen she saw any need for it. Neither AA'ere the others un-
kind — but they did not see any need for it. It Avas Lady
Caroline's business, they thought, to entertain her OAvn guests.
Lottie, hoAvever, had her triumph later Avhen she sang,
all the Avhispered conversation in the room stopping out of
sheer astonishment. Her voice had developed even Avithin
llie last month or two, during Avhich there had been no sing-
ing in the Deanery, and as the Signer, who had come in
atter his practising, played her accompaniments for her, and
did his very best to aid and heighten the effect of her songs,
her success Avas complete. He had never accompanied her
befi're, Avhich Avas a ilict Lottie did not remember. And she
did not notice either in her pre-occupation, thinking nothing
of this but much of less important matters — that he kncAV
everything she could sing best, and humoured, and flattered,
and coaxed her voice to display itself to the very fullest
adA-antage, as only a skilful accompanyist can. No doubt he
had his motive. As for Rollo Kidsdale, he stood on the
other side of the piano looking at Lottie Avith a gaze Avhich
seemed to go through and through her. It meant, in fact,
at once the real enthusiasm of a man Avho knew exactly what
Buch talent Avas Avorth, and the less practical but still genuine
enthusiasm of the amateur Avho kncAv Avhat the music AA'as
Avorth as Avell as the A'oice. In the one point of vicAV he saAV
Lottie's defects, in the other he saAV all that could be made of
her. An English prima donna ! a real native talent as good
as anything that ever came out of Italy, and capable of pro-
ducing any amount of national enthusiasm ! Kollo's eyes
shone, his lixcc lighted up, he did not know hoAv to express
his deliLdit. He said to himself that she Avould make 'all
56 AVITIIIX THE PRECINXTS.
our fortunes,' Avith an exaes-eration common to his kind.
' I knew I was to be charmed, Miss Despard, but I did not
know what dsiight Avas in store for me,' he said, with eyes
that said still more than his words. Lottie's eyes with their
wonderful lashes sank before his. He thought it was perhaps
a pretty trick to show that remarkable feature, and since he
■was sensible at all points to the beautiful, he did full justice
to them. By Jove ! how well she would look on the stage.
Those eyela.<hes themselves ! that pose ! What a pensive
IMareuerite, what a Lucia she would make ! He lonced to
rush up to town by the late train and rush upon his astonished
partner, shouting, ' I have found her ! ' ' You will not deny
me one more ? ' he said, turning to her with glowing eyes.
Poor silly Lottie ! She grew crimson with pleasure and
excitement, pale with excitement and feeling. What did she
know about the young fellow's motives? She knew only
that he had kept watch at her Avindow, lounging about for a
glimpse of her, a thing which to be sure explains itself ; and
that every note she sang seemed to make him happier and
happier, and more and moi-e adoring. The incense was
delicious to her. She had never had it before (except per-
haps from poor young Purcell — anobody ! what did hematter?),
and the happiness of flattered vanity and soothed pride raised
her to a pinnacle and climax of soft delight, such as she had
never thought possible. It seemed almost more than Lottie
could bear. Even Lady Caroline Avas so flattered by the
p'.audits addressed to her on the entertainment she had pro-
vided for her guests, that a sense of superior discrimination
came over her placid mind, pleasantly exciting its tranquillity.
* Yes, I kneAv that she Avas going to have a beautiful voice,'
she said. And she smiled, and accepted the thanks Avith an
agreeable sense that she had deserved them. As for Eollo
Kidsdale, it Avas he Avho got i\Iiss Despard's shaAvl and wrapped
her in it Avhen the dreadful moment came, as he said, for
her departure. ' You liave no carriage ; you live on the
other side of the Avay ; then you must permit me to see you
to your door,' he said, ' and to thank you once more for all
tlie pleasure you have given me. This Avill be a Avhite day
in my recollection ; I shall begin the dates in my history from
the time Avhon I first heard '
' iMr. Ashfurd is going Miss Despard's Avay. And, Rollo,
your annt wants you, I think. We have all been so much
LAW. 57
delighted that we have forgotten the progress of time, and
Lady Caroline is not very strong. I\Ir. Ashford,' said the
Dean, ' I am sure we may leave to you the privifege of seeing
Miss Dcspard to her own door.'
' And I am here,' said the Signor. Nevertheless, poor
Lottie felt as if she had stepped suddenly out of heaven to
earth again when she found herself between the musician and
the minor canon outside the Deanery door.
CHAPTER VL
LAW.
Law went with his sister dutil'ully to the door in the great
cloister. He did not care much for the honour and glory of
going to the Deanery, but he was pleased to walk Avith Lottie
in her pretty evening dress, with the roses in her hair. This
gave him a certain gratification and sense of family pride,
though he scoffed at that sentiment in general. Law did not
lieel that on the whole he had much to be proud of. Still, he
was proud of Lottie, who was a creature quite out of the
common, and like nobody else he had ever seen. He waited
till the Deanery door was opened to her. That was a world
of which Law knew nothing, and did not want to know any-
thing. How Lottie had managed to get among these fine
people, and why she liked to get among them, were equally
strange to him. He admired her for the first, and wondered
at her for the last. She was, at the present moment, the only
lady belonging to the Chevaliers who had got footing in the
Deanery; and this was just like Lottie, just what he would
have expected from her, he said to himself; but how she
could stand those old fogies, with their pride and their finery,
that was what he could not tell. All the same, it gave him
a certain gratification to leave her there in her element among
the great people. And when the door closed upon him Law
went off about his own business. He went through the
cloister, and a curious little back cloister beyond — for there
were many intricacies about the Abbey, the different degrees
of the hierarchy being very distinct, one cloister for the
Chapter, another for the Minor people, and a third for the
58 WITHIN Tin: rnECixcTS.
lay clerks. lie went through the little square of the minor
cloister, and came out upon a stone staircase which abridged
the slopes of St, Michael's Hill, and led straight down into
the town. The lights had begun to be lighted in the pic-
turesque street whtch wound round the foot of the hill ; they
twinkled here and there in the shops opposite, and appeared
in glimmers in the villages across the river. The dim misty
plaui lying doul)ly broad in the twilight, stretching out
vaguely to the sky, was here and there defined by one of those
twTnkles which showed where a group of houses stood together.
Tlie town was all out in the streets, and on the river this
lovely evening : boats floating dimly about the stream, people
Avalking vaguely up and down the hill. And the air Avas filled
Avith pleasant soft, uncertain sounds of talking, of footsteps,
now and then the clocks chiming or striking, and a bugle
sounding faint and far from where the soldiers were quartered,
for there was a military depot not far off. Law stopped at
the head of the Steps, as they were called, and looked down
over all this scene. The mere notion of being oiit in the
grand air, as the French call it, with somehow a fuller i^cnse
of space and width than we can find a word for, Avas pleasant
to Law ; but if he paused, it was neither to enjoy the picture
before him, nor was it because he had no definite place to go
to. lie knew very well Avhere he was going. No vagueness
on that point was in his mind ; and he did not care a brass
farthing for the landscape ; but he paused at the head of the
Steps and looked about, just as a child Avill pause before
eating his cake, a pause of anticipation and spiritual enjoy-
ment of the dainty before it goes to his lips. Then he ran
down tliC Steps three at a time, skimming doAvn the long flights,
turniuij the corners like a bird. To take care of his sister
O
had been duty, but LaAv was about his own business now.
"Wliat was Law's business ? In all St. Michael's there was
not a more idle boy. He was over eighteen, and he did
nothing. Vague hopes that he would get some ajopointment
— that something would turn up for him — that he Avould
.suddenly awako and find himself in an office somehow, doing
Konielhing and making money — had been in his own mind
and that of his family all his life. Law had no objection. Had
.some one taken him and set him down at once in any office,
it was quite possible that he might have done the best he
could in his place, and succeeded as well as most men ; but
LAW. 59
n the meantime there Avere a great many preliminaries to go
through, tor which Law had never been required or encou-
raged to fit himself. In these days of examination, Avhen the
])itil"ullest little bit of an office builds up those prickly thorns,
those red-hot ploughshares before its door, how was he to get
into any office without education ? He had spent all his earlier
years, as has been seen, in eluding school as cleverly as pos-
sible, and doing as little as he could of his lessons ; and now
here he was on the ver2;e of manhood, Avith nothinfj; to do
and no great Avish to do anything ; — a great, straight, poAverful
young felloAv, Avithout any absolute aim or tendency to evil,
but good for nothing, not capable of anything, Avith neither
purpose nor object in his life. lie could row very Avell Avhen
anyone Avould give him an oar. lie Avas not amiss at cricket
Avhen anyone asked him to play. He could Avalk Avith any
man, and had Avon a race or two, and Avas quite capable of
competing for a high jump, or for throAving a cricket-ball, or
any of those useful accomplishments; but as for anything
else he Avas not capable. He hated books Avith that sincere
and earnest hatred Avhich seems possible only to those Avho
knoAV books to be the preliminnry of everything — a pecu-
liarity of this examining age. Never before surely Avas such
a candid and thorouGrh detestation of the tools of knowledsre
possible. LaAv kncAV that no door could possibly open to him
Avithout them, and therefore he hated and despised them, illo-
gically no doubt, bat A'ery cordially all the same ; and so Avent
drifting along upon the stream, not asking Avhat Avas to become
ol' him, ucA'er thinking much of the subject, though he suf-
icred greatly from Avant of pocket-money, and Avould gladly
have made some exertion from time to time to obtain that,
had he knoAvn Avhat to do.
This Avant of pocket-money is the grand draAvback to the
education or no education of the youths of the nineteenth
century. So long as they can have enough of that, Avhat a
pleasant life is theirs ! For it does you no particular harm
to be supposed to be ' Avorking for an examination ' so long as
you don't Avork much for that, and are exempted, for the sake
of it, from all other kinds of Avork. Boating and cricketing
and running races, and every kind of exercise, are known
now-a-days to be compatible Avith the hardest mental labour,
and he is a stern parent indeed Avho interferes Avith his son's
training in such essential points. But all these delights are
GO WIXniN THE PHECINCTS.
more or less dependent upon pocket-mone3^ Law, -whose
bread and cheese had never yet failed, and Avhose conscience
•was not active, would have found his life quite pleasant but
for that ; but it was hard upon him not to be able to pay his
subsciiption to a cricket club, nor the hire of a boat, nor even
the entry money for a race, though that was sure to repay
itself abundantly if he won it. This was very hard upon him,
and oiten stimulated him to the length of a resolution that
he would work to-morrow and conquer all his subjects, and
'scrape through' by sheer force of Avill, so as to have an in-
come of his own. But the habit of idleness unfortunately
overcame tlie resolution next morning, which was a pity, and
Law ' loafed,' as he himself said, not being able to afford to
' do anvtliing.' It is needless to inform the instructed who
have to do with youths working for examinations, that it i.s
cricket and boating and athletics these heroes mean when they
talk of ' having something to do.'
Law, however, had a pleasure before him which had no
connection with pocket-money. He went straight down with
the directness of habit, till he came to a lane very tortuous
and narrow, crowded with builders' yards and coal-merchants,
and affording glimpses of the little wharves where a little
traffic was carried on, edging the river. Threading his way
through them, he came to a red brick house, the front of
Avhich overhung the stream with its projecting gable. Law
went in through a door which stood open always, and showed
signs of much and constant use. There were lodgings up-
stairs, which were very pleasant in summer, and which were
always let, and made a very comfortable item in the earnings
of the family ; but it was not upstairs that Law went, though
that would have done him good. *0n the first floor, in the
room with the stjuare window, which overlooked and indeed
overhung the river, the excellent curate was living with
whom Law occasionally ' read,' and to whom no doubt he
■would have s;iid he was going had Lottie seen him at this
door. But Law had no intention of disturbing the curate,
who for liis part did not want his pupil. He passed the
staircase altogether, and pushed open a green baize door,
beyond which was a sliort passage leading into a room, all
ablaze with gas. The door of the room was wide open, and
so were tlu- windows, to admit all the air lliat was possible,
and round the large table between sat three or four young
LAW. 61
■women •working and talking. They were very busy ; the
creat table was covered with silk and mu.slin, and all kinds
of flimsy trimming, and though they chatted they were work-
ing as for bare life. As Law sauntered in they all looked
up for a moment, and threw a smile or a nod or half-a-dozen
words at him, but scarcely intermitted a stitch. ' We're
awful busy ; we can't so much :is look at you ; we've got
some wedding things to finish for to-morrow,' said one fair-
haired girl who seemed specially to appropriate his visit.
She pushed her chair a little aside without pausing in her
work, as if accustomed to make room for him ; and Law
took a chair and placed it sideways, so that he could lean his
idle elbow on the table between this busy needlewoman and
the rest. Perhaps as a stormy sea gives zest to the enjoy-
ment of tranquillity on shore, so the extreme occupation of
this workroom made him feel his own absolute leisure more
delightful.
* Who is going to be married ? ' he said.
* Oh, you know just as well as I do. I am sure you have
heard us talking of it for the last week. Polly, didn't you
tell Mr. Despard all about it? It's a lady you know. It's
]\Iiss Hare at the Golden Eagle, who is one of your papa's
great friends. I don't know -what the Captain will do when
she's gone. Polly, do you ? '
' I don't know what the Captain has to do with her, nor
me neither,' said the young lady at the head of the table.
The rest of the girls were sisters, with fair frizzy locks a
little out of order after the long day's work, Avhat with the
warmth of the room, and the fluttering of the faint breeze
from the river that ruffled the well-crimped tresses. But
Polly was of a different stamp. She had a mountain of dark
brown hair upon her head in plaits and curls and puffs innu-
merable, and though she was sallow in complexion, had
commanding features, a grand aquiline nose, and brilliant
eyes. ' The Captain nor me, Ave haven't much to .'■ay to that
sort,' said Polly. ' I don't go Avith them that has a Avord and
a, laugh for everybody. What I like is a young lady that
respects herself. If you work for your living, that's not to
say that you ain't as good as the best of them. Stick up for
yourself, and other folks Avill think of you according, that's
Avhat I say.'
' I am sure ^liss Hare always sticks iip for herself,' said
C2 ■WITHIN THE PHECIXCTS.
the gill by Law's side. ' Going to be married in a, veil, like
one of the quality ! '
• And so Avould I, if it Avas me,' cried Polly. ' The
quality ! What are they better than us, only the3''ve got a
pocketful of money. If I was the Queen, I'd do away with
them all. I'd be the Queen, and all the rest shoidd be the
people. There shouldn't be one more than another, or one
greater than anotlier, only me. And then shouldn't I do
■whatever I pleased, and cut off their heads if they said a
■word ! '
This instinctive perception of the secret of despotism
made Law laugh, who thought he knew a great deal better.
' It Avould be a funny Avorld with Queen Polly over it,' he
said. ' I hope you'd take me for your prime minister.'
Polly gave him a look of saucy malice. ' I'd take the
Captain/ she said.
' Has he been here to-night, Emma ? I think he's
ahvays coming here,' said Law, under his breath. It Avas a
kind of growl Avhich the young fellow gave out AAdien he
spoke loAv, in the A^oice Avhich not A^ery long ago had been
treble, a soprano, as clear and pure as Lottie's — but it AA^as
extremely bass noAv.
' lie Avants to knoAv,' said Emma, Avith a glance at the
others as she pinned her work straight, ' if the Captain has
been here ; ' upon Avhich there Avas a chorus of laughter,
making LaAV red and angry. He turned upon them Avith a
furious look.
' I should like to knoAV hoAv you Avould all like it,' said
the boy, ' if your governor Avere to come poking in the very
same place Avhere '
' Oh, you may make yourself quite easy, Mr. LaAvrence,'
said Polly, Avith a toss of her elaborately dressed head. ' He
don't meddle Avith you. The Captain is a man of taste, he
ain't a boy, like some folks. He knoAVS Avhat's Avhat, the
Captain does. Other girls may have their fancies ; I
don't say anything against that, but give me a man as knoAvs
the Avorld, and knows Avhat he Avants. That's the sort for me.'
' She gets more insufferable than ever. I Avonder hoAV
you can put up Avith her,' said LaAV under his breath.
' Doesn't she,' .said Emma in a Avhisi)er. ' I wish she had
never come into our Avorkroom ; but she has taste, mother
says, and we have to put up Avith it. Everything has to give
LAW. G3
way to the work,' the gul added, threading her needle ; and
as she made a knot upon the end of the new thread, she
shook her head with a sigh.
Everything has to give way to tlie work ! Law could
not but smile, feeling the superiority of his- gentlemanhood.
With him it was the work that gave way to everything.
* Poor little Em ! ' he said, with a little laugh. She was
only seventeen, a year younger than he was ; her forefinger
was seamed into furrows with her needle, and sometimes bled,
which called forth no sympathy, but only scoldings, from the
forewoman or her mother, when an unlucky red mark ap-
peared on a hem. Emma did not very much mind the scold-
ings, which came natural to her, and she never made any
comparison of herself with Law. He was a gentleman, that
made all the difference. And it was a great deal nicer, and
much more important, to have such a fine fellow to keep
company with, than a young painter or carpenter, or even a
tailor, which was what 'Liza had to be content with. ]\Ir.
Despard was a very different sort of person. As Law
whispered to her, Emma felt her heart swell with pride. She
Avent on with her work all the same, sometimes threatening
to prick him with the needle which was at the end of that
long thread. Emma was only ' running a skirt,' not trusted
as yet with the more difficult parts of the work, and she
pointed her needle at Law's nose when he came too close.
But it was very sweet to her to have him there. Polly might
brag as she pleased of the Captain— the Captain was old, and
what was the good of him? He did nothing but puff Polly
up with pride, the younger girls thought, and nothing would
ever come of it. But Law was young, and there was no
tellinm- -what mi2;ht come of that. Emma threatened him
DO
with her needle, but in her heart was very proud of him.
And there he sat and talked to her, while Lottie was having
her little triumph among all the fine people at the Rectory.
The Welting girls were all pleased to have Law there. They
liked to talk of Mr. Despard, ' from the Abbey,' and how
they ' could not keep him out of their workroom.' By and
by they began to joke about his idleness, the only idle one
among so busy a company. ' Can't you give him something
simple to do — a skirt to run up or a long hem ? ' ' Oh, yes,'
.said Emma. ' Do, Polly, he bothers me so I can't get my
ekirt done.' Tolly opened her drawer, and drew out from it
64 WITHIN THE ri^IXIXCTS.
the current number of a distinguished periodical which all
these young women admired.
' I'll tell you Avhat he can do,' she said, ' and make him-
self useful — for we've got to sit up all night a'most, and
there's nothing makes work go like reading out loud. Mr.
Lawrence, if you want to be as good as your professions, and
help us young ladies on, as are far harder worked than the
like of you knows of even, there's the last number of the
Famibj Herald, and we're all that anxious, we don't know
how to bear it. to hear how Lady Araminta got on '
' Oh, give it me,' said Emma, with her eyes sparkling.
* Oh, give it me ! Oh, you nasty cruel creature, to have it
in your drawer all the time, and never to tell ! '
' I'll give it to Mr. Despard,' said Polly, ' and we'll all be
done half as soon again if he'll read it out loud.'
' Give it here,' said Law with lordly good-nature, and he
began at once upon his task. How the needles flew as he
read ! Lady Araminta was a wonderful heroine. She wore
nothing less than velvet and satin, and carried her diamonds
about with her wherever she went, and the title deeds of her
estate in the bosom of her dress. Law leaned his long arm
on the table, sometimes pausing to take breath and playing
with Emma's pins and cotton. He would thus tantalise them
now and then when the story grew most exciting and his
auditors most breathless. He was hon prince among them
all, very good-natured and willing to please them, though
Emma had his special vows. His head was not so much
turned as was the head of virtuous Lottie^ listening to the
applause of Mr. Eollo Ridsdale, but he was very happy with
this little court about him all the same.
CHAPTER VH.
A NEW LIGHT.
It was late before Law got home. In the first place he read
the Familij Herald through to his interested and busy
auditors. Their needles flew like lightning along the lengthy
scams; trimmings Avere as nothing to them, and even a hem
became interesting as he read. When he had pursued Lady
A NEW LTGIIT. G5
Araminta to the end of this little portion of her history, show-
ing how she refused that wicked Duke who was at the bottom
of all her troubles, and whose expedients to get her into his
power were so manifold, he began the next story — and so on
till all was finished. It took some time to get through tlie
delightful pennyworth. What good it did to the poor girls at
their work ! The}'' were not patient, superior, noble-minded
needlewomen, pensively bearing up against the privations of
their lot, but very commonplace girls, grumbling at their pri-
vations frankly, yet sitting up half the night over wedding
iinery or funeral robes, -without any very clear idea that it was
a hardship, or indeed more than an inevitable feature of ' the
dressmaking.' It Avas luider this simple matter-of-fact aspect
that their vigil appeared to them now, and they did not feel
it any very great grievance ; but, sucli as it was, it was in-
finitely lightened by Law and the Familij Herald. He was,
to tell the truth, a little bit interested himself in the stories,
lie thought them very finely written. He liked the bits about
Araminta's true, but alas ! poor and unfortunate lover. This
lover was tall and strong, interesting and clever beyond
description. He could do whatever he tried to do, and man-
nged to live comfortably upon nothing at all. Law had a half
notion that this elegant and perfect being was like himself. He
Avould not have breathed it to anyone, but yet he thought so.
And when one story was finished he began another. He did not
mind whether it v/as the beginning, or the middle, or the end
of the tale ; all was the same to Law ; he went stoutly on, and
read the Avhole number through — poetry, answers to corres-
pondents, and all. It was not very fine literature perhaps, or,
rather, it was very superfine literature, with nobody below the
rank of a baronet in the leadinir stories : but what it did for
these poor dressmaking girls ! They followed Lady Araminta
through every turn of her wonderful fortunes, with eyes that
glowed and shone over their needlework. They identified
themselves with her, exclaiming, ' That's just what I'd have
done ! ' and ' No, I wouldn't have had him, not I, if he'd been
fifty dukes ! ' with true enthusiasm. Their needles flew, and
the work got on as by magic ; their excitement showing itself
in the speed with which they worked. The wedding things
were done an hour sooner than they would otherwise have been
done, under this stimulus, and it was little more than twelve
o'clock Avhen Polly, after iblding up the last dress, in readiness
F
66 WITHIN THE PKECINCTS.
to be sent home first thing in the morning, said, ' Now, Mr-
Lawrence, you've been a deal of use. If you like, you can see
me home ! '
' As if it was a treat for him to see her home ! ' Emma
cried, who o-mied the special allegiance of Law ; but the youth
for his part had no objection. It was a beautiful night, and
a little additional walk Avas nothing but a pleasure to him ;
and he was quite good-natured, ready to exert himself in any
way that was not legitimate and necessary. Emma, indeed,
did not smile iipon this iindertaking. She (who had been
obliged to do as much before now without anyone to take care
of her) did not see what Polly wanted with an escort in a
quiet place like St. Michael's. ' You'll meet nobody Avorse
than the policeman,' she said.
' Policemen arc bad enough, sometimes,' said Polly.
* Mind you don't meet the Captain,' said Emma's elder
sister,' ' and get him into trouble with his papa.'
At this Polly laughed, tossing her head with its innumer-
able plaits and puffs. ' I hope I can manage the Captain,' she
said. And whoever had heard the style of Polly's conversa-
tion as she walked iip the sweep of the steep street by Law's
side, with the soft night air blowing in their faces, would have
recognised at once the superiority of Polly to all the insinua-
tions addressed to her, AH was very quiet in the High Street
of St. Michael's : they met nobody worse than the policeman,
as Emma had suggested ; and everything was still and dark,
except the stars shining far away overhead ; for the shop-
windows had long been closed, and the lamps glimmered few
and far between.
' You mustn't think anything of what these foolish things
say about the Captain,' said Polly ; 'because I'm a bit more
reasonable than the rest, he likes to have a chat with me now
and again. He's a very Avell-informed man is your pajia ; but
you mustn't think nothing of what they say '
' Oh, I don't ! ' said Law, with the serenest confidence ; ' I
know the governor's way.'
This, however, was not a reply which pleased Polly.
* Wliat do you mean by the governor's way ? ' she cried
pharply. ' You are not half respectful enough, if you would
like to hear my opinion. You shouldn't talk of the Captain
like that; he's a fine man, and he's one that many in this town
thinks a deal of.'
A xRw lig:it. 67
* Is he i-c:illy ? ' said Law, in g-enuine surprise ; ' I did not
know that. I wonder what kind o£ people they are ? Is it
far offAvhere you live, Polly? I haven't got a latchkey, so I
don't Avant to be very late.'
' You never thought of being late so long as you were sit-
ting by Emma ; though what you can see in a little white-
haired thino: like that, like a white cat ! You haven't srot a
latchkey ? I should think not at your age. Mr. Lawrence,
take my advice, and never be so late out of bed unless there
is a very good reason for it.'
' I like that ! ' cried Law, ' when it was you that kept me
there all the time.'
' I thought it would do you good,' said Polly. ' I am
almost sure you had not done a thing besides, or looked into a
book for the whole day.'
' Oh ! I should not mind standing an examination in the
Famibj Herald^ Law said Avith a laugh. He had occupied
the post of reader in the workroom before, and knew a great
deal about Lady Araminta. There could not be any doubt
that he Avas very good-natured, and ready to make himself of
use.
'I should like to knoAV,' said Polly — and though he could
scarcely see her face, Law felt, Avith a mixture of amusement
and indignation, by the sound of her voice, that Polly, too,
meant to give him good advice — ' I should like, to know, i\ir.
LaAvrence, Avhat you intend to be ? Are you going into the
army, like the Captain ? If I Avere a young gentleman, that's
what I should choose above everything.'
* I can't afford the army, Avorse luck,' cried LaAv ; ' Ave
haven't got any money, and a felloAv can't live on his pay.
And there's those dash'd examinations to pass everywhere
before you can get into anything ; it's enough to drive a man
out of his senses. I sometimes think I shall emigrate — that's
the only thing you can do Avithout an examination.'
* But you can't do that without money — a little money at
least,' said Polly. ' If I Avere you, I should make a push and
get in someAvhere. I can't think hoAv you can stay at home
doing nothing, a great strong yoimg man like you.'
' Oh ! as for being strong, that don't do much for an
exam.,' said Law. * The little felloAvs stand the best chance
there.'
' I Avouldn't make jokes about it, if I Avere you. I Avonder
f2
C3 ^vlT]^^' the pklcixcts.
liow }-ou can go on living on the Captain, anil such a burden
on him — both you and your sister '
'Hallo,' said Law in extreme surprise. The mention o£
Lottie bewildered him. He was not even angry ibr the
moment — he was so profoundly astoni^^hed.
' Yes, indeed, you and your sister too. You don't show
any consideration for the Captain, and how can you expect
tliat he's always to be thinking o£ you ? The Captain is a
young man still, and he is a fine man, and it he were to marry-
again, as would be very natural at his age, where would you
and ^liss Despard be ? '
' Let my sister alone, if you please,' said Law, Avith a
momentary flash of anger; and then he relapsed into a laugh.
' The governor should be much obliged to you, Polly, for
taking his part.'
' Somebody ought to take his part,' said Polly. ' I don't
suppose he's much over fifty — what I call quite a young man
still ; and why should he deny himself and spend all he's get
on two grown-up young people that ought to be making their
own living ! A man like the Captain, he wants his ease and
Ids little comforts and a wife to look after him — that's what he
wants. He ain't an old man to give in to his family. If I were
to put upon my folks like that, do you think I'd be walking
up St. iNIichael's Hill at this hour of the night, after slaving
and stitching all day ? Not a bit of it, Mr. Lawrence. If I
were to do as you're doing, I might sit at home and make
myself comfortable ; but I was always one for being indepen-
dent, and as for the Captain, poor dear ! he oughtn't to be
spending his money upon them that can do for themselves. It
is himself he ought to be thinking of, to get all the pleasure
he can as long as he's able to enjoy it. And if he were to
maiTy again, as there's nothing more likely, where would you
and >Ii.ss Lottie be ? Oh, yes, I know your names quite well,'
.said Polly. ' We often talk about you. These sort of names
for short are a mistake. For instance me, my name's Maria,
tliat's a very lady hke name; but what does it matter when
everybody calls me Polly ? but, if my name's common,
nobody can say of mc that I don't behave handsome to my
parents,' Polly said with emphasis. As for Law, he had felt
himself growing hot and cold all through this speech. It
plunged him into an entirely new world of thought. He tried
to hiugh, but there was no laughter in his mind.
A NliW LIGHT. 69
'It is very kind of you, Polly,' lie said, with scorn in
his voice, ' to take the trouble to givenie so much good advice.'
' Oh, I assure you it's not for your sake, but the Captain's,'
said Polly. * I told him if ever I had a chance with either
of you, you should hear a bit of my mind — and I saw my
opportunity to-night — that's why I asked you to come with
me, Mr. Lawrence. Oh, it wasn't for the pleasure of your
society ! I told the Captain I'd give you a bit ol' my mind.
This is my home, so I'll bid you good-night, and I hope you'll
lay to heart what I say.'
Law turned up the Abbey Hill when thus dismissed with
much secret excitement in his mind. It was altoa^ether a new
idea to him that his father Avas, as Polly said, quite a young
man still, and that it Avas on himself, not on his grown-up
children, that his money should be spent. Law had never
looked upon the income of the family as belonging exclusively
to his father. It ivas the family income, and it had seemed
to him that he had just as good a right to have everything he
■wanted as his father had. As a matter of fact he did not cet
all he Avanted, as Captain Despard managed to do; but that
Avas because his father had the command of CA-erything, not
that he had a better right to it than Law. The idea that he
had no right at all, as Polly seemed to think, and that his
father might make the home untenable by marrying some-
body, perhaps Polly herself, struck him as the most extra-
ordinary ol' revelations. It Avas too extraordinary to
be thought of calndy — his brain boiled and bubbled with
the extraordinariness and novelty of the thought. The
governor, Avho Avas only not an old fogey because lie Avas
so much less respectable, less orderly than old fogeys ought
to be ! — Law could not associate his father's imafre Avith the
idea of, even, comparative youth. But he could not dismiss
the suggestion from his mind. He tried to laugh, but some-
thing seemed to hang over him like a throat, like a cloud of
evil omen. He Avalked quickly up the slope to the Abbey
gate, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling in his mind —
trying to postpone at least the neAV idea Avhich he could not
get rid of. "When, however, Law had got into the Precincts
he saw a passenger not much less active and considerably
more jaunty than himself on the -wny before him, Avalking
Avith a slight occasional lurch, up the pavement to the Lodges.
The lurch Avas quite slight, and njight not have been noticed
70 WITHIN THE PEECINCTS.
l>y an indifferent eye, but Law noted it with the jealoi:s
observation of one whose own credit was at stake. It was
hard npon a fellow, he thought, that his father should be seen
jroinir home niirht after niyht with a lurch in his walk, and.
that his name should be recognised in all the lowest quai'ters
of the town as that of 'the Captain's son.' Why should he
suffer lor such a cause ? Other old men were respectable,
were no !^hame to their sons, but on the contrary furnished, a
margin of honour and reputation upon which to draw when,
there was occasion ; but this was not the case with Captain
Despard. Other old men — but there suddenly flashed across
Law's mind, as he instinctively placed his father in this class,
a recollection of the words which had just been said to him — •
' He is what I call a young man still.' Pricked by this thought,
he looked at the figure before him with eyes suddenly cleared,
from the mists of habit and tradition, and saw it in an alto-
gether new light. Captain Despard was straight and active :
he carried his head high, and his step, though to- night slightly
irregular, was both firm and light. To see him walking in
front hununing and whistling by turns, perhaps with a certain
bravado to show how steady he was, gave Law the most un-
comfortable sensation. It was true what Polly had said. This
was no old fogey, no heavy father ; though up to this moment
Law had looked upon the Captain in no other light. He felt
a shiver come over him, a sudden realisation of all the possi-
bilities. Who should say that the governor ought not to do
wliat he liked best, whatever that may be ? Law felt con-
scious that he himself, who was so much younger, did what
he liked in indifference to everybody's opinion, and he was
under no affectionate delusion as to the superior virtue of his
father. What if Polly were right? Polly perhaps had a
better chance of knowing the Captain's wishes than either
his son or his daughter, to whom he Avas not likely to talk en
Mich subjects. A chill came over the lad though the night
was so warm. Life had always seemed sure enough to him,
though it had its privations. He had to put up with that
chronic want of pocket money — and Avith frequent ' rows '
from his father, and passionate remonstrances from Lottie.
These were the drawbacks of existence ; but Law was aware
that, except in very favourable circumstances indeed, as when
you were born a duke, or at least born to the possession of
live thousand a year or so, existence was very seldom
A NEW LIGHT. 71
without drawbacks; this, however, was very much worse
than the want of pocket money ; the governor with a new
wife, perhaps Polly ! The sitnation was too horrible to be
realised, but for the moment the idea seemed to pour a current
of ice into Law's veins.
He had no latchkey, but as soon as he saw his father he
made up his mind to take advantage of Captain Despard's
entrance in a •way which he had found practicable before this.
Light and swift; as he was, when the Captain had fumbled and
opened the door. Law stole close behind him and entered with
him in the dai'kness. * What's that ? ' Captain Despard
growled, feeling the movement of the air as his son passed.
* I'll swear there's a c'host in this house,' he added, 2;rumbling
to himself. Law, however, was safely out of the way before
his father managed to strike a light, and went, swaying from
side to side, up the narrow staircase which creaked under him.
The young fellow, standing back in the darkness, saw Captain
Despard's face illuminated by the light of the candle he
carried, and gazed at it Avith eyes sharpened by anxiety. It
was a handsome face — the contour still perfect, the hair crisp
and curling, a heavy military moustache shadowing the well-
formed lip. The Captain was flushed, his eyesAvere blinking,
half-closed, and that unloveliest look that can be seen on a
man's face, the look of partial intoxication approaching the
sleepy stage, took all spirit and sentiment from him. Yet
Law could not but acknowledge that his father was a hand-
some man. He stood quite still, watching that progress up-
stairs, half because he Avas luiAvilling to be seen, half
because he Avas anxious to see. Captain Despard
Avas ' a fine man,' as Polly had said. LaAV could see nov\-,
looking at him between the bars of the railing Avhich
guarded the little staircase, that there Avas nothing in
common between him and the old Avhite-haired CheA'aliers,
old men not strong enough to be Avarlike, but courteous and
gentle as becomes old soldiers, who sunned themselves on the
pavement before the Lodges. Captain Despard, middle-aged
and self-assertive, was as different as possible from those old
gentlemen Avith their honourable scars. He had none of
tlieir lionours nor the grace of old service ; but he Avas strong
in life and A'igour, a kind of superiority Avhicli LaAV could
nj^preciate. A grain of pride mingled in the exasperation
with Avhich he acknowledged this to himself — and yet he Avas
72 ■WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
not only exasperated but alaroied. He retired to bed very
softly afterwards, creeping on tiptoe and in the dark up the
stairs. Tliere was still a gleam of light imder Lottie's door, but
Law preferred not to direct hi? sister's attention to the late
hour of his own return by going straight to her room to
relieve himself of his trouble. He did not want to be forced
into confidences or to betray where he had himself been, and
how he had heard the alarming prophecies which had so
suddenly cleared his sight ; and though the temptation was
great he resisted it. Thus the lights were burning ail at
once in three of the little rooms in Captain's Despard's house,
each illuminating a separate world of excitement, unsus-
pected by the others. The Cajitain's share of the disturbance
Avas less of the mind than the body. He had lost some money
which he could not aiFord to lose, and was annoyed on this
account ; and he Avas excited, but more sleepy, on account of
the potations which had accompanied his play. ' By , I'll
have it back to-morrow night — luck can't be so against me one
night after another.' This Avas the only burden of his simple
and uncomplicated reflections. He thought nothing of his
children one Avay or another. Both his children, hoAvever,
though in different Avays, Avere thinking of him. Lottie,
though she dared not openly sit up for her father, remained
up in her OAvn room until he came in, and she had made sure
that he did not Avant anything, and Avas not likely to set the
house on fire. But LaAv's reflections Avere more serious than
those of the other tAvo. It seemed to the idle lad as if sud-
denly a real burden had got on to his shoulders. He was
thoroughly frightened out of the pleasant calm of nature — the
sense that everything must go on as everything had gone
since he could remember. In later days, indeed, things had
gone better for LaAV — Lottie had managed noAV and then to
scrape a sliilling or two off the housekeeping to give him, and
of late she had not bullied him quite so much as usual. The
current had been flowing more evenly — everything had con-
spired to make the happy-go-lucky of his life more smooth
than before. Ho Avoke up Avith all the more fright and sur-
prise to the .sudden danger now.
TRIUMPH AND TERKOFw. 73
CHAPTER VIIL
TRIUMPH AND TERROR.
Lottie had gone home that night, it need not be said, witli
her head full of" excitement. Had she not good reason to look
upon this evening as of importance in her life ? She had met
the man who, before he had ever spoken to her, had, according
to all appearances, placed her on the highest pinnacle on
Avhich a girl can be placed — the throne of a romantic love.
Though it had been a temporary downfall to her to be placed
in the charge of IMr. Ashford and the Signor, instead of
crossing the Dean's Walk in the company of this secret and
poetical lover, yet she was almost glad to be thus let drop into
quietness, to avert any word or look too much, which might
have spoiled the visionary elevation on which she felt herself.
Yes, she was glad that they had never been alone. Had he
whispered an avowal of any kind into her ear, she Avas not,
she knew, prepared for it ; Lottie was honest even in her
self-delusion, and she knew that, however profoundly to her
advantage it might be, she could not make any response to a
man whom she did not know, whom she was speaking to for
the first time, notwithstandino; her consciousness that he mv;st
have been thinkina; of her for a lono; time. She could not
have made any fit reply. She must have said something
which probably would have hurt him in tlie fervour of his
romantic passion ; for, though grateful to him and romantically
touched by his evident devotion, Lottie could not have per-
suaded herself that he was anything to her except a delightful
wonder and most flattering novelty. No, it was better, much
better, that he did not come ; she must have hurt his feelings,
discouraged him, probably driven him away from her ; and
she was very far from Avishing to drive him away. Lottie
thought, Avith an innocent calculation, if she saAv a little more
of him, had a little time given her to make his acquaintance,
that probably she Avoiild come to love him quite naturally
and spontaneously ; l)ut at pre.sent it Avas not possible that
.she could do so, and she felt a natural shrinking from any
premature disclosure of his feelings. Thus it Avas evidently
most fortunate that the Dean had interposed, that IJollo had
not been alloAved to come home Avith her^fortunate, and yet
74 WITHIN THE rRECINCTS.
a little disappointing too. There had been a very few words
exchanged with her companions as they crossed the Dean's
Walk. :\Ir. Ashford had most kindly and com-teously re-
minded her that she had expressed a \vish to speak to him
about something. ' It is too late now to ask what it was,' he
said ; ' I must not keep you out of doors at thishour ; but if you
Avill permit me, I Avill call and inquire in what way I can be
of use to you ? ' ' You know in what way / would like to be
of use to you, Miss Despard,' the Signor said on the other
side. All this was very flattering, even though she might be
displeased by the Signer's reiteration of his disagreeable offer.
She made him a curtsey like Lady Caroline, while to the
minor canon she gave her hand, which perhaps was quite
sulhcient to mark her different estimation of them. And
indeed the Signor had been very kind about the accompani-
ments, which he had certainly played to perfection. This
recollection came to her mind as he thanked her for her
singing, undaunted by the stiffness of her leave-taking.
* Indeed, I owe you more, a great deal more, than you can
possibly owe me,' Lottie said, with a burst of compunction ;
' I never sang so Avell before, because I never had such an
accompaniment.' ' Then I hope I may accompany you very
often again,' he said, Avith a smile, as he Avent away. Thus
even with the Signor, Lottie felt herself in perfect good-
humour and charity. A man who paid such compliments to
her voice, how could she be hard upon him, even if he made
a little mistake in respect to her position ? And she went in
out of the summer night in a state of celestial satisfaction with
all the people surrounding her — and herself Even Lady-
Caroline had melted into something which Avas Avarmth for
her. She had said, ' I have enjoyed your singing veiy much,
Miss Despard,' and had touched Lottie's hand Avith tAvo limp
fingers — that Avas something, indeed it Avas miich for Lady
Caroline. And all the other great ladies had spoken, or at
least iiad sniilcd upon Lottie, thanking her. What covild she
have Avished for more? She Avent up into her little tiny room,
Avhich Avas not much bigger than Lady Caroline's grand piano,
and tlirownig off the Indian sliaAvl (if Mrs. O'Shaughncssy
could but have seen it !) on the floor, sat doAvn upon her little
white bed and began to think. To think ! nothing of the
sort — to go over everything that had happened, Avith a dazzle
of light and delight and triumph round her. She seemed to
TRIUMPH AND TEr.nOR. tO
herself to have thrown down nil the bonndarics that had
hitherto separated her from her lawful sphere. If a suitor
should come from that higher and better world who could
wonder noAv ? Had she not been adopted into it — received to
her just place at last ?
And naturally it was upon Iiollo that her recollections
chiefly centred; he was the chief figure of the whole company
to Lottie. She remembered minutely everything he had said
and done, the expression of his ilice (though she put infinitely
more meaning in it than was there), the tone of his voice.
How the room had become at once full of interest, of excite-
ment, when he came in, clearing away all the dimness! Lottie
had scarcely time even to wonder how and Avhere their next
meeting would be, for thinking of this first meeting. How
his face had lighted up when he saw that she was there ; how
he had been caught by some one on his way to her, and kept
talking in sp^te of himself, with his eyes upon her all the
time ; how he had escaped and pressed tlirough all the fine
company to get to her side ; how he had confessed that he
had but a very visionary right to claim her acquaintance at all,
but nevertheless meant to stand on that right as, for the time
being, the son of the house ! Lottie had scarcely forgotten a
word oi" all he said. And, as a matter of fact, Rollo had hvcn
very careful to behave himself with due discretion, not to
make it too apparent that her voice was the thing that most
interested him. She thought that he admired her singing as
a part of his enthusiasm for herself. She had not a suspicion
of the real state of the case. It seemed to her that her voice
was a delightful discovery to him, a something par-dessiis le
marcht', an added charm ; that it was the sole foundation of
his apparent enthusiasm never occurred to the girl ; neither,
though she kneAv that her general triumph was caused by her
singing, did she solely set down to that cause the friendly looks
and smiles and flattering compliments she had received. This
was absiu'd, but wc do not pretend that Lottie was beyond
the reach of absurdity. She knew that it was her singing
which had suddenly silenced all the conversation going on in
the room, and called the attention of everybody ; but yet it
Aviis surely something more ; it was herself, not her voice,
which brought that kindly look to their eyes as they smiled
upon her. It is hard to acknowledge to ourselves that it is
for some special, perhaps accidental, quality we may possess,
7G WlTinN THE PRECINCTS.
that we are favoured and esteemed by our fellow -creatures.
Human nature is humbled by the conviction that it is the
possession of a gift worthy of popularity which makes an in-
dividual popular. We all prefer to be prized for nothing at
all, for ourselves. And this, in the face of circumstances,
and clean against all reason, was what Lottie hoped and de-
terminedly believed. She could not consent to the other idea.
To be praised and made friends ^vith. for her voice was intoler-
able. The only approbation which is really flattering and
delightful is that which is given upon no ground at all.
She had been sitting thus ibr some time on her bed,
musing, with eyes that sparkled and a heart that fluttered with
happiness; and had taken off her evening gown, and loosed
the roses irom her hair, and wrapped her Avhite shining satin
shoulders in a white cotton dressing-gown ; and had even
brushed out those long dark locks, and twisted them up again
close to her head for the night, with innumerable fancies
twisted out and in of all she did, before Captain Despard,
fumbling for the key-hole, opened his own door and came in,
in the dark. It was Lottie's habit to sit up till he came in,
but to-night she had been too much occupied by her own con-
cerns to hear his approach, and it was only when he came up-
stairs that she woke up to think of him. Lottie's experienced
ear caught the lurch in his stejs, just as Law's experienced eye
had caught it. ' Again ! ' she said to herself, with a momen-
tary flash of anger ; but it did not make her wretched as it
might have done a more sensitive daughter. Lottie was
accustomed to accept her father without question, not expecting
much of him, and somewhat disposed, when he did not come
up even to the little she expected, to satisfy herself that it was
just like papa. But his entrance relieved her from her
habitual vigil. She heard Law steal upstairs afterwards, and
wondered how or when he had got in, and where he went at
night, Avith more curiosity than she expended on her father;
but even that did not much disturb Lottie, who had been
used all her life to irregular entrances and exits. After a
while all was still in the little house, notwithstanding the
anxieties and excitements collected luider its roof. Dis-
quietude and trouble could not keep Law from sleeping any
more than excitement and triumph could keep his sister; and,
as for the Captain, the sleep of the just was never so profoimd
as that which wrapped him in a not too lovely tranquillity.
TRIUMPH AXD TElinon. I 7
The air Avas all thrilling %vith emotion of one kind or another,
bub they slept as profoundly as if they hud not a care in the
-world — as soundly as the good 0'Shaughne?sys next door, -who
had been asleep since eleven o'clock, and who had no cares but
those of their neighbours to disquiet them ; or old Colonel
Dalrymple on the other side, Avho dozed through his life. The
soft night stilled them all, young and old and middle-aged, in
their kind, just as it held in soft shadow the Abbey, with all
its crrey pinnacles and immemorial towers. Nature cared
nothing for the troubles of life ; but life submitted to the
centle yoke of nature, which relieves the soul, while it binds
the body, and makes a temporary truce and armistice with all
the army of mortal cares.
Next morning Law lounged into the little drawing-room
after breakfiist with a big book in his hand. He had almost
given up the pretence of reading for some time, so that it was
till the more wonderful to see a book Avhich Avas not a yellow
railway novel in his hand. Lottie had been up early,
awakened by the commotion in her mind, which did not allow
her to rest — or rather which prevented her from going to sleep
again when the early noises of the morning woke her up.
Accordingly she had got through a great deal of her ordinaiy
household work by this time, when Law, after a breakfast
Avhich was later than usual, lounged in upon her. He was
very big, and filled up the little room ; and his habit of doing
as little as possible, and his want of money, which made some
imperfections in his toilette inevitable, gave him a look of in-
dolence and shabbiness such as was not natural to his age, or
even to his disposition, for by nature Law was not lazy. He
came sauntering in with one hand in his pocket, ai;d with his
book under the other arm ; and he sat down in the only easy-
chair the room contained, exasperating Lottie, to whom his very
bin^ness seemed an offence. There were times when she was
proud of Law's size, his somewhat hcuA-y good-looks, his
athletic powers ; but this morning, as many times before, the
very sight of those long limbs jarred upon her. What was the
use of all that superfluous length and strength ? He took
the only easy- chair, and stretched out his long limbs half
across the room, and Lottie at the height of her activity
felt impatience rise and swell within her. She could not
put up with Law that morning. His indolence was an
offence to her.
78 wiTinx TiiK rr.ECiNCTS.
* Wliat do you ■want, Law ? ' alie said, in a voice which was
not so sweet as it had been at the Deanery. She gave a rapid
glance up at him as she went on with her darning, and took in
the Avliole picture, the easy-chair and the lounging attitude.
If he had sat upright upon the little hard wickerwork chair,
Lottie would have felt more merciful.
' Well, I Avant nothing in particiilar, except to talk to you
a little,' said Law. ' You need not be so cross.'
' 1 am not cross ; but to sec you in an easy-chair, idling
awa}' all the morning '
' How do you know I've been idling this morning? Look
at my book : that's Virgil,' said Law, looking at it with simple
admiration. ' I don't think a fellow could do much better
than that.'
' But have you really heen reading? ' Lottie's tone modi-
fied; she began to look at him with respect. 'Oh, I«xav, if
you only would work ! it would make such a diiFerence, it
would make me quite happy. I was speaking to Mr, Ashfoi'd
last night. You know Mr. Ashford, the minor canon. He is
so clever with his pupils. If you could but go to him, if he
would only take you. Law ! '
' IIg would take me fast enough if we could afford the
money. I say, Lottie, the governor was awfully late last
night : did you hear him coming in ? I want to tell you
something about him — something I have heard.'
' I think you were very late, too. Law.'
* Oh ! never mind about that ; it does not matter about
me. Lottie, listen. A friend — I mean somebody — was
speaking to me about him. Did it ever come into your head
that he was not an old man, and that such a thing was
possible as that he might— it seems too ridiculous to say it —
marry again ? '
' Marry again ? you are dreaming ! ' cried Lottie loudly, in
her astonishment.
' Yes, while we knew nothing of it. After all, wdicn you
come to lliink of it, when you look at him, you know, he is
not so awfully old. One thinks he must be, because he is
one's lather. But some of these old beggars are just as silly '
— said Law in aAvestruck tones, ' and you can't stop them
doing things as you can a fellow that is young. It is an awful
shame ! a lellow that is under age, as they call it, you can pull
him up, though there's no harm 'in iiim ; but an old fellow of
TKIUJiril AXD TERROR. 79
fifty, yoii can't stop him, ■whatever nonsense he may set his
face to. That's what I heard last night.'
' It is not true. I don't believe a single word of it,' said
Lottie. ' You must have been in very strange company,
Law,' she added with severity, ' to hear all this go.ssip about
papa.'
Lottie did not mean to pass such a tremendous sentence on
her iiither ; she spoke simply enough. To hear this gossip
her brother must have been in haunts such as those that
Captain Despard frequented. She did not know what they
were, but she knew they were evil ; therefore she made use of
this Aveapon instinctively, Avhich she found, as it were, lying
by her, not meaning any censure upon her father, only a neces-
sary reproof to Law.
' Yovi may say what you please about bad compan}^,' he
said, ' but that's what I heard ; that he Avasn't so old, after all ;
and what Avould become of us if he married atrain ? It Avas
not gossip. I believe really, though I was very angry at the
time, that it Avas meant kindly ; it Avas meant for a Avarning.
You Avould have thought so yourself, if you had been there.'
* I do not believe a Avord of it,' said Lottie ; but she had
groAvn pale. She did not ask again Avho had told him or
where he had been ; she set herseH seriously to proA^e the
thing to be false, Avhich shoAved that she Avas not so sure of not
believing it as she pretended to be. ' It is all a falsehood,'
she went on. * Is papa a man to do that sort of thing ?
Marry ! he would have to give up a great many things if he
married. He could not afford to sj^end his money as he does ;
he Avould not be allowed to be ahvays out in the evenings as
he is now. Why, eA'en poor mamma, she did not give in to
liim as Ave are obliged to do ; he had to pay a little attention
to her — sometimes. And noAv he has got more used to do
Avhat he likes than ever, and has more money to spend ; do you
think he Avould give up that /or a wife?' cried Lottie Avith
disdain. ' It only shoAvs that you don't knoAv papa.'
' Ah ! but you don't knoAv ' said LaAV. He Avas about
to say ' Polly,' but stopped in time. ' You don't knoAv Avhat
might be put into his head^ Lottie. He might be made to
believe that to get rid of us Avould put all right. If he got rid
of us, don't you see ? he would AA'ant a v/oman in the house ;
and if it Avas some one he liked himself, that would make her-
self agreeable to him, and flatter him, and coddle him — that
80 AVITUIN THE PRECINCTS.
Avoiild please liini better,' said Law, Avitli precocious knowledge
of a man's re<iuircinents, ' than you, who are always trying to
keep tliiuas straight but not to humour him, Lottie ; or me
— that am of no use at all.'
Lottie grew paler and paler during this explanation. She
had nevcr'limnoured her lather, it was true. She had made
desperate exertions ' to keep things straight,' to recover the
family credit, to pay the bills, to keep regular hours ; but,
wiih the hardihood of youth, she had not hesitated even to
stint her father of a meal when it seemed to her impetuous
determination to be necessary, and she l:ad not flattered him,
nor madi' his convenience the absolute rule of the household,
:is some girls would have been wise enough to do. Lottie
had reflected that he kept the lion's share of the family income
to himself, and was quite able to make up for any shortcomings
in her bill of fare; and she had carried out her regulations
with a high hand, feeling no compulsion upon her, no primary
necessity to please her father. She perceived all this at a
<llance while Law spoke, and immediately felt herself con-
fronting such a breach of all the ordinary usages of her life as
made her shiver. "What might he not do ? turn them out
suddenly from his doors, out upon the world, at any moment
whenever he pleased. He had the power to do it whenever
he pleased, whatever seemed to him good. She drew a long
shivering breath, feeling as if all were over, as if already she
heard the door clanging and barred behind her, and was look-
ing out penniless and destitute upon the world, not knowing
where to go. Was it possible that such a fate was reserved lor
her? She became as white as her dress with that sudden
jianic of the imagination which is more terrible than any
reality. Law was very anxious and alarmed also, but he had
got over the worst on the previous night, and it gave him a
kind of half pleasure to see how he had frightened Lottie;
though, at the same time, the effect of his communication upon
licr di i-pened his own conviction of the danger about to over-
take them, lie leaned back in his easy-chair with a certain
solemn satisfaction, and stretched his long legs farther across
the room than ever.
' You see, Lottie,' he said, ' it is what I have told you
before ; you never would humour him. I don't say that he's
not unroasnna])le, but he might never perhaps have dropped
among those sort of people if }ou had laid yourself out to '
Tnu::rii axd Ti:nnoR. 81
Lrittie sprang to her feet in a sudden gust of passion. She
took Law by the shoulders, and with the sudden surprise of her
assault got the better of him and turned hiin out of the chair.
'You sit there, lolling all over the room,' she cried, ' and tell
me my duty, you lazy, idle useless boy! If papa turns you
out, it will serve you right. You have a hundred things open
to you ; you have the whole world open to you ; but you will
not so much as take the trouble to pass the door. You would
like to be carried over all the ditches, to be set up on a throne,
to have everything and to do nothing. It will serve you right !
And where do you get all this gossip about papa ? ' she went
on. ' Who are the sort of people you are spending your time
with ? You thought I did not know how late you came in
last night. Where were you, Law? where are you always, all
these long evenings ? You say you are going out, and you
never mind that I am sitting in the house all alone. You go
somewhere, but I never hear that you have been with any-
body — anybody in our own class '
' In our own class ! I wonder what is our own class ? ' said
Law, with a scornful sense of the weakness of the position.
* Would you like me to take a hand in old O'Shaughnessy's
rubber, or read the jiapers to old Dalrymple ? They are half
as old again as the governor himself. I suppose that's what
you call my own class.'
Lottie felt that she had laid herself open to defeat, and the
consciousness subdued her greatly. She sat down again on
her little chair, and looked up at him as he stood leaning upon
the door, red w^ith indignation at her onslaught. Lottie
herself was Hushed with the exertion and the shame of having
thus afforded him an opportunity for a scoff. She eluded the
dilemma as he j^roposed it, however, and flung herself back
into the larger question : ' You are grown up,' she said, indig-
nantly ; ' a great big boy, looking like a man. It is a dis-
,grace to you to be dependent on papa. It would be a good
thing for you, a very good thing, if he were to — marry, as you
say, and cast you off, and force you to work for yourself.
What else have I been saying to you for years ? '
' And what Avould it be for you ? ' said Law, taking, she
thought, an unkind advantage of her ; * there are two of us to
be considered. What would it be for you, Lottie, I should like
to know ? What could you do any more than I ? '
lie stood up against the door, with a provoking smile on
82 AVITIIIN THE PUECINCTS.
his face, and liis big book under bis arm, taunting her with
her helplessness, even Lottie felt, Avith her high notions, which
made her helplessness all the worse. He smiled, looking down
upon her from that serene height. ' If the worst came to the
worst,' said Law, ' I could always carry a hod or 'list for a
soldier. I don't stand upon our class as you do. I haven't
LTOt a class. I don't mind if T take the shilling to-morrow. I
have always thought it would be a jolly life.'
Lottie gave a scream of horror, and flew upon him, seiz-
ins his coat collar Avith one hand, Avhile she threatened him
with her small nervous fist, at which Law laughed. ' Will
you dare to speak of 'listing to me,' she said, flaming like a
little fury ; ' you, an officer's son, and a gentleman born ! '
Then she broke down, after so many varieties of excitement.
' Oh, Law, for the sake of Heaven, go to Mr. Ashford ! I will
get the money somehow,' she said, in a broken voice, melting
into tears, through which her eyes shone doubly large and
li'iuid. ' Don't break my heart ! I want you to be better
than we are now, not worse. Climb up as far, as far as you
please, above us ; but don't fall lower. Don't forget you are
a gentleman, unless you want to break my heart.'
And then, in the overflow of feeling, she leaned her head
upon his shoulder, which she had just gripped with fury, and
cried. Law found this more embarrassing than her rage, at
which he laughed. He was obliged to allow her to lean upon
him, pushing his book out of the way, and his heart smote him
for making Lottie unhappy. By this time it could not be
said that he was unhappy himself. He had shuffled off his
burden, such as it was, upon her shoulders. He shifted his
book, and stood awkwardly enough, permitting her to lean
upon him ; but it cannot be said that he was much of a prop
to his sister. He held himself so as to keep her off as far as
possible. He was not unkind, but he was shy, and did not
like to be placed in a position which savoured of the ridiculous.
* I wish you wouldn't cry,' he said, peevishly. * You girls
always cry — and what's to be got by crying ? I don't Avant
to 'li.st if I can help it. I'd rather be an oificer — but I can't
be an officer ; or get into something ; but I never was bred
up to anything ; and what can I do? '
' You can go to ]Mr. Ashford,' said Lottie, feeling herself
repulsed, and withdrawing from him Avith a glimmer of in-
dignation religlitcd in her eyes. ' I met him last night, and I
TRIUMPH AND TEnnon. 83
spoke to him about you. He seems very kind. If you go to
him, he will at least tell us whether he thinks you have
a chance for anything. Oli, Law, now that you do sec the
necessity '
' But it's a gi-eat deal more serious for you,' said the
lad, mischievously. He was not unkind, but it seemed
something like fun to him to treat Lottie as she had treated
him so often, holding up before him the terrors and
horrors of his idleness. Because she was a girl, did that
make any difference? She had just as good a right to be
bidlied as he had, and to be made to see how little she could
do for herself. Emma, who was younger than Lottie, worked
for her living, and why sliould not Lottie do the same ? why
should she be exempted ? Thus Law reasoned, whom Lottie,
it must be allowed, had never spared. He Avatched, with
mischievous curiosity, making an experiment, not knowing
whether it would be successful or not. But the way in whicli
Lottie took it after this did not give Law the amusement he
expected. She sat down again in her chair, taking no further
notice of him and relapsed into her own thoughts wdacn he
could not follow her. His own mind, however, had recovered
its elasticity ; for, after all, if the Avorst came to the worst, if
the governor Avas such an ass as to marry Polly, it Avould not
matter so very much to Law. Something, there was no doubt^
Avould turn up ; or he Avould 'list— that Avas an alternative not
to be despised. He Avas tall enough for the Guards, among
Avhom LaAv had often heard a great many gentlemen AA'ere to
be found ; and the life Avas a jolly hfe— no bother about
books, and plenty of time for amusement. There Avas nothing
really in the circumstances to appal him noAvhe had considered
them fully. But it was a great deal more serious for Lottie.
After all the bullying he had enduied at her hands, LaAV may
perhaps be excused if, in sheer tlionghtlessness, he rather en-
joyed the prospect of this turning of the tables upon his sisttT.
He Avondered hoAv she Avould like it Avhen it came to her turn,
she who Avas so ready to urge himself to the last limits of
patience. He did not Avish anything implcasant to happen to
her. He Avould not have had her actually brought into con-
tact Avith Polly, or placed under her power. But that Lottie
should ' just see hoAv she liked it herself Avas pleasant to him.
It Avould not do her any real harm, and perhaps it Avould teach
g2
84 v,-irniN Tin-: pnccixcTS.
her to feel tin- other people, aiul understand that they did not
like it either. A slight tinge of remorse crossed Law's mind
as he saw how pale and serious she looked, sitting there think-
ing ; but he shifted his Virgil to his other arm, and went
away, steeling his heart against it. It would make her feel for
other people in future. To have it brought home to herself
would do her no harm.
CHAPTER IX.
VISITOllS.
And what a problem it was with which Lottie Despard was
thus left alone ! The house was still, no one moving in
it — nothing to distract her thoughts. Now and then a swell
of music from the Abbey, Avhere service was going on, swept
in, filling the silence for a moment; but most of the inhabitants
of the Lodges were at matins, and all Avas very still in the
sunshine, the Dean's Walk lying broad and quiet, with
scarcely a shadow to break the light. Downstairs the little
niaid-of-all-work had closed the door of the kitchen, so that
her proceedings were inaudible. And the Captain, as in duty
bound, was in the Abbey, trolling forth the responses in a fine
baritone, as he might have done had they been the chorus of
a song. Lottie sat like a statue in the midst of this stillness,
her eyes abstracted, her mind absorbed. What a problem to
occupy her ! Law, rustling over his books in his own room,
grew frightened as he thought of her. She Avould break her
heart ; it would make her ill ; it might almost kill her, he
thought. She sat Avith her work di'opped on her knee, her
eyes fixed but not seeing anything; her mind— what could
occupy it but one reflection ? the sudden possibility of a
breaking up of all her traditions, an end of her young life — a
dismal sudden survey of the means of maintaining herself,
and where .she could go to in case this imthought-of catastrophe
should occur at once. Poor desolate Lottie, motherless,
friendless, with no one to consult in such an emergency, no
one to fly to ! What could be more terrible than to be
brought face to face with such an appalling change, luiwarned,
unprepared ? What was she to do ? where was she to go ?
visiTons. 85
TVorpe than an orplian, ponnilos?, liomcles?, Avliat would be-
come of" her ? Kg Avonclcr if despair v;as paramount in the
poor girl's thoughts.
"Wi-ll — l)ut tlicn despair ^vas not pnrammuit in her tlioughts.
She made a stand for a nionient with ■wild panic before the
sudden danger. "What was it that was going to happen ?
Lottie gave a momentary gasp as a swimmer might do making
the fir jit plunge ; and then, like the swimmer, lo ! struck off
Avith one quick movement into tlio sunshine and the smoothest
gentle current. Change ! the air Avas full of it, the Avorld
was full of it, the sky Avas beautiful Avith it, and her heart
sprang to meet it. Do you think a girl of tAventy on the verge
of love, once lefl free to silence and musing, Avas likely to
forget her own dicams in order to plunge into dark reveries
as to Avhat Avould happen to her if her father married again?
Not Lottie, at least. She launched herself indeed on this
.si:bject, the corners of her moutli dropping, a gleam of panic
in her eyes; but something caught her midway. Ah ! it Avas
like the touch of a magician's wand- "What did it matter to
Lottie Avhat might happen to other people ; had not every-
thing that Avas Avonderful, everything that Avas beautiful,
begun to happen to herself ? .She floated off insensibly into
that delicious current of her own thoughts, losing herself in
imaginar}- scenes and dialogues. She lost her look of terror
Avithout knoAving it, a faint smile came upon her face, a faint
colour, now heightening, noAV paling, Avent and came like
breath. Sometimes she resumed her Avork, and her needle
sped through her mending like the shuttle of the Fates ; some-
times it dropped out of her hand altogether, and the Avork
iipon her knee. She lost count of time and of Avhat she Avas
doing. "What Avas she doing ? She Avas Aveaving a poem, a
play, a romance, as she sat Avith her basket of stockings to
darn. The mise en scene Avas varied, but the personages
always the same ; two personages — never any more ; some-
times they only looked at each other, saying nothing ; some-
times they talked for hours; and constantly in their talk they
Avere approaching one sitbject, Avhich something always oc-
(•urred to postpone. This indefinite postponement of the
explanation Avhich, even in fiction, is a device Avhich must be
\ised sparingly, can be indulged in Avithout stint in the private
imagination, and Lottie in her romance took full advantage of
tills power. She approached the borders of her cclnircisscment
86 ■\VITIIIN THE PRECINCTS.
a hundred times, and evaded it with the most delicate skill,
fi'cling hy instinct the superior charm of the vague and unde-
cided, and how love itsell' loses its variety, its infinite novelty,
and delightlulncss, when it has declared and acknowledged
itself. Law, in his room with his big book, comforting him-
self under the confused and painful study to which the shock
of last night's suggestion had driven him by the idea that
Lottie too must be as uncomfortable as himself, was as much
nii.'^taken as it was possible to imagine. His compunction
and his satisfaction were equally thrown away. Still the feel-
ing that he had startled her, and the hope that it would ' do
her good,' gave him a little consolation in his reading, such as
it was. And how dillicult it was to rend with the sun shininji
outside, and little puffs of soft delicious air coming in at his
open window, and laying hands upon him, who shall say ? He
was comforted to think that next door to him, Lottie, with her
basket of clothes to mend, patching and darning, must be very
much disturbed too; but it would have been hard upon Law had
he known that she had escaped from all this, and was meanly
and treacherously enjoyinghcrself in private gardens of fancy.
He had Jiis Emma to be sure — but of her and the very well-
known scenes that enclosed her, and all the matter-of-fact cir-
cumstances around, he felt no inclination to dream. He liked
to have her by him. and for her sake submitted to the chatter
of the workroom (which, on the whole, ratlier amused him in
itself), and was quite willing to read the Famil// Herald aloud ;
but he did not dream of Emma as Lottie did of the incident
whicli had happened in her career. It was true that there
was this fundamental difference between them, that Lottie's
romance alone had any margin of the unknown and mysteri-
ous in it. About Emma there was nothing that was mysterious
or unknown.
It was not likely, however, that these two young people in
their two different rooms, LaAV gaping over his Virgil, and
feeling his eyes wander after every fly that lighted on his
book, and every bird tliat chirped in the deep foliage round
tlio window; and Lottie with her needle and her scissors,
thinking of everything in the world except what she was
doing or what had just l)cen told her, should be left undis-
tuibcd for long in tlicse virtuous occupations. Very soon Law
was stopped in the middle of a bi^rgcr yawn than usual by
the .sound of a step coming up the stairs, which distracted his
VISITORS. 87
not very seriously fixed attention — and Lottie Avokc up from
the very middle of an imaginary conversation, to hear a
mellow round voice calling her, as it came slowly panting
iipstairs. 'Are you there then, Lottie, me honey? You'd
never let me mount up to the top of the house, without tell-
ing me, if ye weren't there ? ' Sirs. O'Shaughnessy, like
many of her country-folks, was half aware of the bidl she was
uttering, and there was a soimd of laughter in her voice.
Lottie, however, siit still, making no sign, holding her needle
suspended in her fingers, reluctant to have her pleasant
thoughts disturbed by any arrival. But while the brother
r.nd sister, each behind a closed door, thus paused and listened,
the Captain (audibly) coming home from morning service,
stepped in after I\[rs. O'Shaughnessy, and addressed the new-
comer. 'Lottie is in the drawing-room,' he said, 'though she
docs not answer. I am just going out again when I've fetched
something — but I must first see you upstairs ; ' and then there
was an interval of talking on the stairs and the little landina-
place. Lottie made no movement for her part. She sat amidst
Jier darnings, and awaited what was coming, feeling that her
time for dreams was over. Captain Despard came lightly up,
three steps at a time, after Mrs. O'Shaughnessy had panted
to the drawing-room door. He was jaunty and gay as ever,
in his well-brushed coat with a rosebud in his button-hole.
Pew, very few, days were there on which Captain Despard
appeared without a fiower in his coat. He managed to get
them even in winter, no one could tell how. Sometimes a
flaming red leaf from the Virginia creeper, answered his pur-
jiose, but he was always jaunty, gay, decorated with some-
thing or other. He came in behind the large figure of their
neighbour, holding out a glove Avith a hole in the finger re-
proachfully to Lottie. ' See how my child neglects me,' he
said. He liked to display himself even to Mi-s. O'Shaughnessy,
and stood and talked to her while Lottie, with no very good
grace, put down her darning and mended his glove.
' When I was a young fellow, my dear lady,' he said, ' I
never wanted for somebody to mend my glove ; but a man
can't expect to bo as interesting to his daughter as he was in
another starre of life.'
' Oh, Captain, take me word,' said j\Irs. O'Shaughnessy,
'the likes of you will always be interesting to one or another.
You won't make me believe that yc find nobody but your
gS -wrriMX Tin; ri;F.ci:N-CTS.
c!:m"1itcr to do whatever ye aslc tl.om. T-ll tLat— to another
branch of the service, Captain Despaid, uie clear friend.'
' You do nie a great deal too much honour,' he said, with
the hiu"h of fhittered vanity; for he Avas not difficult in the
v.-ay of" compliments. 'Ala?, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, v/ho^
would pay any attention to an old married man, the father ot
a crown-up son and daughter, like me ? '
" ' Sure, and you're much to be pitied, so old as ye are,
with one loot in the grave, Captain dear,' the old Irishwoman
said ; and they both laughed, she enjoying at once her joke,^
and the pleasure of seeing her victim's pleased appreciation of
the compliment ; while he, conscious of being still irresistible,
eved himself in the little glass over the mantelpiece, and was
(juite unaware of the lurkmg demon of good-humoured malice
and ridicule in her eyes.
' Not so bad as that perhaps,' he said, ' but bad enough.
A man grows old fast in this kind of life. Matins every morn-
iii"- by cockcrow, to a man accustomed to take his ease, Mrs.
O'^hauchnessy. The IMajor grumbles, I make no doubt, as
well as I.'
' Sure it's nothing half as bad as morning parade. That's
what O'Shaughnessy says ; and he never was used to his ease,
Captain. I took better care of him than that. But, Lottie,
me honey, here we're talking of ourselves, and it's you I've
come to hear about. How many hearts did ye break ? how
many scalps have ye got, as we used to say in Canada ? It
wasn't for nothing ye put on your finery, and those roses in
your hair. The Captain, he's the one for a flower in his
coat ; you're his own daughter, Miss Lottie dear.'
' Were you out last night, my child ? ' said Captain Des-
pard, takinu: his glove from Lottie's hand. 'Ah, at the
Deanery. I hope my friend the Dean is well, and my Lady
Caroline ? Lady Caroline was once a very fine woman, ]Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy, though you would not think it. The Court-
lands were neighbours of ours in our better days, and knew all
our connections; and Lady Caroline has always been kind to
TiOttie. I do not think it necessjiry to provide any chaperon
for her when she goes there. It is in society that a girl feels
the want of a mother ; but where Lady Caroline is, Lottie can
feel at home.'
' Fancy that now,' said !Mr.--. O'Shaughnessy, * how a body
may be deceived ! I never knew ye were among old friends,
vjsiTors. 89
Captain. W'li.-it a comfort to yon — till j-ou find somebody
tluit will be a nice chaperon for your dear girl ! '
* Yes, ]\Irs. O'Shaiighncssy, that would be a satisfaction ;
but where could I find one that would satisfy me after Lottie's
dear mother, who was a pearl of a woman ? Good-morning
to you, my dear lady ; I must be going,' he said, kissing the
fingers of the mended glove. And he Avent out of the room
humniing a tune, Avhich, indeed, was as miich a distinction of
Captain Despard as the liower in his coat. He was always
cheerful, whatever happened. His daughter looked up from
her work, following him with her eyes, and Law, shut uj) in
liis room next door, stopped reading (which indeed he was
very glad to do), and listened to the light carol of the Cap-
tain's iavouritc air and his jaunty step as he Avent downstairs.
No lurch in that step now, but a happy confidence and cheer-
ful ring upon the pavement when he got outside, keeping time
surely not only to the tune, but to the Captain's genial and
viituous thoughts. INfrs. O'Shaughnessy looked after him
without the cloud which was on his children's faces. She
laughed. ' Then, sure, it does one's heart good,' she said, ' to
see a man as pleased with himself as me fHend the Captain.
And Lottie, me darlin', speaking of that, there's a word 1 have
to say to you. Ye heard Avhat I said and ye heard what he
said about a chaperon — though, bless the child, it's not much
use, so far as I can see, that you have for a chaperon '
'No use at all,' cried Lottie, 'and don't say anything
about it, please. Papa talks ; but nobody pays any attention
to him,' she exclaimed, with a flush of shame.
' If he'd stop at talking ! but Lottie, me dear, when a man
at his age gets women in his head, there's no telling Avhat is
to come of it. I wouldn't vex ye, me dear, but there's gossip
about — that the Captain has thoughts '
' Oh, never mind what gossip there is about ! there's gos-
sip about everything '
' And that's true, me lioney. There's your OAvn self
They tell me a dozen stories. It's married ye're going to be
(and that's natural) ; and there's them that uphold it's not
marriage at all, but music, or maybe the stage even, Avhich is
what I never Avould have thought likely '
Lottie had risen to her feet, her eyes sparkling, her face
crimson Avith excitement. ' "Wherever you hear it, please,
jilcasc say it is a lie. I — on the stage 1 Oh, Mrs. O'Shaugli-
90 WITHIN THE rnEcixcTS.
nessy. could you believe such a thing ? I Avoukl rather
die ! ''
' Dying's a strong step to take, me dear. I Avouldn't go
that length, Lottie ; but at your age, and with your pretty
looks, and all the world before ye, it's not the thing I would
advise. I don't say but there are chances for a pretty girl
that's well conducted '
' Mrs. O'Shaughnessy ! do you dare to speak to me so ? '
said Lottie with crimson cheeks, her eyes blazing through in-
dignant tears. "Well conducted ! the insult went to her very
soul. But this was beyond the perception of her companion.
' Just so, me dear,' she said. ' There Avas IVIiss O'Neil,
that was a great star in my time, and another stage lady that
married the Earl of , one of the Engliyh earls. I forget
his title. Lords and baronets and that sort of people are
thrown in their way, and sometimes a pretty girl that minds
what she is about, or even a plain girl that is clever, comes in
for something that would never Who is that, Lottie ? Me
dear, look out of the window, and tell me who it is.'
Lottie did not say a word, she gasped with pain and in-
dicrnation, standinsj erect in the middle of the room. How it
made the blood boil in her veins to have the triumphs of the
' stage-ladies ' thus held up before her ! She did not care
who was coming. Li her lautastical self-elevation, a sort of
princess in her own right, Avho was there here who would un-
derstand Lottie's ' position ' or her feelings ? Wliat was the use
even of standing up for herself Avhere everybody would laugh
at her ? There Avas no one in the Chevaliers' Lodges who
could render her justice. They would all think that to
* catch ' an earl or a Sir William was enough to content any
girl's ambition. So long as she was well conducted ! To be
well conducted, is not that the highest praise that can be
given to anyone ? Yet it made Lottie's blood boil in her veins.
While she stood thus flushed and angry, the door was
suddenly pushed open by the untrained ' girl,' who was all
that the household boasted in the shape of a servant. ' She's
here, sir,' this homely usher said : and lo, suddenly, into the
little room where .sat Mrs. O'Shaughnessy taking up hall' the
Bj)ace, and where Lottie stood in all the excitement and glow
of p!i:ision, there walked Rollo Kidsdale, like a hero of ro-
inaiice, more j)erfcct in costume, appearance, and manner,
more coxirteous and easy, more graceful and gracious, than
anything that had over appeared within that lower sphere.
visiTons. 91
The Captain was jaunty and shabby-genteel, yet even he
sometimes dazzled innocent people Avitli his grand air; but
Mr. Ridsdale was all that the Captain only pretended to be,
and the very sight of him ■was a revelation. J\Irs. O'Shaugh-
ncssy, sitting with her knees apart and her hands laid out
upon her capacious lajj, opened her mouth and gazed at him
as if he had been an angpl straight from the skies. Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy knew him, as she knew every one who came
within the Abbey precincts. She was aware of every visit he
paid to his aunt, and saw him from her window every time he
passed up and down the Dean's Walk, and she had the most
intimate acquaintance with all his connections, and knew his
exact place in the Courtland family, and even that there had
been vicissitudes in his life more than generally tall to the lot
of young men of exalted position. And, if it did her good
even to see him from her Avindow, and pleased her to be able
to point him out as the Honourable Kollo Ridsdale, it may be
imagined what her feelings wei-e, Avhen she found herself
suddenly under the same roof with him, in the same room
with him. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy sat and stared, devouring his
honourable figure with her eyes, with a vague sensation of
delight and grandeur taking possession of her soul.
' You must pardon my intrusion at such an early hour,
Zvfiss Despard,' he said. ' I Avanted yoi;r maid to ask if I
miaht come in, and I did not know she was ushering me into
your very presence. But 1 have my credentials Avith me. I
bear a note from Lady Caroline. Avhich she charged me to sup-
port Avith my prayers.'
The passion melted out of Lottie's countenance. Her eyes
softened — the very lines of her figure, all proud and erect and
A'clioment, melted too as if by a spell — the flush of anger on
her cheek changed to a rose-red of gentler feeling. The
transformation Avas exactly Avhat the most accomplished actress
Avould have desired to make, Avith the eye of an able manager
inspecting her possibilities. ' I beg your pardon,' she said
instinctively, Avith a sudden sense ol" guilt. It shocked her to
be found so full of passion, so out of harmony Avith the melo-
dious visitor Avho Avas in perfect tunc and keeping Avith the
SAveet morning, and in Avhose presence all the vulgarities
about seemed doubly vulgar. She felt humble, yet not humi-
liated. Here Avas at last one Avho Avould understand her, Avho
Avould do her justice. She looked round to lind a seat lor him,
confused, not knoAving Avhat to say.
02 -NVITniX THE PKECIXCTS.
' 'May I come here ? ' said Rollo, pushing forward for her
the little chair from whicli slie had evidently risen, and placing
himsclt upon the narrow window-seat Avith his back to the
light. ' But let me give up my credentials first. My aunt is
—what shall I say ? — a little indolent, Miss Despard. Dear
Aunt Caroline, it is an unkind Avord — shall I say she is not
fond of action ? Pardon if it is I Avho have acted as secretary.
I do so constantly now that Augusta is aAvay.'
' Lottie,' said IMrs. O'Shauglinessy, as Lottie, confused,
took the note from his hand, and the chair he offered; 'me
dear ! — you have not jjresented me to your friend.'
liollo got up instantly and bowed, as Lottie faltered forth
his name (' A real bow,' Mrs. O'Shaughnessy said after ;
'sure you never get the like but in the upper classes'), Avhile
she herself, not to be outdone, rose too, and extended a Avarni
hand — (' What does the Avoman expect me to do Avith her
hand ? ' Avas Mr. Kidsdale's alaruicd commentary on his
side).
' I'm proud to make your acquaintance, sir,' said IMrs.
O'Shauglmess}'. ' jMe husband the Major Avas once a great
ii'iend ol' an uncle of yours, Mr. liidsdale — or maybe it Avas a
cousin ; Avhen Ave Avere out in Canada, in the Hundred and
Fiftieth — the Honourable IMr. Green : they were together in
musketry practice, and me Major had the pleasure of being ot
a great deal of use to the gentleman. Many a time he's told
me ot it ; and Avhen Ave came here, sure it Avas a pleasure to
lind out that me Lady Caroline AA'as aunt — or maybe it Avas
cousin to an old friend. I am A-ery glad to make your ac-
quaintance,' Mrs. Shaughne.ssy continued, shaking him Avarmly
by the hand, Avhich she had held all this time. Mr. liidsdale
kept bowing at intervals, and had done all that he could with-
out positiA'e rudeness, to get himself free.
'Oh, yes,' he said, 'I have cousins and uncles and that
sort of thing scattered through the earth in every regiment
under the sun ; and A^ery bad soldiers, I don't doubt, ahvaya
wanting somebody to look after them. I am sure Major
O'bhaughnessy av:is very kind. "Won't you sit down ?'
' It Avasn't to make a bra;]; of his kindness — not a bit of
<li:it — !)ut ht- i.s a kind man and a good man, Mr. liidsdale,
tliough I say it that shouldn't. 1 have been married to me
Major the.-e forty years, and if anyone knows it I ought to be
tlie one to know.'
VISITORS. 93
* Undoiil)tCLl]y, Mrs. 0'Sli:ingliiiossy. I for one am most
ready to t;ike the litct on your word.'
' And vnu'd be in the right of it. A man's -wife, that's
the best judge of liis character. Whatever another may say,
she's the one that knows ; and if she says too much, one Avay
or the other, sure it's on lierself it falls. But, maybe you're
not interested, Mr. liidsdalc. in an old woman's opinions ? '
' I am very much intere;^tL'd, I assure you,' said Hollo, al-
•\va3's polite. He kept an eye upon Lottie reading her note,
but he listened to her friend (if this was her friend) witli as
much attention, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy always remembered, as
if sjie had been a duchess at the least.
Meanwhile Lottie read the note, which purported to come
from Lady Caroline, and had a wavering C. Huntington at
the bottom of the page, which was her genuine autograph.
The warmth of the appeal, how^ever, to her dear Miss Despard,
to take pity on the dulncss of the Deanery and come in
' quietly ' that evening for a little music, was not in any way
Lady Caroline's. She had consented indeed to permit herself
to be sung to on Rollo's strenuous representation of the
pleasure it had given her. ' You knoAV, Aunt Caroline, you
enjoyed it,' he had said ; and ' Yes, I know I enjoyed it/
Lady Caroline, much wavering, had replied. It would not
have been creditable not to have enjoyed what was evidently
such vei-y good singing ; but it Avas not she who wrote of the
dulness of the Deanery nor who used such arguments to in-
duce her dear ]\liss Despard to come. Lottie's countenance
bending over the note glowed with pleasure as ]\Irs. O'Shaugh-
nessy kept up the conversation. Even with those girls who
think they believe that the admii-ation of men is all
they care for, the approbation of a woman above their
own rank is always a more touching and more thorough
triumph than any admiration of men. And Lottie, though
she was so proud, was all humility in this respect; that Lady
Caroline should thus take her up, and encourage her, praise
her, invite her, went to her very heart. She almost cried over
the kind words. She raised her face all softened and glowing
with happiness to the anxious messenger who w-as listening to
iNIrs. O'Shaughnesay, and as their eyes met, a sudden smile of
such responsive pleasure and satisfaction came to Kollo's face
as translated Lottie back into the very paradise of her
dreams.
94 -WITIIIX THE PRECINCTS.
' I can't say, me clear sir,' said ]\Irs. O'Shauglmessy, ' that
things are just exactly as we wish here, or as we thoiight we
had a right to look for. Tlic Major and me, we've been used
to a deal of fine company. Wherever we've gone, was it in
Canada, was it the Channel Islands, Avas it at the depot of
the regiment, we've always been called upon by the best. But
here, sure, the position is not what we were led to expect.
Money is all that most people are thinking of. There's the
society in the town would jump at us. But tliat does not
count, Mr. Kidsdale, you know, that does not coimt ; for to
us in Her Majesty's service, that have always been accustomed
to the best '
' Surely, surely, I quite understand ; and you have a right
to the best. Miss Despard,' said the ambassador, ' I hope you
are considering what Lady Caroline says, and will not dis-
appoint our hopes. Last night was triumph, but this will be
enjoyment. You, who must know what talent IMiss Despard
has — I appeal to you, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy — I am sure from
your kind looks th;it we will liave your aid.'
' Is it to go and sing for them again, Lottie, me dear ? '
said the old lady in an undertone. ' That's just what I don't
like, Mr. Ridsdale — excuse me if I speak my mind free — me
Lady Caroline and his reverence the Dean, they're ready
enough to take an advantage, and make their own use of the
Chevaliers' '
' Do I need to write a note ? ' said Lottie, interrupting
hastily to prevent the completion of a speech which seemed
to threaten the very foundations of her happiness. ' Perhaps it
would be more polite to write a note.' She looked at him
witli a little anxiety, for the thought passed through her mind
that she had no pretty paper like this, with a pretty monogram
and ' The Deanery, St. Michael's,' printed on its creamy glaze,
and even that she did not write a pretty hand that would do her
credit; and, going further, that she would not know how to begin,
wliether she should be familiar, and venture iipon saying, ' Dear
Lady Caroline,' which seemed rather presumptuous, calling
an old lady by her Cliristian name — or
' I need not trouble you to write. I am sure you mean to
say yes. Miss Despard, Avhich is almost more than I dared
hope. Yos is all we want, and I shall be so happy to carry
Yes is oa.sy said,' said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy; 'a great
visiTous. 95
deal cuslcr than no. Oh, me dear, 1 don't object to your
going ; not a bit ; only 1 take an interest in ye, and ye ninst
not make yourself too cheap. Know her talent, Mr. liidsdale?
snre I can't say that I do. I know lierself, and a better girl,
saving for a bit of temper, don't exist. But a girl is the
better of a sjjark of temper, and that's just Avhat you've got,
me dear Lottie. No ; I don't know her talent. She has a
voice for singing, that I know well ; for to hear her and
Kowley when she's having her lesson, sure it's enough to
give a deaf person the ear ache. But that's the most that
I know.'
* Then, Miss Despard/ said Rollo, springing to his feet ; * if
your — friend is in this condition of doubt, it is impossible she
can ever have heard you ; will you not gratify me and con-
vince her by singing something now ? I know it is horrible
impertinence on my part, so recent an acquaintance. But —
no, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, you never can have heard her. I
have some songs here that I know you would sing to perfection.
I deserve to be ordered out of tlie house for my presumption.
I know it ; but ' and he clasped his hands and fixed
supplicating eyes upon Lottie, avIio, blushing, treml^ling,
frightened, and happy, did not know how to meet those eyes.
' Sure he'll be down on his knees next,' cried Mrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy delighted , ' and you wouldn't have the heart to deny
the gentleman when he begs so pretty. I'll not say but what
I've heard her, and heard her many a time, but maybe the
change of the circumstances and the want of Kowley will
make a difference. Come, Lottie, me darling, don't wait for
pressing, but give us a song, and let us be done with it. If it
was a good song you would sing, and not one of those sacred
pieces that make me feel myself in the Ahl)cy — where we all
are, saving your presence, often enough '
' I have a song here that will please you, I know,' said
Kollo. ' We shall have you crying in two minutes. You
don't know, my dear INIrs. O'Shaughnessy, what a glorious
organ you are talking of.'
' Organ ! that's the Abbey all over ; but, j^raised be
Heaven, there's no organ here, only an old cracked piano '
* Oh, indeed,' cried Lottie. ' It is not fit to play on, and I
don't think I can sing at sight; and — I know I can't play an
accompaniment.'
' That shall be my happy office,' he said, looking at her
96 •\viTi:i.v THE riiccixcxs.
«
•with those cyps that dazzled Lottie. Tliey were not dazzling
by nature, but he put a great deal of meaning into them, and
Lottie, foolis.h I^ottie, innocently deceived, put a great deal
more. Her eyes sank beneath this look. She could scarcely
keep the tears from coming into them, tears of confused plea-
sure and wonder and happiness ; and she could not refuse him
what he asked. He opened the wretched old piano, worn out
and jingling, and out of tune as it was. And ]\Irs. O'Shaugh-
nessy put her knees a little more apart, and threw her
bonnet-strings over her shoulders, and spread out her warm
hands in her lap. There was a little good-humoured cynicism
in her face. She did not expect to enjoy the singing, but all
her iiiculties were moved by the hint, the scent, of a llirtation ;
and that she was prepared to enjoy to the full.
CHAPTER X.
THE MIXOIl CANON.
Mr. Asiii'OiiD had not said much to ]\Iiss Despard on the way
home ; it was but crossing the road, a brief progress which
left little room for conversation, and the Siguor was better
acquainted with her than he was. Besides, the Elinor Canon
was not a man who could carry on a conversation with several
people at a time, or open his heart to more listeners tlian one.
He co\ild sometimes be eloquent Avith a single interlocutor,
but he was a silent man in society, with very little to say for
himself, even when his companions were of the most congenial
kind. He was an unsuccessful man, and carried in his soul,
though Avithout any bitterness, the buixlen of his own un-
success. He was a man of ' good connections,' but none of
his connections had done anything for him — and he had con-
siderable talents, Avhich had done nothing for him. He had
got a scliolarsliip, but no other distinction, at the University.
Nobody was at all clear how tl)is came about. He was not
idle, he was not careless, but he did not succeed ; his talents
were not those that win success. At twenty he puljlished a
little volume of poetry, Avhich was ' full of promise.' At
thirty he brought out a learned treatise on some matter of
classical erudition, which, as it is too high for us to understand,
THE MINOR CANON. 97
we will not venture to name. And nothing came of that;
his poems were not sold, neither was his treatise. His fellow
scholars (for he was a true scholar, and a ripe and good one)
occupied themselves with pulling holes in his coat, writing
whole pages to show that he had taken a wrong view of a
special passage. And there was something worse than this
that he had done. He had put a wrong accent upon a Greek
word ! We tremble to mention such a crime, but it cannot
be slurred over, for it was one of the heaviest troubles in Mr.
Ashlbrd's life. "Whether it was his fault or the printer's fault
will never be known till the day of judgment, and perhaps
not even then : for it seems more than likely that a mistake in
an accent, or even the absence of the accent altogether, will not
affect the reckoning at that decisive moment ; but this was
what had been done. Not once — which might have been an
accident, or carelessness in correcting the press, such a mis-
fortune as might occur to any man- — -but a dozen times, if not
more, had this crime been perpetrated. It disfigured at least
the half of his book. It was a mistake which no properly
conducted fourth-form boy would have been guilty of. So
everybody said ; — and it crushed the unlucky man. Even
now, five years after, that incorrect accent coloured his life.
He Avent in mourning for it all his days. He could not forget
it himself, even if other people might have been willing to
forget it. It seemed to justify and explain all the failures in
his cai'eer. Everybody had wondered why he did not get a
fellowship after he had taken his degree, but this explained
everything. A man capable of making such a mistake ! 'I'he
buzz that arose in the University never died out of his ears.
Kobuster persons might laugh, but Ernest Ashford never got
over it. It weighed him down for the rest of his days.
Nor was he a man to thrive much in his profession. He
tried a curacy or two, but he was neither High Church enough
for the High, nor Low Church enough for the Low. And he
could not get on with the poor, his rectors said. Their
misery appalled his gentle soul. He emptied his poor pockets
in the first wretched house he went into, and retreated to his
lodgings after he had done so, with a heart all aching and
bleeding, and crying out against the pain he saw. He was
not of the fibre which can take other people's sufFerings
placidly, though he had a fine nerve in bearing his own.
This, no doubt, was weakness in him ; and in all probability
II
98 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
he got imposed upon on every side ; but the fact was he could
not support the wretchedness of others, and when he had given
them every sixpence he had, and had entreated them to be
comforted, he fled from them with anguish in his heart. He
could not eat or drink for weeks after for thinking that there
were people in the world near at hand who had little or
nothing on their board. Ho suffered more from this than his
fellow-curate did from neuralgia, or his rector fi-om bilious-
ness, and he did what neither of these martyrs felt themselves
compelled to do — he fled from the trouble he could not cope
with. They quoted Scripture to him, and proved, from the
text ' The poor ye have always with you,' that nothing better
was to be expected. But he answered with a passionate pro-
testation that God could never mean that, and fled — which,
indeed, was not a brave thing to do, and proved the weakness
of his character. Thus the Church found him wanting, as
well as the University. And when at last he settled down
into a corner where at least he could get his living tranquilly,
it was not by means of his talents or education, but because
of a quality which was really accidental, the possession of a
beautiful voice. This possession was so entirely adventitious
that he was not even a learned musician, nor had he given
much of his time to this study. But he had one of those
voices, rich and tender and sweet, which go beyond science,
Avhich are delicious even when they are Avrong, and please
the hearers when they perplex the choir and drive the con-
ductor out of his senses. Mr. Ashford did not do this, having
an ear almo.st as delicate as his voice, but both of these were
gifts of nature, and not improved by training to the degree
Avliich the Signor could have wished. He had been persuaded
to try for the Minor Canonry of St. Michael's almo.'^t against
his will ; for to be a singing man, even in the highest grade,
did not please his fancy. But no one had been able to stand
before him. The Signor had strongly supported another
ccmpetitor, a man with twice the science of Mr. Ashford ;
but even the Signor had been obliged to confess that his
friend's voice was not to be compared with that of the success-
ful ciindidatc. And after knocking about the world for a dozen
years without any real place or standing-ground, Ernest Ash-
ford found himself at thirty-five suited with a life that was
altogether harmonious to his nature, but which he felt half
humiliated to have gained, not by his talents or his learning,
THE MINOR CAXON. 99
or anything that was any credit to him, but by the mere
natural accidental circumstance of his l)eautiful voice. He
Avas half-ashamed and humbled to think that all his education,
■which had cost so much, went for nothing in comparison with
this chance talent which had cost him nothing, and that all
his hopes and ambitions, which had mounted high, had come
to no loftier result. But as, by fair means or foul, for a good
or bad reason, life had at last found a suitable career for him,
where he could be independent, and do some sort of work,
such as it was, he soon became content. The worst thing
about it (he said) was that it could not be called work at all.
To go twice a day and sing beautiful music in one of the
most beautiful churches in the world, would have been the
highest pleasure, if it had not been the business of his life.
lie had never even been troubled by religious doubts which
might have introduced a complication, but was of a nature
simply devout, and born to go twice a day to church. When,
however, he found himself thus, as it were, exalted over the
common lot, he made an effort to bring himself down to the
level of common mortality by taking pupils, an experiment
which succeeded perfectly, and brought him into hot water so
speedily that he no longer felt himself elevated above the level
of mankind.
This was the man whom Lottie had seized the opportu-
nity of making acquaintance with, and speaking to, that
evening at the Deanery. Mr. Ashford was not badly treated
at the Deanery to be only a ]\Iinor Canon. He was often
enough asked to dinner when there was not anybody o£ much
consequence about : the Dean was very willing to have him,
for he was a gentleman, and talked very pleasantly, and could
be silent (which he always was when the company was large)
in a very agreeable, gentlemanly sort of way ; not the silence
of mere dulness and having nothing to say. But when there
was a large dinner-party, and people of consequence Avere
there. Lady Caroline would often ask Mr. Ashford to come in
the evening, and he had come to understand (without being
offended) that on these occasions he would probably be asked
to sing. He was not offended, but he was amused, and some-
times, with a little well-bred malice, such as he had never
shown in any other emergency of his life, would have a cold,
and be unable to sing. He had not strength of mind to carry
out this little stratagem when there setiiiied to be much need
u2
100 WITHIN THE PUECINCTS.
of his services, but now and then he would wind himself up
to do it, with much simple satisfaction in his own cleverness.
I\Ir. Ashford was well treated in the Cloisters generally. The
other Canons, those whom Mrs. O'Shaughnessy called ' the
real Canons,' were all more or less attentive to him. He had
nothing to complain of in his lot. He had at this moment
two pupils in hand : one, the son of Canon Uxbridge, whom
lie was endeavouring to prepare for the simple ordeal of an
army examination ; and another, Avho was clever, the son of
the clergyman in the town, and aspiring to a university
scholarship. In consequence of the unfortunate failure of
that Greek accent it was but few engagements of this more
ambitious kind that Mr. Ashford had ; his work was usually
confined to the simplicity of the military tests of knowledge ;
but the rector of St. Michael's was a man who knew what he
was about, and naturally, with a sharp young scholar for ever
on his traces, the gentle Minor Canon, conscious of having
once committed an inaccuracy, was kept very much upon his
p's and q's.
On the same day on which lioUo Ridsdale wrote for Lady
Caroline that invitation to Lottie, of the terms of which Lady
Caroline was so little aware, the Dean gave a verbal invi-
tation to the same effect to Mr. Ashford in the vestry. ' Will
you dine with us to-day, Ashford ? ' he said. ' My nephew
Kidsdule, who is mad about music, and especially about this
girl's voice who sang last night, has persuaded Lady Caroline
to ask her again. Yourself and the Signor ; I believe nobody
else is coming. Ridsdale has got something to do with a new
opera com])any, and he is wild to find an English prima
donna '
' Is Miss Despard likely to become a professional singer ? '
said the Minor Canon in some surprise.
' I am sure I can't tell — why not ? They are poor, I
suppose, or tiiey would not be here ; and I don't see why she
fihouldn't sing. Anyhow, KoUo is most anxious to try. He
thinks she has a wonderful voice. He is apt to think any-
thing wonderful which he himself has anything to do with,
you know.'
* She has a wonderful voice,' said ]\Ir. Ashford, with more
dcf^ision than usual.
' But — jiardon me if I interrupt,' cried the Signor, uho
had come iu while they wore talking, ' no method ; no science.
THE MINOU CAXON. 101
She wants training — tlie most careful training. The more
beautiful a voice is by nature, the more evident is the want of
education in it,' the musician added, with meaning. He did
not look at Mr. Ashford, but the reference was very unmis-
takable. The Dean looked at them, and smiled as he took up
his shovel hat.
' I leave you to fight it out. Science against Nature,' he
said ; ' so long as you don't forget that you are both expected
this evening at the Deanery — and to sit in judgment as well
as to dine.'
* I know what my judgment will be beforehand,' said the
Signor ; ' absolute want of education — but plenty of material
for a good teacher to work upon.'
' And mine is all the other way,' Mr. Ashford said, Avith
some of the vehemence of intellectual opposition, besides a
natural partisanship, *A lovely voice, full of nature, and
freshness, and expression — which you will spoil, and render
artificial, and like anybody else's voice, if you have your
way.'
' All excellence is the production of Art,' said the Signor.
* Poeta nascitur,' said the Canon ; and though the Avords
are as well known as any slang, they exercised a certain sub-
duing influence upon the musician, who was painfully awai-o
that he himself was not educated, excef)t in a profes.sional
way. The two men went out together through the door into
the Great Cloister, from which they passed by an arched
passage to the ]\Iinor Cloister, where was Mr. Ashibrd's
house. Nothing could be more imlike than the tall, stoopinir,
short-sighted scholar, and the dark keen Italianism of the
Anglicised foreigner — the one man full of perception, seeing
everything within his range at a glance, the other living in u
glimmer of vague impressions, which took form but slowly in
his mind. On the subject of their present discussion, however,
Ashford had taken as distinct a view as the Signor. He had
put himself on Lottie's side instinctively, with what we have
called a natural partis^mship. She was like himself, she sang
as the birds sing — and though his own education, after a few
years of St. Michael's, had .so far progressed musically that he
was as well aware of her deficiencies as the Signor, still he
felt himself boimd to be her champion.
* I am not sure h.ow far we have any right to discuss a
young lady who has never done anything to provoke animad-
102 WITHIN THE PKECIXCTS.
version,' he KiiJ, with an old-fashioned scrupulousness, as
they threaded the shady passages. ' I think it very unlikely
that sucli a girl would ever consent to sing for the public'
' That is what she says,' said the Signor, ' but she can't
imderstand what she is saying. Sing for the public ! I sup-
pose that means to her to appear before a crowd of people, to
be stared at, criticised. In-ought down to the level of profes-
sional singers. The delight of raising a crowd to oneself,
binding them into mutual sympathy, getting at the heart un-
derneath the cold English exterior, that is what the foolish
girl never thinks of and cannot understand.'
' Ah ! ' said the Minor Canon, He was struck by this
unexpected j^oetry in the Signor, who was not a poetical
person. He said, ' I don't think I thought of that either. I
suppose, for my part, I am very old fashioned. I don't like a
Avoman to make an exhibition of herself.'
' Do you suppose a real artist ever makes an exhibition of
herself ? ' siiid the nuisician almost scornfully. ' l)o you sup-
pose she thinks of herself? Oh, yes, of course there are
varieties. I\Ien will be men and women Avomen ; but anyone
Avho has genius, who is above the common stock ! HoAvever,'
he added, calming himself down, and giving a curious, alarmed
glance at his companion, to see whether, perhaps, he was being
laughed at for his enthusiasm, ' there are other reasons, that
you Avill allow to be solid reasons, for which I want to get
hold of this MissDespard. You know Purcell, my assistant, a
young fellow of the greatest promise ? '
' Purcell ? oh, yes ; you mean the son of '
* I mean my pupil,' said the Signor, hurriedly, Avith a
flush of offence.
' I beg your pardon. I did not mean anything imkind.
It Avas only to make sure Avhom y/3u meant. I knoAv he is a
good musician and everything that is good.'
' He is a very fine fellow,' said the Signor, still flushed and
self-a'jgertive. ' There is nobody of Avhoni I have a higher
opinion. He is a better musician than I am, and full of pro-
mise. I expect him to reach the very top of his profession.'
Mr. Ashlbrd boAved. He had no objection to yoimg Pur-
cell's success : why should he be supposed to have any ob-
jection to it? lut tlic conversation ha'd Avandcred Avidely aAvay
from Miss Desp.-ird, in Avhoin ho Avas really interested, and liis
attention relaxed in a way which he could not disguise. This
THE MIXOn CAXOX. 103
seemed to disturb the Signer still more. lie faltered ; lie
hesitated. At last he said Avith a sudden burst, ' You think
this has nothing to do with the subject we were discussing;
but it has. Purcell, poor fellow ! has a — romantic devotion ;
a passion which I can't as yet call anything but unhappy —
for Miss Despard.'
'For Miss Despard?'
The Elinor Canon turned round at his own door with his
key in his hand, lifting his eyes in wonder. ' That is surely
rather misplaced,' he said the next moment, with much more
sharpness than was usual to him, opening the door with a
little extra energy and animation. lie had no reason what-
ever for being annoyed, but he was annoyed, though he could
not have told why.
' How misplaced ? ' said the Signor, following him up tlie
little oak staircase, narrow and broken into short flights,
which led to. the rooms in which the Minor Canon lived. The
landing at the top of the staircase Avas as large as any of the
rooms to which it led, with that curious misappropriation of
space, but admirable success in picturesque eiFect, peculiar to
old houses. There was a window in it, with a window- seat,
and such a view as was not to be had out of St. Michael's,
and the walls were of dark wainscot, with bits of rich old
carving here and there. The Canon's little library led off
irom this and had the same view. It was lighted by three
small, deep- set Avindows set in the outer wall of the Abbey,
and consequently half as thick as the room was large. They
were more like three pictures hung on the dark Avail than
mere openings for light, Avhich indeed they supplied but
sparingly, the thickness of the Avail casting deep shadoAVS be-
tween. And the Avails, Avherever they Avcre visible, A\'ere
dark oak, here and there shining Avith gleams of reflection,
but making a sombre backgi-ound, broken only by the russet
colour of old books and the chance ornaments of gilding
Avhich embellished them. Mr. Ashford's Avriting table, covered
Avith books and papers, stood in front of the centre Avindow.
There Avas room for a A'isitor on the inner side, between him
and the bookcases on the further Avail, and there Avasroom for
somebody in the deep recess of the AvindoAv at his left hand ;
but that was all.
' HoAv misplaced ? ' the Signor repeated, coming in and
taking possession of the Avindow-seat. ' He is not perhaps
104 VITIIIX THE PRECINCTS.
Avhat you call a gentleman by birth, but he is a great deal
better. You and I know gentlemen by birth who — but don't
let us talk blasphemy within the Precincts. I am a Tory. I
take my stand upon birth and blood and primogeniture.'
* And laugh at them ? '
* Oh, not at all ; on the contrary, I think they are very
good for the country ; but you and I have known gentlemen
by birth — Well ! my young Purcell is not one of these, but
sprung from the soil. He is a capital musician ; he is a
rising young man. In what is he worse than the daughter of
a commonplace old soldier, a needy, faded gentleman of a
Chevalier ? '
'Gently! gently! I cannot permit you to say anything
against the Chevaliers. They are bravo men, and men who
Lave served their country '
' Better than a good musician servos his ? ' cried the Sig-
nor. ' You will not assert as much. Better than we serve
the countiy, who put a little tune and time into her, an idea
of something better than fifes and drums? '
' My dear Rossinetti,' said Mr. Ashford, with some heat,
* England had music in her before a single maestro had ever
come from the South, and will have after '
' No tragedy,' said the Signor, with a lov/ laugh, putting
lip his hand. ' I am not a mnestro, nor do I come from the
South. I serve my country Avhen I teach these knavish boys,
that Avould rather be playing in the streets, to lengthen their
snipped vowels. But suppose they do better who fight — I
say nothing against that. I am not speaking of all the Cheva-
liers, but of one, and one who is very inilike the rest — the only
person who has anything to do with the argument — a wretched
frequenter of taverns, admirer of milliners' girls, who is said
to be going to marry some young woman of that class. Why
should not Purcell, the best fellow in the world, be as good as
he?'
' I don't know the father — and it is not the father Purcell
Ii.'ia a romantic devotion for. But don't you see, Kossinetti,
we are allowing ourselves to discuss the affairs of people we
know nothing of, people we have no right to talk about. In
short, Ave are gossiping, which is not a very appropriate occu-
pation.'
' Oh, there is a great deal of it done by other persons quite
as dignided as we are,' said the Signor, with a smile ; but he
THE MIXOU CAXOX. 105
accepted the reproof and clianged the siihjcct. They siit
togetlier and tiilked, looking over the great width of the silent
country, the trees and the winding river, the scattered vil-
lages, and the illuminated sky. How beautiful it was ! fair
enough of itself to make life sweeter to those who had it
before their eyes. But the two men talked and took no
notice. They might have been in a street in London ibr any
difference it made.
When, however, the Signor Avas gone, IMr. Ashford, having
closed the door upon his visitor, came straying back to the
window in which Kossinetti had been seated, and stood there
gazing out A-aguely. In all likelihood he saw nothing at all,
for he was short-sighted, as has been said ; but yet it is
natural to seek the relief of the window and look out when
there is something within of a confused and vaguely melan-
choly character to occupy one's thoughts. Twenty-lour
hours before, INIr. Ashford had not known who Lottie Des-
pard was. He had seen her in the Abbey, and perhaps had
found, without knowing it, that sympathy in her face which
establishes sometimes a kind of tacit friendship long before
words. He thought now that this must have been the case ;
but he knew very little about her still — nothing except that
she had a beautiful voice, a face that interested him, and some-
thing she wanted to talk to him about. "What was it she
wanted to talk to him about ? He could not imagine Avhat it
could be, but he recollected very well how pleasant a thing it
Avas when this beautiful young lady, lifting the long fringes
which veiled them, turned tipon hitn those beautiful blue eyes
which (he thought) were capable of expressing more feeling
than eyes of any other colour. Probably had Lottie's eyes
been brown or grey, Mr. Ashford would have been of exactly
the same opinion. And to think of this creature as the
beloved of Purcell gave him a shock. Purcell ! it was not
possible. No doubt he was a respectable fellow, very much
to be applauded and encouraged : but Mr. Ashford liimself
had nothing to do with Miss Despard ; he was pleased to
think that he should meet her again and hear her sing again,
and he nnist try, he said to himself, to find an opportui\ity to
ask her what it was about which she wanted to speak to him.
Otherwise he had no hand, and wanted to have no hand, in
this little conspiracy of which she seemed the unconscious
object. On the contrary, his whole .sympathies were v/ith
lOG WITniN THE PEECIXCTS.
Lottie against the men who wanted to entrap her and make
her a public singer Avhether she Avould or not. He was glad
she did not want it herself, and felt a warm sympathy with
her in those natural prejudices against ' making an exhibition
of herself ' which the Signor scorned so much. The Signor
might scorn those shrinkings and shyness ; they Avere alto-
gether out of his way 5 he might not understand them. But
Mr. Ashford understood them perfectly. He liked Lottie for
having them, comprehended her, and felt for her. Anything
rather than that, he thought, with a little tremulous warmth,
as if she had been his sister. If there should be any dis-
cussion on this subject to-night at the Deanery, and she was
in need of support, he would stand by her. Having made
this resolution he went back to his writing-table and sat down
in his usual place, and put this intrusive business, which did
not in the least concern him, out of his mind.
The most intrusive subject ! What had he to do with it?
And yet it was not at all easy to get it out of his mind. He
had not read three lines when he felt himself beginning to
wonder why Rollo Eidsdale had chosen Miss Despard as his
prima donna above everybody else, and why the Signor con-
cerned himself so much about it. She had certainly a beauti-
ful A'oice, but still voices as beautiful had been heard before.
It could not be supposed that there was no one else equal to
her. Why should they make so determined a set at this girl,
who was a lady, and who had not expressed any Avish or in-
tention of being a singer? To be sure, she was very hand-
some as well, and her face was full of expression. And RoUo
was a kind of enthusiast when he took anything in his head.
Then there was the other imbroglio with the Signor and
PurccU. What avus Pm-cell to the Signer that he should take
up his cause so warmly? But, then, still more mysterious, Avhat
was it all to him, Ernest Ashford, that it should come between
him and the book he was reading ? Xothing could be more
alisurd. He got up after a while, and Avent to the AvindoAV
again, Avhere he finally settled himself Avith a volume of Shel-
ley, to Avhich he managed to fix the thoughts Avhich had l)een
so absurdly disturbed by this stranger, and this question Avith
Avliicli ho had nothing to do. It was a very idle Avay of
ppriiding the aftcnoon, to recline in a deep Avindow looking
out upon miles for air and distance and read Shelley ; but it
was better than getting involved in the mere gossip of St.
ANOTHER EVENING AT THE DEANEUy. 107
Michael's and turning over in his head against his uill tlie
private aiTairs of people whom he scarcely knew. This was the
disadvantage of living in a small circle with so few interests,
he said to himself. But he got delivered from the gossip by
means of tlie poetry, and so lay tliere while the brilliant sun-
shine planted from the Avest, now sending his thoughts abroad
over the leafy English plain, now feeding his fancy with the
poet among the Euganean hills.
CPIAPTER XL
ANOTHER EVENING AT THE DEANERY.
Mr. Eidsdale had perhaps never touched, and rarely heard,
anything so bad as the old cracked piano which Lottie had
inherited from her mother, and which was of the square form
now obsolete, of a kind which brokers (the only dealers in
the article) consider very convenient, as combining the cha-
racter of a piano and a sideboard. Very often had Lottie's
piano served the purpose of a sideboard, but it was too far
gone to be injured — nothing could make it worse. Neverthe-
less Mr. llidsdale played the accompaniments upon it, without a
word, to Lottie's admiration and Avonder, for he seemed to be
able to draw forth at his fingers' ends a volume of sound
Avhich she did not suppose to be within the power of the old
instrument. He had brouglit several songs with him, being
fully minded to hear her that morning, whatever obstacles
might be in the way. But it so happened that there were
no obtacles whatever in the way ; and Mrs. O'Shaughnessy
was of the greatest service as audience. With the true talent
of a manager, Mr. Eidsdale addressed himself to the subjuga-
tion of his public. He placed before Lottie the song from
' Marta,' to whicli, hearing it thus named, I\Irs. O'Shaughnessy
prepared herself to listen with a certain amiable scorn. 'Ah,
we shall have you crying in five minutes,' he said. ' Is it
me you're meaning ? ' she cried in high scorn. But the fact
was that when the melting notes of ' The Last Eosc of
bummer ' came forth f ronx Lottie's lips, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy
108 -WITIIIX THE rnECINCTS.
■was altogether taken by surprise, and carried out Rollo'a pro-
phecy to the letter by Aveeping abundantly. There was much
of ]Mr. Kidsdale's music wliich Lottie could not sing — indeed,
it would have been wonderful if she had been able to do so,
as he had brought with him the finest morceaux of a dozen
operas, and Lottie's musical education had been of the slight-
est. But he so praised, and flattered, and encouraged her,
th:it she went on from song to song at his bidding, making
the best attempt at them that was possible, while jNIrs.
O'Shaiighnessy sat by and listened. Her presence there was
of tlie utmost consequence to them. It at once converted
RoUo's visit into something allowable and natural, and it gave
him a pretence for beginning what was really an examination
into Lottie's powers and compass, at once of voice and of in-
telligence. Lottie, innocent of any scheme, or of any motive
he could have, save simple pleasure in her singing, exerted
herself to please him with the same mixture of gratitude and
happy prepossession with Avhich she had thought of him for so
long. If she could give a little pleasure to him who had given
her his love and his heart (for what less could it be that he
had given her?), it was her part, she thought, to do so. She
felt that she owed him everything she could do for him, to
recompense him for that gift which he had given her un-
awares. So she stood by him in a soft humility, not careful
that slie was showing her own ignorance, thinking only of
pleasing him. AVhat did it matter, if he were pleased, whether
she attained the highest excellence ? She said sweetly, ' I
know I cannot do it, but if you wish it I will try,' and at-
tempted feats Avliich in other circumstances would have
appalled her. And the i'act was, that thus forgetting herself,
and thinking only of pleasing him, Lottie sang better than
she had ever done in her life, better even than she had done
in the Deanery on the previous night. She committed a
thousand faults, but these faults were as nothing in com-
parison with the melody of her voice and the purity of her
taste. Hollo became like one inspired. All the enthusiasm
of an amateiu-, and all the zeal of an enterprising manager,
Avore in him. The old piano rolled out notes of which in its
own self it was (juite incapable under his rapid fingers. He
seemed to see lier with all London before her, at her feet, and
lie (so to spcakj at once the discoverer and the possessor of
this new star. No wonder the old piano grew ecstatic under
ANOTHER EVENING AT THE DEANICItV. 100
his touch ; he who had gone through so many vicissitudes,
who had made so many failures; at last it seemed evident to
him that his Ibrtuue was made. Unfortunately (though that
he forgot for the moment) he had felt his fortune to be made
on several occasions before.
!Mrs. O'Shaughnessy gave a great many nods and smiles
when at last he went away. ' I say nothing, me dear, but I
have my eyesight,' she said, ' and a blind man could see what's
in the wind. So that is how it is, Lottie, me darling? Well,
Avell ! I always said you were the prettiest girl that had been
in the Lodges this many a year. I don't envy ye, me love,
your rise in the Avorld. And I hope, Lottie, when ye're me
lady, ye'll not forget your old friends.'
' How should I ever be my lady ? ' said Lottie ; ' indeed,
Mrs. O'Shauglmessy, I don't know what you mean.'
' No, me honey, the likes of you never do, till the right mo-
ment comes,' said the old lady, going down the narrow stairs.
iShe kissed her hand to Lottie, who looked after her from the
window as she appeared on the pavement outside, and, Avitli
her bonnet-strings flying loose, turned in at her own door.
Her face was covered with smiles and her mind full of a new
interest. She could not refrain from going into the Major's
little den, and telling him. ' Nonsense ! ' the Major said, in-
credulously ; ' one of your mare's-nests.' ' Sure it Avas a
great deal better than a mare, it was turtle-doves made the
nest I'm thinking of,' said Mrs. O'Shaughnessy ; and she took
off her bonnet and seated herself at her window, i'rom which
she inspected the world with a new warmth of interest, de-
termined not to lose a single incident in this new fairy tale.
Law came out of his room, where he had been ' reading,'
when Mrs. O'Shaughnessy went away. ' What has all this
shrieking been about,' said Law, ' and thumping on that old
beast of a piano ? You are always at a fellow about reading,
and when he does read you disturb him with your noise.
How do you think I could get on with all that miauling going
on ? Who has been here ? '
' ]Mr. liidsdale has been here,' said Lottie demurely. ' He
brought me a note from Lady Caroline, and I am going again
to the Deanery to-night.'
Law whistled a long whew — ew ! 'Again, to-night ! she'd
better ask you to go and live there,' said the astounded boy ;
and he said no more about his interrupted reading, but put
110 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
his big book philosophiccally away ; for who could begin to
read again after all the disturbances of the morning, and after
such a piece of news as this?
Lottie dressed herself with more care than ever that even-
in"-. She becan to wish for ornaments, and to realise how
few her decorations were ; the little pearl locket was so small^
and her arms seemed so bare without any bracelets. How-
ever, she made herself little bands of black velvet, and got
the maid to fasten them on. She had never cared much for
ornaments before. And she spent a much longer time than
usual over the arrangement of her hair. Above all she wanted
to look like a lady, to show that, though their choice of her
was above what could have been expected, it was not above
the level of what she was used to. Their choice of her — that
Avas how it seemed to Lottie. The young lover had chosen,
as it is fit the lover should do ; but Lady Caroline had ratified
liis selection, and Lottie, proud, yet entirely humble in the
tender humility born of gratitude, wanted to show that she
could do credit to their choice. She read the note which
purported to be Lady Caroline's over and over again ; how
kind it was ! Lady Caroline's manner perhaps was not quite
so kind. People could not control their manner. The
kindest heart was often belied, Lottie was aware, by a stiff-
ness, an awkwardness, perhaps only a shyness, which disguised
their best intentions. But the very idea of asking her was
kind, and the letter was so kind that she made iip her mind
never again to mistake Lady Caroline. She had a difficulty
in expressing herself, no doubt She was indolent perhaps.
At her <ige and in her position it was not wonderful if one
got indolent ; but in her heart she was kind. This Lottie
repeated to herself as she put the roses in her hair. In her
heart Lady Caroline was kind; the girl felt sure that she
could never mistake her, never be disappointed in her again.
And in this spirit she tripped across the Dean's Walk, Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy watching from her window. It was almost dark,
but it was not one of the Signor's nights for practice, and
only a few of the inhabitants of the Abbey Precincts were
enjoying the air on the Terrace pavement. They all saw her
as she came out in the twilight with her uncovered head.
Law liad gone out, and there was nobody to go with her this
time to the Deanery door. But Lottie had no diflicidty in
finding an escort: as she came out, looking round her shyly
AXOTIIER EVENING AT THE DEAXERY. Ill
to -watch for a quiet moment when no one Avas about, Captain
Temple came forward, Avho lived two doors off, and v/as pass-
ing as she came to the little garden gate. He was the prciix
chevalier of all the Chevaliers. He came forward with a
i'athcrly smile upon his kind face. ' You are looking for some
one to go with you,' he said : * your father has gone out. I
saw him. Let me take his place.'
' Oh, thanks ! I am going to the Deanery. I thought
Law Avould have Avaited for me.'
' Law, like others of his age, has his own concerns to think
of,' said Captain Temple, ' but I am used to this kind of
Avork. You have heard of my girl, Miss Despard ? '
' Yes, Captain Temple .' Lottie, touched suddenly
in the sympathetic sentiment of her own beginning life,
looked up at him with wistful eyes.
' She Avas a pretty creature, like yourself, my dear. ]\Iy
Avife and I often talk of you, and think you like her. She
Avas lost to us before she Avent out of the Avorld. and I think
it broke her heart — as Avell as ours. Take care of the damp
grass Avith your little Avhite shoes.'
' Oh, Captain Temple, do not come Avith me,' said Lottie,
Avith tears in her eyes. * I can go A'ery Avell alone. It is too
hard upon you.'
' No — I like it, my dear. My Avife cannot talk of it, but I
like to talk of it. You must take care not to marry anyone
that Avill carry you quite aAA'ay from your father's house.'
' As if that Avould matter ! as if papa Avould care ! ' Lottie
said in her heart, Avith a half pity, half envy, of Captain
Temple's lost daughter ; but this Avas but a superficial feeling
in comparison Avith the great compassion she had for him.
The old Chevalier took her across the road as tenderly and
carefully as if even her little Avhite shoes AA-ere Avorth caring
for. There A\'as a moist brightness about his eyes as he
lool^ed at her pretty figure. ' The roses are just Avhat you
ought to Avear,' he said. ' And whenever you Avant anyone
to take care of you in this Avay, send for me ; I shall like to
do it. Shall I come back for you in case your flither should
be late ? '
' Oh, Captain Temple, papa never minds 1 but it is quite
easy to get back,' she said, thinking that perhaps this time
he
' 1 think it is ahvays best that a young lady should hav
112 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
her own attendant, and not depend on anyone to see lier
home,' said the old Captain. And he rang the bell at the
Deanery door, and took off his hat, Avith a smile Avhich
almost made Lottie forget Lady Caroline. She went into the
drawing-room accordingly much less timidly than she had
ever done before, and no longer felt any fear of Mr. Jeremie,
who admitted her, though he was a much more imposing
person than Captain Temple. This shade of another life which
had come over her seemed to protect Lottie, and strengthen
her mind. The drawing-room was vaguely lighted with
clusters of candles here and there, and at first she saAV nobody,
nor was there any indication held out to her that the mistress
of the house was in the room, except the solemn tone o£
Jeremie's voice announcing her. Lottie thought Lady Caro-
line had not come in from the dining-room, and strayed about
looking at the books and ornaments on the tables. She even
began to hum an air quietly to herself, by way of keeping up
her own courage, and it was not till she had almost taken her
seat unawares on Lady Caroline's dress, extended on the sofa,
that she became aware that she was not alone. ' Oh, I beg
your pardon,' she cried out in a sudden panic. * I thought
there was no one in the room.' Lady Caroline made no re-
mark at all, except to say, ' How do you do, Miss Despard ? '
That was what she had made up her mind to say, feelijig it to
be quite enough for the occasion — and Lady Caroline did not
easily change her mind when it was once made up. She tliought
it very impertinent of the girl to come in and look at the photo-
graphs on the tables, and even to take the liberty of singing,
but there was no calculating what these sort of people might
do. She had nearly sat down on Lady Caroline's feet !
* This is what I put up with for liollo,' the poor lady said to
herself ; and it seemed to her that a great deal of gratitude
from Kollo was certainly her due. She did not move, nor did
she ask Miss Despard to sit doAvn ; but Lottie, half in iright,
dropped into a chair very near the strange piece of still life on
the sofii. The girl had been very much frightened to see her,
and for a moment was speechless with the horror of it. Nearly
to sit down iipon Lady Caroline ! and a moment of silence
ensued. Lady Caroline did not feel in the least inclined to
begin a conversation. She had permitted the young woman
to be invited, and shehad siiid,' How do you do, Miss Despard?'
and she did not know what more could be expected from her.
AXOTIIER EVENING AT THE DEANERY. 113
So tliey sat close toiretlicr in the large, half-visible, dinily-
illvuninated room, -with the large Aviiidow ojjen to the night,
and said nothing to each other. Lottie, who Avas the visitor,
was embarrassed, but Lady Caroline Avas not embarrassed.
She felt no more need to speak than did the table •with the
photographs upon it Avhich Lottie had stopped to look at. As
tor Lottie, she bore it as long as she could, the stillness of the
room, the flicker of the candles, the dash and iall of a moth
now and then flying across the lights, and the immovable
figure on the sofa with its feet tucked up, and floods of beauti-
ful rich silk enveloping them. A strange sense that Lady
Caroline was not living at all, that it was only the picture of a
woman that was laid out on the sofa came over her. In her
nervousness she began to tremble, then felt inclined to laugh.
At last it became evident to Lottie that to speak w;us a
necessity, to break the spell which might otherwise stupefy
her senses too.
' It is a beautiful night,' was all she managed to say ;
could anything be more feeble? but Lady Caroline gave no
reply. She made the usual little movement of her eyelids,
which meant an assent ; indeed it was not a remark which
required reply. And the silence fell on them again as bad as
ever. The night air blew in, the moths whirled about the
candles, dashed against the globe of the lamp, dropped on the
floor with fatal infinitesimal booms of tragic downfall ; and Lady
Caroline lay on the sofa, with eyes directed to vacancy, look-
ing at nothing. Lottie, with the roses in her hair, and so mucli
lite tingling in her, could not endure it. She wanted to go
and .shake the vision on the sofa, she wanted to cry out and
make some noise or other to save herself from the spell. At
last, when she could keep silence no longer, she jumped up,
throwing over a small screen which stood near in her
vehemence of action. ' Shall I sing you something. Lady
Caroline ? ' she said.
Lady Caroline Avas startled by the fall of the screen. She
watched till it was picked up, actually looking at Lottie,
which was some advance ; then she said, ' If you please, iNIiss
Despard,' in lu'r calm tones. And Lottie, half out of herself,
made a dash at the grand piano, though she knew she could
not play. She struck a chord or two, trembling all over, and
began to sing. This time she did not feel the neglect or un-
kindness of the way in which she was treated. It was a
I
114 ■v\-iTinx Tiin pi:r:cn:CTS.
totally diflevent sensation. A touch of panic, a toncli of
amusement Avas in it. She Avas afraid that she might be
petrified too if she did nothing to break the spell. But as she
began to sing, with a quaver in her voice, and a little shiver of
nervous chilliness in her person, the door opened, and voices,
half discerned figures of men, life and movement, came pouring
in. Lottie came to an abrupt stop in the middle of a bar.
' This will never do,' said the suave Dean : 'you make too
much noise, Kollo. You have frightened Miss Despard in the
middle of her song.'
Then liollo came forward into the light spot round the
piano, looking very pale ; he was a good deal more frightened
than Lottie was. Could it be possible that she liad made a
false note ? He was in an agony of horror and alarm. * I —
make a noise ! ' he said ; ' my dear uncle ! ' He looked at
her with appealing eyes full of anguish. ' You were not —
singing, Miss Despard ! I am .sure you were not singing, only
trying the piano.'
' I thought it would perhaps — amuse Lady Caroline.'
Lottie did not know wluit she had done that was wrong. The
Signor wore an air of trouble too. Only Mr. Ashford's face,
looking kindly at her, as one followed another into the light,
reassured her. She turned to him with a little anxiety. ' I
cannot play ; it is quite true ; perhaps I ought not to have
touched the piano,' she said.
' You were startled.' said the Minor Canon, kindly.
'Your voice fluttered hke those candles in the draught.'
The others still looked terribly serious, and did not speak.
' And I sang false,' said Lottie ; ' I heard myself. It was
terrible ; but I thought I was stiffening into stone,' she said, in
an undertone, and she gave an alarmed look at Lady Caroline
on the sofa. This restored the sjiirits of the other spectators,
who looked at each other relieved.
' Thank Heaven, she knew it,' Rollo whispered to the
Signor ; ' it was fright, pure fright — and my aunt '
' What else did you suppose it was ? ' answered in the same
tone, but with some scorn, the Signor.
' Miss Despard, don't think you are to be permitted to ac-
company yourself,' said Kollo. ' Here are two of us waiting
your i)h-aHure. Signor, I will not pretend to interfere when
you are there. May we have again that song you were so
good ? '
AXOTHER EVEXIXG AT THE DEAXKKV. 115
* Ah, pardon me,' lie cried, coming close to her to got the
music. ' I do not want to lose a minute. I have been on
thorns this half-hour. I ought to have been here waiting
ready to receive you, as you ought to be received.'
' Oh, it did not matter,' said Lottie, confused. ' I am sorry
I cannot play. I wanted — to try — to amuse Lady Caroline.'
By this time the Signer had arranged the music on the
piano and began to play. The Dean had gone ofT to the other
end of the room, where the evening paper, the last edition, had
})L'vn laid awaiting him on a little table on which stood a read-
ing lamp. The green shade of the lamp concentrated the light
upon the paper, and the white hands of the reader, and his
long limbs and his little table, making a neAv picture in
the large dim room. On the opposite side sat Lady Caroline,
who had withdrawn her feet hastily from the sofa, and sat bolt
upright as a tribute to the presence of the gentlemen.' These
two pieces of still life appeared to Lottie vaguely through tlie
partial gloom. The master and mistress of the house were
paying no attention to the visitors. Such visitors as these
Avere not of sufficient importance to be company, or to disturb
their entertainers in the usual habits of their evening. Lady
Caroline, indeed, seldom allowed herself to be disturbed by
anyone. She put down her feet for the sake of her own dig-
nity, but she did not feel called upon to make any further
sacrifice. And as for Lottie, she was not happy among these
three men. She shrank from Eollo, who was eyeing her with
an anxiety which she could not understand, and longed for
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, or, indeed, any woman to stand by her.
Her heart sank, and she shivered again with that chill which
is of the nerves and fancy. The Dean with his rustling paper,
and Lady Caroline with her vacant eyes, were at the other end
of the room, and Lottie felt isolated, separated, cast upon the
tender mercies of the three connoisseurs, a girl with no woman
near to stand by her. It seemed to her for the moment as if
she must sink into the floor altogether, or else turn and fly.
It was Mr. Ashford again who came to Lottie's aid. ' Play
r-omething else first,' he said softly to the Signor, disregarding
the anxious looks of Rollo, who had placed himself on a chair
at a little distance, so that he might be able to see the singer
and stop any false note that might be coming before it ap-
peared The others were both kind and clever, kinder than
the man whom Lottie thought her lover, and whose anxiety
i2
116 WITIIIX THE TRECIXCTS.
for the moment took all thought from liim, and more clever
too. The Signer began to play Handel, the serious noble
music -with -which Lottie had grown familiar in the Abbey, and
soon jNIr. Ashford stepped in and sang in his beautiful melo-
dious voice. Then the strain changed, preluding a song which
the most angelic of the choristers had sung that morning.
The Minor Canon put the music into Lottie's hands. ' Begin
here,' he whispered. She knew it by ear and by heart, and
the paper trembled in her hands; but they made her forget
herself, and she began, her voice thrilling and trembling, avve
and wonder taking possession of her. She had heard it often,
but she had never realised what it was till, all human, woman-
ish, shivering with excitement and emotion, she began to sing.
It did not seem her own doing at all. The dim drawing-room,
with the Dean reading the paper, the men in their evening
coats, the glimmering reflection of herself Avhich she caught
in the long mirror, in her simple decorations, the roses trem-
blin"' in her hair, all seemed horribly inappropriate, almost pro-
fane, to Lottie. And the music shook in her hands, and the
notes, instead of remaining steadily before her eyes, Avhere she
could read them, took wings to themselves and floated about,
now here, now there, sometimes gleaming upon her, sometimes
eluding her. Yet she sang, she could not tell how, forgetting
everything, though she saw and felt everything, in a passion,
in an inspiration, penetrated through and through by the
music and the poetry, and the sacredness, above her and all of
them. ' I know that my Redeemer liveth.' Oh, how did she
dare to sing it, how could those commonplace walls enclose it,
those men stand and listen as if it ^v'as her they were listening
to ? By and by the Dean laid down his paper. Rollo, in the
background, gazing on her at first in pale anxiety, then with
vexed disapproval (for what did ho want with Ilandel?),
came nearer and nearer, his face catching some reflection of
hers as she went on. And when Lottie ended, in a raptm-e
she could not explain or imderstand, they all came pressing
round her, dim and blurred figures in her confused eyes. But
the girl was too greatly strained to bear their reproach or hear
what they said. She broke away from them, and rushed,
scarcely knowing what she did, to Lady Caroline's side. Lady
Caroline herself was roused. She made room for the trembling
creature, and Lottie threw herself into the corner o£ the capa-
cious so'ii and covered her face with her hands.
AKOTHEK EVENING AT TUE DEANEllY. 117
But uhcn she came to herself she would not sing any more.
A mixture of guilt and exultation was in her mind. ' I ought
not to have sung it. I am not good enough to sing it. I
never thought what it meant till now,' she said trembling.
' Oh. I hope you will Ibrgive me. I never knew what it
meant before.'
' Forgive you ! ' said the Dean. ' We don't know how to
thank you,' Miss Despard. He was the person who ought to
know what it meant if anybody did. And when he had thus
spoken lie went back to his paper, a trifle displeased by the
fuss she made ; as if she could have any new revelation of the
meaning of a thing which, if not absolutely written for St.
:Michaei's, as good as belonged to the choir, which belonged to
the Dean and Chapter ! There Avas a certain presumption in-
volved in Lottie's humility. He went l)ack to his reading-
lamp, and finished the article which had been interrupted by
her really beautiful rendering of a very fine solo. It was
really beautiful; he would not for a moment deny that. But
if Miss Despard turned out to be excitable, and gave herself
airs, like a real prima donna ! Heaven be praised, the little
chorister boys never had any nerves, but sang whatever was
set before them, without thinking what was meant, the Dean
said to himself. And it would be difficult to describe Kollo
Kidsdale's disappointment. He sat down in a low chair by the
side of the sofa, and talked to her in a whisper. ' I under-
stand you,' he said ; ' it is like coming down from the heaven
of heavens, where you have carried us. But the otlier spheies
are celestial too. Miss Despard, I shall drop down into sheer
earth to-morrow. I am going away. I shall lose the happi-
ness of hearing you altogether. Will you not have pity u])on
me, and lead me a little way into the earthly paradise ? ' But
even these prayers did not move Lottie. She was too much
shaken and disturbed out of the unconscious calm of her being
for anything more.-
118 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
CHAPTER XII.
BROTHER AND SISTER.
Lottie ran out wliile Kollo Ridsdale was getting Lis hat to
accompany her home. She caught up her shawl over her arm
without pausing to put it on, and ran through the dark Cloister
and across the Dean's Walk to her own door, before he knoAV
she Avas ready. ' Tlie young — lady is gone, sir,' Mr. Jeremie
said, who was rather indignant at having to open tlie door to
such sort of people. He would have said young woman had he
dared. Rollo, much piqued already in that she had refused
to sing for him further, and half irritated, half attracted by
this escapade now, hurried after her ; but when he emerc^ed
from the gloom of the Cloister to the fresh dewy air of the
night, and the breadth of the Dean's AValk, lying lialf visible
in summer darkness in the soft indistinct radiance of the stars,
there was no one visible, far or near. She liad already gone
in before he came in sight of the door. He looked up and
down the silent Avay, on which not a creature was visible, and
listened to the sound of the door closing behind her. The
flight and the sound awoke a new sentiment in his mind.
Ladies were not apt to avoid EoUo.
Not liis the form nor his the eye
That youthful maidens •wont lo fly.
He was piqued and he Avas roused. Heretofore, lionestly,
there had been little but music in his thoughts. The girl was
very handsome, which was so much the better — very much
the better, for his purpose ; but this sparkle of resistance in
her roused something else in his mind. Lottie had been like
an inspired creature as she sang, this evening. He had never
seen on the stage or elsewhere" so wonderful an exhibition of
absorbed impassioned feeling. I£ he could secure her for his
I)riina donna, nowliLTo would such a prima donna be seen. It
wa.s not tliat she Iiad thrown herself into the music, but that
the music had possessed her, and transported her out of her-
self. This was not a common human creature. She was no
longer merely handsome, but beautiful in the fervour of her
feeling. And for the first time Lottie as Lottie, not merely
as a .singer, touched a well-worn but still sensitive chord in
BROTHER AXD SISTER. 119
his breast. He stood looking at the door, which still seemed
to echo in the stillness with the jar of closing. AVhat did her
Hight mean ? He was provoked, tantalised, stimulated. What-
ever happened, he must see more of this girl. Why should
she ily i'rom him ? lie did not choose to return and tell the
story of her ilight, which was such an incident as always
makes the man who is baulked present a more or less ridicu-
lous aspect to the spectators ; but he stood outside and Availed
till the steps of the Minor Canon and the Signer had become
audible turning each towards their habitation, and even the
turning of jNIr. Ashford's latchkey in his door. Everything
was very still in the evening at St. Michael's. The respect-
able and solemn Canons in their great houses, and the old
Chevaliers in their little lodges, went early to bed, Eollo saw
no light anywhere except a dim glow in the window of the
little drawing-room where he had spent the morning, and
Avhere no doubt the fugitive was seated breathless. His
curiosity was raised, and his interest, supplanting that pro-
fcs.sional eagerness about her voice wliich he had expressed so
largely. Why did she run away from him ? Why did she
refuse to sing for him ? These questions suddenly sprang
into his mind, and demanded, if not reply, yet a great deal of
consideration. He could not make up his mind what the
cause could be.
As for Lottie, she could not have given any reasonable
answer to these questions, though she was the only living
creature Avho could know why she ran away. As a matter of
fact, she did not know. The music had been more than .she
could bear in the state of excitement in which she was.
Excited about things she would have been ashamed to confess
any special interest in — about her relations with the Deanery,
about Lady Caroline, and, above all, about Kollo — the Avonder-
ful strain to Avhich she had all unconsciously and unthink-
ingly, at first, given utterance, had caught at Lottie like a
hand from heaven. She had been draAvn upAvard into the
fervour of religious ecstasy, she Avho was so ignorant ; and
when she dropped again to earth, and Avas conscious once more
of Kollo and of Lady Caroline, there had come upon her a
sudden sense of shame and of her OAvn pettiness and inability
to disentangle herself from the links that drcAV her to earth
Avhich Avas as passionate as the sudden fervour. Hoav dare
she sing tliat one mouient, and the next be caught down to
120 WITHIN THE PKECINCTS.
vulgar life, to Lady Caroline and Rollo Ridsdale? Lottie
would sing no more, and could not speak, so strong was the
conflict within her. She could not even encounter the mo-
mentary tete-a-tete which before she had almost wished for.
She was roused and stirred in all her being as she had never
been before, able to encounter death, or grief, she thought
vaguely, or anything that was solemn and grand, but not or-
dinary talk, not compliments, not the little tender devices of
courtship. She flew from the possible touch of sentiment, the
half-mock, half-real flatteries that he Avould be ready to say to
her. Love real, and great, and solemn, the love of which the
Italian poet speaks as twin sister of Death, was what Lottie's
mind was prepared lor ; but from anything lower she fled,
with the instinct of a nature highly strained and unaccustomed
to, though capable of, passion. Everything was seething in
her mind, her heart beating, the blood coursing through her
veins. She felt that she could not bear the inevitable down-
fall of ordinary talk. She ran out into the soft coolness ot
the night, the great quiet and calm of the sleeping place, a
fugitive driven by this new wind of strange emotion. The
shadow of the Abbey was grateful to her, lying dimly half-
way aci-oss the broad silent road — and the dim lamp in her
own windoAv seemed to point out a refuge from her thoughts.
She rushed across the empty road, like a ghost flitting, white
and noiseless, and swift as an arrow, from the gate of the
Cloister, wondering whether the maid would hear her knock
at once, or if she would have to wait there at the door till ^Ir.
llidsdale appeared. But the door was opened at her first touch,
to Lottie's great surprise, by Law, who seemed to have been
watching for her arrival. He wore a very discontented aspect,
but this Lottie did not at first see, in her grateful sense of
safety.
' How early you are ! ' lie said. ' I did not expect you for
an hour yet. It was scarcely worth while going out at all,
if you were to come back so soon.'
Lottie made no reply. She went upstairs to the little
drawing-room, where the lamp had been screwed as low as
possible to keep alight lor her when she should return. The
room was still more dim than Lady Caroline's, and looked so
small and insignificant in comi)arisoii. On the table was a
tray with .some bread and butter and a cup of milk, which
BROTHER AKD SISTER. 121
■was Lottie's simple su])per after her dissipation ; for Lady
Caroline's cup of tea was scarcely enough for a girl Avho had
eaten a not too luxurious dinner at two o'clock. She had no
mind, however, for her supper now; but sat down on the
little sofa and covered her eyes with her hand, and went back
into her thoughts, half to prolong the excitement into which
.she had plunged, half to still herself and get rid of this sud-
den transport. It would be diflicult to say which she wished
most : to calm herself down, or to continue that state of ex-
altation which proved to her new capabilities in her own
being. She thought it was the former desire that moved lier,
and that to be quiet was all she wanted ; but yet that strong
tide running in her veins, that hot beating of her heart, that
expansion and elevation of everything in her, was full of an
incomprehensible agony of sweetness and exquisite sensation.
She did not know what it was. She covered her eyes to shut
out the immediate scene around her. The little shabby room,
the bread and butter, and Law's slouching figure manipulating
the lamp — these, at least, were accessories which she had no
desire to see.
' Bother the thing ! ' said Law, ' I can't get it to burn.
Here, Lottie ! vou can manage theui. Oh ! if you like to sit
in the dark, I don't mind. AVere your fine peojjle disiigree-
able? I always told you they wanted nothing but that you
should sing for them and amuse them. They don't care a rap
for you ! '
Lottie took no notice of this speech. She withdrew her
hand from her face, but still kept her eyes half-closed, un-
willing to be roused out of her dream.
' They're all as selfish as old bears,' said Law ; ' most
people are, for that matter. They never think of you ; you've
got to look after yourself; it's their own pleasure they're
thinking of "What can you expect from strangers when a
man that pretends to be one's own father ? '
' What arc you talking about? ' asked Lottie, slowly waking,
■with a feeling of disgust and impatience, out of her finer
fancies. She could not keep some shade of scorn and annoy-
ance from her face.
' You needn't put on those supercilious looks ; you'll
suffer as much from it as I shall, or perhaps more, for a man
can always do for himself,' said Law ; ' but you — you'll find
122 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
the difference. Lottie,' lie continued, forgetting resentment
in this common evil, and sinking his voice, * he's down there
at the old place again.'
' What old place ? '
As soon as his complaining voice became familiar, Lottie
closed her eyes again, longing to resume her own thoughts.
* Oh ! the old place. Why, down there ; you know — the
place where 1 say ! ' cried Law, suddenly growing red,
and perceiving the betrayal of himself as well as of his lather
which was imminent. ' Never mind where it is ; it's where
that sharp one, Polly Featherstone, works.'
Lottie was completely awakened now ; she looked up,
half-bewildered, from the dispersing mists. ' Of Avhom are
you talking ? ' she cried. ' Law, what people have you got
among — who are they ? You frighten me ! Who is it you
are talkinsx of? '
' There's no harm in them,' cried Law, colouring more
and more. ' What do you mean ? Do you think they're
I don't know what you mean ; they're as good as we are,' he
added sullenly, walking away Avith his hands in his pockets
out of the revelations of the lamp. Dim and Ioav as it was, it
disclosed, he was aware, an uncomfortable glow of colour on
his face.
' I don't know who tliey may be,' said Lottie, severe, yet
blushing too ; 'I don't want to know ! But, oh, Law ! you that
are so young, my only brother, why should you know peoj)le
I couldn't know ? Why should you be ashamed of anyone
you go to see ? '
' I was not talking of people / go to see ; I wish you
wouldn't be so absurd ; I'm talking of the governor,' said
Law, speaking very fast ; ' he's there, I tell you, a man of his
tmie of life, sitting among a lot of girls, talking away fifteen to
the dozen. He might find some other Avay of meeting her if
he must meet her ! ' cried Law, his own grievance breaking
out in spite of him. ' What has he got to do there among a
pack of girls? it's disgraceful at his age ! '
LaAv was very sore, angry, and d^s;^ppointed. He had
gone to his usual resort in the evening, and had seen his
father tlicrc before him, and had been obliged to retire dis-
comfited, with a jibe from Emma to intensify his trouble.
' The Captain's twice the man you are ! ' the little dressmaker
had said ; ' lie ahi't afraid of nobody.' Poor Law had gone
BnOTUER AND SISTEK. 120
away after this, and strolled despondently along the river-side.
lie did not know what to do with himself. Lottie was at the.
Deanery ; he was shut out of his usual reiuge, and he had
nowhere to go. Though he had no money, he jumped into a
l)oat and rowed himself di.smally about the river, dropping
down below the bridge to where he could see the lighted
windows of the workroom. There he lingered about, nobody
seeing or taking any notice of him. When he approached
the bank, he could even hear the sound of their voices, the
laughter with which they received the Capt^iin's witticisms.
A little Avit went a long way in tliat complaisant circle. He
could make out Captain Dcspard's shadow against the window,
never still for a moment, moving up and down, amusing the
girls with songs, jokes, pieces of buffoonery. Law despised
these devices ; but, oh ! how he envied the skill of the actor.
lie hung about the river in his boat till it got quite dark,
almost run into sometimes by other boats, indifferent to every-
thing but this lighted interior, which he could see, though
nobody in it could see him. And when he Avas tired of this
forlorn amusement he came home, finding the house very
empty and desolate. He tried to Avork, but ho\v Avas it pos-
sible to Avork under the sting of such a recollection ? The
only thing he could do Avas to wait for Lottie, to pour forth
his complaint to her, to hope tliat she might perhaps find
some remedy for this intolerable Avrong. It did not occur to
him that to betray his father Avas also to betray himself, and
that Lottie might feel as little sympathy lor him as he did for
Captain Despard. This fact flashed upon him nov/ Avhen it
was too late.
Lottie had not risen from her seat, but as she sat there
everything round seemed to Avavcr about her, then settle down
again in a sudden revelation of mean, and small, and paltry
life, such as she had scarcely ever realised before. Not only
the lofty heaven into Avhich the music had carried her rolled
aAvay like a scroll, but the other Avorld, Avhieh Avas beautiful
also of its kind, from Avhich she had fled, Avhich had seemed
too poor to remain in, after the preceding ecstixsy, departed as
with a glimmer of Avings ; and she found hersilf awaking in
a life Avhere everything was squalid and poor, Avhere she alone,
with despairing efforts, tried to prop up the house that it
might not fall into dishonoured dust. She had borne Avitli a
kind of contemptuous equanimity Law's first sttiry abuut her
124 WITHIN THE rRECINCTS.
father. Let him marry again ! she had said ; if he could
secure tlie tiling he called his happiness in such a way, let him
do it. The idea had filled her Avith a high scorn. She had
not thought of herself nor of the effect it might have upon
her, but had risen superior to it Avith lofty contempt, and put
it from her mind. But this was different. With all her high
notions of gentility, and all her longings after a more splendid
sphere, this sudden revelation of a sphere meaner, lower still,
struck Lottie with a sudden pang. A pack of girls ! Avhat
kind of girls could those be of whom Law spoke ? Iler
blood rushed to her face scorching her with shame. She who
scorned the Chevaliers and their belongings ! She who had
* kept her distance' from her own class, was it possible that
she was to be dragged down lower, lower, to shame itself?
Her voice was choked in her throat. She did not feel able
to speak. She could only cry out to him, clasping her hands,
' Don't tell me any more — oh, don't tell me any more '
' Ilillo ! ' said the lad, 'what is the matter with you?
Don't tell you any more ? You will soon know a great deal
more if you don't do something to put a stop to it. There
ou^ht to be a law against it. A man's children ought to be
able to put a stop to it. I told you before, Lottie, if you
don't exert yourself and do something '
' Oh,' she said, rising to her feet, ' what can I do ? Can I
put honour into you, and goodness, and make you Avhat I
want you to be ? Oh, if I could. Law ! I would give you
my blood out of my veins if I could. But I can't put me
into you,' she said, Avringing her hands, ' and you expect me
to listen to stories — about people 1 ought not to hear of —
about women — Oh, Law, Law, how dare you speak so to me ? '
' Hold hard ! ' said Law, ' you don't know what you are
.speaking of. The girls are as good girls as you are,' his own
clieeks Hushed Avith indignant shame as he spoke. ' You are
just like what they say of women. You are always thinking
of something bad. What are you after all, Lottie Despard?
A poor shabby Captain's daughter ! You make your own
gowns and th(y make other people's. I don't see such a
dreadful difference in that.'
Lottie was overpowered by all the different sens;itions
that succeeded each other in her. She felt herself swept by
what felt like repeated waves of trouble — shame to liear of
these peo]>le among whom l)uth her father and brother found
BnOTIlER AXD SISTEH. 125
their pleasure, shame to have thought more badiy of them
than they deserved, shame to have betrayed to Law her know-
ledge that there were women existing of whom to speak Avas
a shame. She sank down upon the sofu again trembling and
agitated, relieved, yet not relieved. 'Law,' she said faintly,
' we are poor enough ourselves, I know. But even if we
don't do nuich credit to our birth, is it not dreadful to be
content -with that, to go down lower, to make ourselves
nothing at all? '
' It is not my fault,' said Law, a little moved, * nor yours
neither. I am very sorry for you, Lottie ; for you've got
such a high mind — it will go hardest with you. As for me,
I've got no dignity to stand on, and if he drives me to it, I
shall simply 'list — that's what I shall do.'
' 'List ! ' Lottie gazed at him pathetically. She was no
longer angry, as she had been when he spoke of this before.
' You are out of your senses. Law ! You, a gentleman ! '
' A gentleman ! ' he said bitterly, * much good it does me.
It might, perhaps, be of sqme use if we were rich, if we be-
longed to some great family which nobody could mistake ;
liut the kind of gentlefolks we are ! — nobody knowing any-
thing about us, except through what he pleases to do and say.
I tell you, if the worst comes to the worst, I will go straight
off to the first sergeant I see, and take the shilling. In the
Guards there's many a better gentleman than I am, and I'm
tall enough for the Guards,' he said, looking down with a
little complacence on his own long limbs. The look struck
Lottie with a thrill of terror and pain. There were soldiers
enough about St. Michael's to make her keenly and instantly
aware how perfectly their life, as it appeared to her, would
chime in with Law's habits. They seemed to Lottie to be
always lounging about the streets stretching their long limbs,
expanding their broad chests in the sight of all the serving
maidens, visible in their red coats wherever the idle congre-
gated, wherever there was any commotion going on. She
perceived in a moment, as by a flash of lightning, that nothing
coidd be more congenial to Law. What work might lie be-
hind, what difficulties of subordination, tyrannies of hours and
places, distasteful occupations — Lottie knew nothing about.
She saw in her brother's complacent glance, a something of
kin to the swagger of the tall fellows in their red jackets,
.spreading themselves out before admiring nursemaids. Law
12G wiTinx THE rr.F.cixcTg.
worild do tliat too. She could not persuade herself that there
•was anything in him above the swagger, superior to the admi-
ration o£ the maids. A keen sense of humiliation, and the
sharp impatience of a proud spirit, imable to inspire those
most near to it -with anything of its own pride and energy,
came into her mind. ' You do not mind being a gentleman
— you do not care,' she cried. ' Oh, I know you are not like
me ! But how will you like being under orders, LaAv, never
having your freedom, never able to do what you please, or to
go anyAvhere without leave ? That is how soldiers live. They
are slaves; they have to obey, always to obey. You coiild
not do anything because you wanted to do it — you could not
spend an evening at home — Oh,' she cried with a sudden
stamp of her foot in impatience with herself, ' that is not what
I mean to say ; for what would you care for coming home ?
But you could not go to that place — that delightful place — -
that you and papa prefer to home. I know you don't care for
home,' said Lottie. ' Oh, it is a compliment, a great compli-
ment to me ! '
And, being overwrought and worn out with agitation, she
suddenly broke down and fell a-crying, not so much that she
felt the slight and the pang of being neglected, but because
all these agitations had been too much for her, and she felt
for the moment that she could bear no more.
At the sight of her tears sudden remorse came over Law.
He went to her side and stood over her, touching her shoulder
Avith his hand. ' Don't cry, Lottie,' he said, Avith compunc-
tion. And then, after a moment, ' It isn't for you ; you're
ahvays jolly and kind. I don't mind Avhat I say to you; you
might know everything I do if you liked. But home, you
know, home's not Avhat a felloAv cares for. Oh, yes ! I care
for it in a way — I care for you : but except you, Avhat is
there, Lottie ? And I can't ahvays be talking to you, can I ?
A felloAv Avants a little more than that. So do you; you
Avant more than me. If I had come into the draAving-room
this morning and strummed on the piano, Avhat Avould you
have done ? Sent me off or boxed my ears if I'd have let
you. But that ielloAv Eidsdale comes and you like it. You
needn't say no ; I am certain you liked it. But brother and
siptor, yc.n know that's not so amusing ! Come, Lottie, you
know that as well as I.'
' I don't knoAv it, it is not true ! ' Lottie cried, with a haste
BROTHER AND SISTER. 127
and emphasis which she herself felt to be unnecessary. ' But
what has that to do with the matter ? Allow that j'ou do not
care for your home, Law ; but is it necessary to go off and
separate yourself from your family, to give up j'our position,
everything ? I will tell you what we will do. We will go to
!RIr. Ashford, and he will let ns know honestly what he thinks
— what you are fit for. All examinations are not so hard ;
there must be something that you conld do.'
Law made a wry face, but he did not contradict his sister.
* I wish he would cut me out with a pair of scissors and make
me fit somewhere,' he said, Avith a shrug of his shoxilders.
Then he added, almost caressingly, ' Take yoiir supper,
Lottie ; you're tired, and yon want something ; I have had
mine. And yon have not told me a word about to-night.
Why did you come in so early ? How are you and Eidsdale
getting on ? Oh ! Avhat's the good of making a fuss about
it ? Do you think I can't see as plain as porridge what thai
means ? '
' What what means ? ' cried Lottie, springing from her
seat with such passionate energy as half frightened the lad.
*How dare you, Law? Do you think I am one of the girls
you are used to ? How dare you speak to me so ? '
' Why shoidd you make such a fuss about it ? ' cried Law,
laughing, yet retreating. ' If there is nothing between you
and Eidsdale, what does the fellow want loafing about here ?
Lottie ! I say, mind what you're doing. I don't mind taking
your advice sometimes, but I won't be bullied by you.'
' You had better go to bed. Law ! ' said Lottie, with dig-
nified contempt. After all the agitations of the evening it
was hard to be brought down again to the merest vulgarities
of gossip like this. She paid no more attention to her brother,
but gathered together her shawl, her gloves, the shabby little
fan which had been her mother's, and put out the lamp,
leaving him to find his way to his room as he could. Slie
was too indignant for words. He thought her no better than
the dressmaker girls he had spoken of, to be addressed with
vulgar stupid raillery such as no doubt they liked. This was the
best Lottie had to look for in her own home. She swept out,
throwing the train of her long white skirt from her hand with
a movement which would have delighted Rollo, and went
a.\\ay to the darkness and stillness of her own little chaml^er,
with scarcely an answer to the ' Good-night ' which Law ilung
12S WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
at her as he shuffled away. She sat down on her little bed
in the dark without lighting her candle; it was her self-im-
posed duty to watch there till she heard her father's entrance.
And there, notwithstanding her stately withdrawal, poor
Lottie, overcome, sobbed and cried. She had nobody to turn
to, nor anything to console her, except the silence and pity-
ing darkness Avhich hid her girlish weakness even from
herself.
CHAPTER XIII.
CAPTAIN DESPARD.
]\IoRNiNG service at the Abbey was more business-like than
the severe ritual in the afternoon. The evening prayers were
more pleasurable. Strangers came to them, new laces, all
the visitors about, and there could be no doubt that the Signer
chose his anthems with a view to the new people who were
always coming and going. Sometimes representatives from
every quarter of England, from the Continent — members of
'the other church' even, which Anglicanism venerates and
yearns after : and people from America, pilgrims to the shrine
of the past, Avould gather within the Abbey, and carry away
the fame of the music and the beautiful church to all the
winds. The staff of the Abbey was pleasantly excited, the
service was short, the whole ritual was pleasurable. It was
the dull hour in the afternoon when it is good for people to be
occupied in such an elevating way, and when, coming in with
the fresh air hanging about you in the summer, out of the sun-
shine, to feel the house so shady and cool — or in winter from
the chill and cold out of doors to a blazing fire, and lamps,
and candles, and tea — you had ju.st time for a little lounge
before dressing for dinner, and so cheated away the heaviest
liour of the day. But in the morning it was business. The
]Minor Canons "felt it, getting up from their breakfast to sing
their way steadily through litany and versicles. And nobody
felt it more than the old Chevaliers as they gathered in their
stills, many of them wiiite-hcaded, tottering, one foot in the
grave. It was the chief occupation of their lives — all that
ihey were now obliged to do. Their whole days were shaped
for this. When the bells began the doors would open, the
CAPTAIN DESPAUD. 129
"veterans come out, one by one, some of them battered enough,
■with medals on their coats. Captain Despard was the most
jaunty of the brotherhood. Indeed he was about the youngest
of all, and it had been thought a bad thing for the institution
Avlien a man not much over ll£ty was elected. He was
generally the last to take his place, hurrying in fresh and
debonair, with his flower in his coat, singing with the choir
•whenever the music pleased him, and even now and then
softly accompanying the Minor Canon, with a cheerful sense
that his adhesion to what was being said must always be ap-
preciated. His responses were given with a grand air, as if
he felt himself to be paying a compliment to the Divine
Hearer. And indeed, though it was the great drawback of
his existence to be compelled to be present there every morn-
ing of his life, still when he was there he enjoyed it. He was
part of the show. The beautiful church, the fine music, and
Captain Despard, had all, he thought, a share in the silent
enthusiasm of the general congregation. And Captain Despard
was so far right that many of the congregation, especially
those who came on Sundays and holidays, the townsfolk, the
tobacconists, and tradespeople, and the girls from the work-
room, looked upon him with the greatest admiration, and
pointed out to each other, sometimes awed and respectful,
sometimes tittering behind their prayer-books, where ' the
Captain ' sat in state. The Captain was a * fine man ' every-
body allowed — well proportioned, well preserved — a young
man of his age ; and his age was mere boyhood in comparison
with many of his peers and brethren. It was ridiculous to
see him there among all those old fellows, the girls said ; and
as for Polly, as she slipped humbly into a free seat, the sight of
him sitting there in his stall quite overpowered her. If all
went well, she herself would have a place there by-and-by —
not in the stalls indeed, but in the humble yet dignified
places provided for the families of the Chevaliers. It must
not be supposed that even the Chevaliers' stalls were equal to
those provided for the hierarchy of the iVbbey. They were
a lower range, and on a different level altogether, but still
they were places of dignity. Captain Despard put his arms
upon the carved supports of his official seat, and looked
around him like a benevolent monarch. When anyone asked
him a question as he went or came he was quite afTalile, and
called to the verier with a condescending readiness to oblige.
130 WITniX THE PRECINCTS.
' You must find a place for this gentleman, Wykeliam,' he
would Siiy ; ' this gentleman is a friend of mine.' Wykeham
only growled at these recommendations, but Captain Despard
passed on to his stall with the air of having secured half a
dozen places at least ; and his jyroteges felt a vague belief in
him, even when they did not find themselves much advanced
by it. And there he siit, feeling that every change in his
position was noted, and that he himself was an essential part
of the show — that show which was so good for keeping up all
the traditions of English society, making the Church re-
spected, and enforcing attention to religion — indeed, a very
handsome compliment to the Almighty himself
Captain Despard, however, though he admired himself so
much, was not, as has been already hinted, proportionately
admired l)y his brother Chevaliers, and it was something like
a surprise to him when he found himself sought by two of
them at once, as they came out of the Abbey. One of these
was Captain Temple, who had encountered Lottie on the
evening before, going alone to the Deanery. None of all the
Chevaliers of St. Michael's was so much respected as this old
gentleman. He was a little man, with white hair, not re-
markable in personal appearance, poor, and old ; but he was
all that a Chevalier ought to be, sans reproche. The story of
his early days was the ordinary one of a poor officer without
friends or interest ; but in his later life there had happened
to him something which everybody knew. His only daughter
had married a man greatly above her in station, a member of
a noble family, to the great admiration and envy of all be-
holders. She was a beautiful girl, very delicate and sensitive ;
but no one thought of her qualities in comparison with the
wonderful good fortune that had befallen her. A girl that
had been changed at a stroke from poor little Mary Temple,
the pcor Chevalier's daughter, into the Honourable Mrs.
Dropmore, with a chance of a Viscountess's coronet ! was ever
such good luck heard of? Her father and mother were con-
gratulated on all sides Avith malign exuberance. Mrs. Temple
got credit for being the cleverest of mothers, that applause,
wliich in England means insult, being largely showered upon
her. Whetlicr she deserved it, poor soul ! is nothing to this
liistory ; but if so, she soon had her reward. The girl who
liail been so lucky Avas carried off summarily from the father
and mother who had nothing else to care for in the world.
CAPTAIN DESPAUD. 101
Thev were not allowed to see her, or even to communicate
■with her but in the most limited way. They bore every-
thing, these poor people, for their child's sake, encouraging
each other not to complain, to wait until her sweetness had
gained the victory, as sweetness and submission are always
said to do — and encouraging her to think only of her husband,
to wait and be patient until the prejudices of his family were
dispelled. But this happy moment never came for poor
Mary. She died after a year's marriage — wailing for her
mother, who Avas not allowed to come near her, and did not
even know of her illness. This had almost killed the old
jieople too — and it had pointed many a moral all the country
round ; and now this incident, which had nothing to do with
her, came in to influence the career of Lottie Despard. It was
Captain Temple who first came wp to his brother Chevalier
as he strolled through the nave of St. Michael's, on his way
out from the service. A great many people always lingered
in the nave to get every note of the Signor's voluntary, and it
was Captain Despard's practice to take a turn up and down to
exhibit himself in this last act of the show before it was over.
The sun shone in from the high line of south windows, throw-
ing a thousand varieties of colour on the lofty clustered pil-
lars, and the pavement all storied with engraved stones and
brasses. The Captain sauntered up and down, throwing out
his chest, and conscious of admiration round him, while the
music rolled forth through the splendid space, witli a voice
proportioned to it, and groups of the early worshippers stood
about listening, specks in the vastness of the Abbey. Just as
it ended, with an echoing thunder of sweet sound, the old
Captain, putting on his hat at the door, encountered the
vounaer warrior for whom he had been Ivino; in wait.
' jNIay I speak a word to you, Captain Despard ? ' he
said.
' Certainly, my dear sir ; if I can be of use to you in any
way, command me,' said Captain Despard, with the most
amiable flourish of his hat. But he was surprised ; for Cap-
tain Temple was a man who ' kept his distance,' and had
never shown any symptom of admiration for the other
Chevalier.
' You will forgive me speaking,' said the old man. ' But
I know that your evenings are often engaged. You have
many occupations ; you are seldom at home in the evening? *
k2
132 WITHIN THE Pr.ECINCTS.
' My friends are very kind,' said Captain Despard, with
anotlier ilourisli. ' As a matter of fact, I — dine out a great
deal. I am very cften engaged.'
' I thou"-ht so. And your son — very often dines out too.
INIay I aslv as a favour tliat you "will allow me to constitute
myself the escort of Miss Despard Avhen she is going any-
where ia the evening? I had that pleasure last night,' said
the old man. ' I am a very safe person, I need not say : and
fond of — young people. It would be a great pleasure to
me.'
Captain Despard listened with some surprise. Perhaps
he saw the reproach intended, but was too gaily superior to
take any notice of it. When the other had ended, he took
off his hat again, and made him a still more beautiful bow.
* How glad I am,' he said, ' to be able to give you a great
pleasure so easily ! Certainly, Captain Temple, if my little
girl's society is agreeable to you.'
' She is at an age when she wants — someone to watch over
hei,' said the old Captain. ' She is very sweet — and very
handsome, Captain Despard.'
' Is she ? ' said the other, indifferently. ' A cliild, my
dear sir, nothing more than a child ; but good looks belong
to her mother's family — without thinking of my own side of
the house.'
' She is very handsome. A mother is a great loss to a
girl at that age.'
* You think it is a want that ought to be supplied,' said
Captain Despard, with a laugh, stroking his moustache. ' Per-
liaps you are right — perhaps you are right. Such an idea, I
allow, has several times crossed my own mind.'
' Despard,' said another voice, behind him, 'I've got some-
thing to say to ye. When ye're at leisure, me dear fellow,
stej) into my place.'
' Don't let me detain you,' said the other old man, hurry-
ing away. His kind stratagem had not succeeded. He was
half sorry — and yet, as he had already prophesied its failure
to his wife, he was not so much displeased after all. Major
O'Shaughncssy, who was a heavy personage, hobbled round to
tlse other side.
' Despard,' he said, ' me dear friend ! I've got something
to say to you. It's about Lottie, me boy.'
' About Lottie ? — more communications about Lottie.
CAPTAIX DESPARD. 133
I've had about cnoiigli of her, O'Shaughnossy. There is that
solemn old idiot asking if he may escort her Avhen she goes
anywhere. Is lie going to give his wiie poison, and ofFer
himself to me as a son-in-law ? ' said the Captain, with a
laugh.
' I'll go bail he didn't tell you what I'm going to tell you.
Listen, Despard. IMy pretty Lottie — she's but a child, and
she's as pretty a one as you'd wish to see: well, it's a lover
she'3 gone and get for herself. What d'ye think of that?
Bless my soul, a lover ! What do you make of that, me fine
fellow ? ' cried the INIajor, rubbing his fat hands. lie was
large of bulk, like his wife, and round and shining, with a
bald head, and large hands that looked bald too.
' Is this a joke ? ' said the Captain, drawing himself up ;
*by George, I'll have no jokes about my child.'
' Joke ? it is my wife told me, that is as fond of the girl
as if she were her own. "Mark my words," says j\Irs.
O'Shaughnessy, " she'll be the Honourable Mrs. Kidsdale before
•we know where we are." And Temple's been at ye, Despard ;
I know it. The man is off his head with his own bad luck,
and can't abide the name of an Honourable. But, from all I
hear, there's little to be said again>t this one except that he's
poor.'
' The Honourable ' said Captain Despard, with a be-
wildered look. Then, as the good Major talked, he recovered
himseli, ' \Vell ! ' he said, when that speech came to an end,
* you may think that it's very line, O'Shaughnessy, and I'm
sure I am much obliged to you for telling me, but you don't
suppose an Honourable is anything out of the way to me ?
W^ith her family and her beauty. I would grudge the child to
a man without a title anyhow, even if he weren't poor.'
The Major had his mouth open to speak, but he was so
bewildered by this grandeur that he stopped and closed it
again, and uttered only a miu-mur in his throat. ' Well ! *
he said, when he came to himself, 'you know your own
affairs best ; but now that your girl is taken out, and into
society, and with her prospects, you'll be standing by her and
giving her more of your company, Despard ? Lottie's the
best of girls : but it might make all the difference to her,
having her father at home, and always ready to stand up for
her — not meaning any offence.'
'Nor is any taken, O'Shaughnessy ; make your mind quite
124 WITHIN THE rnECIXCTS.
easy,' said the Captain, looking extremely stately thougli his
coat was shabby. Then he added, ' I've got some business
down town, and an appointment at twelve o'clock. I'm sorry
to hurry ofF, but business goes before all. Good-morning to
you, Major !' he said, kissing the ends of his fingers ; then
turning back after he had gone a few- steps. ' My respects to
your wife, and thanks for finding it all out ; but I've known
it these three weeks at least, though I'm obliged to her all
the same.' And so saying, Captain Despard resumed the
humming of his favourite tune, and went swinging his arm
down the Dean's Walk, the rose-bud in his coat showing like
a decoration, and the whole man jaunty and gay as nobody
else was at St. Michael's. It was a sight to see him as he
marched along, keeping time to the air he was humming ; a
fine figure of a man ! The good Major stood and looked after
him dumfoundered ; he was almost too much taken by sur-
prise to be offended. ' Manage your own affairs as you please,
my fine fellow ! ' he said to himself, and went home in a state
of suppressed fury. But he relented when he saw Lottie, in
her print frock, at the window ; and he did not give his wife
that insolent message. ' What is the use of making mischief ? '
the Major said.
Captain Despard was not, however, so entirely unmoved as
he looked. The news bewildered him first, and then elated
him. Where had the girl picked up the Honourable Mr. ,
what Avas his name? He knew so little of Lottie and was so
little aware of her proceedings, that he had only heard acci-
dentally of her visits at the Deanery at all, and knew nothing
Avhatever of Ivollo. He must inquire, he said to himself ; but
in the meantime did not this free him from all the hesitations
with which, to do him justice, he had been struggling ? For
if, instead of ' presiding over his establishment ' — which was
how Captain Despard put it — Lottie was to be the mistress of
a liouse of her own and ascend into heaven, as it were, as the
Honourable IVIrs. Something-or-other, there would be no
doubt that Captain Despard would be left free as the day to
do what pleased himself. This wonderful piece of news
seemed to get into his veins and send the blood coursing
more quickly there, and into his head, and made that whirl
with an elation which was perfectly vague and indefinite.
With Lottie as the Honourable Mrs. So-and-so, all obstacles
were removed out of his own way. Law did not count ; the
CAPTAIN DESPARD.
Captain was afraid more or less of his daughter, but he was
not at all afraid of his son. The Honourable Something-or-
otlier ! Captain Desjiard did not even know his name or any-
tliing about hiin, but already various privileges seemed to
gleam upon him through this noble relation. No doubt such
a son-in-law would be likely to lend a gentleman, who was not
ovor-rich and connected Avith him by close family ties, a
small sum now and then ; or probably he might tliink it
necessary for his own dignity to make an allowance to his
wii'c's father to enable him to ajipcar as a gentleman ought ;
and in the shooting season he would naturally, certainly, give
HO near a relation a standing invitation to the shooting-box,
wliich, by right of his rank, he must inevitably possess some-
Avhere or other, either his own or belonging to his noble
father. Probably he Avould have it in his power to point out
to Her Majesty or the Commander-in-Chief that to keep a
man who Avas an honour to his profession, like Captain Henry
Despard, in the position of a Chevalier of St. IMichael's, was
ecjually a disgrace and a danger to the country. Captain
Despard seemed to hear the very tone in which this best of
ii-iends would certily to his merits. ' Speak of failures in
arms! What can you expect when General So-and-so is
gazetted to the command of an expedition, and Henry Despard
is left in a Chevalii-r's lodge ? ' he seemed to hear the unknown
say indignantly. Nothing could be more generous than his
behaviour ; he did nothing but go about the world sounding
the Captain's praises: 'I have the honour to be his son-in-
law,' this right thinking young man would say. Captain
Despard went down the hill with his head buzzing full of this
ncAv personage who had suddenly stepped into his life. His
engagement was no more important than to play a game at
billiards with one of his town acquaintances, but even there
he could not keep from throwing out mysterious hints about
some great good fortune Avhich was about to come to him.
* What ! are you going away, Captain? Are you to have
promotion? or is it you they have chosen for the new warden
of the Chevaliers ?' his associates asked him, half incuriosity,
half in sarcasm. ' I am not in circumstances,' said the Captain
solemnly, ' to say what are the improved prospects that are
dawning upon my house ; but of this you may rest assured
— that my ii-iends in adversity will remain my friends in
prosperity.' ' Bravo, Captain I ' cried all his iricnds. Some
136 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
of them laughed, but some of them put their faith in CaptaiiD
Despard. They said to themselves, ' He's fond of talking a
bit big, but he's got a good heart, has the Captain ! ' and they,,
too, dreamed of little loans and treats. And, indeed, the
Captain got an immediate advantage out of it ; for one of the
billiard-players, who was a well-to-do tradesman Avith habits
not altogether satisfactory to his friends, gave him a luncheon
at the ' Black Boar,* not because he expected to profit by the
supposed promotion, but to see how many lies the old humbug
would tell in half-an-hour, as he himself said ; for there are
practical democrats to whom it is very sweet to see the pre-
tended aristocrat cover himself with films of lying. The
shopkeeper roared with laughter as the Captain gave forth his
oracular sayings. ' Go it, old boy ! ' he said. They all be-
lieved, however, more or less, in some good luck that was
coming, whatever it might be ; and the sensation of faith
around him strengthened Captain Despard in his conviction^
He resolved to go home and question Lottie after this
luncheon; but that was of itself a prolonged feast, and the
immediate consequence of it was a disinclination to move,
and a sense that it Avould be just as well for him not to show
himself for some little time, 'till it had gone off' — for the
Captain in some things was a wise man, and prudent as he
was wise.
CHAPTER XIV
THE AVORKROOM.
There were two factions in the workroom by the side of the-
river where INIrs. Wilting's daughters worked, with Polly
Featherston for their forewoman. One of these, though very
small and consisting, indeed, only of Ellen Wilting, the eldest
girl — who was * serious' — and a little apprentice who was in,
her class at the Sunday School — was greatly against the in-
trusion of ' the gentlemen ' into the workroom, and thought it;
highly improper and a thing likely to bring all the young
ladies who worked there into trouble. Ellen was, contrary to
tlie u.sual opinion, which would have selected the plainest
Bister for this role, the prettiest of the girls. She was fair-
THE WOKKROOJr. 137
haired, but not frizzy like the rest ; and her face was pale,
•with a serious expression ■which made her very lady-like,
many persons thought, and gave her, tlie others felt not
■without envy, a distinction which did not belong to their own
pinkness and whiteness. There were four sisters, of whom
Emma — who was the object of Law's admiration — was the
youngest. Kate and 'Liza came betAveen these two, and they
were both of I'oIIy's faction, though without any reason for
being so. They thought Ellen was a great deal too particular.
What was the harm if a gentleman came and sat a bit when
they were not too busy, and talked and made them laugh ?
The object of life to these young women was to get as much
laughing and talking as possible made consistent with the
greatest amount of work done, of gowns and bonnets made ;
and anyone who made the long evening appear a little shorter,
and ' passed the time ' with a little merriment, was a real
benefactor to them. Ellen, for her part, took more serious
views of life. She would have liked to go to morning service
every day had that been practicable, and called it matins as
the ladies themselves did, which Avas very uncommon in the
liiver Lane; and she was a member of the Choral Society,
and had a pretty voice, and had sung in a chorus along with
]\Iiss Despard, and even with jNIiss Huntington before she
married. All this made her feel that it was not ' nice ' to en-
courage the gentlemen who were of a different condition ia
life, and whose visits could not be for any good. And she
•would much rather have heard stories read out o{ the 3Ion(Iil/f
Packet, or something in Avhich instruction was joined with
amusement, than from the Famihf Herald ; except, indeed^
when she got interested in the trials, continued from number
to number, of some virtuous young heroine like the Lady
Araminta. Ellen wore a black gown like the young ladies in
the shops, with her pretty fair hair quite simply dressed,
without any of the padding and frizzing which were popular
at the time ; and fondly hoped some time or other to wear a
little black bonnet like those of the sisters who had an estab-
lishment near. Her mother sternly forbade this indulgence
now, but it was one of the things to which the young woman
looked forward. And it must be allowed that Ellen rather
prided herself on her total unlikeness in every way to Polly
Eoatherston, who considered herself the head of the workroom,,
and who was certainly the ringleader in all its follies. Kate
138 -n-ITHIN THE rEECINCTS.
and 'Liza and Emma and the other apprentice, though they
by no means gave their entire adhesion to Polly, and had
many remarks to make upon her in private, yet were generally
led by her as a person who knew the world and was ' much
admired,' and always had somebody after her. That this
somebody should be for the moment * a gentleman,' gave
Polly an additional advantage. It must not be supposed that
her reputation was anyhow in danger, though she was known
to ' keep company ' with the Captain ; for Polly, though not
'■ particular,' and ready to talk and laugh with anyone, was
known to be very well able to take care of herself, and much
too experienced to be taken in by any of the admirers whom
.she was supposed to be able to wind round her little finger.
For this, and for her powers of attracting admiration, and for
her fluent and ready speech, and the dauntless disposition
which made her afraid of nobody and ready to ' speak up,' if
need Avere, even to the very Dean himself, the girls admired
her ; and they would not be persuaded by Ellen that Polly
ought to be subdued out of her loud and cheerful talk, and
the doors of the workroom closed on the gentlemen. Little
Emma, indeed, the youngest of the girls, was vehement against
this idea, as was easily understood by all the rest.
' What is the harm ? ' she cried, with tears in her eyes,
tears of vexation and irritation and alarmed perception of the
change it would make if Law would be shut out; a terrible
change, rediicing herself, who now enjoyed some A'isionary
superiority as ' keeping company ' in her own small person
with a gentleman, into something even lower than 'Liza and
Kate, who had their butchers and bakers, at least, to walk cut
with on Sunday — a privilege Avhich Emma seldom dared enjoy
Avith Law. ' What is the use,' Emma said, * of making a fuss?
What harm do they do ? They make the time pass. It's long
enough anyhow from eight o'clock in the morning till nine at
night, or sometimes later, and so little time as mother allows
for meals. I am sure I am that tired,' Emma declared, and
Avith reason, ' I often can't see how to thread my needle ; and
to liave somebody to talk to passes the time.'
* We have ahvays plenty of talk even Avhen Ave are by our-
selves,' siiid Ellen ; ' and I am sure Ave might make better
use of our time and have much more improving conversation
if these men Avould not be always coming here.'
' Uh ! if you are so fond of im2)rovement,' cried Polly, ' I
THE WORKnOOM. 139
daresay you Avould like to have IMr. Sterndale the Scri{)ture
Reader come and read to xis; or we migltt ask Mr. Langton
upstairs, who is better, who is a clergyman. I shouldn't mind
having him ; he is so shy and frightened, and he wouldn't
know what to say.'
' Lord ! ' cried Kate ; * fancy being frightened for us ! '
' Oh ! ' said the better-informed Polly, ' there's heaps as
are frightened for us; and the gooder they are the more
frightened they would be ; a curate is always frightened for
us girls. He knows he daren't talk free in a friendly way, and
that makes him as stiff as two sticks. As sure as fate, if he
was pleasant, somebody would say he had a wrong meaning,
and that's how it's always in their mind.'
' A clergyman,' said Ellen authoritatively, * would come to
do us good. But it wouldn't be his place to come here visit-
ing. It's our duty to go to him to relieve our consciences.
As for Mr. Sterndale, the Scripture Reader, I don't call him a
Churchman at all ; he might just as well be a Dissenter. What
good can he do anybody ? The thing that really does you
good is to go to church. In some places there are always
prayers going on, and then there is half an hour for meditation,
and then you go to work again till the bell rings. And in the
afternoon there is even-song and self-examination, and that
passes the time,' cried Ellen, clasping her hands. ' What with
matins, and meditation, and something new for every hour,
the days go. They're gone before you know where you
are.'
The young women were silenced by this enthusiastic
statement. For after all, what could be more desirable than a
system which made tlie days fly ? Polly was the only one Avho
could hold up her head against such an argument. She did
hef best to be scornful. * I daresay ! ' she cried, ' but I
should just like to know if the work went as fast ! Praying
and meditating are very fine, but if the work wasn't done, what
would your mother say ? '
' IMother would find it answer, bless you,' said Ellen, her
pale face lighted with enthusiasm ; ' you do double the work
when you can feel you're doing your duty, and could die
cheerful any moment.'
' Oh ! and to think how few sees their duty, and how most
folks turns their Ijacks upon it ! ' replied the little apprentice,
who was on Ellen's side.
140 WITHIN THE PRECINCIS.
Polly saw that something must be done to turn the tide.
The girls were awed. They could not hold up their common-
place little heads against this grand ideal. There were little
llings of half-alarmed impatience indeed among them, as when
Kate whispered to 'Liza that ' one serious one was enough in
a house,' and little Emma ventured a faltering assertion ' that
going to church made a day feel like Sunday, and it didn't
seem right to do any more work.' Polly boldly burst in, and
threw forth her standard to the wind.
' "Week days is week days,' she said oracularly. ' "We've
got them to work in and to have a bit of fun as long as we're
young. Sundays I say nothing against church — as much as
anyone pleases; and it's a great thing to have the Abbey to
go to, where you see everybody, if Wykeham the verger wasn't
such a brute. But, if I'm not to have my bit of fun, I'd rather
be out of the world altogether. Now I just wish Mr. Law
were passing this way, for there's the end of Lady Araminta
in the Famibj 'Et-ald, and it is very exciting, and she won't
hear of marrying the Earl, let alone the Duke, but gives all
her money and everything she has to the man of her heart.'
' The baronet ! ' cried Kate and 'Liza in one breath. ' I
always knew that was how it was going to be.' Even Ellen,
wise as she was, changed colour, and looked up eagerly.
It was Polly who took in that representative of all that the
world calls letters and cultivation, to these girls. Ellen looked
Avistfully at the drawer in which the treasure was hidden. ' I
will read it out if you like,' she said somewdiat timidly. ' I
can't get on with this till the trimming is ready.' Thus even
the Church party was vanquished by the charms of Art.
That evening the Captain again paid them a visit. It was
not often that he came two days in succession, and Emma,
who was the least important of all, was very impatient of his
appearance, notwithstanding the saucy speech she had made
to Law. In her heart she thought there Avas no comparison
between the fatlier and son. The Captain was an old man.
He had no business to come at all, chatting and making his
jokes ; it was a shamo to sec him turning up night after night.
She wondered how i\Iiss Despard liked to have him always
out. Emma regarded ]\Iiss Despard with great interest and
awe. She wondered when she met her in the street, as hap-
pened sometimes, what slie would say if she knew. And
Emma wondered, with a less waim thrill of personal feeling,
THE WOnKP.COM. 141
but jet with much heat and sympathetic indignation, Avhat
Miss Despard would think if she knew of Polly. She would
hate her, and that would be quite natural. Fancy having
Polly brought in over your head in the shape of a stej)mothcr !
and if Emma herself felt indignant at such an idea, what must
Miss Despard do who was a lady, and used to be the mistress?
It made the girl's heart ache to think that she would have to
close the door upon Law again, ior it would never do to have
the father and son together. Polly, on the contrary, bore a
look of triumph on her countenance. She pushed her chair
aside a little as Emma had done for Law, thus making room
for him beside her, and she said, with a delighted yet nervous
toss of her mountain of hair, 'Ah, Captain, back again 1
Haven't you got anything better to do than to come after a
lot of girls that don't want you ? Do we want him, Kate ? '
to which playful question Kate replied in good faith. No, she
did not Avant him ; but, with a friendly sense of what was ex-
pected of her, giggled and added that the Captain didn't mind
much what she thought. The Captain, nothing daunted, drew
in a stool close to Pollj^, and whispered that, by George, the
girl was right ; it didn't matter much to him what she thought ;
that it was someone else he would consult on that subject ;
iipon which Polly tossed her head higher than ever, and
laughed and desired him to Get along ! The Captain's coming
Avas not nearly so good for the work as Law's, who Avas not
half so funny, and Avhom they all received in a brotherly sort
of inditfercnt, good-humoured Avay. The Captain, on the con-
trary, fi.xed their attention as at a play. It Avas as good as a
play to Avatch him whispering to Polly, and she arching her
neck, and tossing her head, and bidding him Get along !
Sometimes, indeed, he kept them all laughing Avith his jokes
and his mimicries, himself enjoying the enthusiasm of his
audience. But though on these occasions he Avas \'ery enter-
taining, the girls perhaps Averc still more entertained Avhen he
sat and Avhispered to Polly, giving them the gratification of an
actual romance, such as it Avas, enacted before their eyes. A
gentleman, an officer, Avith such a command of fine language,
and such an air ! They gave each other significant glances
and little nudges to call each other's attention, and wondered
Avhat Miss Despard would think, and Avhat Avould happen if
really, really, some fine day Polly Featherston Avere made into
a lady, a Chevalier's Avife, and Mr. LaAv'a stepmother — Avhat
142 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
would everybody say ? and INIiss Despard, would she put up
with it? Even the idea of so exciting an event made the
blood move more quickly in their veins.
The Captain was not in his jocular mood to-night. He
was magnificent, a thing which occurred now and then. In
tiiis state of inind he Avas in the habit of telling them splendid
incidents of his early days — the things he said to the Duke of
Blank, and what the Duke of Blank replied to him, and the
money he gave for his horses, and how he thought nothing of
presenting any young lady he might be paying attention to
(for he Avas a sad flirt in those days, the Captain allowed) with
a diamond spray worth a thousand pounds, or a sapphire ring
equally valuable, or some pretty trifle of that description.
But he was altogether serious to-night. ' I intended to have
come earlier,' he said, ' for I have family business that calls
me home soon ; but I was detained. It is very tiresome to
be continually called upon for advice and help as I am,
especially Avhen in one's own affairs something important has
occurred.'
' La, Captain, what has happened ? ' said Polly. ' You
ought to tell us. We just want something to wake us up.
You've had some money left you ; or I shouldn't wonder a
bit if the Commander-in-Chief '
Here she stopped short with sudden excitement, and looked
at him. Captain Despard was fond of intimating to his
humbler friends that he knew the Commander-in-Chief would
send for him some day, indignant with those whose machina-
tions had made him shelve so valuable an officer for so long.
It seemed possible to Polly that this moment had arrived, and
the idea made her black eyes blaze. She seemed to see him
at the head of an expedition, leading an army, and herself the
general's lady. It did not occur to Polly that there was no
war going on at the moment ; that was a matter of detail ;
and how should she know anything about war or peace, a
young woman whose knowledge of public manners was limited
to murders and police cases ? She let her work fall upon her
knee, and there even ran through her mind a rapid calcula-
tion, if he was starting off directly, how long it would take to
get the wedding things ready, or if she could trust the "Wilt-
ings to have them packed and sent after her in case there
should not be time- enough to wait.
' No,' the Captain said, with that curl of his lip which ex-
THE woRKnoojr. 143
pressed his contempt of the authorities who had so foolislily
passed him over. * It is nothing about the Commander-in-
Chief — at least not yet. There will soon be a means of ex-
phiining matters to his Eoyal Highness Avhich may lead
to . But we will say nothing on that point for the
moment,' he added grandly, with a wave of his hand. Then
he leaned over Polly, and whispered something which the
others tried vainly to hear.
' Oh ! ' cried Polly, listening intently. At first her interest
failed a little ; then she evidently rose to the occasion, put on
a fictitious excitement, clasped her hands, and cried, ' Oh,
Captain, that at last ! '
' Yes — that is what has happened. You may not see all
its importiince at the first glance. But it is very important,'
said the Captain with solemnity. ' In a domestic point of
view — and otherwise. People tell you interest does not
matter now-a-days. Ha ! ha ! ' (Captain Despard laughed
the kind of stage-laugh which may be represented by these
monosyllables.) * Trust one who has been behind the scenes.
Interest is everything — always has been, and always will be.
This will probably have the effect of setting me right at the
Horse Guards, which is all that is necessary. And in the
meantime,' he added, with a thoughtfid air, ' it will make a
great difference in a domestic point of view; it will chan"-e
my position in many ways, indeed in every way.'
Polly had been gazing at him during this speech, watching
every movement of his face, and as she watched her own
countenance altered. She did not even pretend to take up
her work again, but leaned forward nervously fingering the
thread and the scissors on the table, and beginning to realise
the importance of the crisis. To Captain Despard it was a
delightful opportunity of displaying his importance, and there
was just enough of misty possibility in the castle of cards he
was building up to endow him with a majestic consciousness
of something about to happen. But to Polly it was a great
deal more than this. It was the crisis of something that was
at least melodrama, if not tragedy, in her life. All her hopes
were suddenly quickened into almost reality, and the change
in her fortunes, which had been a distant and doubtful if ex-
citing chance, seemed suddenly in a moment to become real
and near.
The spectacle that this afforded to the other young women
14-1 WITHIX THE PRECINCTS.
in the workroom it is almost beyond the power of words to
describe. Their bosoms throbbed. A play ! plays were no-
thing to it. They pulled each other's gowns under the table.
They gave each other little nods, and looks under their eye-
brows. Their elbows met in emphatic commentary. He,
absorbed in his own all-important thoughts, she looking up
at him with that rapt and pale suspense — never was anything
more exciting to the imagination of the beholders. ' He won't
look at her,' one Avhispered ; ' she's all of a tremble,' said
another; and 'Lord, what are they making such a fuss
about ? ' breathed Kate.
' Yes, it will alter our position in every Avay,' the Captain
said, stroking his moustache, and fixing his eyes on vacancy.
Then Polly touched his arm softly, her cheek, which had
been pale, glowing crimson. Our position ! the Avord gave
her inspiration. She touched him shyly at first to call his
attention ; then, with some vehemence, ' Captain, that will
make a deal easier,' she said ; but what words were
between these broken bits of the sentence, or if any words
came between, the excited listeners coiild not make out.
* Yes,' he said with dignity. But he did not look at her.
He maintained his abstracted look, which Avas so very im-
pressive. They all hung upon, not only his lips, but every
movement. As for Polly, the suspense was more than she
could bear. She was not a patient young woman, nor had
she been trained to deny herself like Ellen, or control her
feelings as women in a different sphere are obliged to do.
She resumed hor work for a moment with hurried hands, try-
ing to control her anxiety : then suddenly threw it in a heap
on the table, without even taking the trouble to fold it tidily.
She did not seem to know what she was doing, they all
thought.
' I am going home,' she said, with a hoarseness in her
voice. ' There is nothing very pressing, so it won't matter.
I've got such a headache I don't know what to do with
myself.'
' Oil, Polly, a headache ! that's not like you — yes, there's
Mrs. Arrowsmith's drews that Avas promised.'
' I don't care — and she's not a regular customer. And it's
only a bit of an alpaca Avith no trinunings — you can finish it
yourselves. Captain, ifyou'rc coming my A\'ay, you can come
— if you like; unless,' siiid Polly, Avith feverish bravado.
THE WORKROOM. 145
'you've got sometliing to say to the girls more than you seem
to have to me — I'm going home.'
The Captain woke up irom his abstraction, and looked
round him, elevating his eyebrows. ' Bless my heart, what
is the matter ? ' he said. And then he made a grimace, which
tempted the girls to laugh notwithstiinding Polly's tragic
seriousness. ' I had hoped to have contributed a little to the
entertainment of the evening, my dear young ladies. I had
hoped to have helped you to " pass the time," as you say.
But when a lady bids me go '
'Oh, you needn't imless you like,' cried Polly; ' don't
mind me ! I don't want nobody to go home with me. I can
take care of myself — only leave me alone if you please. I won't
be made fun of, or taken off. Let me out into the fresh air,
or I think I sliall iiiint.' The Captain took an unlair advantage
of the excited creature. He turned round upon them all
when Polly rushed out to get her jacket and hat, which hung
in the hall, and * took her off' on the spot, making himself
so like her, that it was all they could do to keep from betray.
ing him by their laughter. When she had put on her ' things,'
she put her head into the room she had just left. ' Good-
night, I'm going,' she said, Avith a look of impassioned
anxiety and trouble. She was too much absorbed in her own
feelings to see, through the mist in which their faces shone
to her, the laughter that Avas in them. She only saw tho
Captain standing up in the midst of them. Was he coming
after her ? or was he going to fall off" from her at this crisis
of his affairs ? Perhaps it was foolish of her to »ush off like
this, and leave him with all these girls about him. But Polly
had never been used to restrain her feelings, and she could
not help it she vowed to herself. Everything in the future
seemed to depend upon whether he came after her or not.
Oh, why could not she have had a little more patience ! oh,
why should not he come with her, say something to her after
all that had passed ! As great a conflict was in her mind as
if she had been a heroine of romance. The Captain and she
had been ' keeping company ' for a long time. He had ' kept
off' others that would not have shilly-shallyed as he had
done. A man's ' intentions ' are rarely inquired into in
Polly's sphere. But if he cared for her the least bit, if he
had any honour in him, she felt that he would follow her
now. Polly knew that she might have been Mrs. Despard
L
146 WITIIIX THE PRECINCTS.
long ago if she liad consented to be married privately as the
Captain wished. But she was for none of those clandestine
prnceedings. She would be married in her parish church,
with whire favours and a couple of flys, and something that
mijrlir he supposed to be a wedding breakfast. She had held
by her notions of decorum stoutly, and would hear of no hole-
and-corner proceedings. And now when fortune was smiling
upon them, when his daughter had got hold of someone (this
was Polly's elegant way of putting it), and when the way
would be clear, what if he failed her ? The workroom with
its blaze of light and its curious spectators had been intolerable
to her, but a cold shudder crossed her when she got out of
doors into the darkness of the lane. Perhaps she ought to
have stayed at any cost, not to have left him in the midst of
so many temptations. Her heart seemed to sink into her
shoPS. Oh, why had she been so silly ! Her hopes seemed
all dropping, disappearing from her. To sink into simple
Polly Featherston, with no dazzling prospect of future eleva-
tion, would be death to her, she felt, now.
Polly was half way up the lane before the Captain, coming
along at his leisure, made up to her ; and, what with passion
and fright, she had scarcely any voice left. ' Oh, you have
come after all ! ' was all she could manage to say. And she
hurried on, so rapidly that he protested. ' If you w^ant to
talk, how can we talk if we race like this ? ' lie said.
'Who wants to talk ? ' cried Polly breathless ; but neverthe-
less she paused in her headlong career. They went up the
hill together, on the steep side next the Abbey, where there
never was anybody, and there the Captain discoursed to Polly
about his new hopes. She would have liked it better had he
decided how the old ones were to be realised. But still, as
he was confidential and opened everything to her as to his
natural confidant, her excitement gradually subsided, and her
trust in him returned. She listened patiently while he re-
counted to her all the results that would be sure to follow,
when an influential son-in-law, a member of a noble family,
brouixht him to the recollection of the Commander-in-Chief.
' Tiiey think Fm shelved and superannuated,' he said ;
* hut let me but have an opening — all I want is an opening ; and
then you can go and select the handsomest phaeton and the
prettiest pair of ponies, my lady '
Polly laughed and reddened with pleasure at this address,
noMAXCE Axi) i:e.\i.itv. 117
"but she said prutlontly, ' A bird in the liand is wortli two ir.
the bush. 1 wouldn't give up being a Chevalier. It's a nice
little house, and a nice little income too.'
' Pooh ! a nothing,' cried the Captain. This Avas very
fine and gave a sense of superiority and exaltiition. Polly
could not but allow a vision to Hoat before her eyes of the
phaeton and the ponies, nay more, of the march of a regiment
with the Hags and the music. She even seemed to see the
sentry at her own door, and all the men presenting arms as she
passed (what less could they do to the wife of their com-
mander ?). But, on the other hand, to live here at Michael's
where she was born, and be seen in her high estate by all the
people who had known her as a poor dressmaker, that was a
happiness which she did not like to give up, even for the
glories of a high command far awa}'.
CHAPTEPt XV.
ROMANCE AND UEALITY.
Lottie was entirely unconscious of the intimation that had
been made to her lather, and of the excitement which had
risen amon? her nei"rhbours about Mr. Ridsdale. It did not
occur to her that anyone but herself knew anything about hmi.
The delighted curiosity of the O'Shaughnessys and the anxious
concern of Captain Temple were ecjually unknown to her.
Her mind was still moved by an echo of the sentiment of their
last meeting — a thrill of emotion half from the music, half
from the awakening feelings, the curiosity, the commotion of
her developing nature. Of all Law's comnumications which
had excited himself so powerfully, and which had also to some
extent excited her, she remembered little in comparison. The
large dim room at the Deanery, the faint night air breathing
about, blowing the flames of the candles, the moths that
circled about the lights and did themselves to death against
every flame, seemed to glimmer before her eyes continually
— everything else, even the danger of her father's marriage,
the danger of Law's imprudence, fell into the background and
became distant ; everything receded before the perpetual
attraction of this shadowy scene.
1.2
148 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
Mr. Ridsdale made a second call upon her in the morninf?
after service, just at the moment when Captain Temple and
Major O'Shaughnessy were talking to her father. This time
he brought no note, and had no excuse ready to explain his
visit, ' I came to say good-by,' he said, holding out his hand
and looking rather wistfully into her face. Lottie offered
him her hand demurely. She scarcely met his eyes. Her
heart began to beat as soon as she heard his voice asking for
her at the door. It brought back all the terrors of the previous
night. She did not however ask him to sit down, but stood
faltering opposite to him, embarrassed, not knowing what to do.
* You would not accept my escort last night,' he said ; ' I
was dreadfully disappointed Avhen I came out and found you
gone. I had been waiting, not wishing to hurry you. I hope
you did not think I was a laggard ? '
' Oh no, it was my fault,' said Lottie, not raising her
eyes. ' There was no need for anyone to come wuth me.
It is but two steps, and at that hour there is no one about.
There was no need — for any escort.'
* INIay I sit down for a few minutes, Miss Despard ? My
train is not till one o'clock.'
Lottie blushed crimson at this implied reproach. It might
be right to be shy of him, but not to be rude to him. ' Oh, I
beg your pardon,' she said, pointing to a chair.
' You took us all by surprise last night,' he said, carefully
placing hers for her. I think it was a revelation to every-
body. We hear that music in the Abbey, and we suppose
we understand it ; till someone like you suddenly interprets
it to us, and we Avake up and feel that we never heard it
before.'
' I never knew what it was — to sing anything like that
before,' said Lottie. It disturbed her even to think about it ;
' and it had all been so different — so '
' Commonplace ? from the ridiculous to the sublime ; from
poor dear Aunt Caroline on her sofa to Ilandel fluting among
the angels. It ivas a step indeed.'
' I did not mean that. It was myself I was thinking of —
I had been so full of silly fancies of my own.'
' But all at once the inspiration came ? I should like to
be capable of anything like that; but I am not. I can only
listen, and worship,' sjiid Rollo. There was fervour in his
voice — a real something which was not mere fanaticism about
rOMANCE AND HEALITY. 149
music. And the two young people siit for a. few moments
in silence, a most dangerous tiling to do, looking at each other
— nay, not looking at each other — for Lottie did not feel
either able or disposed to raise her eyes. She was the first to
speak, in order to break the silence, which alarmed her,
though she did not know why.
' It is wonderful how the Signor plays. I never under-
stood it in the Abbey. He seems to place you up some-
where above yourself — and make your voice come independent
of you.'
' Never in his life, I am sure, did he have such a beautiful
compliment paid to him,' said Rollo ; * but, Miss Despard,
you do him too much credit. You permitted even me to
accomyiany you — and sang just as divinely '
' Oil no,' said Lottie. Then she blushed and recollected
herself. * You play very well, Mr. Ridsdale; but we could
not compare those trumpery songs with '
* Trumpery songs ! only iMozart and Bellini, and a few
more,' he cried, with a gasp. ' Ah, I know what you mean ;
you meant the " Marta" song, which made your good friend,
that good woman, cry '
' I like the " Last Eose of Summer " very much. I have
always liked it. I used to hear an old fiddler play it in the
street when I Avasa child, when I was lying in the dark, trying
to go to sleep. It was like a friend keeping me company;
but a friend that had a breaking heart, that cried and took all
Tny thoughts off myself — I shall never forget it,' said Lottie,
the tears coming to her eyes at the recollection. ' I like it
better than all the rest.'
' Misa Despard, do not drive me to despair. Not better
than " Casta Diva," or ISIargaret's song, or '
' You ibrget I don't know where they come, nor the mean-
ing of them,' said Lottie, calmly. ' I never heard an opera.
I think these things are beautiful, but they only sing to my
«ar, they don't come in to me.''
Rollo shook his head. He was half touched, half shocked.
It was her ignorance ; but then a woman destined for a prima
<ionna, a woman Avith musical genius, ought to know the best
by intuition, he thought. All the same, he was more in-
terested than if she had raved as the commonplace, half
•educated amateur raves. ' But Handel does,' he said.
' Ah ! ' Lottie cried, her face lighting up. But she added,
150 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
after a moment, ' I am too ignorant to be worth talking to ;
you will be disgusted. I never thought much about Handel.
It was not Handel, it was that.'' A flush of colour came over
her face with the recollection. She was too uninstructed
(notwithstanding the neighbourhood of the Abbey) to have
fully woke up to Handel or anyone. ' I suppose I have
heard it and did not pay much attention to it,' she said ; ' it
was sinffinix it. One does not understand at first — till sud-
denly one hears one's self, and you say, " What is this that
is speaking ; what is this ? it cannot be me ! " '
' I think I understand — a little,' said Eollo doubtfully ;
' though it is simply you that makes a something quite
familiar, a piece of music we have all heard a hundred times,
become a new revelation to us all in a moment. I am going
away, IMiss Despard, and it may be some time before I return.
Would you do me such a great favour — which I have no right
to ask — as to sing me something now before I go ? '
But Lottie would not sing. She said, ' Oh no, no,' with
a half terror which he did not understand, and which she did
not imderstand herself. The tone was one Avhich forbade the
repetition of the request. He begged her pardon anxiously,
and there was a little languid conversation about other sub-
jecti?, and then he rose. He put out his hand again, looking
into her eyes, Avhich she raised shyly, almost for the first
time. RoUo had a way of looking into the eyes of women to
whom he wished to make himself agreeable. It is sometimes
very impertinent, and always daring, ])ut, especially when the
Avoman's imagination is on the side of the gazer, it is very
efficacious. Lottie was entirely inexperienced, and she
treml )lod imder this look, but felt it penetrate to her very heart.
' Till we meet aojain,' he said, with a smile, holdin<r her
hand for that necessary moment Avhile he said his good-by.
* It will not be very long; and I hope that you will be kind to
me, Miss Despard, and let me hear you '
' Good-by,' said Lottie. She could not bear it any longer.
She blamed herself afterwards for being rude, as she sat down
and went over the incident again and again. She seemed to her-
self to have dismissed him (piite rudely, pulling lier hand away,
cutting sliort what he was saying. But Kollo, for his part,
did not feel that it was rude. He went down the narrow
stairs with his heart beating a little quicker tlian usual, and a
sense that here was something quite fresh and novel, some-
KOMAXCE AND HEALITY. 151
thing not like the little flirtntions with whicli he Avas so
familiar, and which amused him a great deal in general. This
he had just touched, floated over with his usual easy senti-
ment, was something quite out of the common. It startled
him with the throb in it. He Avent away quite thoughtful,
his heart in a most unusual commotion, and forgot until he
was miles away from St. IMichacl's that Lottie Despard was
to be the English prima donna, who was to make his fortune,
if properly managed. * Ah, to be sure, that was it ! ' he said
to himself suddenly in the railway carriage, as he was going
to town. He really had forgotten what it was that took him
to town at this unsuitable moment of the year.
The rest of the morning glided dreamily away after an
incident like this ; and it was not till late in the afternoon
that Lottie suddenly awoke to the necessity of making an
efibrt, and shaking oiF the empire of dreams : and this was
how she became convinced of the necessity for doing so. She
had been sitting, as on tlie former occasion, with a basket of
mending by her when Rollo came in. She had all the clothes
of the household to keep in order, and naturally they were
not done in one day. After Mr. liidsdale was gone, she took
up her work languidly, keeping it on her knee while she
went over all that had happened, again and again, as has been
recorded. When, at last startled by a sound outside, she
began to work in earnest, then and there a revelation of a
character totally distinct from that made by Handel burst
upon her. It was not a revelation of the same kind, but it
was very startling. Lottie found — tliat she hud not yetjinishcd
the hole in the sock which she had begun to mend before Mr.
Ridsdale's Jivst visit ! She was still in the middle of that
one hole. She remembered exactly where she stuck her
needle, in the middle of a woolly hillock, as she heard him
coming upstairs ; and there it was still, in precisely the same
place. This discovery made her heart jump almost as much
as ]\Ir. Hidsdale's visit had done. What an evidence of Avicked
idling, of the most foolish dreaming and tmprofitable thought
was in it ! Lottie blushed, though she was alone, to the
roots of her hair, and seizing the sock Avith an impassioned
gloAV of energy, never took breath till the stern evidence of
that hole Avas done aAvay Avith. And then she could not give
herself any rest. She felt her dreams floating about her Avith
folded pinions, ready to descend upon her and envelope her in
152 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
their shadow if she gave them the chance ; but she was de-
termined that she wouhl not give them the chance. As soon
as she had finished the pair of socks, and iblded them care-
fully up, she went to look for Law to suggest that they should go
immediately to Mr. Ashford. Law had only just come in from
a furtive expedition out of doors, and had scarcely time to
.•spread his books open before him when she entered his room.
But he would not go to Mr. Ashford. It was time enough
for that, and he meant in the meantime to ' Avork up' by him-
self, he declared. Lottie became more energetic than ever in
the revulsion of feeling, and determination not to yield further
to any vanity. She pleaded with him, stormed at him, but
in vain. ' At the worst I can always 'list,' he said, half in
dogged resistance to her, half in boyish mischief to vex her.
But he would not yield to her desire to consult Mr. Ashford,
though he had assented at first. He did not refuse to go
* some time,' but nothing that she could say would induce
him to go now. This brought in again all the contradictions
and cares of her life to make her heart sore Avhen she turned
back out of the enchanted land in Avhich for a little while she
had been delivered from these cares. They all came back
upon her open-mouthed, like wild beasts, she thought — Law
resisting everything that was good for him, and her father
. But Lottie could not realise the change that threatened
to come upon her through her father. It seemed like the
suggestion of a dream. Law must be deceived, it must be all
a delusion, it was not possible, it was not credible. The
Captain came in early that night, and he came upstairs into
the little drawing-room, to which he had no habit of coming.
He told his daughter in a stately way that he heard her singing
had given great satisfaction at the Deanery. ' More than one
person has mentioned it to me,' he said, ' that is of course a
satisfaction. And — who is the gentleman you have been
having here so much ? '
' There has been no one here very much,' said Lottie ;
then she blushed in spite of herself, though she did not sup-
pose that was what he alluded to. ' You do not mean Mr.
Kidsdale ? ' she s;iid.
' How many visitors have you got? ' he said, in high
good humour. ' Perhaps it is I\Ir. Kidsdale — Lady Caroline'.s
nephew? Ah, I like the family. It was he you sang to?
^\'cll, no harm ; you've got a very pretty voice — and so had
ROMANCE AND HEALITY. 153
your mother before you,' the Captain added, with a carefully
prepared sigh.
' It was only once,' said Lottie, confused. ' iNIrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy was here; it was alter we had been singing at the
Deanery ; it was '
* My child,' said the Captain, * I am not finding fault. No
harm in putting your best toot foremost. I wish you'd do it
a little more. At your age you ought to be thinking about
getting married. And, to tell the truth, it would be a great
convenience to me, and suit my plans beautifully, if you
Avould get married. You mustn't stand shilly-shallying; let
him come to the point : or, if he won't, my dear, refer him
to me.'
' I don't know what you mean,' cried Lottie. Fortunately
for her, he had thought her a child up to the time of their
migration to St. jNIichael's, and she had been subjected to very
little advice of this description. But, though she gazed at
him with wondering eyes, she knew very well by the instinct
of horror and repulsion in her mind what he meant. It gave
her a shock of pain and shame which ran like electricity to
her very finger points. ' I think you must be making a mis-
take,' she said. ' I scarcely know Mr. liidsdale at all. He
has called here twice — on business — for Lady Caroline — and
now he has gone away.'
* Gone away ! ' the Captain said, his face lengthening with
disappointment and dismay; * gone away ! then you're a fool
— a greater fool than I thought; you. Wliat'^ to become of
you, do you ever ask yourself? Good lord, what a chance to
throw away ! One of the Courtland family — a fellow with a
turn for music — that you could have turned round your little
finger ! And to let him go away ! By George,' said the
Captain, making a stride towards her, and clenching his fist
in the energy of his disajjproval, ' I don't believe you're any
child of mine. Clever — you think you're clever ? .'ind so did
your mother, poor woman ! but you're an idiot, that is what
you arc — an idiot ! to let such a chance slip through your
fingers. Good lord ! to think such a fool should be a child of
mine ! '
Lottie stood her ground firmly. She was not afraid of the
clenched fist, nor even of the angry voice and eyes, which were
more genuine. If there was a slight tremor in her, it Avas of
her own excited nerves. She made no reply ; if she had
154 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
spoken, what could she have done but express her own pas-
sionate loathing for his advice, and for his disapproval, and
perhaps even for hiniseH"? for she had not been brought up to
reverence the iiiulty father, whose evil qualities her mother
had discussed in Lottie's presence as long as she could remem-
ber. There had not been any illusion in his children's eyes
after their babyhood, in respect to Captain Despard, and per-
haps in the present emergency this was well. She stood and
met his fury, pale, but more disdainful than desperate. It was
no more than she would have expected of him had she ever
thought of the emergency at all.
Law had heard the sound of the battle from afar; he
heard his Other's voice raised, and the sound of the stroke
upon the table with which he had emphasised one of his sen-
tences. It was a god-send to the unenthusiastic student to be
disturbed by anything, and he came in sauntering with his
hands in his pockets, partly Avith the intention of taking
Lottie's part, partly for the sake of * the fun,' whatever it
might be. • What's the row ? ' he asked. He had slippers
on, and shuffled along heavily, and his coat was very old and
smelt of tobacco, though that was a luxviry in which Law
could indulge but sparingly. He had his hands in his
pockets, and his hair was well rubbed in all directions by the
efforts he had made over his unbeloved books. Thus it was
but a slovenly angel that came to Lottie's aid. He stopped
the yawn which his ' reading ' had brought on, and looked at
the belligerents. with some hope of amusement. ' I say, don't
bully Lottie,' he exclaimed, but not with any fervour. He
would not have allowed anyone to lay a finger upon her, but a
little bullying, such as she administered to him daily, that
perhaps would do Lottie no harm. However, he was there in
her defence if things should come to any extremity. She was
of his faction, and he of hers; but yet he thought a little
bullying of the kind she gave so liberally might do Lottie no
harm.
' Go away, Law ; it is no matter ; it is nothing. Papa was
only communicating some of his ideas — forcibly,' said Lottie,
with a smile of defiance ; but as there Avas always a fear in her
mind lest these two should get into collision, she added hastily,
' Law, I don't want you — go away.'
' He can stay,' said the Captain. ' I have something to say
to you botli. Look here. I thought iu the first place that
KOMANCE AND REALITV. 155
Bhe had hit off something for herself,' he said, turning half
round to his son. ' I thought she liad cauglit that iellow, that
Kidsdalc ; from what I had heard, I thought that was certain —
that there would be no diliiculty on that side.'
The Captain had left his original ground. Instead of re-
proaching Lottie, in which he was strong, he was in the act of
disclosing his own intentions, and this was much less certain
ground. He looked at Law, and he wavered. Big lout] he
knew a great deal too much alread3\ Captain Despard looked
at Law as at a possible rival, a being who had been thrust into
his way. The workroom had no secrets from Law.
' I think the governor's right there,' said Law confiden-
tially ; ' he's a big fish, but he's all right if you give him
time.'
A gleam of sudden fury blazed over Lottie's face. She,
too, clenched her hands passionately. She stamped her foot
upon the fioor. * How dare you ? ' she said, ' how dare you
insult me in my own home, you two men ? Oh, yes, I know
who you are — my father and my brother, my father and my
brother ! the two who ought to protect a girl and take care of
her ! Oh ! is it not enough to make one hate, and loathe and
despise — ! ' said Lottie, dashing her white clenched hand into
the air. Tears that seemed to burn her came rushing from
lier eyes. She looked at them with wild indignation and I'age,
in wliich there was still a certain appeal. How could they,
how could they shame a girl so .' They looked at her for a
moment in this rage, which Avas so impotent and so pitiful,
and then they gave a simultaneous laugh. When an exhibi-
tion of passionate feeling does not overawe, it amuses. It is
so ludicrous to see a creature crying out, weeping, suffering
for some trifle which would not in the least affect ourselves.
Lottie was struck dumb by this laugh. She gave a startled
look up at them through those hot seas of salt scalding tears
that were in her eyes.
' What a Ibol you are making of yourself ! ' said the Cap-
tain. ' Women are the greatest fools there are on this earth,
always with some high-flown rubbish or other in their stupid
heads. Your own home ! and who made it your home, I
should like to know ? I don't say you hadn't a right to shelter
when you were a little thing ; but that's long out of the ques-
tion. A girl of twenty ouglit to be thinking about getting
herself a real home of her own. How are you going to do it?
156 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
that's the question. You are not going to stay here to be a
burden upon me all your lite ; and what do you mean to
do?'
' I will go to-morrow ! ' cried Lottie, Avildly ; * I would go
to-niglit if it were not dark. I will go — and free you of the
burden ! ' Here she stopped ; all the angry colour went out
of her face. She looked at them with great wide eyes,
appalled ; and clasped her hands together with a lamentable
cry. ' Oh ! but I never thought of it before, I never thought
of it ! ' she cried ; ' where am I to go ? '
Law's heart smote him ; he drew a step nearer to her.
To agree with his father (however much in his heart he agreed
with his father) was abandoning his sister — and his own side.
' He doesn't mean it,' he said soothingly in an undertone ;
^ he only wants to bully you, Lottie. Never mind him, we'll
talk it over after,' and he put his big hand upon her shoulder
to console her. Lottie turned upon him, half furious, half
appealing. She could not see him till two big tears fell out
of her eyes, and cleared her sight a little. She clutched
at the hand upon her shoulder in her distraction and des-
pair.
* Come Avith me, Law. Two of us together, we can go
anywhere ; two can go anywhere. Oh ! how can you tell me
never to mind ? Do you hear me ? ' she cried, seizing his arm
■with both her hands, half shaking him, half clinging to him;
■* soy you will come with me, Law ! '
* Stop this stuff ! ' said the Captain. * I am not telling
you to go ; I am telling you what is your plain duty, the only
thing a woman is fit for. Besides, this young fellow would be
of great use to me; it's your duty to get hold of him for the
good of the family. He might say a good word for me at the
Horse Guards ; he mioht 2;et Law something. I never ex-
pected you would have such a chance. Do you think I want
you to go away just when there's a chance that you might be
of some use ? Am I a fool, do you think ? You'll stay where
you are, Lottie Despard ! you'll not go disgracing your family,
^overnessing, or anything of that sort.'
* Ah ! ' said Law suddenly, ' she'll wish she had listened to
the Signor now.'
' To till' Signor ? Avhat of the Siirnor ? is he after her too ? '
cried the Captain eagerly. A bird in the hand is worth two
in the busli ; and though the Signor had no interest with the
ROMANCE AND REALITY. 157
Horse Guards, he had money, and might be of use in many-
ways. Captain Despard's eyes lighted up. ' Whew ! ' he
Avhistlod. ' Lottie ! so, my child, you've got two strings to
your bow ? '
Lottie turned \ipon her brother, whose arm she had been
holding with both her hands. She pushed him, flung him
from her with an energy of which she had not appeared
capable, and throwing her head high, looked her father in the
face and walked out of the room. Law, confounded by the
force with whicli she threw him from her, caught at her angrily
as she passed ; but she pulled her dress from his hand, and
walked past him with a contempt that stung him — callous as
he was. As for the Captain, he made no effort to detain her,
partly because of his surprise, partly that he was anxious to
have more information about (as he supposed) this second
suitor. She went straight to her own room, while they stood
listening till she had shut the door upon herself and her pas-
sion. Then the Captain ventured to laugh again, but low, not
to be heard ; for the look of any creature driven to bay is
alarming, and Lottie's sudden withdrawal was a relief.
' Whoever gets her will catch a Tartar ! eh. Law ? ' he
said. ' But now that she's gone, let's hear all about the
Signer.'
There was no light in Lottie's room ; nothing but the faint
starlight outside, and as much of the familiar glimmer of the
few feeble lamps in the Dean's Walk as could get in through
her small window. How is it that so small a bit of space,
such four straight walls, should hold in such a throbbing, pal-
pitating, agitated being, with projects wide enough and fury
hot enough to burst them like a child's toy ? It was in her to
have torn her hair or anything that came in the way of her
fevered hands; to have filled the air with cries; to have
filled the whole world with her protest against the intolerable
shame and wretchedness which they were trying to force upon
her thoughts ! But she only threw herself on her bed in
the dark and silence, letting no sound or movement betray
her. She was not prostrated as by unkindness, or stung by
reproach; but wounded, shamed, desecrated — the very
sanctity of her dreams turned into a horror to her. And
Law gone against her — Law gone over to the other side !
158 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE signor's household.
The Despard family became a great cerxtre of interest to many
people both Avitliin and without the Abbey precincts at this
period of their history. Without any doing, so to speak, of
theirs, Fate mixed them up both with the great and the small,
so that their proceedings moved a great many circles of
thought and feeling beyond that in Avhich they themselves
stood. We have said without any doing of theirs— but this,
perhaps, is true only in respect to Lottie, who took no step;-;
consciously to produce the rapprochement which had taken
place so strangely between the heaven of the Deanery and
the earth of the Lodges. She had not done anything to
recommend herself to Lady Caroline or Lady Caroline's
nephew. And yet Avith both she had become an important
* factor,' to use a fashionable term, in the immediate concerns
of life. The Captain was not so innocent of purpose in the
commotion he had begun to make. But still he had not cal-
culated upon the interest that Avould be excited by liis pro-
ceedings. The community at St. IMichael's was quiet and
had little to rouse its interest. Sometimes a Canon would be
translated to a higher and a better stall — sometimes an old
Chevalier would die, and be rejjlaced by another veteran not
much less old than he — sometimes a son would ' go wrong '
and create a great deal of whispered communication and
shaking o£ heads. At the present time there Avere no
daughters to marry except Lottie, so that the pleasanter
strain of possibility was little thought of. All this made it
very inspiring, very agitating to the dwellers round the
Abbey, when a family within the Precincts gave them so
much to think about. A girl likely to make a very good
match in a romantic way : a man likely to make a very bad
one, in a way Avhich might have been quite as romantic had
it not been on the wrong .side, such as would debase, not
exalt his class ; these two probabilities coming together had a
great effect upon the popular mind. In the Chevaliers'
Lodges there was very little else talked about. Captain
Temple, the most respected of all the Chevaliers, could not
THE SIGXOll's nOUSEHOLl). 159
"keep still, so excited was he. He had spoken to 'the father,'
he told his ^s'i£e, to put him on his guard, and to show him
how necessary it was to take proper care of his child. That
was all he could do: but he could not content himself with
thus doing what he could. He paced about his little sitting-
room, disturbing ISIrs. Temple at her wool-work. She was
not like her husband. She was a still, composed, almost
stern woman, with a passionate heart, to which she gave very
little expression. She could not talk of her daughter as
Captain Temple could. The remembrance of the years
during Avhich her child was separated from her was terrible to
her. When lier husband talked as he was accustomed to
do of this great grief of theirs, she never stopped him, but
she herself was dumb. She closed all her windows, as it
were, and retired into a fortress of silent anguish, out of
which no cry came ; but she listened to him all the same.
This v.'as what she did now, though it pained her to hear of
this other girl who stood between life and death, between
good and evil, as once her child had stood. She would have
helped Lottie with all her heart, but she could not bear to
hear her talked of — though this was precisely what she had
to bear.
' I told him it was his duty to look after his daughter,'
said Captain Temple, pacing — three steps one way, lour the
other — about the room. ' But he won't — ^you will see he
won't. A beautiful girl, far too good for him, a girl who de-
serves a better fate. She puts me in mind of our own dear
girl, Lucy. I have told you so before.'
To this ]\Irs. Temple made no reply. He had told her so
a great many times betbre. She selected a new shade of her
Berlin wool, and set her elbow rigidly against the arm of her
chair, that she might thread her needle without trembling,
but she made no reply.
' She puts me constantly in mind of her. The way she
holds her head, and her walk, and I beg your pardon,
my dear. I know you don't like this kind of talk ; but if
you knew how I seem to see her wherever I go — wherever I
go ! I wonder if she is permitted to come and walk by her
old father's side, God bless her. Ah ! well, it was Despard's
daughter we were talking of. To think he should have this
girl who takes no care of her — and we to whom ours was
everything I '
160 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
The poor woman made a spasmodic movement, and turned
her eyes upon him dumbly, fehe could not bear it. The
needle fell out of her hands, and she stooped to hunt for it
on the carpet. She -would not stop him to whom it was so
great a relief to talk ; but it was death to her.
' But I told him,' said Captain Temple. ' I showed him
his duty, Lucy. 1 told him he ought to be thankful he had
such a daughter to watch over. And Avhat more could I do ?
I set the whole thing before him. There Avas nothing more
that I could do ? '
' Then you must be satisfied, William, and perhaps it Avill
have some effect ; we must wait and see,' said Mrs. Temple,
coming to the surface again with her needle, which she had
found, in her hand. She managed to get it threaded this
time with great exertion, while her husband set off again
upon his restricted promenade, shaking his white head.
Captain Temple, it may be recollected, had not said so much
to Captain Despard as he thought he had said — but if he had
said everything that man could say it is not probable that it
would have made much difference. The kind old Chevalier
shook his white head. His eyes were full of moisture and his
heart, of tenderness. He did not feel willing to wait and see,
as his wife suggested. He wanted to do something there and
then for Lottie, to go to her and warn her, to keep watch at
her door, and prevent the entrance of the wolf — anything, he
did not mind what it was so long as he could secure her
safety.
Tlie other subject was discussed that same evening in
another and very different scene, when Mrs. Purcell, the
Signer's housekeeper, asked her old fellow-servant, Pickering,
what news there was in the Precincts, and if anything was
stirring. It was the most delicious moment for a gossip, when
tea was over in the kitchen, and dinner upstairs, and twilight
was beginning to drop over the country, bringing quiet and
coolness after the blaze of the day. Mrs. Purcell sat by the
open window, which was cut in the very boundary wall of
the Abbey precincts, as in the side of a precipice. It was not
t-afe for anyone of uncertain nerves to look straight down upon
the slope of St. Michael's Hill, on which the walls were
foimdod, and on the steep street winding below. But Mrs.
Purcell had her nerves in the most steady and well-regulated
condition. She was not afraid to sit at the head of the preci-
THE SIGXOU'S HOUSEHOLD. 161
pice, and even to look out and look down when the shop
windows began to be lighted. She liked to see the lights
coming out below. It was cheerful and felt like * company '
when she sat alone. Old Pickering had just come in after an
errand into the town. He was the man-servant, while she
was the housekeeper, but the work of the establishment was
chielly done by a sturdy young woman who was under the
orders of both.
' News — I don't knoAv much about news,' said old Pick.
* It wants young folks to make news ; and there ain't many of
that sort about here.'
' Dear ! ' said ]\Irs. Purcell (but it must not be supposed
that this exclamation meant any special expression of affection
to old Pickering). ' There's heaps of young folks ! There's
the Signer, and there's my John '
' Master ? you may call him young, if it don't go again
your conscience — my notion is as he never was no younger
than he is now. So you may put what name to it you
please. But you don't ask me for news of master, nor Mr.
John neitiier — him, oh ah, there'll be news of him one of
these days. He'll get a cathedral, or he'll be had up to Lon-
don. We'll see him, with his baton in his hand, afore the
biggest chorus as can be got together ; and won't he lead 'em
grand ! ' said old Pick. ' When he was but a little thing in
his white surplice I seen it in his eye.'
' You were always one that did my John justice,' said the
housekeeper, warmly. * Just to think of it, Pick — one day a
bit of a mite in his surplice, and the next, as you may say,
with his baton, leading the chief in the land ! We bring
children into the world, but we can't tell what's to come of
them,' she added, with pious melancholy. ' Them as is
fortunate shouldn't be proud. The young men as I've seen go
to the bad since I've been here ! *
' That should be a real comfort to you,' said Pickering,
and they both paused, to take full advantage of this consola-
tion. Then, drawing a long breath, Mrs. Purcell resumed —
'And so it should. Pick — when I see my boy that re-
spectable, and as good as any gentleman's son, and reflect on
what I've seen ! But pride's not for the like of us — seeing
the Lord can bring us low as iast as He's set us up.' The
good woman dropped her voice, Avith that curious dread lest
envious fate should tiike her satisfaction amiss, which seems
u
162 "^^'ITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
inheront in hummuty. As for old Pick, sentiment was not
in Iiis way. lie took np a little old-fashioned silver salver
which stood on the table with some notes upon it, waiting
the sound of the Signor's bell, and began to polish it with his
handkerchief. ' Them girls,' he said, ' there's no trust to be
put in them. The tmies I've told her to be careful with my
plate. She says she haven't the time, but you and me knows
better than that. What is there to do in this house ? We
gives no trouble, and as for master, he's dining out half his
time.'
' Slie'll find the difference,' said ]\Irs. Purcell, ' when she's
under a lady. There's many a thing I does myself. Instead
of calling Maryanne till I'm hoarse, I takes and does it my-
self ; but a lady will never do that. Ah, Pick, it's experience
as teaches. They don't put any faith in what we tell them ;
and her head full of soldiers, and I don't know what — as
if a soldier ever brought anything but harm to a servant
girl.'
'They are all alike,' said old Pick. 'There's them
Despards in the Lodges — all the Abbey's talking of them.
The Captain — you know the Captain ? the one as sings out as
if it all belonged to him — though he's neither tenor, nor alto,
nor bass, but a kind of a jumble, and as often as not sings the
air ! ' said the old chorister, with contempt which was be-
yond words. Mrs. Purcell looked upon the Captain from
another point of vieAV.
' He's a fine handsome man,' she said. ' He looks like a
lord when he comes marching up the aisle, not an old ]Mcthu-
saleh, like most of 'em.'
' Ah ! ' cried Pickering, Avith a groan, ' that's the way the
women are led away. He's a fine I'ellow, he is ! oh, yes, he's
like a lord, with bills in every shop in the town, and not a
penny to pay 'em.'
' Them shops ! ' said ]\Irs. Purcell. ' I don't wonder, if a
gentleman's of a yielding disposition. They offer you this,
and tliey offer you that, and won't take an answer. It's their
own i'ault. They didn't ought to put their temptations in
folk's way. It's like dodging a bait about a poor fish's nose;
and then swearing it will make up lovely, and be far more
becoming than what you've got on. I think it's scandalous,
for my part. They deserve to lose their money now and
again.'
THE SIGNOR's HOUSEnOLD. 1 C3
* They say he's going to be married,' said old Pick,
stolidly.
' Married ! You're dreaming, Pick ! Loi-d bless us,' said
Mrs. Purcell, ' that's news, that is ! Married ? I don't be-
lieve a word of it ; at his age ! '
' You siiid just now he wasn't a Methusaleh, and no more
he is; he's a fine handsome man. He thinks a deal of him-
self, and that's what makes other folks think a deal of him.
The women's as bad as the shops,' said old Pick; * they bring
it on themselves. Here's a man as is never out of mischief.
Fve seen him regularly coming home — well — none the better
for his licjuor; and gamblin' day and night, playing billiards,
betting, I don't know what. We all know what that conies
to ; and a grown-up family besides -'
' Dear ! ' said Mrs. Purcell in great concern. She knew a
good deal about Miss Despard, and her feelings were very
mingled in respect to her. In the first place, to know that
her John was in love with a lady flattered and excited her,
and had made her very curious about Lottie, every detail of
Avhose looks, and appearance generally, she had studied. A
Chevalier's daughter might not be any very great thing ; but
it was a wonderful rise in the world for Mis. I'urcell's son to
be able to permit himself to fall in love with such a person.
On the other hand. Miss Despard was poor, and might inter-
fere with John's chance of rising in the world. But anyhow,
everything about her was deeply interesting to John's mother.
She paused to think what efl'ect such a change would have
upon her son before she asked any further questions. What
Avould Miss Despard do ? It Avas not likely she Avould care
for a stepmother after being used to be mistress of the house
— would she be ready to accept anyone that asked her, in order
to get * a home of her own'? And would John insist upon
marrying her ? and would he be able to keep a wife ? These
questions all hurried through ]\Irs. Purcell's mind on receipt
of the startling news. ' Dear ! dear ! ' she said — and for a
long time it was all she could sjiy. The interests were so
mixed that she did not know what to desire. Now or never,
perhaps, was the time for John to secure the wife he wanted ;
but even in that case, would it be right for him to marry ?
IMrs. Purcell did not know what to think. * Did you hear who
the lady was ? ' she asked, in a faint voice.
' Lady ? — no lady at all — a girl that works for her living,
m2
1G4 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
I know her well enough by sight. One of the dressmaker's
girls in the River Lane. Ladies is silly enough, but not so
silly as that; though I don't know neither,' said old Pick,
' what women-folks will do for a husband is wonderful.
They'll lace the world for a husband. It don't matter Avhat
sort he is, nor if he's worth having '
' They haven't took that trouble for you, anyhow,' said
Mrs. Purcell faintly, standing up amid her preoccupations for
her own side.
' I've never given 'em the chance,' said Pick, with a
chuckle. ' Lord bless you ! they've tried a plenty, but I've
never given 'em the chance. Many's the story I could tell
you. They've done their best, poor things. Some has been
that enterprising, I never could keep in the same room with
'em. But I've kep' single, and I'll keep single till my dying
day. So will master, if I can judge. There's some has the
way of it, and some hasn't. It Avould be a clever one,' said old
Pickering, caressing his chin with an astute smile, ' to get the
better of me.'
The housekeeper threw at him a glance of mingled indig-
nation and derision. She gave her head a toss. It was not
possible for feminine flesh and blood to hear this unmoved.
' You're so tempting,' she said, with angry energy. ' 'Andsome
and well to do, and worth a woman's while.'
' Bless you, they don't stick at that,' said the old man with
a grin, ' I could tell you of things as has happened — some to
myself — some to other folks '
' Dear ! ' cried Mrs. Purcell, ' and me to think you were
an old stick of an old bachelor, because nobody would have you.
Pick ! There's some, as a body reads it in their face — as dry
as an east wind, and cutting like an east wind does, that is
never happy but when it's blighting up something. I dare-
say it's all a story about Captain Despard — just like the
rest.'
* None of 'em likes it, when you speak free,' said old Pick,
chuckling to himself. ' Some pretends, just to please a man ;
but women does hang together, whoever says different, and
they none of them likes to hear the truth. About Captain
Despard, it's a story if you please, but it's true. Tlie girl she
n lakes no secret, .she tells everybody as she'll soon make a
dilference in the house. She'll pack off the son to do for him-
Bclf, and the daughter '
THE sigkor's household. 1C5
' What of the daughter, Pick? Oh, the shameless hussy,
to talk like that o£ a poor motherless young girl '
' If she wasn't motherless, what would Polly have to do
with her? It can't be expected as a second wife should cry
her eyes out because the first's gone.'
* Polly ! ' said Mrs. Purcell, with bated breath ; * and slie
says she'll pack the son about his business ; and the daughter ?
— What is she going to do about the daughter, when she's got
the poor misfortunate man lander her thumb ? And who's
Polly, that you know so much about her? She's a pretty
kind of acquaintance, so far as I can see, lor a man as con-
siders himself respectable, and comes out of a gentleman's
house.'
' That's the other side,' said Pick, still chuckling to himself.
* I said, women hangs together. So they do, till you come to
speak of one in particular, and then they tiy at her. I don't
know nothing against Polly. If the Captain's in love with
her, it ain't her fault ; if she wants to better herself, it's no
more than you or me Avould do in her place. She's as respect-
able as most of the folks I know. To work for your living
aiu't a disgrace.'
' It's no dii-igrace ; but a stepmother that is a dressmaking
girl will be something new to Miss Despard. Oh, I can't
.smile ! A dressmaker as And young, I suppose, like
herself? Oh, trust a man for that ; she's sure to be young.
Poor thing, poor thing ! I'm that sorry for her, I can't tell
what to do. A lady. Pick ; they may be poor, but I've always
heard there was no better gentlelblks anywhere to be
Jbund. And a Avoman that the likes of you calls Polly. Oh,
that's enough, that's enough for me ! A nice, good, respect-
able girl, that knows what's her due — you don't call her Polly.
Polly — there's a dtnl in a name.'
' Aha ! ' said old Pick, rubbing his hands, ' I knew as soon
as I named one in particular what you would say. Fly at her,
that's what all you women do. A name is neither here nor
there. I've known as good women called Polly as was ever
christened IMary ; eh ? ain't they the sjmie name ? I had a
sister Polly ; I had a '
' Dear, dear ! ' said ]Mrs. Purcell, softly. She was pajing
no attention to him ; her mind was much disturbed. She
turned away instinctively from the gathering gloom of evening
in which her old companion stood, and cast her anxious eyes
IGCi WITHIN THE PHKCINCTS.
upon tlie Avide landscape outside — the sky between grey and
blue, the lights beginning to twinkle far down in the steep
street. There was something in the great space and opening
which seemed to give counsel and support in her perturbation.
For she did not know what to do for the best. At such a
moment would not John have a better chance than he miglit
ever have ? And yet, if he got his heart's desire, was it quite
certain that it would be good for John ? The Signer's house-
keeper was jujit as anxious about her boy as i£ she had been a
great lady. Twinges of maternal jealousy, no doubt, went
through her mind. If John married, he would be separated
from his mother, and his Avife Avould look down upon her and
teach him to despise her — a mother who was in service. "What
could she expect if her son married a lady ? All these thoughts
went through her mind as she looked out with anxiety, which
drew deep lines upon her forehead. But, on the whole, she
was not selfish, and considered it all anxiously, ready to make
any sacrifice for that which in the long run would be most
good for John.
In the meantime old Pickering talked on. When he was
set a-going it was difficult to bring him to a stop. He was
qiiite aware that at the present moment he ought not to stay
there talking ; he knew he ought to be lighting the lamps.
and kept listening with expectant ear for a sharp tinkle of the
Signer's bell, which should warn him of his retarded duties.
But for all that he talked on. Dinner was over for some time,
and Pick knew very well that he ought to carry in the notes
Avhich he had piled again upon the salver after giving it that
polish with his handkerchief. However, though he knew his
duty, lie took no steps towards performing it, but moved
leisurely about, and put various articles back into the old
polished cupboard with glass doors, which showed all the best
china, and Avas the pride of ]\Irs. Purcell's heart. When Mary-
anne came in, he emptied the .salver again and showed her
how imperfectly she had cleaned it. ' I can't think hoAV folks
can be so stupid,' Pickering said. ' How do you think you
are ever to better yourself if you don't take a lesson when it's
giv' you ? and proud you should be that anyone would take
the trouble. If I see it like this again I'll — I don't know
Avhat I shan't do.' He knew very well that it was Avhat ought
to liave been his own Avork that he Avas thus criticising, and,
a.s it happened, .'^o did Maryannc, Avhose spirit Avas working
TIIK SIGXOn's nOUSEIIOLD. 167
np to a determination not to be longer put upon. But lor all
tliat he found lault (always waiting to hear the bell ringing
sharply, with a quaver of impatience in it), and she sub-
mitted, though she was aware that she was being put upon.
jNIrs. Purceli, in the window, paid no attention to them. iShe
kept gazing out upon the wide world of grey-blue clouds, and
a.'^king herself what Avould be best for John.
They were disturbed in all these occupations by a step
which came briskly downstairs, perhaps betokening, Pickering
tliought, that the Signor was going out again, and that his
c^vn delay about the lamps had been a wise instinct. But,
after all, it was not the Signer's step ; it was young Purceli,
who came along the little winding passage full of corners, and
entered the housekeeper's room, scattering the little party
assembled there. jMaryanne fled as a visitor from the outer
world flies from the chamber of a servant of the court, at the
advent of the queen. Though she would assure herself
sometimes that Mr. Purcell's son was ' no better nor me,' yet
in his presence Maryanne recognised the difference. He was
* the young master ' even in Pick's eyes, who stopped talking,
iind put the notes back once more upon the salver with a
great air of business, as if in the act of hastening with them
to the Signor. Mrs. Purceli was the only one Avho received
her son with tranquillity. She turned her eyes npon him
quietly, Avith a smile, with a serene pride which would not
have misbecome an empress. No one in the house, not the
Signor himself, had ascended to such a height of being as
the housekeeper; no one else had produced such a son.
* Go and light the candles in the study. Pick,' said young
Purceli. ' The Signor is in the dark, and he's composing.
Quick and carry him the lights. Don't bother him with
those letters now. He is doing something beautiful,' he said,
turning to his mother. ' There's a phrase in it 1 never heard
equalled. He has been sitting oiit on the terrace getting
inspiration. I must run back and keep old Pick from dis-
turbing him, making a noise-
' Stay a moment, Johnny, my own dear '
* What's the matter, mother? Oh, I know ; you've heard
of this last offer. But if I take any I'll take St. Ermengilde's,
Avliere I cculd still go on living at home, the Signor says.
It's less money, but so long as I can help him and see her now
and again, and plc-ase you '
168 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' x\.l), John, your mother's last ; but that's natural,' said
Mrs. Purcell, shaking her head, ' quite natural. I don't
complain. Is it another organ you've got the offer of? Well^
to be sure ! and there are folks that say merit isn't done justice-
to ! John, I've been hearing something,' said the house-
keeper, putting out her hand to draw him to her ; * something^
as perhaps you ought to know.'
The young man looked at her eagerly. In this place he
bore a very different aspect from that under which he had
appeared to Lottie. Here it was he who was master of the
situation, the centre of a great many hopes and wishes. He-
looked at her closely in the dusk, which made it hard to see
what was in her face. He was a good son, but he was his.
mother's social superior, and there was a touch of authority,
even in the kindness of his voice.
* Something I ought to know ? I know it already : that
Mr. Ridsdale has been visiting at the Lodges. That is no-
thing so extraordinary. If you think a little attention from a
fashionable fop will outweigh the devotion of years! ' said the
young man, with a flush of high-flown feeling. He had a
great deal of sentiment and not very much education, and
naturally he was high-floAvn. ' People may say what they
like,' he went on in an agitated voice, but merit does carry
the day. They've offered me St. Ermengilde over the heads-
of half-a-dozen. Is it possible, can you suppose, that she-
should be so blind ! '
' That wasn't it,' said Mrs. Purcell quietly ; ' it's some-
thing quite different, my dear. Shut the door, that we mayn't
have old Pick coming in again (it was he that told me), and
you sliall hear.'
CHAPTER XVIL
THE MUSICIAN AT HOME.
The Signer's house was one of those which, when general
peacefulness had made the battlements round St. IMichael's
unnecess;xry, had grown within the outer wall. It was more
like a growth tlian a building. Windows which looked, as we
have said, as if cut in the side of a precipice, gave light to the
TUE MUSICIAN AT HOME. 16^
small panelled chambers which -were connected by bits of
quaint passages, here and there by a little flight of stairs, with
tiny vestibules and landing-places, wasting the little space
there was. Koom after room had no doubt been added as.
necessity arose, and each new room had to be connected
somehow with the others. The house occupied more space
than a comfortable ugly modern house with tolerably sized
rooms would have done, and when the Signor came into pos-
session it had been a miracle of picturesque awkwardness, not
a room in it capable of holding more than three or four people
at a time, yet as many rooms as would have lodged a dozen —
the least possible use for the greatest possible expenditure of
space. The Signor, however, had built on the inner side a
dining-room in red brick, Avhich made existence possible,
though it failed in the point of beauty. To tell the truth, the
musician's dining-room was an eyesore to all the antiquaries
and all the critics. Nobody knew by what neglect of the
architect, by what partiality of the Board of Works, it had
been permitted to be built. It Avas of no style at all, neither
Gothic, like the original building, nor Queen Anne, like the
fashion. He had failed in his duty in every respect. It was
a square box with a large window filling up one side. It
was lighted with gas. It had red curtains in bold and uncom-
promising rep, and a large mahogany sideboard of the worst
period. How he had been allowed to build this monstrosity
nobody knew. It had been made the subject of a painful
discussion in the Chapter itself, where Canon Skeffington (the
Honble. and Kevd.) complained so bitterly of the injury done
to his best principles and highest feelings, that the Dean was
irritated, and took up the cudgels on his side on behalf of
his favourite musician. * He has a right, I suppose, to make
himself comfortable like the rest of us,' the head of the com-
munity said. ' No right to make my life a burden to me,"
said the Honourable Canon ; and he added, almost weeping,
* I cannot look out of my window Avithout seeing the thing.
You talk at your ease, you others ' But what was to be
done 'f The Chapter could not take so bold a step as to in-
vade the rights of private property, tear down the Signor' .s
red curtains, burn his sideboard, destroy his walls. He hacJ
to be left to the enjoyment of his villanous erection. The
Signor laughed in his sleeve, but in public was remorseful,
bemoaning his own ignorance of art, and declaring that if he'
170 WITHIX THE PRECINCTS.
could afTord it, rather than give pain to Canon Skeffington
but then he could not afford it — and what was to be
done 1 He kept his dining-room, which was big enough to
accommodate his friends, but for himself the Signorhad better
taste than he professed to have. His favourite sitting-room
was in the same position and had the same view as that of
his housekeeper, but its window was between two buttresses
of the wall, which held in their gigantic arms a little square
shelf of green turf, a small projection of the hill, which above
and below was covered with masonry, leaving this little ledge
of grass, like one of the hanging gardens of Scripture, hung
high in the air above the town and the landscape. The
Signer's window opened upon this little terrace. His room
within was low and dark, but in summer at least this mattered
little, for its dim light and shadowy Avails made a pleasant
shelter, like a bower in a Avood, from the lightness and bright-
ness outside. There Avas a heaA^y beam across the roof, from
Avhich hung a little chandelier of old Venice glass, reflected
in a tall old mirror among the oak panels over the mantel-
piece, and not much more bright than they A\^ere. On one
side AA'ere the carved doors of a cupboard in the Avail, which
Avas full of old music, the Signer's chief treasures, and on the
other was a range of Ioav bookshelves, also filled Avith music
books of CA-ery size and kind. The piano stood in the corner
near the AvindoAV, Avith the keyboard close to the light. There
were a few chairs about the room, and a Avriting-table piled
Avith papers. This Avas all the furniture of the dim little
chamber, and it Avas impossible to imagine a greater contrast
than existed between it and the ueAv building which had so
shocked Canon Skeffington. And the Signor was not in this
particular much luilike his house. A touch of sentiment,
Avhich some people Avere disposed to call high-flown, mingled
in him Avith a curious undercurrent of cynicism, Avhich feAV
])Cojile suspected at all. He liked to jar upon the Canon
Skeilingtons of existence and ruffle their tempers and their
finest feelings. But in his heart he had feelings equally fine,
and Avas as easily J'roisse as they. He mocked at them on tho
very points in Avhich lie himself Avas Avcak, affecting an insen-
sibility Avhich he did not feel, building the vile modern room
Avith profound enjoyment of their delicate distress, but retiring
out of it himself to the shelter of this dim romantic chamber.
The combination Avas very like the Signor.
THE MUSICIAN AT HOME. 171
On this particular evening, when young Purcell went to
call for lights, the Signor was seated out on his little terrace
enjoying the twilight and a cigarette together. There were
two chairs on the scrap ofgrass, and a little table with an ink-
stand upon it, and the cup in which the Signor had taken his
black coffee after dinner. He was leaning back in his chair
]iuffing out the fragrant smoke from his cigarette, lazily
Avatching it as it floated upwards, and now and then noting
down a bar or two of music upon a piece of paper in his
hand. Sometimes he took the cigarette from his mouth and
hummed a scrap of an air, keeping time with his head and
hand. There was no one who Avas more popular in the
country as a composer of graceful drawing-i-oom songs than
Signor Rossinetti. It Avas something refined, something ele-
gant that Avas expected from him, delicate soprano melodies,
iine_corabiiiatioiia_Jor tenors and altos. irwa:s'vei7""seIdoni , , .
that^he took any trouble about the "bass, but hisTenor songs It^ A
Avere justly considered exquisite. He liked to haA'e a pretty
set of A-erses on hand, and ' set ' them in the intervals of
more serious business. The summer evening, Avhen he sat out
after dinner upon his scrap of terrace, Avas the time Avhen he
had most inspiration. His pupil and proU'<je, young Purcell,
thought there Avas no intellectual pleasure higher and more
elcA'ating, than to sit out here in the shadow of the great grey
buttresses, Avith the cheerful distant noises of the High
Street floating upAvard from the foot of t-ie Avail, and to A\-atch
the Signor composing his song. The young fellow Avould run
in to the piano and ' try over ' every line of the symphony as
it came Avelling out from that fount of music. Pie said often
that, except one thing, there Avas no such delight in the world.
To see genius Avorking under his very eyes, Avhat a privilege
it Avas ! To Purcell it seemed that his master read his heart,
and uttered his deepest sentiments for him in those composi-
tions. To-night his mind had been lulled out of great com-
motion and disturbance by the rosy vision of love and happi-
ness that had breathed through the notes. It Avas glad, it Avas
sad, it Avas full of suggestion, it wrung the very heart of
Purcell — ' 'Twas in the time of roses, they plucked them as
they passed.' "Would tliat time ever come Ibr him ? He
thought the Signor had read the depths of his heart, the Avist-
ful longing Avliich Avas sometimes liope and soniLlinn's despair,
the pictures he made to himself of one day Avandering by
172 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
her side, one day gathering roses for her. He murmured
over and over the tune of the refrain in a kind of ecstacy as
he went to his mother's room, his fancy excited, his head all
on fire, half with the delicious sense of being friend to such a
genius, and sharing, as it were, the very inspiration that pro-
duced such beautiful things — and half with the pride and
delight of being so deeply in love and hanging on so exquisite
an edge of anguish. The Signor himself did not know how
much those pretty compositions of his went to his pupil's
heart ; but he was flattered — as Avho would not be ? — by this
never-failing appreciation of his work, and youthful enthu-
siasm. It pleased him vaguely, just as the floating sounds
irom below, the voices and noises, all softened by the warm
air of the summer evening, and even by the dimness of the
twilight, pleased him. How harmonious they became as
they soared upwards, all that was harsh taken out of them,
filling the solitude with a genial sense of human fellowship !
Perhaps the Signor Avas, like many others, not too fond of his
fellow- creatures close at hand ; but as they went and came,
far down at his feet, talking, calling to each other, shouting
their wares, singing now and then, making a sound of their
steps upon the pavement, and a movement of their breathing
in the air, he was transported with the hum, and felt that he
loved them. This always gave him inspiration, this and the
glimmer of the river and of the distant villages scattered over
the plain, throwing up here and there a dim point of a spire
among the trees. When Purcell left him, he put aside the
bit of music-paper on which he had been jotting down his
chords. He raised his eyes to the profound unfathomable
blue above, and swung back upon his chair. He was half
giddy with the sense of circling depths of inanity above him,
though himself raised so high. The Signor was not without
a feeling that he was raised very high, not only in locality,
but in soul ; yet there was a heaven above which made his
head giddy when he looked up — a heaven full of stars, from
Palestrina to Mendelssohn, all shining over him, serene, \\a-
approachable, not even holding out any encouragement to
him, passive and splendid as the other stars which hid them-
selves in that still-luminous blue. "Would any one ever look
tip at that sky and recall his name as also among the ranks of
the unapproachable? The Signor turned his eyes from it
with a sigh as he heard some one enter the room, and came
TDE MUSICIAN AT HOME. 173
down to earth, letting his chair drop upon its four legs, and
his mind return to the present. He watched through the
open window the advent of old Pickering carrying the lamp.
The old man put it down on the table, and lighted some
candles on the mantelpiece in front of the dim mirror, which
gave them back with a blurred, enlarged reflection. Ilia
master sat outside and watched him pottering about the room,
setting the chairs against the wall, and vainly attempting to
make everything ' straight.' It was a standing grievance to
old Pick that he was not allowed to close the window and
draw the curtains as it was right to do. The Signor outside
sat and watched him Avith a gentle amusement. He liked to
feel the oddness and superiority of his own tastes, thrown into
evidence by the mighty anxiety of old Pick to shut the
window. A smile came over his face. To ordinary mortals,
in ordinary bouses, it was not necessary to seek inspiration
from the skies and the wide world of evening air. As Pick
approached the window, with his usual look of wistful
anxiety to be allowed to do what was right, and tacit disap-
proval of lawless habits, the Signor stepped through, smiling.
' I think you will shut me out some night, Pick,' he said, 'and
then you will have my blood on your soul — for what could I
do upon the terrace ? I should fall asleep and tumble over,
and be picked up in little pieces at the foot of the hill.'
* Ah ! I don't feel no fear of that, sir,' said Pickering,
shaking his head ; ' you've got too good a voice for that, sir.
I don't make no doubt that you could hold an A sharp till you
frighted the whole Abbey. And besides I always look out ;
I've got the habit in this house. Even the girl, she'll go and
stand at the window, as if the view was any matter to her ;
it's a thing as carries one away. But I don't hold with
leaving all open when the lights are lighted. Bless you, the
top windows in the street Avith a spyglass, or even with good
eyes like what I had when I was young, they could see in.'
'Much good it would do them,' said the Signor, sitting
down before his piano. And indeed it is quite true that as
he sat close to the window, relieved against the light of the
lamp within, there were eyes at the top windows opposite
which could catch with diificulty the outline of the Signer's
pale profile and black moustache. Some of the young ladies
in the shops would climb up occasionally and show that ex-
citing prospect to a friend. But it was an amusement which
174 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
palled after the first moment, and certainly did no harm to
the Signor.
' Rlaybe not much good, sir,' said old Pick, who always
Avould have the last word ; ' but it might do harm. You
never can tell what folks will say. The less they know the
more they'll talk ; and that's true all the world over ; though
I will say for the Abbey as it's as bad or Avorse than most
other ]:)laces.'
' Why should it be worse. Pick ? '
' I don't know, sir — unless it's the clergy and the cheva-
liers. You see, when gentlemen has little or nothing to do,
they're brought down to the level of the women, so far as
that goes — and as gentlemen always does things more
thorough than the Avomen Avhen they're once started, the
consequsnce nat'rally is — Leastways that's my notion of it,'
said Pick ; — * the women haven't the strength to start a real
talking as does harm. They tries hard — as hard as they
knows how — but bless you, in that as in most things they
wants a man to show 'em the way.'
' That is a new view, Pick. I thought if there was one
thing in which the ladies had the advantage of us '
' There ain't one thing, sir, not one. For my part, I can
tell in a minute a story as will hang together, a real crusher,
one as will drive folks distracted and ruin a family. You'll
never get that out of a woman's tongue. Nay, nay, they hasn't
the ibrce for it ; they're poor creatures at the best ; they can
make a person uncomfortable, but they can't do no more.
And when I say the Abbey's as bad or maybe worse, I
mean that the gentlemen has little to do, and they has to
amuse themselves the same as the women. That's what I
mean to say.'
The Signor gave a half attention to Pick's long speech
while he sat at his piano. All the time he was running over
his new composition with one hand, correcting a note here
and there, changinglTliarmony. ' 'Twas in the time of roses
— the time of roses, TTe hummed softly under his breath. But
the smile on his lip was for Pick, and he gave him a negligent
half attention, amused by his chatter, and by tlie peculiar
views he held forth. Pie looked up at him as Pick stopped,
singing with a little flourish in the accompaniment, which
meant satisfaction in liaving at last got the j^hrase to his
miud — ' 'Twaa in the time of roses— the time of roses '
THE MUSICIAN AT HOME. 175
Old Pick was not surprised by the iitterance of a sentiment
so foreign to his subject. He knew his master's ways, and lie
took a certain interest in his master's productions, such as old
servants often benevolently accord to the doings of their
' family.' He could not tell what folks saw in them — still, as
the Signer's productions, he looked upon them with kindly
toleration all the same.
' You may say, sir,' he cried, ' " the time o' roses" — that's
just the very tiling ; for, I dare say, but for that rose in his
button-hole, and the jaunty looks of him, a young girl
wouldn't have seen nothing in him. But I don't know
neither — women is the queerest things on the face of this
wliole earth. Flatter them, or make them think they're
bettering themselves, and there's notliing they won't do.'
' Who is it that Avears flowers in his button-hole ? ' said the
Signor. He wore them himself, and he was curious and
slightly excited, wondering if any gossip could by any chance
have got up about himself. The idea of such a thing kindled
him into interest; his right hand dropped oft" Irom the
piano, though with the other hand he kept softly sounding
notes in the bass, and he turned towards his old servant witli
a look of animation altogether new. What interest is there
like that with which one anticipates hearing something about
oneself?
But at this moment Purcell's steps were heard coming
quickly along the passage, and he came in with his head
erect, and his eyes gleaming, and pushed old Pick out of his
way. ' That will do. Pick,' he said, with a glimmer of im-
patience, ' that will do ! I will set things right for the master,
myself/
' What is the matter, boy ? '
' Matter or no matter, if you think Til leave it to the first
that comes to look after my master — ' said old Pick, standing
his ground. He would not yield ; he was very friendly in
general to Mr. John, and ready to do what he ordered, ])ut
there are limits to everything. He stood his ground steadily,
arranging and re-arranging the papers on the t;ible, while
young Purcell went ibrward to the Signor. The young
fellow put himself behind the musician, between him and the
window, and stooped to whisper in his car. His glowing
eyes, his eager aspect, made a great impression on the Signor,
who was very impressionable. He was possessed by some
17 G WITUIN THE PRECIXCTS.
new thought. ' jNIaster,' he said, breathless, I have a hundred
things to say to you. I have heard something new. I want
your advice, I want your help.' He was breathless, as if he
had been running a race, though all he had really done had
been to come along a few yards of passage. The Signor was
easily moved by the sight of emotion, and he was fond of his
proteje. ' Go, Pick,' he said immediately, ' and bring us
some tea.'
' Tea, sir ! ' said the old man in consternation. ' You
never takes it. If it's nothing but to get rid of old Pick, I'll
go. I'll go ; never fear but I'll go.'
' I want some tea,' said the Signor authoritatively ; ' foolish
old man, would you spoil my new song for want of a cup of
tea? Go to Mrs. Purcell, and tell her, with my compliments,
I want some of her special brew — the very best, as she used
to make it for me when I had headaches. Quick, my head
threatens to ache now. Well ! what is it, boy ? Has the
Queen sent for you to be the head of her orchestra, or is the
Dean coming to pay us a visit ? It must be something very
important to judge by your face.'
' Oh, sir,' cried young Purcell, ' what a heart you have !
making up a headache and a whole story to save old Pick's
feelings — and me that am really no better than he is, pushing
him out of the way ! '
' Nobody is any better than any other,' said the Signor in
his measured tones. ' I have tried to teach 3'ou so all your
life. But I will allow that some are worse than others,' he
added, with a smile. His disciple was too much occupied,
however, with the urgency of his own case to notice what he
said.
' Master,' said the young man, ' I have hurried back to tell
you I have changed my mind ; I will take the organ at Stur-
minster after ail.'
An almost imperceptible change came over the Signer's
face — that slight stifBening of the muscles of the moutli — con-
tinuance of the easy and genial smile of real satisfaction into
the forced and imcomfortable one of pretended equanimity — ■
which is the sign above all others of disappointment and dis-
pleasure, became visible in his face. ' Well ' he said
slowly ; ' why not — if you think it Avill be more to your ad-
vantage? After all, that is the grand test.'
* It is not that,' .said young Purcell, shrinking a little ;
THE MUSICIAN AT HOME. 177
'you can't think thiit I ■would leave you only for my advan-
tixge. No, master, it is not that. You must hear it all before
you judge.'
* Certainly,' said the Signor. He kept the same rigid smile
upon his face. ' And in the meantime here is old Pick with
the tea,' he added, * and we must drink it for the sake of his
feelings. What, Pick, is it made already 7 I don't think
your mother can be so careful as usual, boy, about her
brew.'
' I don't put no faith in tea that stands long to draw, sir,'
said Pick. ' I like it myself with all the scent in it. Water
as boils hard, and not a minute lost. That's my maxim. It's
fresh made with plenty of tea in, and Pll warrant it good.
Smell that,' he said, taking off the lid of the teapot. The
Signor listened to him quietly, taking no notice of Purcell's
impatience. He smiled on the old man and let him talk. He
was wounded and offended by his pupil's sudden change after
the decision of an hour ago; and though he had a great desire
to hear what reason could be given for this difference of feel-
ing, his annoyance and disgust at the change found expression
in this apparent carelessness of it. He kept Pick talking with
secret malice, while Purcell fretted. The young fellow did
not know how to contain himself He collected the music-
books that were on the piano, and put them back on the
shelves. Then he took them down arain : he shifted the
candles; he roamed from corner to corner, moving the chairs
about, throwing into disorder the things on the table : cow
and then he cast a piteous look at his master; but the Signor
sat, in serene malice sounding the bass notes in his accompani-
ment, fjutting artful questions to old Pickering, and leading
him on to talk. It was the old man himself at length who
brought the suspense to an end by recollecting something it
was necessary for him to do. ' They'd have kep' me there all
night,' he s;iid to Mrs. Purcell, with pretended impatience, as
he got back to the housekeeper's room, * Dear ! ' siiid Mrs.
Purcell, astonished ; she could not understand how the Signor
could waste time talking to old Pick at a moment so moment-
ous for her John.
When old Pickering was gone, the Signor still said nothing.
He turned to the piano and began to play ; he was like a
woman offended, who will not approach the subject on which
she is dying to be informed. At last Purcell, approaching
118 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
liunibly Avitli wistful eyes, ventured to put one hand lightly
upon his arm.
' jNIaster,' said the young man, ' let me speak to you. I
cannot do anything till I have spoken to you.'
' To me, boy ? Speak tlieu, as much as you please,' said
the Signor, nodding at him with an air of ingenuous wonder
while he rang out tlie end of the melody. ' 'Twas in the time
of roses,' he sang; then swinging himself round on his stool,
' You want to speak to me ? Why didn't you say so sooner ?
Speak then, I am all attention,' he said.
Then Purcell began, onco more bi'eathless Avith agitation
and excitement : ' I think there seems a chance for me, sir,'
he said; ' my mother has just been telling me. It is such a
chance as never may happen acrain. You know 1 love St.
^lichael's better than anything in the world — except one thing.
Master, she is in trouble; her home is about to be made im-
possible to her ; now or never ; if I had a home to offer her,
she might accept it. This is why I said I would take Stur-
minster. St. Ermengilde is more to my mind, a thousand
times more to my mind; and to be near you, to have the
benefit of your advice, that would be everything for me. But,
dear master,' said the young man, ' must 1 not think of her
first ? and here is a chance for me, perhaps the only chance I
may have in my life.'
' Has anything happened to IMiss Despard ? ' said the
Signer in great surprise. He recognised the justice of the
plea, and he listened with great interest and sympathy, and a
curious feeling which was neither sympathy nor interest.
Lottie was to the Signer a mysterious creature, exciting an
altogether different kind of feeling from that which he felt for
his pupil. Ho was almost sentimentally attached to his pupil,
and entered into the history and prospects of his love with an
enthusiasm quite unlike that with which a mature Englishman
generally interests himself in anybody's love affairs. But
along with this sentiment there existed another almost directly
op])Osite to it, an interest in Lottie as a lioing of a totally dif-
ferent class from Purcell, of whom it would bc^ profoundly
curious to know the history, and the means by which she
might pHrhaj)s l)e brought to look favourtdily on — nay, to
inarry — Purcell; which siemed to the Signer quite ' on the
cards." IIow she might be brov.ght to this, in what way she
would feconciio herself to be Piu-cell's wife ; how she would
TOUNG PUKCELL. 179
"bow a spirit, evidently so proud, to the young musician's
origin and to his ways of talking, which, though refined
enough, were still at the bottom those of a man whose mother
was ' in service : ' all this Avas captivating as a matter of study
to the Signer; he got, or expected to get, a great deal of
amusement out of it, expecting that Lottie's struggles in titling
herself ibr the position would be Avonderful enough . so that
his interest cannot be called entirely benevolent. But between
this keen and half-malign interest and the sentimental interest
he took in Purcell's ' happiness,' it may be imagined tliat the
crisis was nearly as exciting to him as it was to Purcell him-
self. He listened to the story with the warmest interest, and
agreed that there was nothing for it but to accept Sturmiuster.
* But you must not lose a day,' he said ; ' you must secure the
lady at once, there is not a moment to lose.'
' Secure? ' Purcell said, growing red and growing white;
* then you thiidc there is a hope, a — likelihood '
' Think ! I think there is an almost certainty ! ' cried the
■Signor. He became quite excited himself for the sake of his
pupil and lor his own sake, for the keen intellectual interest
he felt in this curious problem as to what Lottie would
do. ' You must go to-morrow,' he cried, with all the eager-
ness of a personal interest ; ' you must not lose a single
day.'
CHAPTER XVHL
VOUNG runcELL.
Next morning found young Purcell in a state of excitement
and nervous agitation still greater than that of the previous
night. He had not slept during the natural time for sleep,
and in consequence, according to the fashion of youth unac-
customed to watching, had fallen very fast and heavily asleep,
out of sheer iiitigue, in the morning, waking only with an in-
describable sense of giiilt to hear the bells ringing lor the
morning service in the Abbey. Such a thing had never hap-
pened to him before, and his shame and sense of wrong-doing
were more tlian reason. He jumped up in dismay, but eveu
the most hurried toilet could not get him in time; and his
n2
180 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
mother appeared at his door as he prepared to rusli out half-
dressed, preventing his exit. ' You wouldn't go out without
your breakfast ? ' she cried with horror. The virtuous and
carefully regulated life of the chorister and musical student^
trained iinder the Signer's eye and his mother's constant care,
had made a late morning and an omitted breakfast seem like
something criminal. Besides, a sense of the crisis had got
mto the air. The Signer had left an anxious message, begiring
liis protege not to huiTy himself, to take his time, and to keep
■up his courage. His mother kissed him wistfully, and served
him with a noble breakfast, as if he wanted strengthening in
the most material way, for the important piece of work before
him. Even old Pick looked at him Avith respectful curiosity
as at a man on the edge of a very serious step indeed, a curi-
osity mingled with awe and a little grim humour and admira-
tion. The boy was going to do what Pick had never had the
courage to do ; and though the old man thought the young
one a fool, and hugged himself on his superior wisdom, yet it
cannot be denied that he looked with a certain respect on the
bold youth who was about to make such a venture. He put
his breakfast on the table, not grudging the trouble, though
the Signer's breakfast had long been over, and he shook his
head behind Mr. John's chair. ' Take a good brealcfast, it
will do you a deal of good,' he said, as he left the hero of the
occasion. Purcell, though his mother was only the house-
keeper, was the sen of the house; he took his meals with the
master, though it was his mother who prepared their dishes in
the kitchen. It was a false position, perhaps, but he had not
yet found any trouble in it. He had been a little curly-headed
boy in the choir when IMrs. Purcell came first to take charge
of the Signor's house ; she had been the sole servant then, and
had scrubbed and brushed and cooked, diligently keeping
everything in order. Old Pickering had gone through the
same sort of training which had made John Purcell a gentle-
man. He, too, had been a chorister, and had progressed into
a lay-clerk, with possibilities of rising to something better.
But Pick was one of the imsuccessful ones; his voice failed
hitn, his scicTice never had been great, and a little after Mrs.
Purcell's advent he had come to the Signer also to be provided
for. The organist had a large heart and a somewhat indolent
temper; tlie easiest way to provide for the old singing-man
"Was to take him into his own household, and this was what
TOUXG PUnCELL. 181
}iaJ boon done. As for Pick, he had settled very easily into
his new phice, having been the son of the master of a little
tavern ; and though it cost him an effort to acknowledge the
little soprano, whose surplice he had put on so oltoii, in the
light of a young master, yet the effort was made. Pick wag
conscientious, he did not do anything by halves; and the first
time that the Signer's pupil Avas permitted to play the volun-
tary in the Abbey, the old man made his fellow-servants
jump, and gave the youth a ."<hock of mingled alarm and plea-
sure, by suddenly addressing him as Mr. John. Nobody had
expected such an heroic act of submission, but Pick knew his
place and all that was suitable in the circumstances. ' Him
as the Signor puts in his own place has a right to be respected,'
he said ; and he never Avavered in that noble self-abnegation,
nor let any one suppose that it was painful to him. All this
had happened long before the period of which we are writing ;
but what sensation, what emotion it had caused at the time !
Pick stood now, pausing behind the young musician's chair,
and lifted up his hands and shook his head. To think this
boy, whom he had, so to speak, brought up, should show so
much courage ! Pick himself had never made such a ven-
ture, nor even the Signor, who was the master of botli ; and
yet this boy was going to do it. The old man shook his head,
not knowing what might come of it; but in his heart he felt
a respect reaching to admiration, for the courage which was
so much beyond anything he had ever known.
Courage, however, was the last quality in Avhich, on this
particular morning, young Purcell could be said to excel. To
devote your life in secret to a beloved object; to dream of
her night and day ; to make impassioned resolutions, and
determine to win glory and wealth for her, is not so hard for
a fiiuciful youth ; but to go into her presence, look into the
face that dazzles you — confront the goddess of your distant
worship, and without any preliminaries to lead up to this
great step, and prepare her for it, quite off-hand and im-
lu-omptu ask her to marry you! This is a very different;
matter. The young man sat alone and tried to eat his break-
fast, trembling to think of Aviiat was before him. The cir-
cumstimces were such as to add tenfold to the natural tremors
of such a crisis. She was a lady, and far above him — not
rich indeed, nor occupying any very exalted position in
reality — but her dignity was very imposing to the young man,
lo2 V/ITIim THE PRECIXCTS.
•who had always recognised this grace of Avhat seemed to him
rank, as one of her particuhir charms. Purcell was painfully
aware that he himself had no right to the name of gentleman.
iMany a less worthy claimant has borne it, Avith no thougljt
that it was inappropriate, and Purcell had anxiously and jaain-
fully endeavoured to acquire all its outside appearances. He
knew, as well as any, how to behave himself in society, and
passed nauster very Avell among other young men. He was a
little over-anxious, perhaps, a little too fine in his language,
too deferential and polite, not sufficiently at his ease, to get
much enjoyment out of his social experiences; but this was a
fault on the right side. Notwithstanding his modest sense of
his own ' merits,' Purcell could not persuade himself that he
•was Lottie's equal. He kneAv he was not her equal. She
liad been as a star to him, far away and out of reach — and
though in the fervour of imaginative passion the hope of
Avinning her had seemed like heaven, yet the actual enterprise
of wooing her, Avhen l^rought thus close, seemed very appal-
ling indeed — a quest more dangerous and alarming than ever
knight errant set forth upon. His knees knocked together,
great beads of moisture came upon his forehead — how Avas he
to do it ? hoAV Avas he to present himself, to explain the hopes
Avhich, looked at thus in cold blood, appeared even to himself
impossible, not to say presumptuous in the highest degree?
HoAv Avas he CA-er, he asked himself, to make her aAvare what
he meant ? She would not understand him. She Avould think
he meant something else, anything else — rather than that he,
a poor musician, the son of the Signor's housekeeper, Avanted
to MARiiY her, the daughter of a gentleman. It Avould be im-
possible to make her understand him. This seemed the first
difficulty of all, and it Avas an appalling one. She Avould not
even know Avhat he meant. In this respect indeed Purcell
was mistaken, for Lottie already knew Avell enough Avhat AA-'ere
the hopes in his heart — resenting them highly as one of the
Avrongs of fate against her ; but this he had no Avay of knoAV-
ing. If he could but have got anyone to smooth the Avay for
him, to tell Avhat it Avas he Avanted to say, to set him a-going.
he thought he could find eloquence enough to carry him on — •
but how could he mnkit thiit premier pas P Tlius, Avhile the
lionsehold Avas all expectjmt, excited by AvhatAvas coming, Pur-
cell Far over his breakfast and trembled, too frightened to move
or think, though Avith a consciousness that this desperate step
YOUNG runcELL. 183
must be token. The Signor iti the Abbey, rolling foith me-
lodious thunders out ol" tl)e organ, kept thinking of him with ii
smile and a half sigh. Like Pick, he had a certain admiration
for the valour of the boy thus pushing forward before hhnself
into tlie mysteries of life ; but the Signor's thoughts were more
tender and less cynical than those of liis servant. He could
not help wondering how it was that in his own person he had
let all such chances slip. IIow was it ? As he Ibllowed his
pupil in imagination to the feet of his love, that young creature
.seemed very fair, very much to be desired. No doubt, to have
such a one by your side, sharing your liiewith you, would make
existence bear a very different appearance. Why Avas it hs had
never done what Purcell was going to to? This question
seemed to How into the music he was playing, and to go cir-
cling round and round the Abbey in the morning sunshine.
"Why? Life was endurable enough, a calm sort of routine,
Aviih now and then a pleasurable sensation in it, but nothing
more ; and no doubt it might have been made more of. The
Signor could not answer his own question. He did not want
to make himself the rivalof his pupil, or to do anything similar
to what young Purcell was doing. He had no wish to make
any violent change in life, which was well enough as it was.
But only it was odd that a simple fellow like John Purcell
should thus boldly have pushed before him into a completer
existence — very odd : the boy was bold. Whether he suc-
ceeded or not, bis very agitation and ardour had in them a
higher touch of emotion than any that had been in the life of
his master. He laughed Avithin himself at the boy's temerity
— but the laugh was mingled with a sigh.
And jMrs. Purcell, for her part, was in high excitement,
longing for her boy to be gone on his errand, longing for him
to be back again. That her John should marry a lady Avas
the climax of grandeur and happiness. To be sure, it ought
to have been a rich lady or great lady. He deser\'ed a prin-
cess, his mother felt. Still, as things Avere, it Avas a kind of
intoxication to think even of the daughter of a Chevalier.
Why did he linger, as if breakfast Avas Avorth thinking of?
She listened for every sound, for the door shutting, for his
step in the hall, and Avas very cross Avhen Maryanne made a
noise, so that she could not hear Avhat Avas going on upst^iirs.
As ibr old Pick, he brushed Mr. John's hat Avith a grim
smile on his face, and hung about the hall to Avatch him go
out.
181 WITHIN THE PRFXINCT3.
* The young un's o(F at last,' lie said Avitli a chuckle, march-
ing into the kitchen : when just before the end of the service
in the Abbey, when all the air about was ringing with the
echo of the Aniens, Purcell at last screwed his courage to the
sticking-point, and went out, to meet his fate.
Poor young fellow, he could not have been more alarmed
had he gone to face a lion instead of a lady. The lion would
have been nothing. He would have called out for succour,
and used whatever weapons he could lay hold of; but nobody
could help him with Lottie — no shield would cover him from
the lightnings of her eyes. It was all embarrassing, all ter-
rible ; even if by any chance things should turn out in his
i'avour, he did not know what he should do. What could he
call her? Not Lottie, that was too familiar. Not Miss
Despard. All these different and disjointed thoughts seemed
to float about his head in the maze of excitement he was in —
he was past thinking, but such questions kept floating in and
out of his mind. It was the most extraordinary relief when,
going to the door of Captain Despard's house, he found that
Lottie was out. If she had been there, it seemed to Purcell
that he would have run away — but she was not there. He
asked when she was expected back, and went on, recovering
his breath. He could not go home again, where presently the
Signer would come from the Abbey and question him. The
service, however, was not so nearly over as he thought. It
was a saint's day, and there was a sermon. The precincts
were very still and deserted, for most people were at church.
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, sitting at her Avindow, saw the young
musician Avalk across the broad silent sunshine, but he did not
see her. He went up the Dean's Walk, hearing his own step
echo through the silence, and past the Deanery, and out upon
the slopes beyond. It was shady and SAvcjet under the trees,
which rose up close against the old wall — and all was very
quiet during the time of matins, though the town went ou
with its usual hum down below at the foot of the hill. Purcell
began to recover himself a little and take breath as he came
to this shelter and refuge. Many a time had he strayed under
these trees, thinking of her, wondering if he ever might be
able to approach her. It was strange to be here, however, in
the morning, the hour of work and engagements, which he
never had to liimself, and to hear the far-off sound of the organ
pealing out after the sermon was over. All the common oc-
YOUNG rURCELL. 185
cupalions of life seemed to be suspended for Purcell. He felt
as ordinary men feel on an occasional stolen Sunday,, wlien
Avork is suspended, and the duty of church-going put aside.
All was so sweet, and serene, and still — no one to disturb his
thoughts: the sound of the organ in the distance keeping him
aware of the fact that he was singularly, unprecedentedly
liberated from his usual occupations: and the tremor of agita-
tion dying away into an excitement Avhich was more bearable,
which left room for all the sweeter musings, of which she was
the centre. He sat down on the root of a tree, and let him-
self breathe. Then came the first notes of the voluntary, and
a distant hum as of the congregation dispersing. Few people
were likely to come here at this hour in the morning, but still
Purcell felt that he had but a moment in which to indulge
himself, and that soon he must turn back.
As he sat thus trying to collect himself, a sudden sound
close by, the rustle of a dress among the bushes, the soft sound
of a footstep caught his ear. He looked up — and his heart
jumped into his throat. 'I'here She stood belbre him, a little
basket in her hand. There was a by-Avay into the town by
the slopes, and Lottie had been about her marketing. She
was in her usual simple morning frock, clean print and no-
thing more, and thoiitjh her head was sufficiently full of
dreams and her mind of anxieties, she was at present lingering
upon neither, but going straight from one place to another, as
became the active morning hour and the consciousness of vari-
ous things to do. When she saw Purcell spring to his feet
suddenly in tlie midst of the path, for the moment Lottie was
startled. She made him a little gracious but indifferent sign
of recognition, as courtesy required — for ridiculous as were
the notions in his head, she could not be rude to him — and
was passing on, not wanting any further parley, when she was
struck by the agitation in his face. lie was staring at her as
if she had been a ghost — his mouth was open, his breath com-
ing quick, his colour changing. Excitement did not improve
his appearance. She had almost laughed, then checked herself
remorsefully, and became so much the more sympathetic for
her temporary movement of mirth.
' Is there anything the matter? ' she said kindly. ' I am
afraid you are ill. Has anything — gone wrong?' She did
not know what to say, he looked at her with such solemn
eyes.
186 AVITIIIX THE PRECINCTS.
' Oh, nothing — nothing lias gone wi-ong. I am not ill.
Miss Despard — I did not expect to see you here.'
* Xo — but I hope it is not I who have frightened you,*
said Lottie. ' I sometimes go to the Bridge Road this way.'
' You have not frightened me,' said Purcell, w^ho found it
easier to repeat her words than to say anything original ; ' but
I — did not know you went this way.'
It was all that Lottie could do, once more, to keep herself
from laughing. She gave him a little nod, and was about to
pass, saying, ' Wliat a lovely morning it is ! ' the stereotyped
English remark ; when he made a hurried step after her, and,
holding up his hands, entreated her, in a piteous voice, to stay
a moment. ' Miss Despard — what startled me was that I was
looking for you. Oh, stay a moment, and let me speak to
you ! ' he said.
Lottie stood still, arrested in her progress, throwing a won-
dering look upon him. What could he want witli her ? Her
iirst glance was simple surprise — her second — "Was it possible
he could mean that 1 — could he be bold enough, rash enough ?
Next moment she blushed for her own folly. To be afraid of
yoimg Purcell ! That was foolishness indeed. She stood
still there, one foot put out to go on, her basket in her
hand.
' Please say what it is, ]\L-. Purcell. I have got something
to do. I ought to be at home.'
The morning is not the moment for a love tale. Plow miich
more congenial would have been the evening, the twilight, the
subdued jioetic hour, after the sun had disappeared, that great
busybody who shoAvs every imperfection, and is himself so
perpetually moving on ! Something to do was in every line
of Lottie's energetic figure. She had no time for lingering,
nor wish to linger. ' Please say what it is.' Only business
should be treated in this summary way, not love.
' jNIiss Desjtard,' said the yoTing musician, whose limbs
Avere trembling under him, ' I wanted to say a great deal to
you; it is very important — for me. Things are going well
Avith me,' he added, with desperation, after a momentary pause.
'I liave been appointed to a churcli — a fine church — with a
good instrument. They are to give me a good salary, and they
R;iy I can have as much teaching as I like. I shall be very
well of}-.'
' I am glad to hear you are so fortunate,' siiid Lottie. Her
YOUNG PUnCELL. 187
eyes "were full of .surprise, and fur a moment there was a
gleam ot amusement in them. That he shovikl waylay her to
tell her this, seemed a curious piece of ostentation or folly.
* I am very glad,' she repeated ; ' but you must forgive me
if I have to hasten home, lor I have a great many things
to do.'
' One moment,' he said, putting out his hand to stop her.
' That was not all. The Signor thinks — you know the iSignor,
JMiss Despard, there is not a better musician in the country —
lie thinks I Avill make progress. He thinks I may rise — as
high as anyone can rise in our profession. He tells me I may
be a rich man yet before I die.'
' Indeed, I hope all he says will come true,' said Lottie;
* but why you should take the trouble to tell me '
Then suddenly she caught his eye, and stopped short, and
blushed an angry red. She saw Avhat Avas coming in a mo-
ment, which did not, however, pi-event her from drawing hei-
self up with a great deal of dignity, and adding, ' I don't know
•what ycu mean.'
' l\Iiss Despard,' he said with a gasp, ' there is no compari-
son between me and you. But you are not so well off — not
happy. They say — you know how people Avill talk — that
there is something going to happen that will make you very
uncomfortable.'
' Stop ! ' she said, with an involuntary cr}', half of anger,
half of amazement. Then she laughed. 'Do you want me
to acknowledge that you are much better off than I am? ' ^he
said; ' but there is no need to compare you with me.'
' It could not be done, Mi-ss Lottie. 1 know it could not
be done. You are a lady, and iar above me. 1 know I am
not your equal — in some things.'
Lottie began to be too angry to laugh, but yet slie was
provoked to ridicule, which is the keenest of weapons. She
made him a little mocking curtsey. ' It is very kind of you
to say so, I am sure, for Ave are quite poor people, Mr.
Purcell ; not fortunate, and getting on in the world like
you.'
'No, ]\Iiss Despard,' he said, simply, ' that was just what
I wanted to sjiy. If you had been as well off as I could wish,
I should not have ventured to say anything I have alway
loved you, and thought of you above all the world. Since
you lirst came to St. Alichael's, I have never thought of any
a
188 WITHIN THE PRECIXCTS.
one but you. It has been my hope that some time or other I
might be able to — but it was only just yesterday that I heard
Bomething that made me settle — two things ■'
She did not speak, being, indeed, too angry and annoyed
for speech ; but she felt a kind of contemptuous, wrathful in-
terest in what he was saying, and curiosity to know what it
was that had induced him to make this venture ; and, accord-
ingly, gave him a glance, in which there was an impatient
question. Purcell was not too discriminating. lie felt en-
couraged by being listened to, from whatsoever motive.
' Two things,' he said, with stolid steadiness, ' One, to
take Sturminster. I had settled before I would not take it,
but St. Ermengilde's. But when I heard that, I changed my
mind, though it did not please the Signer. Sturminster will
make me independent; it will give me a home. And then I
settled to tell you, Miss Lottie : if you are uncomfortable at
home, if you don't like things that may be going to happen :
to tell you that there's another home ready for you, if you will
have it; a home that may be made very comfortable ; a place
of your own, to do what you like with, that Avill be Availing
'for you, whenever you please, at a moment's notice, the sooner
the better. If you would say yes, I would go directly, I would
go to-morrow, and prepare ; and nobody would be able to
give you troul)le or m;d<e you uncomfortable any longer.
Only say the word, and there is nothing, nothing I would not
do '
Lottie stood and gazed at him, wondering, bitterly ashamed
and humiliated, and yet not without a sense that so much
simple devotion was worth more than to be crushed, or
scorned, or flung from her, as she wished to fling it. She re-
strained herself with an effort. ' What do you mean?' she
paid. ' Is it possible that you are asking me to marry you,
JNIr. Purcell ? That cannot be what you mean.'
' What else could it be ? ' he said, turning on her a look of
genuine eurprisje. ' You don't suppose, Miss Despard, that I
■could be thinking of anything else? '
llis checks grew crimson, and so did hers. A cry of anger
and shame and confusion came from her breast. She stamped
her foot impatiently on the ground. ' You would never, never
■have ventured to ask me, never, if I had not been helpless and
■iriendless and poor ! '
* No,' he said again, with a simplicity in which she could
YOUNG PURCELL. 189
not help feeling a certain nobleness. ' I would not have ven-
tured, for I am not -what you call a gentleman ; but when I
heard you were in trouble, I could not keep silent. I thought
to myself, Miss Lottie shall not be luihappy because of having
no home to go to '
' Oh ! ' said Lottie, putting out her hand to stop him.
She could not bear any more. Her heart was sick with the
mortification of such a suit. She could have crushed and
trampled upon her humble lover, in rage and shame, and yet
she could not but see the generosity and truth in his heart.
If he had been less worthy, it would have been less hard upon
her. ' It is not a thing that can be,' she cried hastily. * Oh,
don't say another word. I know you are kind, but it is not a
thing that can be.'
' Not now ? ' he said, looking at her wistfully ; ' well : but
perhaps another time ? perhaps when you need it more — I am
not in any hurry. Perhaps I am young to marry ; the Signer
thinks so. But another time. Miss Lottie ? Whenever you
want me, you have but to say the word.'
' Oh, don't think of it. I will never, never say the word.
Forget it altogether, Mr. Purcell. I am very, very much
obliged to you, but indeed it can never be.'
The young man's countenance fell. Then he recovered
himself. ' I can't think you are taking everything into con-
sideration. "We should have a nice home, plenty of every-
thing, and I should never spare trouble to give you everything
you were used to ' '
* Oh, go away, go away ! ' she cried.
And as they stood there, someone else, hia shadow slowly
moving before him, came round the corner of the pathway,
among the chestnut-trees ; and Purcell felt that his opportu-
nity was over. He was not sony for it. He had done what
was set before him, and if he had not succeeded, he was not
discouraged. There was still hope for another time.
190 WITHIN thp: precincts,
CHAPTER XIX.
BUSINESS, OK LOVE ?
It was not only in the mind of yoiing Purcell that Lottie's
circumstances and prospects were the subject of thought.
Kollo Ridsdale had not watched and worsliipped as the young
musician had done. Nor had he, even on his first introduction
to her, looked upon Lottie as anything but the possessor of a
beautiful voice, of which use might be made, for her benefit
no doubt in the long run, but primarily for his own. She
was not a divinity ; she was not even a woman ; she was a
valuable stock-in-trade, a most important implement with
which to work. Eollo had gone through a very effectual
training in this kind. He had run through the little money
he possessed so soon, and had learned the use of his wits so
e-arly, that the most energetic of tradesmen was not more
alive to all the charms of gain than he. The means, per-
haps, may be of a different kind, but it does not very much
matter in principle Avhether a man is trained to sharji bargains
in bric-a-brac or in cotton bales ; and it is not essentially a
loftier trade to speculate in pictures and china than in shares
and stock. This young aristocrat had kept his eyes very wide
open to anything that might come in his way. He was not a
director of companies, chiefly because his poor little Honour-
able was not a sufficiently valuable possession to be traded
upon, though it had some small value pecuniarily. Lord
Courtland himself might indeed have made a few hundreds a
year out of his title, but to his second son the name was not
worth so much. It secured him some advantages. It gave
him the entree to places where things were to be ' picked up,'
and it helped him to puff and even to dispose of the wares
which he might have in hand. It kept him afloat; it
ameliorated poverty ; it took away all objections to the sale
and barter in which, profitably or iniprofitably, he spent so
much of his life. Had he gone upon the Stock Exchange,
society might have made comments upon the strange neces-
.sity ; but when Rollo's collection of ohjeis cVart was sold,
nohoflv found anything to ol)ject to in the transaction, which
put a co'iifortable sum in his pocket, and enabled him to go
fortli to uesh fields and pastures new; neither was there any-
BUSINESS, OR LOVE? 191
thing iinbecominp; his nobility in tlio enterprise -which lie had
now in hand. Theatres are not generally a very ilourishing
branch of commerce ; yet it cannot be denied that those who
ruin themselves by them embark in the enterprise with as
warm an inclination towards gain as any shopkeeper could
boast of. Rollo had thought of Lottie's voice as something
quite distinct from any personality. It was a commodity he
would like to buy, as he would have liked to buy a picture,
or anything rare and beautiful, of which he could be sure
that he Avould get more than his own money for it. In that,
as in other things, he would have bought in the chea])est
market and sold in the dearest. He would have thought it
only right and natural to secure at a low rate the early services
of a prima donna. A certain amount of enthusiasm no doubt
mingled with the business ; just as, had Kollo bought a pic-
ture and sold it again, he would have derived a considerable
amount of enjoyment from it over and above the profit which
went into his pocket ; but still he would not have bought the
picture, or sought out the future prima donna, on any less ur-
gent and straightforward stimulus than that of gain. Probably,
too, the artistic temperament — those characteristics which
have to answer for so many things — inilui'uced him more in
the pursuit of the talent which was to make his fortune, than
any man is ever influenced by bales of cotton or railway
shares. To hear that ' .shirtiugs are firm ' does not thrill the
heart; as it does to hear the melody of a lovely new voice,
which you feel will pay you nobly by transporting the rest
of the Avord as it does yourself. Neither could any amount
of coupons fill you Avith delight like that small scrap of a
Bellini by which you hope to faire fortune. But, neverthe-
1( ss, to make his fortune was what Rollo thought of just as
much as the man who sells dusters over his counter. If a
new kind of duster could be found more efficacious than any
previously known, a sonu-tliing that would dust by itself, that
would sell by the million, no doubt the shopkeeper, too,
would feel a moment's enthusiasm ; yet in this he would be
quite inferior to the inventor of a new prima donna, who,
added to his enjoyment of all that the public gave to hear
her, would have the same enjoyment as had the public, with-
out giving anything for it at all.
This had been the simple enthusiasm in Rollo's mind up
to the last meeting with Lottie Despard. He had pursued
192 WITHIN THE rRECINCTS.
her closely that he might fully understand and know all the
qualities of her voice — of the slave he wanted to buy : to
know exactly what training it would want, and how much
would have to be done to it before it could appear before the
public, and begin to pay back what he had given for it.
And point by point, as he pursued this quest of his, he had
noted in her the qualities of beauty, the grace, the expression,
the perfection of form and feature, which were so many
additional advantages. The rush of colour to her cheek, of
spirit or softness to her eyes, had delighted him, as proving
in her the poAver to be an actress as Avell as a singer. He
studied all her looks, interpreted her character to himself, and
watched her movements with this end, with a frank indif-
ference to every other, not even thinking what interpretation
might be put, what interpretation she might herself jiut, upon
this close and anxious attention. It was not till the evening
■when, overcome by the feelings which music and excitement
had roused in her, Lottie had fled alone to her home, avoiding
his escort, that he had suddenly awoke to the consciousness
that it was no mere voice, but a young and beautiful woman,
with whom he was dealing. The awakening gave him a
shock — yet there was pleasure in it, and a flattering con-
sciousness that his prima donna had all along been regarding
him in no abstract, but an entirely individual, way. Kollo
had been brought up among artificial sentiments. He had
been used to hear people talk of the effect of music upon their
imagination — of the sensations it gave them, and the manner
in which they were dominated by it. But he had never seen
anyone honestly moved like Lottie — abandoning the sphere
of her social success, silent in the height of her triumph.
"When he saw that she could not and would not sing ac;ain
after that wonderful sacred song, he was himself more vividly
impressed than he had ever been by music. It took her
voice from her, and her breath — transported her out of her-
self. How strange it was, yet how real, how natural ! just
(when you came to think of it) as a pure and elevated mind
ought to be touched : though he had never yet seen the
fumes of art get so completely into any head before. The
reality of Lottie's emotion had awakened Hollo. He was
not touched himselfby Handel, but he was touched by Lottie.
He suddenly saw her through the mist of his own precon-
ceived ideas?, and through thecluud of conventionalities, those
BUSINESS, OR LOVE? 195
of art and those of" society alike. Never in his life before
had he so suddenly and distinctly come in contact with a
genuine human creature, as God had made her — feelinjr,
moving, living according to the dictates of nature, not as
she had been trained to live and feel. This is not to say
that he had met with no geniiine people in his life. His
father and mother were real enough, and so was his aunt,
Lady Caroline — very real, each in his or her little setting
of conveniences and necessities. He knew them, and was
quite indifferent to knowing them. But Lottie was alto-
gether detached from the atmosphere in which these good
people lived. And he had discovered her suddenly, making
acquaintance with her in a moment — finding her out as an
astronomer, all alone with the crowds of heaven, finds out a
new star. This was how it made so great an impression on
him. He had discovered her, standing quite alone among all
the women who knew how to express and to control their
emotions. She Avas not trained either to one or the other.
The emotion, the enthusiasm in her got the upper hand of
her, not she of them. A man Avho is only used to men and
women in the secondary stages of well-sustained emotion is
apt to be doubly impressed by the sight of genuine and artless
passion, of whatever kind it may be. He went to town
thinking not of the prima donna he had found, but of the
woman who had suddenly made heaven and earth real to him,
as they were to her. He posted up to London — that is, he
flew thither in the express train, according to the dictates of
his first impulse ; but he Avas so entirely carried away by this
second one, that he had almost forgotten his primary purpose
altogether. ' Ah ! that is it,' he said to himself when the
prima donna idea once more flashed across his mind. He did
not want to lose sight of this, or to be negligent of anything
that would help to make his fortune.
Kollo was in the greatest need of having his fortune made.
He had nothing except very expensive habits. He was obliged
to spend a great deal of money in order to live, and he was
obliged to live (or so, at least, he thought) ; and he had no
money at all. Therefore a prima donna or something else
was absolutely necessary. Accordingly he wound himself up
with great energy, and tried to think no more ofthat other world
which Lottie's touch had plunged him into. In the mean-
time, in this world of theatres, drawing-rooms, and fashionable
194 -WITniN THE PRECINCTS.
coteries, where people are compelled to live, whether they will
or not, at an enormous cost in money, and where accordingly
money must be hunted wherever scent of it can be found, it
Avas necessary that someone, or something, should make Rollo
liidsdale's fortune. He rushed to his impresario, and roused
a faint enthusiasm momentarily in the mind of that man of
great undertakings. An English prima donna, a native ar-
ticle, about whom the English would go wild ! Yes ! But
would they go wild over an English prima donna ? Would
not the first step be, ere she was presented to the public at all,
to fit her with an Italian name ? Signorina Carlotta Desparda
• — that was what she would have to be called. The impre-
sario shook his head. * And besides, these native articles
never turn out what we are led to expect,' he said. He
shook his head ; he was sorry, very sorry, to disappoint his
confrere, but ■
' But — I tell you, you never heard such a voice ; the
compass of it — the sweetness of it ! simpatica beyond what
words can say — fresh as a lark's — up to anything you can put
before her — and with such power of expression. We shall be
fools, utter fools, if we neglect such a chance.'
' You are very warm,' said the IVIanager, rubbing his
hands. ' She is pretty, I suppose ? '
' No,' said Eol ; ' she is beautiful — and with the carriage
of a queen.' (Poor Lottie, in her white frock ; how little
she knew that there was anything queenlike about her !)
' Come down and see her. That is all I ask of you. Come
and hear her '
' Where may that be ? ' said the Manager. * I am leaving
town on Monday. Can't we have her up to your rooms, or
somewhere at hand ? '
' My rooms ! ' said Eollo, thunderstruck. He knew very
little aboiit Lottie, except that she was a poor Chevalier's
daughter ; but he felt that he could have as easily invited
one of the Princesses to come and sing in his rooms, that the
representatives of the ncAv opera company might judge of her
gilts. His face grew so long that his colleague laughed.
' Is she a personage then, Kidsdale ? Is she one of your
great friends ? ' he said.
' She is one of my — friends ; but she is not a great per-
sonage,' said Eollo, gloomily, pulling the little peaked beard
which he cultivated, and thinking that it would be as diflicult
BUSINESS, OR LOVE? 195
to get his manager invited to the Deanery as it would be to
bring Lottie to Jermyn Street. These were diificulties which
he had not foreseen. He went over the circiunstances hur-
riedly, trying to think what he could do. Could he venture
to go in suddenly to the Chevalier's lodge, as he had done
with Lady Caroline's credentials in his pocket, but this time
without any credentials, and introduce his companion, and
without further ceremony proceed to test the powers of the
girl, who he knew was not always compliant nor to be reckoned
on? What if she should decline to be tried? What if she
had no intention of becoming a singer at all ? What if the
Manager should condemn her voice as untrained (which it
was), or even mistake it altogether, mixing it up with the
cracked tones of the old piano, and the jingle of the Abbey
bells? He had not thought of all these difficulties before.
He had not taken tiiue to ask if Lottie would be docile, if
Lady Caroline would be complaisant. He pulled his beard,
his face growing longer and longer. At last he said, —
' I'll tell you what we can do. We can go to JNIrs.
O'Shaughnessy '
' Who on earth is Mrs. O'Shaughnessy ? ' said the
^Manager.
' But very likely there is no piano there ? You see, this
is a difficulty I did not think of. I have heard this lady only
in the house of — one ol' my relations, a very rigid old person,
who hates theatres, and thinks opera an invention of the
devil.' How Rollo dared slander poor Lady Caroline so, who
liked an opera-box as well as anyone else, it is impossible
to say.
' Well — it doesn't seem to matter much what are the
qualities of the voice if Ave can't hear it,' the Manager said
carelessly ; and he told his fashionable partner of the singer
he had heard of in Milan, who was to distance all the sinaers
then on the operatic stage. ' They are all like that,' he said —
* like this private nightingale of yours, Ridsdale — till you hear
them ; and then they turn out to be very much like the rest.
To tell the truth, I am not so very sorry this particular joro/^v/e'e
of yours has broken down ; for I don't believe the time has
come for an English prima donna, if it ever comes. We've
got no confidence in ourselves, so far as art goes — especially
musical art. English opera, sir ; there's many fine pieces, but
you'll never keep it up in England. It might make a hit,
o2
196 WITHIN THE FKECINCTS.
perhaps, in Germany, or even France, but not here. Your
English prima donna Avculd be considered fit for the music
halls. We'd have to dress her up in vowels, and turn her
into an Italian. Contemptible ? Oh, yes, it's contemptible ;
but, if we're tc make our own money out of it, we mustn't
trouble ourselves abcut what's contemptible. What we've gf)t
to do is to please the public. I'm just as glad that this idea
of yours has broken down.'
' Broken down ! I will never allow it has broken down.
It is much easier and pleasanter, of course, to go to Milan
than to go to St. INIichael's,' said RoUo disdainfully. ' But
never mind ; if you don't start till Monday, trust me to ar-
range it somehow. Your new Milanese, of course, will be
like all the rest. She will have been brought up to it. She
will know how to do one thing, and no more ; but this is
genius — owing nothing to education and everything to nature.
Capable of — I could not say what such a voice and such a
woman is not capable of '
' Bravo, Ridsdale ! ' said his partner. ' She is capable of
stirring you up thoroughly, that is clear — and I hope she will
be kind to you,' he said, with a big laugh, full of insinuations.
The man was vulgar and fat, but a mountain of energy, and
Eollo, though disgusted, could not afford to quarrel with him.
' You are entirely out in your notion,' he said, with that
air of dignity which is apt to look fictitious in such cu-cum-
stances. He was not himself easily shocked, nor would this
interpretation of his motives have appeared to him at all un-
likely in the case of another man ; therefore, as was natural,
his gravity and look of disgust only confirmed the suspicions
of the other, and amused him the more.
' Bravo, my boy ; go in and win ! ' he said, chuckling ;
' promise whatever you like, if you find it necessary, and trust
to me to back you up.'
To .say ' I am unable to understand what you mean,' as
liollo did, with cold displeasure, yet consciousness, did but
increase the ecstacy of the fat Manager over the evident fact
that his fastidious friend was * caught at last.'
Kollo went away with a great deal of offended dignity,
holding himself stiffly erect, body and soul. He had never
been so entirely disgusted, revolted, by the coarse character
of the ideas and insinuations, Avhich in themselves were not
particularly novel, he was aware. It was because everything
BUSINESS, OR LOVE? 197
grew coarse under the touch of such a fellow as this, he said
to himself ; and it must be allowed that vice, stripped of all
sentiment and adornment, was a disgusting spectacle. Rollo
had never been a vicious man. He had taken it calmly in
others, acknowledging that, if they liked it, he had no right
to interfere ; but he had not cared for it much himself— he
was not a man of passions. A dilettante generally does avoid
these coarser snares of humanity ; and there had always been
a sense of nausea in his mind when he was brought in con-
tact with the vicious. But this nausea had been more physical
than spiritual. It was not virtue but temperament which
produced it; his own temptations were not in this kind.
Nevertheless, he knew that to show any exaggerated i'eeling
on the subject would only expose him to laughter, and he was
not courageous enough either to blame warmly in others, or
to decry strenuously in himself, the existence of unlawful
bonds. What did it matter to anybody if he were virtuous !
his neighbours were not on that account to be baulked of their
cakes and ale ; his disinclination towards sins of the grosser
kind was not a thing he was proud of — it was a constitu-
tional peculiarity, like inability to ascend heights or to go to
sea Avitliout suffering. He Avas not at all sure that it was not
a sign of weakness — a thing to be kept out of sight. Accord-
ingly he took his part in the social gossip which has no
warmer interest than this, like everybody else, never pretended
to any superiority, and took it for granted that now and then
evcryliody ' Avent wrong.' He would have been a monster if
he had done anything else. Why, even his good aunt Caro-
line — the best and stupidest of women, to whom, if she had
desired it, no opportunity of going wrong had ever presented
itself — liked to hear tiiese stories and believed them im-
plicitly, and was convinced that not to go wrong was quite
exceptional. Rollo was not the man to emancipate himself
from such a complete and universal understanding. He
allowed it calmly, and did not pretend either to disapprove or
to doubt. Probably he had himself coldly, and as a matter
of course, ' gone wrong ' too in his day, and certainly he had
never given himself out as at all better than his neighl)0urs.
Was it only the coarseness of his vulgar associate which made
the suggestion so deeply disgusting to him now ?
He asked himself this question as, disappointed and an-
noyed, he left the Manager's ostentatious rooms; and a new
li)8 -WITHIN TKi: PRECINCTS.
sense o£ unkindness, ungenerosity, unmanliness in having
exposed a harmless person, a -woman whose reputation should
be sacred, to such animadversions, suddenly came into his
mind, he could not tell how. This view of the matter had
never occurred to Kollo beibre. The women he had heard
discussed — and he had heard almost everybody discussed,
from the highest to the lowest — had nothing sacred about
them to the laughing gossips who discussed all they had done,
or might have done, or might be going to do. This, too, Avas
a new idea to him. Who was there whom he had not heard
spoken of? ladies a thousand times more important than Miss
Despard, the poor Chevalier's daughter at St. Michael's — and
nobody liad seemed to think there was any harm in it. A
man's duty not to let a woman be lightly spoken of ? Pooh !
What an exnggerated sentimental piece of nonsense ! Why
should not women take their chance, like anyone else ? Itollo
was like most other persons when in a mental diflicvdty
of this kind. He was not so much discussing with himself
as he was the arena of a discussion which unseen arguers
were holding within him. While one of these uttered this
Pooh I another replied, with a heat and fervour altogether
unknown to the clubs, What had Lottie Despard done to
subject herself to these suggestions? she who knew nothing
about society and its evil thoughts — she who had it in her to
be uplifted and transported by the music at which these other
people, at the best, Avould clap their hands and applaud. The
argument in Kollo's mind went all against himself and his
class. lie hated not only his manager-partner, whom it Avas
perfectly right and natural to hate, but himself and all the
rest of his kind. He was so much disgusted, that he almost
made up his mind to let fortune and the English prima donna
go together, and to take no further step to make the girl
known to those who were so incapable of appreciating her.
But when he came at length, Polio had reached the end of
his tether, struck against the uttermost limits of his horizon
— and thus was hrouglit back suddenly to the question how
he was best to make his ])rizc known.
AN UNCONSCIOUS TKIAL. 199
CHAPTER XX.
AN UNCONSCIOUS TRIAL.
It turned out, liowevcr, that Rollo could not accomplish the
object, which he had aimed at Avith so much eagerness and
hope, in the only legitimate Avay. lie could not get his
]Manager invited to the Deanery. ' I don't think your aunt
■would like it; I don't think I could sanction it,' the Dean
Slid, whom he met at his club. Unfortunately the Dean had
somewhere encountered the partner by whose aid Rollo ex-
pected to make his ibrtune, and he made it the subject of a
little discourse Avhich Kollo received with impatience. ' 1 would
have nothimx to do with him if I were you,' his Reverence
said; ' he is not a kind of man to be any credit to his asso-
ciates. You can't touch pitch without being defiled. I Avould
not have anything to say to him if I w^ere you.'
' Nor should I, uncle, if I Avere you,' said Rollo, Avith a
rueful smile. He Avas not aAvare that this Avas not original;
he Avas not thinking, indeed, of originality, but of the emer-
gency, Avhich he fielt Avas very difficult to deal with.
' Nonsense ! ' said the Dean ; * don't tell me there are not
a great many better occupations going than that of managing
a theatre '
' Opera — opera. Give us oui- due at least
' What diller(!nce is there ? ' said the Dean sternly. ' The
opera has ruined just as many men as the theatre. Talk of
making your fortime ? Did you ever hear of the lessee of a
theatre making a fortune? Plenty have been ruined by it,
and never one made rich that I ever heard of. "Why can't you
go into diplomacy or to a public office, or get your uncle
Urban to give you something ? You ought not to have any-
thing to do Avith such a A^enture as this,'
'My dear uncle,' said Rollo, ' you knoAv Avell enough hoAV
many things I have tried. Uncles are very kind (as in your
case), but they can't take all their relations upon their shoul-
ders ; and you kncAV this Avas Avhat I Avas doing, and aunt
Caroline knew '
*Ah! yes; I recollect that Avas Avhat all the singing Avas
about; but she could not stand that Manager fellow. 1 could
not stand him myself; as for your aunt, you could not expect
200 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
it. She is very good-natured, but you could not ask her to
go so far as that.'
' He is a man who goes everywhere,' said RoUo ; ' he is a,
man who can behave himself perfectly well wherever ha is.'
* Oh, bless you, she would see through him at a glance ! '
cried the Dean. ' I don't mean to say your aimt is clever^
Rollo, but instinct goes a long way. She would see through
him. Miss Despard was quite different; she Avas perfectly
comiiie il faut. Girls are wonderful sometimes in that way.
Though they may have no advantages, they seem to pick wp
and look just as good as anyone : whereas a man like
that By the Avay, I am very sorry for the poor thing.
They say her father, a disreputable sort of gay man who never
should have got the appointment, is going to marry some low
woman. It will be hard upon the girl.'
What an opportunity was this of seizing hold upon her —
of overcoming any objection that might arise! Hollo felt
himself Lottie's best friend as he heard of this complication.
While she might help to make his fortune he could make her
independent, above the power of any disreputable father 07
undesirable home. lie could not bear to think that such a
girl should be lost in conditions so Avretched, and, though the
Dean Avas obdurate, he did not lose hope. But between
Thursday and INIonday is not a very long time for such nego-
tiations, and the Manager was entirely preoccupied by his
Milanese, whom another impresario was said to be on the
track of, and in whom various connoisseurs Avere interested.
It is impossible to describe the scorn and incredulity with
which Rollo himself heard his partner's account of this new
singer. He put not the sliglitost faith in her.
* I know liow she Avill turn out,' he said. ' She Avill shriek
like a peacock ; she Avill have to be taught her oAvn langiurge ;
she will be coached up for one role and good lor nothing else;
and she will smell of garlic enough to kill you.'
' Oh, garlic will never kill me ! ' said the vulgar partner
who gave Rollo so much trouble.
In the meantime he wrote to the Signer to see what could
be done, and begged Avith the utmost urgency that he Avould
an"ange something. ' Perhaps the old Irishwoman next door
Avould receive us,' Rollo said, ' even if she has got no piano.
Try, my dear Rossinctti, I implore you ; try A'our best.' Tlio
iSignor Avas very Avilling to serve the Dean's nephew ; but he
AN UNCONSCIOUS TRIAL. 201
■was at the moment very much put out by Lottie's reception of
young Purcc'll, as much as it it had been hiniscU' that had been
refused.
' Who is Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, and how am I to communi-
cate with lier?' he cried; and he did not throw himseU" into
the work with any zeah AH that he would do at last, moved
by Rollo's repeated letters, was to bid hinr bring his friend
down to the service on Sunday afternoon, Avhen he would see
Lottie at least, and hear something of her voice. The Manager
grinned at this invitation. He was not an enthusiast for
Handel, and shrugged his shoulders at sacred music generally
as mucli out of his line ; but he ended, having no better en-
gagement on hand, by consenting to go. It was the end of the
season ; the opera was over, and all its iashionable patrons
dispersed ; and St. Michael's was something to talk of at least.
So the two connoisseurs arrived on a warm afternoon of early
August, when the grey pinnacles of the Abbey blazed white in
excessive sunshine, and the river showed like glowing metal
here and there through the broad valley, too brilliant to give
much refreshment to the eyes.
As it happened, it was a chance whether Lottie Avould
attend the service that afternoon at all. She was sorry for
poor Purcell, and embarrassed to face the congregation in the
Abbey, some of whom at least must know the story. She was
certain the Signor knew it, from the glance he had thrown at
her ; and Mrs. Purcell, she felt sure, Avould gloom at her from
the free seats, and the hero himself look wistful and reproach-
ful from the organ-loft. She had very nearly made up her
mind not to go. Would it not be better to go out on the
slopes, and sit doAvn under a tree, and hear the music softly
pealing at a distance, and get a little rest out of her many
troubles? Lottie had almost decided upon this, when sud-
denly, by a caprice, she changed her mind and went. Every-
thing came true as she had divined. INIrs. Purcell fixed her
eyes upon her from the moment she sat down in her place,
with a gloomy interest which sadly disconcerted Lottie ; and
so did old Pick, who sat by his fellow servant and chuckled
over the conclusion of Mr. John's romance ; while once at
least Lottie caught the pale dulness ol the Signor's face looking
disapproval, and at every spare moment the silent appeal of
Piuxell's eyes looking down from over the railing of the organ-
loft. Lottie's heart revolted a little in resistance to all these
202 WITHIN THE rUECINCTS.
pitiful and disapproving looks. "Why should they insist upon
it ? If she could not accept young Purcell, what was it to the
Signor and old Pick ? — though his mother might be forgiven
if she felt the disappointment of her boy. The girl shrank a
little from all those glances, and gave herself up altogether to
her devotions. Was it to her devotions? There was the
Captain chanting all the resj^jonses within hearing, cheerful and
self-confident, as if the Abbey belonged to him ; and there,
too, Avas Law, exchanging glances of a totally different descrip-
tion with the people in the free seats. It was to two fair-
haired girls whom Lottie had seen before — who were, indeed,
constant in their attendance on the Sunday afternoon — that
Law was signalling ; and they, on their part, tittered and
whispered, and looked at the Captain in his stall, and at another
woman in a veil whom Lottie did not make out. This was
enough to distract her from the prayers, to which, however, if
only to escape from the confusion of her own thoughts, she did
her very best to give full attention. But She put up
her Prayer-book in front of her face, and hid herself at
least from all the crowd, so full each of his and her own con-
cerns. She was silent during the responses, hearing nothing
but her father's voice Avith its tone of proprietorship, and only
allowed herself to sing when the Captain's baritone was neces-
sarily silent. Lottie's voice had become known to the people
who sat near her. They looked for her as much as they
looked for little Eowley himself, who was the first soprano;
but to-day they did not get much from Lottie. Now and then
she forgot herself, as in the ' Magnificat,' when she burst forth
suddenly unaAvares, almost taking it out of the hands of the
boys ; but Avhile she Avas singing Lottie came to herself almost
as suddenly, and stopped short, Avith a quaver and shake in her
voice as if the thread of sound had been suddenly broken,
liaising her eyes in the midst of the canticle, she had seen
Eollo Ridsdale Avithin a fcAV places of her, holding his book
before him very decorously, yet looking from her to a large
man by his side Avith unmistakable meaning. The surprise of
seeing him Avhom she believed to be far aAvay, the agitation it
gave her to perceive that she herself Avas still the chief point
of interest to him, and the sudden recalling thus of her con-
•sciousness, gave her a shock Avhich extinguished her voice
altogether. There Avas a thrill in the music as i£ a string had
broken ; and then the hymn Avent on more feebly, diminished
AX UNCONSCIOUS TKIAL. 203
in sweetness and volume, -while she stood trembling, holding
herself up with an cfFort. He had come back again, and again
his thoughts were full of her, his whole attention tvurned to her.
An instantaneous change took place in Lottie's mind. Instead
of the jumble of annoyances and vexations that had been
around her — the reproachful looks on one side, the family dis-
cordance on the other — her fatlicr and La\v both jarring with
all that Lottie ■wished and thourrht ricrht — a flood of celestial
calm poured into her soul. She was no longer angry with the
two fair-haired girls who tittered and whispered through the
service, looking up to Luav with a hundred telegraphic com-
munications. She was scarcely annoyed when her father's
voice pealed forth again in pretentious incorrectness. She did
not mind what was happening around her. The sunshine that
came in among the pinnacles and fretwork above in a golden
mist, lighting up every detail, yet confusing them in a dazzle
and glory which common eyes could not bear, made just such
an effect on the canopies of the stalls as RoUo's appearance
made on Lottie's mind. She was all in a dazzle and mist of
sudden calm and happiness Avhich seemed to make, every-
thing bright, yet blurred everything in its soft, delicious
glow.
' Don't think much of her,' said the Manager, as they came
out. The two were going back again at once to town, but
Eollo'a partner had supposed that at least they Avould first pay
a visit to the Deanerj''. He was a man who counted duchesses
on his roll of acquaintances, but he liked to add a Lady
Caroline whenever the opportunity occurred, and deans, too,
had their charm. He was offended when he saw that RoUo had
no such intention, and at once divined that he was not con-
.sidered a pro2:)er person to be introduced to the heads of such
a community. This increased his determination not to yield
to his partner in this fancy of his, which, indeed, he had
always considered presumptuous, finding voices being his own
share of the work — a thing much too importaru to be trusted
to an amateur. ' The boy has a sweet little pipe of his own ; /
but as for your prima donna, Eidsdale, if you think that sort
of thing Avould jiay with us No, no! my good fellow;
she's a deuced handsome girl, and I wish you joy ; I don't
wonder that she should have turned your head ; but for our
new house, not if I know it, my boy. A very nice voice for
an amateur, but that sort of thing does not do with the public'
204 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' You scarcely heard her at all; and the few notes she did
sing were so mixed up with those scrubby little boys '
' Oh ! I heard her, and I don't care to hear her again —
unless it were in a drawing-room. Why, there's Rossinetti,'
said the imjrresario ; ' he'll tell you just the same as I do. Do
you know what we're down here for, Kossinetti, eh ? Deluded
by Ridsdale to come and hear some miraculous voice ; and it
turns out to be only a charming young lady who has bewitched
him, as happens to the best of us. Pretty voice for a drawing-
room, nice amateur quality ; but for the profession I tell
him you must know that as well as I.'
' Come into my place and rest a little ; there is no train
just yet,' said the Signor. He had left Purcell to play tlie
voluntary, and led the strangers through the nave, which was
still crowded with people listening to tlie great strains of the
organ. ' Come out this way,' he said ; * I don't want to be
seen. Purcell plays quite as well as I do ; but if they see me
they will stream off, and hurt his feelings. Poor boy ! he has
had enough to vex him already.'
These words were on his lips when, coming out by a
private door, the three connoisseurs suddenly came upon
Lottie, who was walking home with IMrs. OSliaughnessy. The
Signor, who Avas noted lor a womanish heat of partisan-
ship and had not forgiven her for the disappointment of his
pupil, darted a violent glance at her as he took off his hat.
It might have been himself that she had rejected, so full of
offence was his look ; and this fixed the attention of the big
Manager, who took off his hat too, with a smile of secret
amusement, and Avatched the scene, making a private memo-
randum to the effect that Rossinetti evidently had been hit
also ; and no wonder ! a handsome girl as you could see in a
summer day, with a voice that was a very nice voice, a really
superior voice for an amateur.
As for Rollo, he hastened up to Mrs. O'Shaughnessy with
fervour, and held out his hand ; and how ha])py and how
proud was that kind woman ! She curtseyed as she toolc his
hand as if he had been the Prince of Wales, nearly pulling
him down, too, ere she recovered herself; and her counten-
ance shone, partly with the heat, partly with the delight.
' And I hope I see you well, sir,' she said; 'and glad lo
pcc you back in St. Michael's. There's nothing like young
people lor keeping a place cheerfuh Though we don't go
AN UN'CONSCIOUS Tr.IAL. 205
into society, me and me Major, yet it's a pleasure to see the
likes ot you about.'
Rollo had time to turn to Lottie with very eloquent looks
while this speech was being addressed to him. ' I am only
here for half an hour,' he said ; ' I could not resist the tempta-
tion of coming for the service.'
' Oh ! me dear sir, you Avouldn't care so much for the
sarvice if ye had as nuich of it as we have,' said Mrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy, going on well pleased. She liked to hear herself talk-
ing, and she had likewise a quick perception of the lact that,
while she talked, communications of a different kind might go
on between ' the young folks.' ' Between ourselves, it's not
me that they'll get to stop for their playing,' she said, all the
more distinctly that the Siguor was within hearing. ' I'd go
live miles to hear a good band. The music Avas beautiful in
the regiment when O'Shaughnessy Avas adjutant. And for
me own part, Mr. Ridsdale, I'd not give the drums and the
files for the most elegant music you could play. I don't say
that I'm a judge, but I know what I like.'
' Why did you stop so soon ? ' IJoIlo said, aside. * Ah !
Miss Despard, was it not cruel ? — A good band is an excellent
thing, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. I shall try to get my uncle to
have the band from the depot to play once a week, next time
I come here. — Thanks all the same for those few notes; I
shall live upon them,' he added fervently, ' till I have the
chance of hearing you again.'
Lottie made no reply. It was unnecessary with Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy there, and talking all the time. And, indeed,
what had she to say ? The words spread themselves like a
balm into every corner of her heart. He would not have
gone so far, nor spoken so Avarmly, if it had not been for the
brutal indifference of the big Manager, who stood looking on
at a distance, with an air of understanding a great deal more
than there was to understand. The malicious knowingness
in this man's eyes made Kollo doubly anxious in his civilities;
and then he felt it necessary to make up to Lottie for the
other's blasphemy in respect to her voice, though of this Lottie
knew nothing at all.
' I shall not even have time to see my aunt,' he said ;
* how fortunate that I have had this opportunity of a Avord
with you ! I did not know Avhether I might take the liberty
to call.'
20G WITHIX THE PRECINCTS.
* And welcome, INIr. Ridsrlale,' said Mrs, O'Slinughnessy.
' Lottie's hut a child, so to speak ; but I and the Major would
be proud to see you. And of an afternoon we're always
at home, and, though I say it as shouldn't, as good a cup of
tea to offer ye as ye'd get from me Lady Caroline herself.
It's ready now, if you'll accept the refreshment, you and —
yoiir friend,'
' Athousand thanks, but we must not stay. Mrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy, if you see my aunt will you explain how it was I could
not come to see her? And be sure you tell her you met me
at the Abbey door, or she will not like it. Miss Despard,
Augusta is coming home, and I hope to be at the Deanery
next month. Then I trust you will be more generous, and
not stop singing as soon as you see me. What had I done ? '
he cried in his appealing voice, ' Yes, Rossinetti, I'm comings
— Not good-bye, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy ; only, as the French
say. Till we meet again.'
' And I hope that will not be long,' said the good woman,
delighted. She swept along the Dean's Walk, letting her
dress trail after her and holding her head high ; she was too
much excited to think of holding up her skirts. ' Did ye
hear him, Lottie me honey ? " If you see my aunt," says he.
Lord bless the man ! as if me Lady Caroline was in the way
of looking in and taking a cup of tea ! Sure, I'd make her
welcome, and more sense than shutting herself up in that old
house, and never stirring, no, not to save her life. " If ye
see my aunt," says he. Oh, yes ! me darlint, I'll see her, shut
up in her state, and looking as if He'll find the difference
when he comes to the Deanery, as he says. Not for you,
Lottie, me dear ; you're one of themselves, so to speak. But
it's not much thanks me Lady Caroline will give him for
sending her a message by Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. I thought
I'd burst out in his flice, " Tell her ye met me by the Ablaey
door." That's to save me lady's feelings, Lottie. But I'll do
his bidding next time I see her ; I'll make no bones of it, I'll
up and give her my message. Lord ! just to see how me
lady would take it. See if I don't now. For him, he's a
jewel, take me Avord for it, Lottie; and ye'll be a silly girl,
me honey, if you let a gentleman like Mr. Kidsdale slip through
your fingers. A real gentleman — ye can see as much by his
manners. If I'd been a duchess, Lottie, me dear, Avhat more
could he say ? *
AX UNCONSCIOUS TKIAL. 207
Lottie made no reply to this speech, any more than to the
words Kollo himself had addressed to her. Her mind was all
in a confused maze of happy thoughts and anticipations. His
looks, his words, Avere all turned to the same delicious mean-
ing ; and he was coming back to the Deanery, when she was
to be ' more generous ' to him. No compliment could have
been so penetrating as that soft reproacL. Lottie had no
words to spend upon her old triend, who, for her part, was sufli-
ciently exhilarated to require no answer. ]\Irs. O'Shaugh-
nessy rang the changes upon this subject all the way to the
Lodges. ' " Wheu you see my aunt," says he.' The idea
that she was in the habit of visiting Lady Caroline familiarly
not only amused but flattered her, though it Avas difficult
enough to understand how this latter effect could come about.
RoUo was himself moved more than he could have
imagined possible by this encounter. He said nothing as he
followed his companions to the Signer's house, and did not
even remark what they were saying, so occupied was he in
20\nrr over asain the trivial events of the last few minutes.
As he did so, it occurred to him for the first time that Lottie
had not so much as spoken to him all the time ; not a word
had she said, though he had found no deficiency in her. It
was evident, then, that there might be a meeting which should
fill a man's mind with much pleasant excitement and com-
motion, and leave on his thoughts a very delightful impres-
sion without one word said by the lady. This idea amused
liim in the pleasant agitation of his being to which the en-
counter at the church door had given rise. He forgot what
he had come for, and the rudeness of his partner, and the
refusal of that personage to think at all of Lottie. He did not
want any further discussion of this question ; he had forgotten,
even, that it could require to be discussed. Somehow all at
once, yet completely, Lottie had changed character to him ;
he did not want to talk her over with anyone, and he forgot
altogether the subject upon which the conversation must ne-
cessarily turn when he followed the Signer and his big
companion through the groups of people who began to emerge
from the Abbey. There were a great many who stared at
RoUo, knowing who he was, but none Avho roused him from
his preoccupation. Fortimately the Dean had a cold and
was not visible, and Lady Caroline did not profess to go to
church in the afternoon — ' It was too soon after lunch, and
208 TVITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
there were so many people, and one never felt that one had
the Abbey to one's self,' her ladyship said.
The manager went off to Italy the next day, after his
Milanese, without being at all restrained by RoUo, who Avas
glad to get rid of him, and to have no more said about the
English prima donna. He did not quite like it even, so per-
verse was he, Avhen the Signor, sitting out upon his terrace,
defended her against the impresario's hasty verdict : ' She has
a beautiful voice, so far as that goes,' the Signor said, with
the gravity of a judge; ' you are mistaken if you do not ad-
mire her voice ; we have had occasion to hear it, and we know
what it is, so far as that goes.'
' You dog ! ' said the jovial Manager, Avith a large fat
laufi'h. ' I see something else if I don't see that. Ah, Eos-
sinetti ! hit too ? '
' Do you happen to know what he means? ' said the Signor
with profound gravity, turning his fine eyes upon Kidsdale.
' Ah ! it is a pleasantry, I suppose. I have not the same appre-
ciation of humour that I might have had, had I been born an
Englishman,' he said, with a seriousness that was portentous,
without relaxing a muscle.
Rollo, who Avas not aware of the vehement interest Avith
Avhich the Signor espoused Purcell's cause, felt the Manager's
suspicions echo through his own mind. He kncAV how en-
tirely disinclined he felt to .enter upon this question. Was
his companion right, and had the Signor been hit too ? It
seemed to Eollo that the Avonder Avas hoAV anyone could avoid
that catastrophe. The Manager made very merry, as they
Avent back to town, upon Lottie's voice and the character of
the admiration Avhich it had excited ; but all this Kollo re-
ceived Avith as much solemnity of aspect as charaterised the
Signor.
CHAPTER XXT.
SEARCHINGS OF HEART.
It Avas not to be supposed that the visit of Rollo and his com-
panion should pass imnoticed in so small a community as that
of St. Michael's, Avhere everybody knew him, and in Avhich he
SEAncniNGS OF HEAKT. 209
had all the importance naturally belnnp'ing to a member, so
to speak, of the reipning iamily. Everybody noticed his ap-
pearance in the Abbey, and it soon became a matter of general
tiUk that he was not at the Deanery, but had come down from
town expressly for the service, returning by as early a train
afterwards as the Sunday regulations of the railway allowed.
What did he come for? Not to see his relations, which would
have been a comprehensible reason for so brief a visit. He
had been seen talking to somebody at the north door, and he
had been seen following the Signor, in company with a large
and brilliant person who wore more rings and studs and
breloques than had ever been seen at St. Michael's. Fi-
nally, this remarkable stranger, who was evidently a friend
of the Signor as well as of Rollo, had been visible on the
little green terrace outside Rossinetti's sitting-room, smoking
cigarettes and drinking claret-cup, and tilting up his chair
upon two legs in a manner which suggested a tea-garden,
critics said, more than a studious nook sheltered among the
buttresses of the Abbey. Public opinion was instinctivelj'
unfavourable to Hollo's companion ; but what was the young
prince. Lady Caroline's nephew, doing there? Then the
ijuestion arose, who was it to whom Hollo had been talking
at the north door? All the Canons and their wives, and the
ladies in the lodges, and even the townspeople, when the story
reached them, cried out ' Impossible ! ' when they were told
that it was Mrs. O'Shaughnessy. But that lady had no in-
tention of concealing the honour done her. She published it,
so to speak, on the housetops. She neglected no occasion of
making her friends acquainted with all the particulars of the
interview. ' And who should it have been but me ? ' she
said. ' Is there e'er another one at St. Michael's that knows
as much of his family ? Who was it but an uncle of his, or
maybe it might be a cousin, that was in the regiment with us,
and O'Shaughnessy's greatest friend ? Many's the good turn
the Major's done him ; and, say the worst you can o' the
Ridsdales, it's not ungrateful they are. It's women that are
little in their ways. What does a real gentleman care for our
little quarrels and the visiting list at the Deanery ? '" When
ye see me aunt," says he, '' Mrs. O'Shaughnes.sy, ye'U tell
her " Sure he took it for certain that me Lady Caroline
was a good neighbour, and would step in of an afternoon
for her bit of talk and her cup o' tea. " You'll tell her," says
• P
210 WITHIN THE PRECIXCIS.
he, " that I hadn't time to go and see her." And, please God,
I will do it when I've got the chance. If her ladyship iorgets
her manni-r.s. it shall ne'er be said that O'Shauglinessy's wife
was wanting in good breeding to a family the Miijor had such
close connections with.'
' But do you really know — ^Ir. Ridsdale's family ? ' said
Lottie, after one of these brilliant addresses, somewhat be-
wildered by her recollection of Avhat had passed. ' And,
sure, didn't you hear me say so ? Is it doubting me word
you are ? ' s;iid Mrs. O'Sliaughnessy, with a twinkle in her
eye. Lottie was bewildered — but it did not matter much.
At this moment nothing seemed to matter very much. She
had been dull, and she had been troubled by many things
before the wonderful moment in which she had discovered
Eollo close to her in the Abbey — much troubled, foreseeing
■with dismay the closing in around her of a network of new
associations in which there could be nothing but pain and
shame, and dull with a heavy depression of dulness which no
ray of light in the present, no expectation in the future, seemed
to brighten. Purcell's hand held out to her, tenderly, yet
half in pity, had been the only personal encouragement she
had ; and that had humbled her to the dust, even though she
struggled with lierself to do him justice. Her heart had been
as heavy as lead. There had seemed to her nothing that was
hopeful, nothing that was happy before her. Now all the
heaviness had flowTi away. Why ? Why, for no reason at
all, because this young man, whom she supposed (without any
warrant for the foolish idea) to love her, had come back ibr
an hour or two ; because he Avas coming back on a visit.
The visit was not to her, nor liad she probable share in the
enjoyments to be provided for Lady Caroline's nephew ; and
Lottie did not love him to make his very presence a delight
to her. She did not love him — yet. This was the unex-
pressed feeling in her mind; but when a girl has got so far as
tliis it may be supposed that the visit of the lover whom she
does not love — ^yet, must fill her with a thousand delightiul
tremors. How could she doubt his .sentiments? What was
it that brought him back and back again to St. Michael's.
And to be led along that Howery way to the bower of bliss at
the end of it, tc ud persuaded into love by all the flatteries
and^ wor.sliip of a lover so delicately impassioned — could a
girl's imagination conceive anything more exquisite ? ' No,
SEARCniNGS OF HEAUT. 211"
she was not in love — yet But there was no reason wliy
she should not be, except the soft maidenly reluctance, tlie
shy retreat before one who kept advancing, the instinct of coy
resisfcince to an inevitable delight.
Into this delicate world of happiness, in which there was
nothing real, but all imagination, Lottie was delivered over
that bright Sunday. She had no defence against it, and she
did not wish to have any. She gave herself up to the dream.
After that interval of heaviness, of darkness, when there was
no pleasant delusion to support her, and life, with all its
diliiculties and dangers, became so real, confronting her at
every point, what an escape it was for Lottie to find herself
again under the dreamy skies of that fool's paradise ! It was
the Garden of Eden to her. She thought it Avas the ti'ue
world, and the other the false one. The vague terror and
disgust with which her father's new plans filled her mind
floated away like a mist ; and, as for Law, what so easy as to
carry him with her into the better world where she was
going? Her mind in a moment was lightened of its load.
She had left home heavily ; she went back scarcely able to
keep from singing in the excess of her light-heartedness,
more lifted above earth than if any positive good had come
to her. So long as the good is coming, and exists in the
imagination only, how much more entrancing is it than any-
thing real that ever can be ours !
The same event, however, which had so much effect upon
Lottie acted upon her family too in a manner for which she
was far from being prepared. Captain Despard came in as
much elated visibly as she was in her heart. There had
been but little intercourse among them since the evening
when the Captain had made those inquiries about Rollo,
which Lottie resented so deeply. The storm had blown
over, and she had nominally forgiven Law for going over to
the enemy's side; but Lottie's heart had been shut even
against her brother since that night. He had forsaken her,
and .she had not been able to pass over his desertion of her
cause. However, her heart had softened with her happiness,
and she made his tea for him now more genially than she had
done for weeks before. Tiiey seated themselves round the
table with, perheps, less cou'^traint than nsual — a result due
to the smiling aspect of the Captain as well as to the softened
sentiment in Lottie's heart. Once upon a time a family tea
f2
212 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
was a favourite feature in English literature, from Cowper
down to Dickens, not to speak of the more exclusively
domestic fiction o£ which it is the chosen banquet. A great
deal has been said of this nondescript (and indigestible) meal.
But perhaps there must be a drawing of the curtains, a
wheeling-in of the sofa, a suggestion of warmth and comfort
in contradistinction to storms and chills outside, as in the
Opium-eater's picture of his cottage, to carry out the ideal —
circumstances altogether wanting to the tea of the Despards,
which was eaten {passez-moi le mot, for is it not the bread-
and-butter that makes the meal ?) in the warmest hour of an
August afternoon. The window, indeed, was open, and the
Dean's Walk, by which the townspeople were coming and
going in considerable numbers, as they always did on Sun-
day, was visible, with its gay groups, and the prospect outside
was more agreeable than the meal within. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy,
next door, had loosed her cap-strings, and fanned herself at
intervals as she sipped her tea. * It's hot, but sure it cools
you after,' she was saying to her Major. The Despards, how-
ever, were not fat, and did not show the heat like their neigh-
bours. Law sat at the table and pegged away resolutely at
his bread-and-butter, having nothing to take his mind off his
food, and no very exciting prospect of supper to sustain him.
But the Captain took his tea daintily, as one who had heard
of a roast fowl and sausages to be ready by nine o'clock, and
was, therefore, more or less indifferent to the bread-and-
butter. He patted Lottie on the shoulder as she gave him
his tea.
' My child,' he said, ' I was wrong the other day. It is
not every man that would own it so frankly ; but I have
always been a candid man, though it has damaged me often.
When I am in the wrong I am bound to confess it. Take my
hand, Lottie, my love. I made a mistake.'
Lottie looked at him surprised. He had taken her hand
and held it, shaking it, half-playfully, in his own.
' My love,' he said, ' you are not so candid as your poor
father. You will get on all the better in the world. I with-
draw everything I said, Lottie. All is going well ; all is for
the best. I make no doubt you can manage your own alfairs
a great deal better than I.'
' What is it you mean, papa?'
' Wc will say no more, luy child. I give you free com-
SEARCHINGS OF HEAnT, 21
n
inand over yourself. That was a fine anthem this afternoon,
and I have no doubt those were well repaid who came from a
distance to hear it. Don't jou think so, Lottie? Many
people come from a great distance to hear the service in the
Abbey, and no doubt the Signor made it known that there
was to be such a good anthem to-day.'
Lottie did not make any reply. She looked at him with
mingled wonder and impatience. "What did he mean ? It
had not occurred to her to connect KoUo with the anthem,
but she perceived by the look on her father's face that some-
thing which would be displeasing to her was in his mind.
'What's the row?' said Law. 'Who was there? I
thought it was always the same old lot.'
'And so it is generally the same old lot. We don't vary;
hut when pretty girls like Lottie say their prayers regularly
heaven sends somebody to hear them. Oh, yes, there is always
somebody sent to liear them. But you are quite right to
allow nothing to be said about it, my child,' said the Captain
'Not a word, on the honour of a gentleman. Your feelings
shall be respected. But it may be a comfort to you, my love,
to' feel that whatever happens your father is behind you,
Lottie — knows and approves. ]\Iy dear, I say no more.'
' By Jove ! "What is it ? ' cried Law.
' It is nothing to you,' said his father. ' But look here,
Law. See that you don't go out all over the place and
leave your sister by herself, without anyone to take care of
her. My engagements I can't always give up, but don't let
me hear that there's nobody to walk across the road with
Lottie when she's asked out.'
* Oh, that's it, is it ? ' said Law. ' I thought they'd had
enough of you at the Deanery, Lottie. That's going to begin
again, then, I suppose ? '
' I am not invited to the Deanery,' said Lottie, with as
much state and solenniity as she could summon up, though
she trembled ; ' neither is it going to begin again. There is
no occasion for troubling Law or you eithei. I always have
taken care of myself hitherto, and I suppose I shall do it till
the end.'
' You need not get on your high horse, my child,' said
Captain Despard ])l;uidly. ' Don't suppose that I will inter-
fere; but it will be a consolarion to you to remember that
your father is watching over you, and that his heart goes with
214 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
you,' he added, with an unctuous roll in his voice. He laid
his hand for a moment on her head, and said, ' Bless you, my
love,' before he turned away. The Captain's emotion was
great ; it almost brought die tears to his manly eyes.
' What i^ the row ? ' said Law, when his father had gone.
Law's attention had been fully occupied during the service
with his own afEairs, and he did not know of the reappear-
ance of Eollo. ' One would think he was going to cry over
you, Lottie. What have you done ? Engagements ! he has
always got some engagement or other. I never knew a fellow
with such a lot of friends — I shouldn't wonder if he was going
to sup somewhere to-night. I wonder what they can see in
him,' said Law, with a sigh.
' Law, are you going out too ? '
* Oh, I sujjpose so ; there is nothing to do in the house.
What do you suppose a fellow can do ? Reading is slow
work ; and besides, it's Sunday, and it's wrong to work on
Sunday. I shall go out and look round a bit, and see if I can
see anyone I know,'
' Do you ever think, I wonder,' said Lottie — ' papa and you
— that if it is so dull for you in the house, it must sometimes
be a little dull for me ? '
She was not in the habit of making such appeals, but
to-night there was courage and a sense of emancipation in
her which made her strong.
' You ? Oh, well, I don't know — you are a girl,' said
Law, * and girls are used to it. I don't know what you would
do if you wanted to have a little fun, eh ? I dare say you
don't know yourself. Yes, I shouldn't wonder if it Avas dull ;
but what can anyone do ? It's nature, I suppose,' said Law.
' There isn't any fun for girls, as there is for us. Well, is
thci-e ? How should I know ? '
But there was ' fun ' for Emma and her sisters of the
Avorkroom, Law reminded himself with a compunction. ' I'll
tell you what, Lottie,' he said hastily; 'you must just do as
other girls do. You must get someone to walk with you,
and talk, and all that, you know. There's nothing else to be
<]one; and you might have plenty. There's that singing
fellow, that young Pnrcell ; they say he is in love with you.
Well, he's better than nobody ; and you could give him the
Kick as soon as you saw somebody you liked better. I
thought at one time that Ridsdale '
SEAKCHIKGS OF HEART. 215
'Itliiiik, La'.v,' said Lottie, ' yoii had better go out for
your walk.'
He laughed. lie was half-ploased to have roused and
vexed her, yet half-sorry too. Poor Lottie ! Now that she
Avas abandoned by her grand admirer and all her line Iriends,
it must be dull for her, staying in the house by hersell'; but
then Avhat could he do, or anyone ? It was nature. Nature,
perhaps, might bo to blame for not providing ' fun ' for girls,
but it was not for Law to set nature right. When he had got
his hat, however, and brushed his hair before going out, he
came back and looked at Lottie with a compunction. Ho
could not give up meeting Emma in order to take his sister
for a walk, though, indeed, this idea actually did glance across
his mind as a rueful possibility. No, he could not go ; he
had promised Ihnma to meet her in the woods, and he must
keep his word. But he was veiy sorry for Lottie. What a
pity she had not someone of her own — Purccll, if nobody
better ! and then, when the right one came, she might throw
him off. But Law did not dare to repeat his advice to this
effect. He went and looked at her remorsefully. Lottie had
seated herself upstairs in the little drawing-room ; she was
leaning her elbow ou the ledge of the little deep window, and
her head upon her hand. The attitude was pensive; and
Law could not help thinking that to be a girl, and sit there
all alone lookina; out of a window instead of roaminof about
as he did, Avould be something very terrible. The contrast
chilled him and made him mamentarily ashamed of himself.
But then he reflected that there were a great many people
passing up and down, and that he had often heard people say
it was amusing to sit at a window. Very likely Lottie
thought so ; proV)ably, on the whole, she liked that better than
going out. This must be the case, he persuaded himself, or
else she Avould have been sure to manage to get some com-
panion; therefore he said nothing to her, Init went down-
stairs very quietly and let himself out softly, not making any
noise with the door. Law had a very pleasant walk with
Emma under the trees, and enjoyed himself, but occasionally
there would pass a shadow over him as he thought of Lottie
sitting at the window in the little still house all alone.
But indeed, for that evening at least, Lottie was not much
to be pitied. She had her dreams to fall back upon. She
had what is absohitely necessary to happiness — not only some-
216 WITHIX THE PKECINCTS.
thing to look back to, but something to look forward to. Thnt
is the true secret of bliss — something that is coming. With
that to support us, can we not bear anything? After a while,
no doubt, Lottie felt, as she liad often felt before, that it was
dull. There Avas not a sound in the little house; everybody
was out except herself; and it was Sunday, and she could not
get her needlework to occupy her hands and help on her
thoughts. As the brightness waned slowly away, and the
softness of the evening lights and then the dimness of the ap-
proaching dark stole on, Lottie had a great longing to get out
of doors ; but she could not go and leave the house, for even
the maid was out, having her Sunday walk with lier young
man. It was astonishing how many girls had gone wander-
ing jiast the window, each with her young man. Not much
wonder, perhaps, that Law had suggested this sole way of a
little ' fun ' for a girl. Poor Law ! he did not know any-
better; he did not mean any harm. She laughed now at the
sun:"estion which had made her augrv at the time, for to-ni?ht
Lottie could afford to lauirh. But Avhen she heard the maid-
servant ceme in, Lottie, wearied with her long vigil, and long-
ing for a breath of cool air after the confinement of the house,
agreed with herself that there would be no harm in taking
one little turn upon the slopes. The townspeople had mostly
gone. Now and then a couple of the old Chevaliers would
come strolling homeward, having taken a longer walk in the
calm of the Sunday evening than their usual turn on the
slopes. Captain Temple and his wife had gone by arm-in-
arm. Perhaps they had been down to the evening service in
the town, perhaps only out for a walk, like everybody else.
Gradually the strangers were diwippearing; the people that
belonged to the Precincts were now almost the only people
about, and there was no harm in taking a little walk alone ;
but it was not a thing Lottie cai-ed much to do. With a
legitimate errand she would go anywhere ; but for a walk !
The girl was shy, and full of all those natural conventional
reluctiinces which cannot be got out of women ; but she could
not stay in .^ny longer. She went out Avitli a little blue shawl
folded like a scarl" — as was the tashion of the time — over her
.'shoulders, and flitted (|uickly along the Dean's Walk to the
slopes. All was sweet in the soft darkness and in the even-
ing dews, tlic grass moist, the trees or the sky sometimes
distilling a palpable dewdioj), the air coming soflly over all
SEAIICUINGS OF HEAHT. 217
those miles of coiintrv to touch -vvitli the tenderest sahitatiou
Lottie's check. She louked out upon the httle town nestling
at the foot of the hill, with all its twinkling lights, and upon
the stars that shone over the long glinuner of the river, wliich
showed here and there, through all the valley, pale openings
of light in the dark country. How sweet and still it was !
The openness of the horizon, the distance, was the thing that
did Lottie good. She cast her eyes to the very farthest limit
of the world that lay within her sight, and drew a long breath.
Perhaps it was this that caught the attention of some one who
was passing. Lottie had seated herself in a corner under a
tree, and she did not see this wayfarer, who was behind, her ;
and the reader knows that she did not sigh for sorrow, but
only to relieve a bosom which was very full of fanciful anti-
cipations, hopes, and dreams. It was not likely, however,
that Mr. Ashford would know that. He too was taking his
evening walk; and when he heard the sigh in which so
many tender and delicious fancies exhaled into the air, he
thought — who could wonder? — that it was somebody in
trouble; and, drawing a little nearer to see if he could heJp,
as was the nature of the man, found to his great surprise — as
she, too, startled, turned round her lace upon him — that it
was Lottie Despard who was occupying the seat which was
liis lavourite seat also. They both said, ' I beg your pardon '
simultaneously, though it would be hard to tell why.
' 1 think I have seen you here before,' he said. ' You like
this time of the evening, Miss Despard, like myself — and this
view ? '
' Yes,' said Lottie ; ' but I have been sitting indoors all the
afternoon, and got tired of it at last. I did not like to come
out all by myself; but I thought no one would see me now.'
' Surely you may come here in all safety by yourself
The Minor Canon had too much good breeding to suggest any
need of a companion or any pity lor the girl left alone. Then
he sttid suddenly, ' This is an admirable chance for me. The
first time we met, INIiss Despard, you mentioned something
about which you wished to consult me '
' Ah ! ' cried Lottie, coming back out of her dreams. Yes,
she had wanted to consult him, and the opportunity must not
be neglected. ' It was about Law, INIr. Ashford. Law — his
name is Lawrence, you know, my brother; he is a great boy,
almost a man — mv-re than eighteen. But I am alraid he is
218 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
very backward. I want him so very much to stand his
examination. It seems that nothing — nothing can be done'
without that now.'
' His examination — for what ? '
' Oh, Mr. Ashibrd,' said Lottie, ' for anything ! I don't
mind what it is. I thought, perhaps, if you would take him
it Avould make him see the good of working. We are — poor ;
I need not make any fuss about saying that ; here we are all
poor ; and if I could but see Law in an office earning his
living, I think,' cried Lottie, with the solemnity of a martyr,
' I think I should not care Avhat happened. Tliat was all. I
wanted him to come to you, that you might tell us what he
would be fit for.'
' He would make a good soldier,' said Mr. Ashford, smil-
ing ; ' though there is an examination for that, too.'
' There are examinations for everything, I think,' said
Lottie, shaking her head mournfully ; ' that is the dreadful
thing ; and you see, Mr. Ashford, we are poor. He has not a
penny ; he must work for his living ; and how is he to get
started ? That is Avhat I am always saying. But what is the
use of speaking ? You know what boys are. Perhaps if 1
had been able to insist upon it years ago — but then I was
very young too. I had no sense, any more than Law.'
The Minor Canon was greatly touched. The evening
dew got into his eyes — he stood by her in the soil summer
darkness, wondering. He was a great deal older than Lottie —
old enough to be her father, he said to himself ; but he had
no one to give him this keen, impatient anxiety, this insight
into what boys are. 'Was there no one but you to insist
upon it ? ' he said, in spite of himself.
' Well,' said Lottie meditatively, * do gentlemen — gene-
rally — take much trouble about what boys arc doing? I
suppose they have got other things to think of.'
' You have not much opinion of men. Miss Despard,' said
the jNIinor Canon, with a half-laugh.
' Oh, indeed 1 have ! ' cried Lottie. * Why do you say
that ? I was not thinking about men — but only And
then boys tliemsclves, Mr. Ashford ; you know what they are.
Oh ! I think sometimes if I could put some of me into him.
But you can't do that. You may talk, and you may coax,
and you may scold, and try every Avay — but what does it
matter ? If a boy won't do anything, what is to be done with
SEARCHIXGS OF IIEAKT. 219
him ? That is wliy I -wantcJ so iinich, so very much, to
bring him to you.'
' Miss Despard,' s;xid the Minor Canon, ' you may trust
me tliat if there is anything I can do for him I will do it. As
it happens, I am precisely in want of .'jomcone to — to do the
same woi'k as another pupil I have. That would be no addi-
tional trouble to me, and Avouldnot cost anything. Don't you
see ? Let him come to me to-morrow and begin.'
* Oh, ^Ir. Ashford,' said Lottie, * I knew by your face
you were kind — but how very, very good you are ! But
then,' she added sorrowfully, ' most likely he covild not do tlie
same work as your other puj)il. I am afraid he is very back-
Avard. If I were to tell you what he is doing you might know.
He is reading Virgil — a book about as big as himself,' she
said, with a little laugh, that Avas very near crying. ' Won't
you sit down here ? '
* Virgil is precisely the book my other pupil is doing,'
said Mr. Ashford, laughing too, very tenderly, at her small
joke, poor child ! while she made room for him auxif)usly on
the bench. There they sat together for a minute in silence —
all alone, as it might be, in the world, nothing but darkness
roimd them, faint streaks of light upon the horizon, distant
twinkles of stars above and homely lamps below. The man's
heart softened strangely within him over this creature, who,
for all the pleasure she had, came out here, and apologised to
him for coming alone. She who, neglected by everybody, had
it in her to push forward the big lout of a brother into
Avorthy life, ptitting all her delicate strength to that labour of
Hercules — he felt himself getting quite foolish, moved beyond
all his experiences of emotion, as, at her eager invitation, he
sat down there by her side.
And as he did so other voices and steps became audible
among the trees of somebody coming that Avay. Lottie had
turiHid to him, and Avas about to say something, Avhen the
sound of the approaching A-oices reached them. He could see
her start — then draAV herself erect, close into the corner of
the bench. The voices were loudly pitched, and attempted
no concealment.
' La, Captain, hoAV dark it is I Let's go home ; mother
Avill be looking for us,' said one.
' My dear Polly,' said the other — and thougli Mr. Ashford
did not know Captain Despard, he divined the whole story in
220 VriTIIIN THE PRECINCTS.
a moment as the pair brushed past arm-in-arm — 'my dear
Polly, your home will be very close at hand next time I
bring you here.'
Lottie said nothing — her heart jumped up into her throat,
beating so violently that she could not speak. And to the
INIinor Canon the whole family story seemed to roll out like
the veiled landscape before him as he looked compassionately
at tiie girl sitting speechless by his side, while her father and
his companion, all unconscious in the darkness, brushed
against her, sitting there unseen under the shadowy trees.
CHAPTER XXII.
A CHANCE FOR LAW.
JNIr. Ashford took Lottie home that evening, walking with
lier to her own door. There Avas not much said ; for, not-
withstanding the armour of personal hope and happiness which
she had jnit on, the shock of this personal encounter with her
father and the woman Avho Avas to be her father's wife made
the girl tremble with secret excitement, in spite of herself.
The woman : it was this, the sight and almost touch of this
new, unknown, uncomprehended being brushing past her in
the darkness which overwhelmed Lottie. That first contact
made the girl sick and faint. She could not talk to Mr. Ash-
ford any more — her voice seemed to die out of her throat,
Avliere her heart was fluttering. She could not think even
Avhat she had been saying. It Avas all confused, driven aside
into a corner, by that sudden apparition. INIr. Ashford, on
his side, said little more than Lottie. It seemed to him that
he had a sudden insight into all that A\'as happening. He
]iad heard, though Avithout paying much attention, the com-
mon gossip about Captain Despard, who Avas not considered
by anybody Avithin the Precincts as a creditable inmate ; but
tliis curious little scene, of Avhich he had been a Avitnes.s, had
placed liim at once in the midst of the little drama. He
seemed to himself to have shared in the shock Lottie had
received. He Avalked sdftly by her side, saying little, full of
compassion, but too sympathetic even to express his sympathy.
A CHANCE FOR LAW. 221
He would not linrt her by seeming to be sorry for her.
When thoy parted he held her hand for a moment ^s•ith u
kind, serious grasp, as if he had been her father, and said :
'You will send him to me to-morrow, Miss Despard? I
shall expect him to-morrow.'
'Oh — Law! 'she said, with a little start and recovery.
Poor Law l)ad gone out ot'her mind.
' Poor child ! ' he said, as he turned towards his house ;
but before he had crossed the road he was met by Captain
Temple coming the other way.
' Was that Miss Despard .' ' asked the old man. ' Is it she
you were saying good-night to ? My wife told me she had
gone towards the slopes, and I was on my way to bring her
home.'
' I met her there, and I have just brought her home,' said
the Minor Canon. He could scarcely make out in the dark
who his questioner was.
' That is all right — that is all right,' said the old Chevalier.
* She is left too much alone, and she should have some one to
take care of her. I feel much obliged to you, Mr. Ashford,
for I take a great interest in the young lady.'
'It is — Captain Temple?' said Mr. Ashford, peering at
the old man with contracted, short-sighted eyes. ' I beg your
pardon. Yes, Miss Despard is quite safe ; she has been talk-
ing to me about her brother. What kind of boy is he ? I
only know he is a big fellow, and not very fond of his work.'
Captain Temple shook his head. ' What can you ex-
pect ? It is not the boy's fault ; but she is the one I take an
interest in. You know I had once a girl of my own — ^just
such another, Mr. Ashford — ^just such another. I always
think of her Avhen I see this pretty creature. Poor things —
how should they know the evil that is in the world ? They
think everybody as good as themselves, and when they find
out the difference it breaks their sweet hearts. I can't look
at a young girl like that, not knowing what her next step is
to bring her, without tears in my eyes.'
The Minor Canon did not make any reply ; his heart was
touched, but not as Captain Temple's was touched. He looked
back at the dim little house, where as yet there were no lights
— not thinking of Lottie as an all-believing and innocent
victim, but rather as a young Britomart, a helmeted and
anncd maiden, standing desjjcrale in defence of her little
222 WITHIN THE precincts.
stronghold against powers of evil %vliicli she was no ways
ignorant of. It did not occur to him that these images might
be conjoined, and both be true.
'I take a great interest in her,' said old Captain Temple
again, 'and so does my wife, Mr. Ashlbrd. My wife cannot
talk of our loss as I do ; but, though she says little, I can see
that she keeps her eye upon Lottie. Poor child ! She has
no mother, and, for that matter, you might say no father
either. She has a claim upon all good people. She may be
thrown in your way sometimes, when none of us can be
of any use to her. It would make me happy if you would
say that you would keep an eye upon her too, and stand
by her when she wants a friend.'
* You may be sure I will do that — if ever it .should be in
my power.'
' Thanks. You will excuse me speaking to you ? IMost
people allow the right we have in our trouble to think of
another like our own. I am quite happy to think you will be
one of her knights too, Mr. Ashford. So Avill my wife. Ah,
we owe a great deal — a great deal — to innocence. Good
night, and my best thanks.'
Mr. Ashford could not smile at the kind old Chevalier and
his monomania. He went home very seriously to his dark
little house, where no one had lighted his lamp. He was not
so well served as the Signor. There was a faint light on the
stairs, biit none in his dark wainscoted library, where the
three small deep windows were more than ever like three
luminous yet dim pictures hanging upon a gloomy wall.
AVhen he had lighted his reading-lamp the pictures Avere put
out, and the glimmering dim interior, with its dark reflections
and the touches of gilding and faded brown of his books,
came into prominence. He half-smiled to think of himself as
one of Lottie Despard's knights; but outside of this calm and
still place what a glimpse had been afforded him of the
tumults and miseries of the common world, within yet
outside all the calm precincts of ordered and regular life !
The girl with whom he had been talking stood cnix pi-ises
witli all these forces, while he, so much more able for that
battle, was calm and sheltered. To see her struggling against
the impassibility of a nature less noble than her own — to
think other all f 'rlorn and si)l'.tary, piteous in her youth and
heljdussne.^s, on the verge of so many miseries, wrung his
A CHANCE FOR LAW. 223
heart -vvitli pity, with tenderness, with Was it some-
thing of envy too ? ^\il the powers of life were surging
about Lottie, contending in her and around her; forces vulgar
yet powerful, calling forth in that bit of a girl, in that slim
creature, made, the man thought, for all the sweetness rmd
protections of life, all its heroic qualities instead — while for
such as he, thirty-five, and a man, iate held nothing but quiet,
and mastery of all circumstances, Handel and the Abbey 1
What a travesty and interchange of all that was fit and
natural ! — for him ought to be the struggle, for her the peace ;
but Providence had not ordained it so.
How often is this so ! times without number, the weak
have to struggle while the strong look on. Women and
children labour while full-grown men rest ; the sick and the
feeble have all tlie powers of darkness to encounter, while the
athlete yawns his unoccupied force away. So this strange
paradox of a world runs on. The Minor Canon, who was of
very gentle mould, with a heart open as day to melting
charities, sat and thought of it with a giddiness and vertigo of
the heart. He could not change it. He could not take
up Lottie's trouble and give her his calm. One cannot stand
in another's place — not )'ou in mine, nor I iu yours — though
you may be a hundred times more capable of my work than L
This was what Ernest Ashford thought sitting among his
peaceful books, and following Lottie Despard in imagination
into the little lodge which was her battlefield. Sympathy
gave him the strongest mental perception of all that took
place there. The only thing he had no clue to was the sweet
and secret flood of consolation which subdued her sense of all
her troubles — which already had drowned the dread of the
future, and floated over with brightness the difhculties of the
present in Lottie's heart.
Next morning Law arrived at the house of the ]\Iinor
Canon, considerably to his own surprise, with liis big Vii-gil
under his arm. 'I don't know whether you meant it, or if
she understood you,' he said, shy and uncomfortable, looking
down at his shoes, and presenting the top of his head rather
th-'i) his face to Mr. Ashford's regard, ' but my sister said '
' Yes ; I meant it fully. Sit down and tell me what you
have been doing, and whereabouts you are in your work. I
liave a pupil coming presently with whom probably you
miiiht read '
224 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' "Well, you must know that I haven't been what you
might call working very hard, you know,' said Law, still
butting at his future instructor with the top of his head. He
?at down as Mr. Ashford directed him, but he did not give
up the earnest contemplation of his boots. ' It isn't so easy
to get into the way of it when you're working alone. I left
school a long time ago — and I don't know that it was much of
a school — and latterly I was a little bit irregular — and so,
you know——'
' I see,' said the Minor Canon ; ' however, it is not too late
to do better. Wliat is that big book under your arm — Virgil ?
Very well. Construe a passage for me, and let me see how
you get on.'
' Shall I do a bit I know, or a bit I don't know ? ' said
Law, raising his head this time with a doubtful gleam, half of
merriment. ' Of course, I want to put my best foot fore-
most — but I don't want to take you in all the same.'
* I must trust you entirely on that point — or give me the
book ; I will choose, and chance shall decide.'
' Oh, hang it ! ' said Law under his breath. He would
have been honest and avowed what he knew ; but this kind of
Sortes did not please him. The perspiration came out on his
forehead. Of course it was a very hard bit, or what Law
thought a very hard bit, tliat turned up — and the way in
which he struggled through it, growing hotter and hotter,
redder and redder, was a sight to see.
'That will do,' Mr. Ashford s:iid, compassionately, yet
horrified. ' That will do.' And he took the book out of his
would-be pupil's hands with a sigh, and smoothed doAvn the
page, which Law had ruffled in his vain efforts, with a
regretful touch, as though asking pardon of Virgil. * Sup-
pose we have a little talk en this subject?' he said. 'No
doubt you have made up your mind what you would like
to do ? '
' Not I,' said Law. * It will have to be some office or
other — that's the only way in which a fellow who has no
money seems to be able to make a living. A very poor
living, so far as I hear — but still it is something, I suppose.
That is not what I would like by nature. I'd like to go out
to Australia or New Zealand. I hate the notion of beino:
cooped up to a desk. But I suppose that is how it will have
to be.'
I
A CIIAXCE FOR LAW. 225
'Because of your sister? You -vvoulJ not abandon lier?
It does you a great deal of credit,' said the Minor Canon, with
warmth.
' Well, because of her in one way,' said Law ; ' because
she is always so strong against it, and because I have no
money ibr a start. You don't suppose that I would mind
otherwise ? No ; Lottie is all very well, but I don't see why
a man should give into her in everything. She will have to
think for herself in future, and so shall 1. So, if you will tell
me what you think I could do, Mr. Ashford ; I should say
you don't think I can do anything after that try,' said Law,
with an upward glance of investigation, half-wistful, half-
ashamed.
' Have yoxi read English literature much ? That tells
nowadays,' said the Minor Canon. * If you were to give any
weight to my opinion, I would tell you to get the papers for
the army examination, and try for that.'
' Ah ! that's what I should like,' cried Law ; ' but it's im-
possible. Fellows can't live on their pay. Even Lottie would
like me to go into the army. But it's not to be done. Yoxi
can't live on your pay. English ! Oh, I've read a deal of
stories — Harry Lorrequer and Soapy Sponge^ and that sort of
— rot.'
* I am afraid that will not do much good,' said the Minor
Canon, shaking his head. ' And, indeed, I fear, if you are
going to be successful, you must set to work in a more serious
way. Perhaps you are good at figures — mathematics? — no!
— science, perhaps — natural history '
' If you mean the Zoological Gai-dens, I like that,' said
Law, beginning to .see the fun of this examination ; ' and I
should be very fond of horses, if I had the chance. But that
has nothing to say to an office. Figures, ha ? yes, I know.
But I always hated counting. I see you think there is nothing
to be made of me. That is what I think myself. I have
often told her so. I shall have to 'list, as I have told her..
Law looked at his companion with a little curiosity as he
said this, hoping to call forth an alarmed protestiition.
But ]\Ir. Ashford was not horrified. He was about to say,
* It is the very best thing you could do,' but stopped, on con-
sideration, for Lottie's sake.
'You are a man to look at,' he paid, 'though you are
young. Has it never occurred to you till now to think what;
226 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
you would like to be ? You did not think you could go on
for ever stumbling over ten lines of Virgil ? I beg your
pardon, I don't mean to be rude ; but the most of us have to
live by something, and a young man like you ought to have a
notion what he is going to be about. You thought of the
Civil Service ? '
' I suppose Lottie did,' said Law, getting up and seizing
his book. ' It is all her doing, from first to last ; it is she
that has always been pushing and pushing. Yes ; Avhat's the
use of trying Virgil ? I ahvays felt it was all bosh. I don't
know it, and what's more, I don't want to know it. I am not
one for reading ; it's not what I would ever have chosen ; it
is all Lottie, with her nagging and her pushing. And so I
may go home and tell her you don't think me fit for any-
thing ? ' he added, suddenly, with a slight break of unexpected
feeling in his voice.
' Don't do anything of the kind. If you would only be
open with me, tell me what are your own ideas and inten-
tions '
' That's what everybody says,' said Law, with a smile of
half-amused superiority; 'open your mind. But what if
you've got no mind to open ? / don't care what I do ; I
don't intend anything; get me in somewhere, and I'll do the
best I can. A fellow can't speak any faii-er than that.'
The Minor Canon looked at him with that gaze of baffled
inquiry which is never so effectually foiled as by the candid
youth who has no intentions of his own and no mind to open.
Law stood before him, stretching out his useless strength,
with his useless book again under his arm — a human being
thoroughly wasted ; no place for him in the Civil Service, no
good use in any of the offices. Why shouldn't he 'list if he
wished it ? It was the very best thing for him to do. But
when Mr. Ashford thought of Lottie, this straightforward
conclusion died on his lips.
' Why couldn't you live on your pay ?' he said hurriedly.
' It is only to exercise a little self-denial. You would have a
life you liked and were fit for, and a young subaltern has just
as much pay as any clerkship you could get. Why not
make an effort, and determine to live on your pay ? If you
have the resolution you could do it. It would be better cer-
tainly than sitting behind a desk all day long.'
* Wouldn't it ! ' said Law, with a deep breath. ' Ah 1 but
A ClIAXCF. FOR LAAV. 227
you ■wouldn't require to keep a horse, sitting boliind your
desk; you wouldn't have your mess to pay. A fellow must
think of all that. I suppose you've liad enougli ol' me? ' he
added, looking U]> with a doubtful smile. ' I may go away ?'
' Don't go yet.' There sjirang up in the I\Iinor Canon's
mind a kindness for this impracticable yet thoroughly prac-
tical-minded boy, who was not wise enough to be good for
anything, yet who was too wise to plunge into rash expenses
and the arduous exertion of living on an oflicer's pay — curious
instance of folly and wisdom, for even an officer's pay was
surely better than no pay at all. INIr. Ashfbrd did not want
to throw Law off, and vet he could not tell what to do Avith
him. ' Will you stay and try how much you can follow of
young Uxbridge's work ? ' he said, ' I dare say you have not
for the moment anything much better to do.'
Law gave a glace of semi-despair from the windov*r upon
the landscape, and the distance, and the morning sunshine.
No ! he had nothing better to do. It was not that he had
any pleasures in hand, for pleasures co.st money, and he had
no money to .spend ; and lie knew by long experience that
lounging about in the morning without even a companion is
not very lively. Still he 3'ielded and sat down, Avith a sigh.
Mere freedom was somethintr, and the sensation of beinir
obliged to keep in one place for an hour or two, and give
himself up to occupation, Avas disagreeable ; a felloAV might as
Avell be in an office at once. But he submitted. ' Young
Uxbridge ? ' he said. " What is he going in for ? The
Guards, I suppose.' Law sighed; ah! that Avas the life.
But he was aAvare that for himself he might just as easily
aspire to be a prince as a Guardsman. lie took his seat at
the table resignedly, and pulled the books towards liim, and
looked at them Avith a dislike that Avas almost pathetic. Hate-
ful tools ! but nothinsr Avas to be done Avithout them. If he
could only manage to get in someAvhere by means of the little
he knew of them, LaAv A-OAved in his soul he Avould never look
at the rubbish again.
Young Uxbridge, Avhcn ho came in spick and span, in the
freshest of morning coats and fashionable ties — for Avhicli
things LaAv had a keen eye, though he could not indulge in
them — looked somewhat askance at the slouching figure of
the new pupil. But though heAvas the son of a Canon and in
the best society, young Uxbridge Avas not more studious, and
a '2
228 "WITHIN THE Pr.ECINCTS.
he was by nature even less gifted, than La\v. Of two stupid
young men, one may have all the advantage over anotlier
which talent can erive, without having anv talent to brag of. *
Law was very dense with respect to books, but he tmderstood
a great deal more quickly what was said to him, and had a
play of humour and meaning in his face, a sense of the
amusing and absnrd, ii nothing more, which distinguished him
from his companion, who was steadily level and obtuse all
round, and never saw Avhat anything meant. Thus, though
one knew more than the other, the greater ignoramus was the
more agreeable pupil of the two ; and the Minor Canon began
to take an amused interest in Law as Law. He kept him to
Ivmcheon after the other was gone, and encouraged the boy to
talk, giving him such a meal as Law had only dreanit of. He
encouraged him to talk, which perhaps was not quite right of
Mr. Ashford, and heard a great deal about his family, and
found out that, though Lottie was right, Law was not perhaps
so utterly wrong as he thought. Law was very wrong ; yet
when he thus heard both sides of the question, the Minor
Canon perceived that it was possible to sympathise with Lottie
in her forlorn and sometimes impatient struggle against the
vis iiiertuv of this big brother, and yet on the other hand to
have an amused pity for the big brother, too, who was not
brutal but only dense, gaping with wonder at the finer spirit
that lonsjed and strusr^led to stimulate him into somethinsr
above himself. So stimulated Law never would be. He did
not understand even what she wanted, what she would have ;
but he was not without some good in him. No doubt he
would make an excellent settler in the backwoods, working
hard there though lie would not work here, and ready to
defend himself against any tribe of savages; and he would not
make a bad soldier. But to be stimulated into a first-class
man in au examination, or an any-class man, to be made into
a male Lottie of fine perceptions and high ambition, that was
what Law would never be.
' But she is quite right,' said Law ; ' something must be
done. I suppose you have heard, Mr. Ashford, as everybody
seems to have heard, that the governor is going to marry
atrain ? '
' I did hear it. "Will that make a great difference to your
ister and you ? '
'Difference? I should think it would make a difference.
A CHANCE FOR LAW. 229
As it happens I know P , the woman he is going to marry.
She makes no secret of it that grown-up sons and daughters
shouldn't live at home. I shall have to leave, whatever
happens ; and Lottie — well, in one way Lottie has more need
to leave than I have : I shouldn't mind her manners and that
sort of thinsr — but Lottie does mind.'
' Very naturally,' .^lid the ]\Iinor Canon.
'Perhaps,' said Law; 'but I don't know where she gets
her ideas from, for we never Avere so very fine. However, 1
might stand it, but Lottie never will be able to stand it; and
the question follows, what is she to do ? For myself, as I say,
I could 'list, and there would be an end of the matter.'
' But in that case you would not be of much use to your
sister.'
Law shrugged his shoulders. ' I should be of use to my-
self, which is the first thing. And then, you know — but
perhaps you don't know — all this is obstinacy on Lottie's
part, for she might be as well off as anyone. She might, if
she liked, instead of wanting help, be able to help us all. She
might start me for somewhere or other, or even make me an
allowance, so that I could get into the army in the right way.
When I think of what she is throwing away it makes me
furious; she might make my fortune if she liked — and be
very comfortable herself, too.'
* And how is all this to be done ? ' said the Minor Canon
somewhat tremulously, with a half-fanrastic horror in his
mind of some brutal alternative that mijiht be in Lottie's
power, .some hideous marriage or sacrifice of the conventional
kind. He waited for Law's answer in more anxiety than he
had any right to feel, and Law on his side had a gleam of
righteous indignation in his eyes, and for the moment felt
himself the victim of a sister's crueltv, defrauded by her folly
and unkindnes.s of a promotion which was his due.
• Look here,' he said solemnly ; ' all this she could do
without troubling herself one bit, if she chose; she confessed
it to me herself. The Signor has made her an offer to brinjr
her out as a singer, and to teach her himself first for nothing.
That is to say. of course, she would pay him, I suppose, when
he had finished her, and she had got a good engagement. You
know they make leads of money, these singers — and she has
got as fine a voice as any of them. "Well, now, fancv, Mr.
Ashford, knowing that she could set us all up in this way,
230 -WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
and give nie a thorougli good start — she's refused ; and after
that she goes and talks about me ! '
For a moment Mr, Ashford was quite silenced by this
sudden assault. A bold thrust is not to be met by fine defini-
tions, and for the first moment the l\Iinor Canon was staggered.
"Was there not some natural justice in what the lout said ?
Then he recovered himself.
' But,' he said, 'there are a great many objections to being
a singer.' He was a little inarticulate, the sudden attack
liaving taken away his breath. ' A lad}' might well have ob-
jections; and the family might have objection.-;.'
' Oh 1 I don't mind,' said Law ; ' if I did I shoidd soon
have toid her ; and you may be sure the governor doesn't
mind. Not likely ! The thing we want is money, and she
could make as much money as cA'er she please.s. And yet she
talks about me ! I Avish I had her chance ; the Signor would
not have to speak tAvice ; I woidd sing from morning to night
if they liked.'
' Would you work so hard as that ? Then why don't you
work a little at yoiu* books : the one is not harder than the
other?'
' Work ! Do you call singing a lot of song.s icorh? ' said
the contemptuous Law.
CIIAPTEK XXin.
GOOD ADVICE.
'On, he did not say much,' Law replied to Lottie's question-
ing when he went home in the afternoon. ' He was very
jolly — asked me to stay, and gave me lunch. How they live,
those fellows I Cutlets, and cold grouse, and pate de foie
gras — something like. You girls think you know about
hou.sekeeping ; you only know how to pinch and scrape,
that's all.'
Lottie did not reply, as she well might, that pelt es de foie
gras were not bought oft" such allowances as hers ; she an-
swered rather with feminine heat, as little to the purpose as
her brother's taunt, 'As if it mattered what we ate! If you
had grouse or if you had bread-and-checsc, what diiTercnco
GOOD ADVICE. 231
does it make? Yoii care for such mean thiiigs, and notliiner
iit all about your character or your living. W/iat did ^Ir.
Ashford say ? '
' My character ? ' said Law. * I've done nothing Avrong.
As for my living, I'm sur** I il(in't know how tlutfs to be got,
neither does he. He thinks I sliould emigrate or go into the
army — ^just what I tliink myself. He's vtvv/ jolly ; a kind of
man that knows what you nic.m, and don't just go off on his
own notions. I think,' &iid Law, ' that he thinks it very
(jueer of you, Avhen you could set me up quite comfortably,
cither in the army or abroad, not to do it. He did not say
much, but I could see that he thought it very queer.'
' I — could set you up — what is it you mean, Law ? '
Lottie was too much surpri.'^cd at first to understand. ' How
could I set you up.'' slie went on, faltering. 'You don't
mean that you tokl ]\Ir, Ashford about Oh, Law, you
are cruel. Do you want to bring us down to the dust, and
leave us no honour, no reputation at all .' First thinking to
enlist as a common soldier, and then — me ! '
' Well, then you. Why not you as well as me, Lottie ?
You've just as good aright to work as I have; you're the
eldest. If I am to be bullied for net reading, which I hate,
Avhy should you refuse to sing, which you like ? Why, you'ro
always squalling all over the place, even when there's nobody
to hear you — you could make a very good living l)y it; and
what's more,' said Law, with great gravity, ' be of all the use
in the world to me.'
' How could 1 be of use to you?' said Lottie, dropping
her work upon her knee and looking up at him with wonder-
ing eyes. This was a point of view which had not struck her
before, but she had begun to perceive that her indignation
was wasted, and that it was she only in her liimily who had
any idea that a girl should be spared anything. 'Law,' she
she said piteously, ' do you think it is because I don't want to
work? Am I ever done working? You do a little in the
morning, but I am at it all the day. Do }ou think Mary
could keep the house as it is and do everythiijg? '
' Pslunv I ' answered Law, ' anybody could do that.'
Lottie was not meek by nature, and it was all she could
do to restrain her rising temper. ' Mary has wages, and I
have none,' she said. ' I don't mind the Avork ; but if there is
one difference between the common people and gentlefolk, it
232 WITHIN THE PHECINXTS.
is that girls who are ladies are not sent out to work. It is foT
men to work out in tlie Avorld, and for women to work at
home. Would you like everybody to bo able to pay a shilling
and go and see your sister ? Ob, Law, it is for you as rtauch
as for me that I aux speaking. Everybody free to stare and
to talk, and I standing there before them all, to sing whatever
they told me, and to be cheered perhajos, and people clapping
their hands at me — at me, your sister, a girl- Law ! yoii
would not have it ; I know you could not bear it. You,
would rush and pull me away, and cover me with a cloak,
and hide me from those horrible people's eyes.'
' Indeed, I should do nothing of the sort,' said Law ; * I'd
clap you too — I should like it. If they were hissing it would
be a different matter. Besides, you know, you could change
your name. They all change their names. You might be
!Miss Smith, which would hiu-t nobody. Come now, if you
are going to be reasonable, Lottie, and discuss the matter —
why, your great friend Miss Huntington sang at a concert
once — not for any good, not to be paid for it — only to make
any exhibition of herself (and she was not much to look at,
either). Don't you remember? It Avould be nothing worse
than that, and heaps of ladies do that. Then it is quite clear
you must do something, and what else would you like to do? '
Lottie frowned a little, not having taken this (juestion into-
consideration, as it would have been right for her to do; but
the things that concerned other people had always seemed to
lier so much more important. She never had any doubt of
her own capabilities and enei'gies. \yheu the question was
thus put to her she paused.
' Just now I am at home ; I have plenty to do,' she s^iid.
Then, alter another pause^ ' If things change here — if I ciuinot
stay here, Law, why shouldn't we go together? You must>
get an appointment, and I Avould take care of you. I could
make the money go twice as far as you would. I could help
jou if you had work to do at home — copying or anything — I
would do it. It would not cost more for two of us than for
one. I could do everything for you, even your washing; and
little things besides. Oh, I don't doubt I could get cpiantities
of little things to do,' said Lottie, with a smile of confidence in
}icr own {)()Wfis ; ' and no one need be the wis( r. You would
be thouglit to have enough for us both.'
'Listen to me, now,' said Law, who had shown many
GOOD ADVICE. 233
Pigns of impatience, not to say consternation. ' Wliat you
mean is {if yon know what you mean), tliat you intend to live
upon me. You needn't stare; you don't think what you're
saying, but that is Avhat you really mean when all is done.
Look here, Lottie ; if I were to get a place I should live in
lodgings. I should bring in other fellows to see. I shouldn't
want to have my sister always about. As for not spending a
penny more, that means that you would give me dinners like
Avhat we have now ; but when I have anything to live on, of
my own, I 5-hall not stand that. I shall not be content, I can
tell you, to live as we live now. I want to be free if I get an
ajipointment ; I don't want to have you tied round my neck
like a millstone ; I want to have my liberty and enjoy myself.
If it comes to that, I'd rather marry than have a sister always
with me ; but at first I shall want to have my iling and enjoy
myself. And what is the use of having money,' said Law,
Avith the genuine force of conviction, 'unless you can spend it
upon yourself? '
Lottie was altogether tiiken by surprise. It was the first
time they had thus discussed the cpiestion. She made no
reply to this utterance of sound reason. She sat with her
work on her knee, and her hands resting upon it, staring at
her brother. This revelation of his mind was to her alto-
gether new.
' But, on the other side,' said Law, feeling more and more
confidence in himself as he became used to the sound of his
own voice, and felt himself to be unanswerable, 'on the other
side, a singer gets jolly pay — far better than any young fellow
in an office ; and you could quite well afford to give me an
allowance, so that 1 might get into the army as a fellow ought.
You might give me a hundred or two a year and never feel it;
and witii that I could live upon my pay. And you needn't be
afraid tlmt I should be ashamed of you,' said generous Law;
' not one bit. I should stand by you and give you my counte-
nance as long as you conducted yourself to my satisfaction. I
should never forsake you. When you sang anywhere I'd be'
sure to go and clap you like a madman, especially if you went
under another name (they all do); that would leave me more
free. Now you nuist see, Lottie, a young fellow in an office
could not be much good to you, but you could be of great
u>e to me.'
Still Lottie did not make any reply. No more terrible
234 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
enlightenment ever came to an unsuspecting listener. She
saw gradually rising before her as she spoke, not only a new
Law, but a new version of herself till this moment unkno^vn
to her. This, as Avas natural, caught her attention most ; it
made her gasp with horror and affright. Was this herself —
Lottie ? It was the Lottie her brother knew. That glimpse
of herself through Law's eyes confounded her. She seemed
to see the coarse and matter-of-fact young woman who wanted
to live upon her brother's work ; to make his dinners scanty
in order that she might have a share, to interfere Avith his
companions and his pleasures — so distinctly, that her mouth
■was closed and her very heart seemed to stop beating. Was
this herself? Was this how she appeared to other people's
eyes? She Avas too much tlumderstruck, overawed by it, to
say anything. The strange difference between this image
and her own self-consciousness, her conviction that it Avas for
LaAv's advantage she had been struggling ; her devotion to the
interests of the family before everything, filled her Avith con-
fusion and beAvilderment. Could it be she that Avas Avrong,
or Avas it he that Avas unjust and cruel ? The Avonder and
suddenness of it gave more poignant and terrible force to the
image of her Avhich Avas evidently in LaAv's mind. All the
selfish obtuseuess of understanding, the inability to perceive
Avhat she meant, or to understand the object of her anxiety,
Avhich liad so Avounded and troubled her in Law, her brother
had found in her. To him it Avas apparent that Avhat Lottie
Avanted Avas not his good, but that she might have someone
to Avork for her, someone to save her from Avorking. She
gazed not at LaAv, but at the visionary representation of herself
which Law Avas seeing, Avith a pang beyond any Avords. She
could not for the moment realise the brighter image Avhich he
made haste to present before her of the generous sister Avho
made him an allowance, and enabled him to enter the army
* as a fellow ought,' and of whom he promised never to be
ashamed. It is much to be doubted Avhether Lottie had any
Avarm sense of humour at the best of times ; certainly she
shoAvi'd herself quite devoid of it now. She Avas so hurt and
sore tliat she could not speak. It Avas not true. How could
he be so cruel and unjust to her? But yet could it bo at all
true ? Was it possible that this coarse picture Avas like Lottie,
Avould be taken for Lottie by auvone else? She kejit looking
at hiui after he had stopj)ed speaking, unable to take lier eyea
GOOD ADVICE. 235
from him, looking like u dumb creature -who has no other
power of remonstrance. Perliaps in other circumstances
Lottie would have been so foolisli and childish as to cr}' ;
now she battled vaguely, dismally, with a sense of heart-
breaking injustice, yet asking hersell" could any part of it be
true?
' Don't stare at me so,' said Law ; ' you look as if you had
never seen a fellow before. Thougli he Avas civil and did not
&iy anything, it was easy to see that was Avhat old Ashford
thought. And I've got to go back to him to-morrow, if that
will please you ; and, by the "way. he s<aid he'd perhaps come
and see you and tell you what he thought. V>y Jove, it's
getting late. If I don't get out at once he'll come and palaver,
and I shall have to stay in and lose my afternoon, as I lost
the morning. I'm off', Lottie. You need not wait for me
for tea.'
It did not make much difference to her when he went
away, plunging down the little staircase in two or three long
steps. Lottie sat like an image in stone, all the strength
taken from her. She seemed to have nothing left to say to
herself — no ground to stand on, no self-explanation to offer,
t^lie had exhausted all her power of self-assertion for the
moment ; now she paused and looked at herself as her iiither
and brother saw her — a hard, scanty, parsimonious house-
keeper, keeping them on the simijlest iiire, denying them
indulgences, standing in their way. What if she kept the
house, as she londly hoped, like a gentleman's house, sweet
and fresh, and as fair as its liulcd furniture permitted ? What
did they care for tidiness and order ? What if she managed,
by infinite vigilance and precaution, to pay her bills and keep
the credit of the household, so i:ir as her power went, imim-
paired.' They did not mind debts and duns, except at the
mere moment of encountering the latter, and were entirely
indiflTerent to the credit of the name. She was in her father's
way, who before this time would have married the woman
who brushed past Lottie on the slopes but for having this
useless grown-up daughter, whom he did not know how to
dispose of; and if Law got an appointment (that almost im-
possible, yet fondly cherished, expectation which had kept a
hort of forlorn brightness in the future), it now turned out
that she woidd be in Law's way as nmcli or more than in her
fatlier's. Lottie's iicart c<)ntia(;t«'(l with pain ; her spirit iiiiled
236 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
her. She, who liad felt so strong, so capable, so anxious to
inspire others with her own energy and force ; she, who had
felt herself the support of her family, their standard-bearer,
the only one who was doing anything to uphold the falling
house — in a moment she had herself fallen too, undermined
even in her own opinion. Many a blow and thrust had she
received in the course of her combative life, and given back
with vigour and a stout heart. Never before had she lost her
confidence in herself; the certainty that she was doing hei*
best, that with her was the redeeming force, the honourable
principle which might yet convert the others, and save the
family, and elevate the life of the house. What she felt now
was that she herself, the last prop of the Despards, was over-
throAvn and lying in ruin. Was it possible that she was
selfish too, seeking her owti ease like the rest, avoiding what
she disliked just the same as they did ? A sudden moisture
of intense pain suffused Lottie's eyes. She was too heart-
struck, too fallen to weep. She covered her face with her
hands, though there was no one to cover it from, with the
natural gesture of anf!;uish, seeking to be hidden even from
itself.
Lottie did not pay much attention, although she heard
steps coming up the stair. What did it matter? Either it
was Law, who had stricken her so wantonly to the ground ;
or her father, who did not care Avhat happened to her ; or
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, who did not count. Few other people
mounted the stairs to the little dniwing-room in Captain
Dcspard's house. But when she raised her head, all pale and
siii'!eless, and saw that the visitor was Mr. Ashford, Lottie
scarcely felt that this was a stranger, or that there was any
occasion to exert herself and change her looks and tones.
Did not he think so too ? She rose up, putting down her
work, and made him a solenm salutation. She did not feel
capable of anything mere. The Minor Canon drew back his
hand, which she did not see, with the perturbation of a shy
man repulsed. Lottie was not to him so unimportant a
person as she was to her brother. She was surrounded by all
the unconscious st^ite of womanhood and mystery and youth
— a creature with qualities beyond his ken, wonderful to him,
as unknown though visible, and attracting his imagination
more than any other of these wonderful mystic creatures, of
whom he had naturally encountered many in his life, had ever
GOOD ADVICE. 237
done. His heart, which had so swelled with pity and ad-
miration on Sunday evening, was not less sympathetic and
admiring now, notwithstanding that it was through Law's
eyes that he had been seeing her to-day ; and this re-
pulse, which was so unlike her candour and frankness
yesterday, gave him a little pain. He wanted to be of use to
her, and he wanted to tell her so — and to repel him Avhile he
had these generous purposes in his mind seemed hard. He
sat doAvn, however, embarrassed, on the chair she pointed
him to; and looking at her, when thus brought nearer, he
discovered, even with his short-sighted eyes, how pale she was
and how woebegone. Someone had been vexing her, no
doubt, poor child ! This took the sh}-ness out of Mr. Ash-
ford's voice.
* I have come to make my report,' he said, in as even a
tone as he could command, ' about Lawrence. He has told
you — that he has been with me most part of the day ? '
' Yes.' When Lottie saw that more than this mono-
syllable was expected from her, she made an effort to rouse
lierself. * I fear it is not anything very encouraging that you
have to say ?'
'I have two things to say, Miss Despard — if you will
permit me. Did you ever read Lord Chesterfield's Letters ?
But no, perhaps they are not reading for such as you. There
are many wickednesses in them which would disgust you, but
there is one most tragic, touching thing in them '
He made a pause; and Lottie, who was young and
variable, and ready to be interested in spite of herself, looked
up and asked, ' What is that ? '
* I wonder if I may say it ? — it is the effort of the father
to put himself — not a good man, but a fine, subtle, ambitious,
aspiring spirit — into his son ; and the complete and terrible
failure of the attempt.'
' I do not know — what that can have to do with Law
and me.'
* Yes. Pardon me for comparing you in your generous
anxiety to a man who was not a hero. But, Miss Despard,
you see what I mean. You will never put yourself into Law.
He does not understand you ; he is not capable of it. You
must give up the attempt. I am only a new acquaintance,
but I think I must be an old friend, somehow, I want you to
give up the attempt.'
238 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
He looked at lier Avith such a. kind compreliension and
pity in his eyes, that Lottie's heart sprang up a little from its
profound depression, like a trodden-down flower, to meet this
first gleam of sunshine. She did not quite see what he meant
even now, but it was something that meant kindness and
approval of her. ' He cannot think that of me ! ' she said to
herself,
'I am glad you will hear me out,' he said, Avith a look of
relief, ' for the rest is better. Law is not stupid. He would
not be your brother if he were stupid. He is a little too
prudent, I think. He Avill not hear of emigrating, because he
has no money, nor of trying for the army, because he could
not live on his pay. Right enough, perhaps, in both cases;
but a hot-headed boy would not mind these considerations,
and a fellow of resolution might succeed in either way.'
* He has always been like that,' said Lottie. ' You see
Law does not want anything very niiich, except to be as well
off as possible. He would never make up his mind what to
try for. He says anything ; and anything means Oh I
Mr. Ashford, I Avant to ask you something about myself. Do
you think it is just as bad and selfish of me to refuse to be — oh !
a pulilic singer ? I thought I Avas right,' said Lottie, putting
out her hands Avith unconscious dramatic action, as if groping
her Avay ; * but noAv I am all in doubt. I don't know Avhat to
think. Is it just the same ? Is it as bad of me ? '
She looked at him anxiously, as if he could settle the
question, and the Minor Canon did not knoAv Avhat reply to
make. He was on both sides — feeling Avith her to the bottom
of his heart ; yet seeing, too, where the reason lay.
* I am very sure you are doing nothing either bad or
selfish,' he said ; but hesitated, and added no more.
' You Avon't tell me,' she cried ; * that must mean that you
are against me. Mr. Ashford, I have always heard that there
was a great difference between girls and boys; like this: that
for a boy to Avork Avas always honourable, but for a girl to Avork
Avas letting down the family. Mamma — I don't know if she
Avas a good judge — always said so. She and it Avas better to do
anything than Avork, so as that people should know. There
was a lady, Avho Avas an officer's Avife, just as good as we Avere,
but they all said she Avas a goA'erness once, and were disagree-
able lo her. It seemed a kind of disOTace to all the children.
Their mother was a governess '
GOOD ADVICE. 2;^^
' But that is very bad ; very cruel,' said the Minor Canon.
* I am sure, in your heart, tliat is not a thing of -winch you
can approve.'
' No,' said Lottie, doubtfully ; ' except just this — that it
■would be far more credit, far more right, if the men were to
try hard and keep the girls at home. That is -what I thought.
Oh, it is not the work I think of ! "Work ! I like it. I
don't mind what I do. But there must always be somebody
for the Avork at home. Do you suppose Mary could manage
for them if I Avere not here ? There would be twice as much
spent, and everything would be different. And do you not
think, Mr. Ashford, that it would be more credit to them —
better for everyone, more honourable for Law, if he Avere at
work and I at home, rather than that people should say, " His
sister is a singer ? " Ah ! Avould you let your own sister be
a singer if you were as poor as we are? Or Avould you rather
iight it out with the world, and keep her safe at home, only
serving you ? '
' My sister ! ' said the j\Iinor Canon. He was half-affronted,
half-touched, and wholly unreasonable. ' That she should
never do ! not so long as her brother lived to work for her —
nor would I think it fit either that she should serve me.'
' Ah, but there you are wrong,' said Lottie, whose face
was lighted up with a smile of triumph. 'I thought you
Avould be on my side ! But there you are wrong. She would
be happy, proud to serve you. Do you think I mean we are
to be idle, not to take our share ? Oh, no, no ! In nature
a man works and rests ; but a woman never rests. Look at
the poor people. The man has his time to himself in the even-
ings, and his wife serves him. It is quite right — it is her
share. I should never, never grumble at that. Only,' cried
Lottie, involuntarily clasping her hands, ' not to be sent out-
side to work there ! I keep Mary for the name of the thing;
because it seems right to have a servant ; but if we could not
afford to keep IMary do you think I Avould make a fuss? Oh,
no, iVIr. Ashford, no ! I could do three times Avhat she does.
I should not mind what I did. But if it came to going out,
to having it known, to letting people say, " His sister is a
governess," or (far worse) " His sister is a singer " — it is that
1 cannot bear.'
Mr. Ashford was carried away by this torrent of words,
and by the natural eloquence of her eyes and impassioned
240 WITHIN THE rr.EClKCTS.
voice, and varyiiig countenance. He did not know what to
say. He .^liook his head, but when he came to himself, and
found his footing again, made what stand he could. ' You
forget,' he said, 'that all this would be of no use for yourself
or your future '
' For me ! ' Lottie took the words out of his mouth with
a flush and glow of beautiful indignation. ' Was it me I was
thinking of? Oh, I thought you understood !' she cried.
' Let me speak. Miss Despard. Yes, I understand. You
would be their servant ; you would work all the brightness of
your life away. You would never think of yourself ; and when
it suited them to make a change — say when it suited Law to
jnarry — you would be thrown aside, and you would find your-
self without a home, wearied, worn out with your work, dis-
appointed, feeling the thanklessness, the bitterness of the world.'
Lottie's face clouded over. She looked at him, half-de-
fiant, half-appealing. ' That is not how — one's brother would
behave. You would not do it '
' No ; perhaps I would not do it — but, on the other hand,
said Mr. Ashford, ' I might do — what was as bad. I might
make a sacrifice. I might — give up marrying the woman whom
I loved for my sister's sake. "Would that be a better thing
to do?'
Their eyes met when he spoke of the woman he loved —
that is, he looked at Lottie, who was gazing intently at him ;
and, strangely enough, they could not tell why, both blushed,
as if the sudden ctmtact of their looks had set their faces aglow.
Lottie instinctively drew back without knowing it ; and he,
leaning towards her, repeated, almost with vehemence :
' Would that be a better thing to do ? '
Lottie hid her face in her hands. ' Oh, no, no ! ' she said,
her sensitive frame trembling. Mr. Ashford was old, and
Law was but a boy— how could there be any question of
the woman either loved ?
' Forgive mo. Miss Despard, if I seem to go against you —
my heart is all with you ; but you ought to be independent,'
he said. ' Either the woman would be sacrificed or the man
would be sacrificed. And tliat kind of sacrifice is bad for
everybody. Don't be angry with me. Sacrifices generally
are bad ; the more you do for others, the more selfish they
become. Have you not seen that even in your little expe-
rience ? There are many people who never have it in their
A cnisis. 241
power to bo independent ; but those who have should not
neglect it — even if it is not in a pleasant way.'
' Even if it is by — being a sineer ? ' She lifted her head
again, and once more fixed ujion him eyes which were full of
xmshed tears. Taking counsel had never been in Lottie's
way ; but neither had doubt ever been in her way till now.
Everything before had been very plain. Kight and Avrong —
two broad lines straight before her ; now there Avas right and
wrong on both sides, and her landmarks were removed. She
looked at her adviser as women look, to see not only what he
said, but whatsoever t^hade of unexpressed opinion might
cross his face.
' It is not so dreadful after all,' he said. ' It is better than
many other ways. I am afraid life is hard, as you say, upon
a girl. Miss Despard. She must be content with little things.
This is one of the few ways in which she can really get inde-
pendence — and — stop — hear me out — the power to help others
too.'
Lottie had almost begun a passionate remonstrance ; but
these last words stopped her. "r hough she might not like the
way, still was it possible that this might be a way of setting
everything right ? She stopped gazing at her counsellor, her
eyelids puckered with anxiety, her face quite colourless, and
expressing nothing but this (piestion. Not a pleasant way —
a way of martyrdom to her pride — involving humiliation,
every pang she could think oi ; but still, perhaps, a way of
setting everything right.
CIIAPTEK XXIV.
A CRISIS.
"WiiKN Lottie got up next morning the world seemed to have
changed to her. It had changed a little in reality, as some-
times one day differs from another in autumn, the world
having visibly made a more marked revolution than usual in
a single night. It had got on to the end of August, and
there were traces of many fiery fingers upon the leaves on the
slopes. It had been a very fine summer, but it w s coming
prematurely aa ea 1, everybody said, and abouc ^ horizon
B
242 ■WITIIIX THE PRECINCTS.
there beG:an to be veils of luminous mist iu the morninf?, and
soft haze tliat veiled the evening light. This autumnal aspect
of the world seemed to have come on in that one night. Tlie
Virginian creeper roiuid tlie window had ' turned ' in several
patches of scarlet and yellow all at once. It was beautiful,
but it was the fir.st step towards winter and the chills — the
first evidence of a year decaying which makes the spectator
pause and think. ^Vheu Lottie woke she felt in her heart
that consciousness of something, she knew not what, some-
thing that had happened to her, that overshadowed her, and
forced itself upon her before slie could tell what it was, which
is the way care manifests itself at our bedsides: something
that made her heart heavy the first thing on awaking. Then
she remembered -^sdiat it was. Lottie, we have said, was not
a girl who was in the habit of taking advice ; but for that once
she had taken it, seizing upon the first trustworthy witness
she could find who would bring iin impartial eye to the pro-
blem of her life. She had been very strong in her own
opinion before, but when reason was j^ut before her Lottie
could not shut her eyes to it. Neither could she dawdle and
delay Avhen there was anything to do. She awoke with the
consciousness that some ghost was lurking behind her white
curtains. Then with a start and shiver remembered and re-
alised it, and, drawing herself together, made up her mind to
act ac once. What was the use of putting o£E ? Putting off
was the reason why Law was so backward, and Lottie Avas nofi
one of those wlio let the grass grow under their feet. The
more disagreeable the first step was, the more reason was
there that it should be taken to-day. She went downstairs
with a gleam of resolution in her eyes. After the shock of
finding out that there is a painful thing to do, the determi-
nation to do it at once is a relief. It brings an almost plea-
sure into the pain to set your face to it bravely and get done
witli it ; there is tluis an exhilaration even in what is most
disagreeable. So Lottie felt. Her despondency and depres-
sion were gone. She had something definite to do, and she
would do it, let what obstacle soever stand in the way. She
made the family tea and cut the bread with more enei-gy than
usual. She was the first visible, as she always was, but her
mind was fully occupied with her own adiiirs, and she was
glad enough to be alone for half an hour. After that she had
lo go up again and knock at her liither's door, to remind him
A cnisis. ^l.T
that there was but little time for breakfast before the bell
began to ring for matins ; but she had taken her own break-
I'iist and bcLMin her Avork before the Captain and Law canio
downstairs. When she had poured outiheir tea for them she
sat down in the window-seat Avith her sewing. She did not
take any share in their talk, neither did she watch, as she
olteu did, the stir of morning life in the Dean's Walk — the
tradesmen's carts going about, the perambulators from the
town pushing upward, with fresh nursemaids behind, to the
shady walk on the slopes ; now and then a tall red soldier,
showing against the grey Avail of the Abbey opposite; the old
Chevaliers beginning to turn out, taking their little morning
promenade before the bells began. The stir was usually
pleasant to Lottie, but she took no notice of it to-day. She
was going to matins herself this morning— not perhaps alto-
gether lor devotion, but Avith the idea, after the service, of
lying in Avait at the north gate for the exit of the Signor.
lIoAv it Avas that the subject came imder discussion Lottie
did not knoAv, She Avoke to it only Avhen it came acros3
herself and touched upon her OAvn thoughts. It Avas LaAV
AA'ho Avas saying something (it Avas fit for him to say so !),
grumbling about the inequality of education, and th.at girls
had just as good a right to Avork as boys.
' I should like to knoAv,' he siiid, ' Avhy I should have to
get hold of a lot of books, and trot over to old Ashford, and
Avork like a shu'e till one o'clock, while she sits as cool and as
fresh as can be, and never stirs ? ' He Avas not addressincr
anybody in particular, but grumbling to the Avhole Avorld at
large, Avhich was Law's Av;iy. Generally his father took no
notice of him, but some prick of sensation in the air no doubt
moved him to-day.
' Speak of things yoix knoAV something about,' said the
Captain; 'that's the best advice I can give you, LaAV. And
let Lottie alone. Who Avants her to Avork ? The fresher she
looks and the better she looks, the more likely she is to get a
husband ; and that's a girl's first duty. Is that the bell ? '
said Captain Despard, rising, draAving himscdf up, and puUin
his collar and Avristbands into due display. ' Let me hear
nothing about Avork. No daughter of mine shall ever dis-
grace herself and me in that Avay. Get yourself a husband,
my child ; that's the only Avork I'll ever permit — that's all a
lady can do, A good husband. Lottie. If I heard of some-
R 2
o
244 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
one coming forward I'd be happier, I don't deny. Bring him
to the scratch, my dear ; or if you're in difficulty refer him to-
me.'
He was gone before Lottie could utter a Avord of the many
that rushed to her lips. She turned upon Law instead, wlio-
sat and chuckled behind his roll. ' If it had not been for you
he would not have insulted me so ! ' she cried.
' Oh, insulted you ! You need not be so grand. They
say you may have Purcell if you like,' said Law, ' or even the
Signer ; but it's the other fellow, liidsdale, you know, your
old flame, the governor is thinking of. If you could catch
him now ! though I don't believe a fellow like that could
mean anything. But even Purcell is better than nothing.
If you would take my advice '
Lottie did not stay to hear any more. He laughed as she
rushed out of the room, putting up her hands to her ears.
But Law was surprised that she did not strike a blow for lier-
self before she left him. Her self-restraint had a curious
effect upon the lad. ' Is anything up ? ' he said to himself.
Generally it was no difficult matter to goad Lottie to fury
with allusions like this. He sat quite still and listened while
she ran upstairs into her own room, which Avas overhead.
Then Law philosophically addressed himself to what was left
of the breakfast. He had an excellent appetite ; and the bell
ringing outside which called so many people, but not him, and
the sight of the old Chevaliers streaming across the road, and
the morning congregation hurrying along to the door in the
cloisters, pleased him as he finished his meal, without even
liis sister's eye upon him to remark the ravages he made in
the butter. But Avhen he heard Lottie's step coming down
stairs again Law stopped, not without a sense of guilt, and
listened intently. She did not come in, which was a relief,
but his surprise was great -when he heard her walk past the
open door of the little dining-room, and next moment saw
her flit past the window on the way to the Abbey. He got
up, though he had not finished, and stared after her till she,
too, disappeared in the cloister. ' Something must be up,' he
repeated to himself.
Lottie's silence, however, was not patience, neither was it
any want of suscti)til)ility to what had been said. Even this,
probably, she would have felt more had her mind not been
preoccupied by her great resolution. But when she found
A CKISIS. 2-15
herself in tlie Abbey, abstracted from all external circum-
.»^tances, the great voice of the organ filling the beautiful place,
the people silently filling up the seats, the choir in their white
robes filing in, it seemed very strange to Lottie that the ser-
vice could go on as it did, undisturbed by the beats of her
lieart and the commotion of her thoughts. Enough trouble
and tumult to drown even the music were in that one corner
where she leant her shoulder against the old dark oak, finding
some comfort in the physical support. And she did not, it
must be allowed, pay very much attention to the service; her
voice joined in the responses fitfidly, but her heart wandered
far away. No, not far away. Mr. Ashford's counsel, and
her iather's, kept coming and going through her mind. Truth
to tell, Captain Despard's decision against the possibility of
work gave work an instant value in his daughter's eyes. We
do not defend Lottie for her undutifulness ; but as most of
the things she had cared for in her life had been opposed by
her father, and all the things against which she set her face in
fierceness of youthful virtue were supported by him, it could
.scarcely be expected that his verdict would be very effectual
with her. It gave her a little spirit and encouragement in her
aiewly- formed resolution, and it helped her a little to over-
come the prejudice in her mind wdieu she felt that her father
was in favour of that prejudice. He did not want her to work,
lo bring the discredit of a daughter who earned her own living
iipon him ; he wanted to sell her to anyone who would offer
for her, to make her 'catch' some man, to put forth wiles to
cittract him and brinj; him into her net. Lottie, who believed
in love, and who believed in womanhood, with such a faith
i\s perhaps girls only possess: what silent rage and horror
filled her at this thought ! She belicAed in womanhood, not
so much in herself. For the sake of that abstraction, not for
her own, she wanted to be wooed reverently, respected above
all. A man, to be a perfect man, ought to look upon every
woman as a princess of romance : not for her individual sake
so much as for his sake, that he might fidl short of no noble-
ness and perfection. This was IjOttie's theory throughout.
.She would have Law reverence his sister, and tenderly care
for her, because that would prove Law to be of the noblest
kind of men. She wanted to be worshipped in order to prove
triumphantly to herself that the man who did so was an heroic
lover. Tlii.s was liow IJollo had caught her imagination, her
24G ■\VITIIIN THE PUECINCTS.
deceived imagination, which fut into Hollo's looks and words
so much that was not really there. This simple yet superla-
tive thread of romance ran through all her thoughts. She
leaned back u]wn the carved oak of the stall, preoccupied,
while the choristers chanted, thinking more of all this than of
the service. And then, Avith a sudden pang, there came across
her mind the thought of the descent that would be necessary
from that white pedestal of her maidenhood, the sheltered and
protected position of the girl at home, which alone seemed to
be fit and right. She would have to descend from that, and
gather up her spotless robes about her, and come out to
encounter the storms of the world. All that had elevated her
in her own conceit was going irom her — and what, oh ! what
could lie, or anyone, find aiterwards in her? He would turn
away most likely with a sigh or groan from a girl who could
thus throw away her veil and her crown and stand up and
confront the world. Lottie seemed to see her downfall with
the eyes of her visionary lover, and the anguish that brought
with it crushed her very heart.
Did it ever occur to her that an alternative had been
offered for her acceptance ? Once, for a moment, she saw
Purcell's melancholy face look doAvn upon her from the organ-
loft, and gave him a kind, half-sad, half-amused momentary
thought. Poor fellow ! she could have cried for the pain slie
must have given him, and yet she could have laughed, though
she was ashamed of the impulse. Poor boy ! it must liave
"been only a delusion; he woidd forget it; he would find
somebody of his own class, she said to herself, uneasy to think
she had troubled him, yet with the only half-smile that cir-
cumstances had afforded her for days past. Captain Despard,
had he knoAvn, Avould have thought Purcell's suit well worthy
of consideration in the absence of a better ; and the Signor,
whom Lottie had made up her mind to address, darted fiery
glances at her from the organ-loft, taking up his pupil's cau>e
Avith heat and resentment ; but she herself sailed serenely over
the Purcell incident altogether, looking doAvn upon it from
supreme heights of superiority. It did not occur to her as a
thing to be seriously thought of, much less in her confusion
and anguish, as a reasonable Avay of escape. And thus the
morning Avent on, the chanting and the reading, and all those
outcries to God and appeals to His mercy Avhich His creatiuvs
Utter daily Avith so much calm. Did anybody mean it Avhcn
A CKisis. 247
tliey all burst forth, ' Lord have mercy upon iis, Christ, have
mercy uium ns' ? This cry avdUg Lottie, and her driaining soul
came back, and she held up her clasped hands in a momentary
passion of entreaty. The sudden ^vildness of the cry in the
midst of all that stately solenmity of praying caught her
visionary soul. It was as if all the rest had missed His ear,
all the music and the jKietr}', King David harping on his harp,
and Handel with his blind iiice raised to heaven ; and nothing
vas left but to snatch at the garments of the ^Master as lie Avent
away, not hearing, not looking, or appearing not to look and
hear. This poor young soul in the midst of her self-question-
ings and struggles woke up to the passion;ite reality of that
cry, ' Lord have mercy upon us, Christ have mercy upon
us ! ' and then it went away from her again in thunders of
glciious music, in solenmity of Avell-known words, and she
lost herself once more in her own thoughts.
Lottie withdreAv timidly into the aisle when the service
Avr.s over. She knew the Signor would pass that way, and it
stM-nied to her that it would be easier to speak to him there
than to go to his house, which was the only other alternative.
But the Signor, when he came out, was encircled by a group
of his pupils, .and darted a vengeful, discouraging glance at
her as he passed. He would not pause nor take any notice of
the step she made towards him, the wistful look in her face.
If he had seen it. it would have given him a certain pleasure
to disiippoint Lottie, for the Signor had a Avomanish element
in him, and was hot and merciless in his partisanship. He
cast a glance at her that might have slain her, that was as far
from encouraging her as anything could be, and passed (juickly
by, taking no other notice. Thus her mission was fruitless :
and it was the same in the afternoon, when she Avent out by
the north door and made believe to be passing Avheu the
musician came out. To do him justice, he bad no notion that
she Avanted him, but wondered a little to find her a second
time in his Avay. He AA'as obliged, as it Avas outside the
Abbey, to take oiF his hat to her; but he did so in the most
grudging, hasty Avay, and Avent on talking Avith his pupils,
pretending to be doubly engaged and deeply interested in
Avhat the lads Avere saying. I'here Avas no chance then, short of
going to his house, of carrying out her resolution for this day.
But in the evening, Avhen all Avas still, Lottie, Avho had been
silting at home Avorking and thinking till her heart Avas s!ck
248 WITHIN THE rnECIXCTS.
and her brain throbbing, put on her hat and went out in the
dusk to get the air at the door. It Avas a lovely, quiet night,
the moon rising over the grey pinnacles of the Abbey, marking
out its great shadow upon'tlie Dean's Walk, and the migno-
nette smelHng sweet in all tlie little gardens. A few of the old
Chevaliers were still about, breathing the sweetness of the
evening like Lotde herself. Captain Temple, who was among
them, came up to her with liis old-fashioned fatherly gallantry
as soon as he saw lier. ' Will you take a turn, my dear? ' he
said. He had no child, and she had never had, so to speak,
any father, at least in this way. They went up and down the
terrace pavement, and then they crossed the road to the
Abbey, from which, though it was so late, the tones of the
great organ were beginning to steal out upon the night. ' Is
this a ghost that is playing, or what can the Signor be think-
ing of?' Captain Temple "said. Old Wykeham, that grufE old
guardian of the sacred place, Avas standing with his keys in his
hands at the south door. He had not his usual rusty gown
nor his velvet cap, being then in an unofficial capacity ; but
Wykeham Avould not have been Wykeham without his keys.
And though he was gruff he knew to whom respect was due.
'Yessir. there's something going on inside. One o' the
Signer's fancies. He have got some friends inside, a playing
his voluntaries to them. And if you like, Captain, I will let
you in in a moment, sir.' ' Shall we go, my dear ? ' the old
Captain said. And next moment they were in the great gloom
of the xVbbey, which was so different in its solemnity from
the soft summer dark outside. There was a gleam of brilliant
light in the organ-loft where the Signor was playing, which
threw transverse rays out on either side into the darkness,
showing vaguely the carved work of the canopies over the
stalls, and the faded banners that hung over them. Down in
the deep gloom of the choir below a few figures were dimly
perceptible. Lottie and her kind old companion did not join
these privileged listeners. They kept outside in the nave,
where the moon, which had just climbed the height of the
great windows, had suddenly burst in, throwing huge dimly-
coloured pictures o£ the painted glass upon the floor. Lottie,
who was not so sensible as she might have been, preferred
this partial light, notwitlistanding the mystic charm of the
darkness, which was somewhat awful to look in upcm through
the open door of the choir. She put her liand, a little tremu-
SHK STdoK ANO I.ISIKNEI), FEELING AI.I, IIKB TKOUBLKS CALMED.
A CRISIS. 249
lous, on tlie old Captain's arm, and s^tood and listoned. feeling
all her troubles calmed. AVliat was it that thus calmed her per-
turbed soul ? She thought it was the awe of the place, the
spell of the darkness and the moonlight, the music that made
it all wonderful. The Signor was playing a strange piece of
old music when the two came in. It was an old litany, and
Lottie thought as she listened that she could hear an unseen
choir in the far distance, high among the grey pinnacles, on
the edge of the clouds, intoning in intricate delicate circles of
harmony tlie responses. Was it the old monks ? Was it the
angels ? Who could tell ? ' Lottie, my love, that is the vox
humana stop,' said the kind old Captain, who knew something
^bcut it ; and as he, too, was no wiser than other people, he
began to whisper an explanation to her of how it was. But
Lottie cared nothing about stops. She could hear the solemn
singers of the past quiring far ofE at some unseen altar, the
softened distant sweetness of the reply. Her heart rose up
into the great floating circling atmosphere of song. She
seemed to get breath again, to get rest to her soul : a strange
impulse came over her. She, who was so shy, so uncertain
of her power, so bitterly unwilling to adopt the trade that was
being forced upon her : it Avas all that she could do to keep
herself from singing, joining to those mystical spiritual voices
her own that was full of life and youth. Her breast swelled,
her lips came apart, her voice all but escaped from her, soar-
ing into that celestial distance. All at once the strain stopped,
and she with it, coming down to the Abbey nave again, where
she stood in the midst of the dim reflected rubies and
amethyj-ts and silvery whites of a great painted window,
giddy and leaning upon the old Chevalier.
' It was the vox Innnana. It is too theatrical for my taste,
my dear. It was invented by '
' Oh, hush, hush ! ' cried Lottie, under her breath ; ' he is
beginning again.'
This time it was the ' Pastoral Symphony ' the Signor
played — music that was never intended lor the chill of winter,
but for the gleaming stars, the sofl falling dews, the ineffable
paleness and tenderness of spring. It came upon Lottie like
those same dews from heaven. She grasped the old man's
arm, but she could not keep herself from the response which
no longer seemed to come back from any unseen and mystic
bhiine. Why should tiie old monks come back to sing, or
250 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
the angels have the trouble, who have so much else to do,
when Lottie was there ? When the ' Pastoral Symphony '
Avas over the Signor went on, and she with him. Surely there
must have been some secret understanding that no one knew
of — not themselves. He played on unconscious, and she
lifted up her head to the moonlight and her voice to heaven
and sans: —
There were shepherds watching their flocks by night.
Lottie let go her hold of the Captain's arm. She wanted no sup-
port now. She wanted nothing but to go on. to tell all that divine
story from end to end. It got possession of her. She did not
remember even the changes of the voices ; the end of one
strain and another was nothing to her. She sanji through the
whole of the songs that follow each other without a pause or
a falter. And like her, without (juestioning, Avithout hesita-
tion, the Signor played on. It Avas not till she had proclaimed
into the gloom that ' His yoke is easy and His burden light '
that she came to herself. The last chords thrilled and vibrated
through the great arches and died away in lingering echoes
in the vast gloom of the roof. And then there Avas a pause.
Lottie came to herself. She Avas not overwhelmed and
exhausted by the effort, as she had been at the Deanery. She
felt herself come doAA'n, as out of heaA'^en, and slowly became
aAvare o£ Captain Temple looking at her Avith a disturbed
coimtenance, and old Wykeham in all the agitation of alarm.
' If I'd have known I'd ncA'er have let you in. It's as much
as my place is Avorth,' the old man Avas saying; and Captain
Temple, very kindly and fatherly, but troubled too, and by
no means happy, gave her his arm hurriedly. * I think Ave
liad better go, my dear,' he said ; ' I think Ave had better go.'
Someone stopped them at the doer — someone Avho took
her hand in his Avith a Avarmth Avhich enthusiasm permitted.
' I kneAv it must be yon, if it Avere not one of the angels,'
he said ; * one or the other. I have just come ; and Avhat a
Avelcome I have had — too good for a king ! '
I did not knoAv you Avere here, Mr. Kidsdale,' said Lottie,
faintly, holding fast by Captain Temple's arm.
'' But I kncAV you were here ; it was in the air,' he said,
half-Avhispering. ' Good-night ; but good-night lasts only till
to-morroAv, thank heaven.'
WHAT FOLLOWED. 251
CHAPTER XXV.
V.IIAT FOLLOWED.
Captain Temi'le Avas not liappy iibout the events of that
evening. lie had begun to grow very fond of Lottie, and he
was not pleased that she should have ' made an exhibition of
herself.' He went over it so often to his wife that i\[rs.
Temple learned the incident by heart. There was in her
mind, mingled with an intense silent interest in the girl who
■was like her own, a feeling of repulsion too, equally intense
and silent, which joined with the opposite sentiment, and kept
Lottie as constantly present to her mind as she was in the
Captain's talk. And, though it sometimes appeared to her
that she Avould die of this girl, who reminded her at every
step that she had lost her child, yet she could not check her
husband's ever-flowing, continually repeated talk on the sub-
ject. Mrs. Temple thought this was all for his sake. Some-
times, in ihe bitterness of her loss, she would cry out that she
loathed the very name of this other, who was so Avell and
bright and full of life, while her cliild was dead and gone ;
but, notwithstanding, Lottie had gradually come to hold a
large place in her life. IIow could she heli) thinking of her ?
Grudging her very life and brightness, rei)eniing her grudge,
praying God's blessing on the girl whom she thus injured,
avoiding her, tearing the sight of her, Avatching for her whom
she feared ; how could it be but that I\Irs. Temple, in her
lonely hours, should think of Lottie? She was the conlidant
now of the old Captain's regret.
' I thought slie was a sweet, modest girl,' he said, shaking
his head ; 'shy, even — as I like a girl to be — very like ■
My dear, I cannot bear a girl to make an exhibition of her-
self ■'
'But if there was no one to see her, and if 30U were in
the dark ? '
' That is true, my dear ; but if they did not see her they
heard her. Such a voice I I wish 3-ou had been there — but
that sort of public use of it — and to have the confidence to
sing when she was not asked ! ' Captain Temph; shook his
head. He seemed to have done nothing but shake his head
since last night.
252 WITHIN TUE PRECINCTS.
* Do you think that the more she has a beautiful voice the
less she should let it be heard ? ' said his wife. ' I am not so
taken up with this INIiss Despard as you are ; but still I think
you are unjust to her.'
' Perhaps I am unjust to her. How can I help being taken
Tip with her? If you knew her as well you would be taken
up with her too. And I wish you did ; it would be a comfort
to you. In everything she does, her walk, every little gesture,
I see something that reminds me I know you don't like
to Hpeak of it, my dear.'
Mrs. Temple set her face like a rock while the old Captain
talked on. He did nothing but speak of it, and she would
not stop him. Had she not noticed the girl's walk ? When
Lottie passed IMrs. Temple turned from the window, feeling
-as if someone had given her a blow. Yet Avhat had she gone
to the window for but to watch for Lottie ? And she was
more just to her than Avas the old Captain, who could not bear
any ialling off in his ideal, who thought that a girl should
never make an exhibition of herself, and did nothing for a
Aveek after but shake his head.
The singing, however, made a great excitement in the
Cloisters. It was only a select few who had been there
to hear ; and they thought it was all the Signor's arrange-
ment, who had provided for them so much greater a pleasure
than they had ex])ected — or, rather, an additional plea-
sure. ' Who was it ? ' everybody asked. Was it possible
it could be little RoAvley ? But it was inconceivable that a
mere child like that could have taken the contralto solo as
Avell as the soprano. But Avas it certain that there Avas only
one voice? The darkness Avas deceptive, and all the circum-
stances Avcre so unusual, so out o£ the ordinary. When you
came to think of it, it could not be one A'oice. It nuist have
been little KoAvley and INIellor, the big boy, Avhose contralto
Avas famous. At that distance, and in the dark, it Avas so easy
to deceive yourself and think there Avas only one person sing-
ing. Tliere A\'as nothing talked about next morning but this
Avontlcrful incident, and both the people Avho had been there
jiud the people Avho had not been there (Avho Avere piqued, and
i't'lt themselves neglected, as a matter of course) discussed it
■with the utmost excitement. Even before the hour of matins,
••'lid Pick, Avho Avas out upon his master's business and Mrs.
I'urcell's errands, Avas twice interviewed on the subject. The
^V^AT FOLLOWED. 253
first time it was Rowley, the tenor, who as«iiled him, whose
boy was tlie first soprano, and Avhose rights Avere attacked.
* I should just like to know what the Signor is up to,' Rowley
said. 'lie's always got some new fad or other in his head.
He'll have us all up next into that organ-loi't, like a set of
Christy Minstrels. Hanged if I'll go ! '
' Anyhow, you'll wait till you're asked.' said old Pick.
* I don't advise him to ask me. And. look here ! I want
to know who it was. If he's bringing in somebody in the
dark, on the sly, to put them boys' noses out ! — you never can
tell Avhat a foreign fellow's up to. I don't know a voice like
that, not in the Abbey. If he's smuggling in a new boy,
•without no warning, to take the bread out of folks' mouths, by
George, I won't stand it ! I'll go to the Dean about it !
Tommy's cried hisself hoarse. He couldn't eat his breakfast,
poor little beggar! and he's got "Hear my prayer" this
morning. Hanged if I don't think it's all a scheme against
me and my boy ! That ain't a child's voice. There's a touch
of falsetto in it, if 1 know anything about music. It won't
last, not a month. I've heard them come out like that, that
you could hear them a mile off, just before they break.'
' Then you were there, INIr. Rowley ? ' said old Pick ; * I
thought there was only the folks from the Deanery there.'
' I wasn't there. Catch me in the Abbey when I'm not
wanted ! I have enough of it, practising and bothering from
morning till night. The Signor's very good for the organ. I
don't say nothing against that ; but he don't know much about
Englishmen. You do no justice to your voice when you
never give yourself no rest; but he can't understand that. I
lieard it outside. Pick, there's a good old fellow, you know
what it is yourself, and I'm sure we're always glad to see you
when you look in at our little place. Tell us what's up —
■who is it? Tommy will have to go in time. I don't say
nothing against that. But he's not twelve, poor little beggar,
and his voice is as clear as a bell. He's fit to fret himself into
a fever if they take the first solos from him. Tell us what the
Signor's up to, and who he's got coming in ? I say it's a
sliame,' said the tenor, rising again into vehemence. * Them
that is on the spot, and belonging to the place, and bred up in
the Abbey all their lives, hanged if they should be turned out
for strangers ! I don't see the fun of that.'
' If you've done, Mr. Rowley, I think I'll go,' said Pick ;
254 ■V\'ITDIN THE rRECINCTS.
upon which Rowley sv/ore under his breath that it wasn't like
an old friend to give a fellow no answer, and that he didn't
know what he and Tommy had done to offend the Signor.
To this old Pick made no reply, being himself extremely
indignant not to know anything about the mystery in question.
He had heard of no new boy — ' nor anything as is new,' Pick
said to himself with w^armth as he hurried through the
enclosure which belonged to the lay clerks, where a great
many people were at the doors and window?, and the excite-
ment was general. It Avas natural that Pick should be in-
dignant. So little as there ever was to hear or report within
the Precincts, to think something should have happened under
his very nose, in the Abbey, and he not know ! The Signor
was a good master, and the place was comfortable ; but there
are things Avhich no man can be expected to stand. Even
Mr. John had not said a word about any novelty. If he had
told his mother, then the housekeeper had been as treacherous
as the rest, and had not breathed a word to Pick. It was a
tlnng that no man could be expected to put up with. Here
were two ladies now bearing down upon him, full of curiosity
— and that Pick should have to confess that he didn't knoAV !
' Oh, Pickering ! you must know — who was it that was
singing in the Abbey last night ? A very extraordinary thing
for the Signor to countenance. He did not ask its ; he knew
it would be of no use, for neither my husband nor I approve
of such proceedings ; making the Abbey, our beautiful Abbey,
into a kind of music-hall ! I hear it was a lady : the very
worst taste, and anything so unecclesiastical ! Women don't
exist in the Church — not as taking any part — but these are
points which foreigners never will understand,' .said the lady,
with a sigh.
' It Avas odd having such a performance at all, for a few
privileged persons. I thought the Abbey, at least, ' said the
second lady, ' was for all.'
•Don't go, Pickering; you haven't answered my question.
If I were you, being a man of experience, and having known
the Abbey so long as you have done, I would give a hint to
your master. You should tell him people here don't like that
sort of thing. It may do very well abroad, or even in town,
where there are all sorts ; but it does not do in St. I^lichael's.
You should tell him, especially as he is only half English, to
WHAT FOLLOWKD. 255
be more careful. Stop a little, Pickering ! You have not
answered my question yet.'
' Beg your pardon, ma'am, but you didn't give me no
time,' said Pick.
'Do not be impertinent, Pickering. I asked you a plain
question, and I told vou what I should do in your place. A
man like you, that has been so long about the Abbey, might
be of great use to your master. You should tell him that in
England a lady is never suiFored to open her mouth in church.
I never heard of anything so unecclesiastical. I wonder the
Dean does not interfere— a man of good Church principles as
he is, and with so much at stake. I really wonder the Dean
does not interfere.'
' Oh, the Dean ! ' said the other lady ; ' and as for Church
principles '
But just then there was a tremble in the air with the first
inoveniont of the matin bells, and, withoiit compromising his
dignity or showing his ignorance, old Pick made good his
escape. He went home in anything but an amiable state of
mind, and went straight to the kitchen, where ]\Irs. Purcell
was busy, as was natural at this time of the day, putting all
in order and arranging for the Signor's dinner. The luncheon
jNIary Anne was quite ecpial to, but some one was coming to
dinner, for whom Mrs. Purcell intended to exercise all her
powers. Pick went in with a fierce glow of indignant anima-
tion, with his roll of commissions fulfilled and imfulfilled.
' There's no sweetbreads to be had,' he said, ' till Saturday;
they'll save you a pair on Saturday, if you send the order with
the man when lie comes; but they'll be six-and-six, if 3'^ou
think that too dear. (Dear ! I should think it was dear.
How much o' that goes to the veal, I wonder, and the man as
fed it?) And as for game ! you might as well go a-shooting
on tlie slopes ; and what there is bringing its weight in gold.
I wouldn't give in, if I was you, to that fashion about grouse.
It's all a fashion. Nobody ever thought of grouse in my
young days, and coming after they've eat everything as they
can set their face to. What should they want with it? Fve
brought you the lemons. jNIany a man Avouldn't be seen
carrying a bag o' lemons all the way up the hill ; and every-
thing's kep' from me, just because Fm too humble- minded,
and don't make no stand, nor mind what I do.'
'What's l)ecn kep' from you, Pick?' said Mrs. Purcell,
256 WIIIIIN THE PHECINCTS.
pausing in her work to look at liim. Then she added,
'There's been a deal of talking in the study. I've picked up
a Avord or two about some woman, for they were going on
about She ; and She — but whether it's that Miss Despard, or
who it is, John's never said a word to me.'
' It don't need a witch to tell that it's a woman,' said Pick ;
but he was relieved. ' That fellow Rowley's been at me, and
one of the ladies round the corner ; but they both had so
much to say that I got off, and neither the one nor the other
found out as I hadn't a notion what they were talking about,*
the old man added, with a chuckle. ' It's some new voice, as
far as I can make out, as master has got hold of for the Abbey :
and quite right too. Tommy Rowley's got a pretty little bit
of a voice, and he's only twelve ; but some voices goes sooner
than others. The ladies thought as it was a woman ; but
that's impossible. They were quite in a way. They said it
was uneck — somethin' or other — Dissenting-like, as I took it
up — and that the Signor ought to be ashamed of hisself '
' Master ? ' said Mrs. Purcell, opening her eyes wide ; ' but
I hope you didn't stand there and hear them say any harm of
the Signor ? '
' They told me as I was to give him good advice,' saici
Pick, still chuckling; ' but all the same, ma'am, I don't think
as Mr. John should keep a thing from his mother. Where's
the young man as owes as much to his mother as that young
man owes to you ? '
' Not to me, to his own deservings ; he's been a lad that
has done credit to everyone as has been kind to him. Pick,
and never forgets nobody as has been kind to him ; but he's
not the young man he was. He's lost all his smiles and his
fun since he had that disappointment. I don't wish Miss
Despard no harm, but I wish she had been a hundred miles
from here, and my John had never seen her. Young women
have a great deal to answer for,' said Mrs. Parcel!, with a
sigh.
' Young women haven't much to answer for, so flxr as I'm
concerned ; nor master neither, so far I can see,' said Pick,
going off to his work with a comfortable consciousness that,
this being the case, it did not matter so much about Mr.
John.
But, if the community was thus stirred in general, words
cannot tell the excitement that this strange incident created
WHAT FOLLOWED. 257
in the organ-loH;. The Signer told Purcell after, that he
could not tell Avhat it was that made him go on when he had
come to an end of the 'Pastoral Symphony,' and play 'There
were Shepherds.' He had not meant to do it. He had in-
tended to make the other thu "finale of his performance. There
■was such a feeling of night in it, the Signor said, the grass
growing in the dark, and the stars shining, and the dew
coining down. He meant to end there ; he knew I\Ir. Ridsdale
■was a modern man and an opera man, and did not care so
very much for Handel. Still he had meant to end with that ;
but when it came to the last chords he -was not his own
master, and he went on. As for Purcell, there was no need
for anyone to tell him whose that voice was. Though he
xs'as at the moment helping to ' blow,' he nearly compromised
the whole performance by darting to the other side of the
organ-loft and gazing down into the darkness to see her.
Happily the other man wdio was there, the professional
blower, was fciken by no such vagaries, and kept on steadily.
' And I saw her,' Purcell said, ' standing in the moonlight,
■with all the colours of the rainbow about her, like the nimbus
round the heads in ]\Ir. Clayton's new window.' The young
fellow was quite struck by this sight. He thought it must
mean something : he thought even she must be relenting
towards himself, and had taken this strange -way of showing
it. The Signor was greatly moved too, but he did not take
that view of the subject. He was a true artist himself, and
he knew that there are impulses which get the better of
people who are of this race. He patted his assistant on the
arm, and told him not to build on it. But what then could
it mean ? young Purcell said ; and it ■was difficult to answer.
They both of them came down from their lofty gallery after-
Avards in great excitement, and the Signor, confused, received
the enthusiastic thanks of his audience. ' What a pleasure
you have given us ! ' they said ; ' you have been better than
your word. What exquisite playing, and what an exquiriite
voice ! You don't mean to say that was a boy, Signor ? ' —
They asked llie question, but they all believed, of course,
that it was a boy. To think that little Kowley, because it
svas dark, and nobody saw him, should have been able to
sing like that ! No one suspected the truth except Rollo
Kidsdale, who came up to the musician in the dark nave and
gripped him by the arm, so that he hurt the sensitive Italian-
258 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
Englishman, whose nerves were all on the surface. ' Did you
do it on purpose ? ' RoUo cried, excited too — ' I shall give up
the opera and take to oratorios — did you do it on purpose ? '
* Did you do it on purpose ? ' said the Signor, who up to this
moment had supposed in his excitement that Ridsdale's coming
must have had something to do with it. But after that ques-
tion, which Rollo did not distinctly hear, the Signor changed his
tone and hid his own astonishment, and accepted the applauses
addressed to him on the admirable device by which he had
given his hearers a double pleasure. And Purcell and he
went home with their heads full of a hundred conjectures.
"Who had brought her in ? how did she know of it even ?
Old Wykeham had kept his own counsel — he did not know
whether he might not be supposed to have taken too much
upon him had it been known ; and, though he heard the two
musicians talking of this miracle, he threw no light upon it,
which he might have done so easily. Who could have told
her ? who could have brought her in ? Purcell could not but
think that her coming Avas a sign of relenting, that she was
thus making a kind of celestial intimation that all was not
over. This raised him into a very ecstasy of hope.
The Signor had other thoughts. He thought of nothing
else all night ; the sympathy and comprehension of an artist
filling his mind and driving away the almost dislike with
which, after her rejection of his protege^ he had been dis-
posed to regard Lottie. Whatever might happen to Purcell
here was something which had never happened to himself in
his life before. No doubt it had been a sudden impulse, like
that which had made her fly trembling and pale with excite-
ment, from himself and them all, in the drawing-room of the
Deanery. This time the impulse had been the other way, and
she had obeyed it. He had subjugated her by waiting her
time, and, by what was much more pleasant to think of, the
spell of his music, which had gone to her heart. Let it not
be supposed that any sentiment about Lottie had begun to
creep into the Signer's heart. Young women, as Pick said,
had little to answer for as far as he was concerned. He was
all artist and not much else ; but, with a glow through his
being which answered, let us suppose, to the high throb of
.satisfaction which goes through persons who talk about their
hearts, he said to himself, ' She shall not escape me this time ! '
He knew more of Lottie than Rollo Ridsdale did. And he
"WHAT FOLLOWED. 259
knew that he could make more of her than Rollo could make
of her. lie could make of her much more than was dreamed
of in Kollo's philosophy. He knew what she needed, and he
could give it to her. In his hands, the Signor thought, this
simple English girl might rise to the level of the Malibrans,
of the Pastas. There should be no one able to stand be-
fore her.
It is to be feared he was thinking of this more than of the
music as he played through King in F, which was the service
ior that morning. And he left Purcell to play the voluntary
and stole out unobserved, though it was indecorous, before the
congregation had dispersed. He threaded through the dim
aisles and the cloisters, before Wykeham had time to call atten-
tion to him by hobbling after him Avith his jangling keys. He,
like Lottie, had resolved to give himself no time to think of it, to
do it at once. Ridsdale ! — What a vain fool he was, talking
about giving up opera and taking to oratorios ! What could
he could do with her, if he had got her ? His manager had re-
jected Lottie, and gone oiF after that voice at Milan. What
fools they all were ! and what wovdd be the advantage to
liidsdale of having this voice untrained on his hands? What
could he do with her ? but there was nothing she might not
do under the guidance of the Signor.
It was still early when he reached the little house : Lottie
had not attempted to go out this morning to see the Signor,
she was too much shaken by her escapade of last night. How
could she have done it ? She, who had loathed the idea of
becoming a singer ! She had made a singer of herself by her
o-vvn act and deed, and she felt the fiill meaning of what she
had done. She had got up early, unable in her excitement
to sleep, and tingling still with the consequences of this
strange, unpremeditated, unintended self-betrayal. What
was it that had made her do it ? She had got her work, and
she had placed herself near the window — not so near as to be
seen, yet near enough to be able to glance out and see any-
one who might be coming that way. There were things to
be done in the house, domestic operations of more importance
than the needlework. But Lottie said to herself that they
could wait — oh, they could wait ! In the meantime what was
best was, that she should be ready in case anyone called, ready
to see anybody that might come over the road across the sun-
shine, in the morning quiet. ' Good night ; but only till to-
8 2
£60 WITHIN THE PRECIN'CTS.
morrow ' — what was it that had conveyed to her the con-
sciousness that he was there? The Abbey had been dark —
she had not been thinking of him — certainly she had not
known that he was looked for ; and yet, what but the sense
that he was there would have made her do what she had done ?
She had sung unwillingly, unwittingly, in spite of herself,
because he was there. It all seemed quite plain to Lottie.
He it was (she thought) who had first made her aware that
this gift of hers was anything worth thinking of; he it was
who had first given her the supreme pleasure of consciousness,
who had shown to her the happiness she could bestow. Her
voice (as she thovight), if after all it was really worth any-
thing, if it was the thing he thought it, the thing it sounded
like last night — belonged to him. It was his spiritually ; he
had discovered it, and revealed it to herself. She had not
been aware what she was doing ; but unconsciously it was to
him she was singing, when her voice escaped from her : it was
a welcome to him — and he had accepted it as his welcome.
Lottie gave a glance from her window, and thought she saw
someone coming across the broad sunshine in the Dean's
Walk. Her heart gave a louder beat — he was coming. She
made no mystery now about it ; the preliminaries were all
over. He came for her — who else ? he had never concealed
it ; he had come for her long ago. She could not tell how
long ago it was since he had first caught a glimpse of her at
the window. Always since then it had been for her that he
came : content at first to watch outside her window ; then,
with a lover's ingenuity, finding out ways of race ting her ;
then venturing, bold yet timid, always reverential, to her
home — and now at length Avhat was coming ? He was
coming. And she had Avitlidrawn the veil from her heart, and
seen and acknowledged what was there. It was for him she
sang : without knowing it, her heart had been aware of his
presence ; and now he was coming. Lottie drew back in the
shade of the great leaves which garlanded her window. The
next moment he would be here
But it was only the Signor.
THE FOOL S PARADISE. 261
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE fool's paradise.
The Signer came in with some suppressed excitement about
him, which he concealed under an air of perfect calm, but
which betrayed itself in the gleam of his eyes and the rapidity
of his movements. He saw in a moment that he had bitterly
disappointed Lottie, whose countenance changed as she saw
him — changed from glowing expectation to that sudden pallor
and sickness of departing hope which seems to carry all the
life out of a face. He saw it, and he understood ; he had
the quickness of perception which belonged to his Italian
origin, and he had, as we have said, a great deal that was
feminine in him — this among the rest, that he could divine
and read the meanings of a face. He saw at once what it
was. She had expected, not him, but another. The Signer
was very sorry for Lottie. He had been angry, almost spite-
fully angry, about her rejection of his favourite pupil ; but
slie had made her peace with him last night, and all her
offences had been condoned. He was very sorry for her.
She had been looking for Eidsdale, and Ridsdale had not
come. The Signer felt that he himself Avas a much safer and
better visitor for her ; but, all the same, he was sorry for
Lottie. He bowed with a depth of respect, which, indeed, he
showed to all ladies. He was more of an Itahan than an
Englishman in this point ; he was always ceremonious and
stately to women, bowing to the ground, taking the hand
offered to him reverentially, as if he meant to kiss it. This
ceremony gave Lottie a little time to recover herself, and
after all it was very early. The voluntary was still sounding
from the Abbey (how had the Signer got away so soon ?) and
though he had not appeared yet, that was not to say that he
was not coming. She took her seat again, with the colour
coming back.
'I do not know how to speak to you,' he said; ' hew to
thank you for last night '
' Oh ! so long as you do not think me very presumptuous
— very bold. I — could not help it. It was the music that
went to my head,' said Lottie, very tremulous, giving a hasty
glance at him and then tuining her head away.
262 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' It is just because the music goes to your head that I
have such high hopes — Miss Despard,' said the Signor ; 'let
bygones be bygones, won't you ? and let us be friends.'
' We never quarrelled that I know of,' said Lottie, slightly
alarmed ; and, for his part, the Signor was confused, thinking
of Purcell, o£ whose misadventure he had, of course, no right
to know.
* You were not pleased with me,' he said. ' I did not
worship your voice as some people do. I told you plainly
that you wanted instruction. So you do still. Your voice is
lovely, Miss Despard, and you have the soul of an artist.
You can forget yourself Little singers never forget them-
selves ; they are always in the foreground, seeing their own
personality everywhere ; but it is very different with you.'
Lottie did not say anything in reply. She felt vaguely
that he was giving her praise, but she did not mind. Was
that someone coming in below ? but it was only Captain Des-
pard returning in after matins. The Signor, always so quick,
felt again the flutter in her, and knew what her expectation
was.
' You were once very angry with me for making a — an
application to you. You thought I meant to be disrespect-
ful? Ah, no. I could not fail of respect to a lady. Miss
Despard ; but I saw in you what I see still more clearly
now.'
' Signor ! ' said Lottie, rousing herself up to seize the
opportunity, with a bewildered feeling that it Avas right to do
it, that if she did not do it now, she never might ; and, finally,
that to do it might propitiate fate and make it unnecessary to
be done — ' Signor — let me tell you first. I went to the
Abbey yesterday on purpose to see you, to say to you ah,
here is someone coming to interrupt us.'
' Yes, there is someone coming to interrupt us,' cried the
Signor almost bitterly ; this time there coiild be no doubt
who it was ; ' but first, one word before he comes. You were
coming to tell me that you consented — that you would be my
pupil ? '
She could scarcely pay any attention to him, he saw.
What a thing to think of, that a girl like this, a woman with
genius, should let an empty-headed coxcomb come between
her and all that was worth caring for, between her and Art !
She gave him a confused, half-guilty look, which seemed like
THE fool's paradise. 263
a confession of weakness, and nodded only in reply. Nodded !
when a proposal was made to hei' such as the Muse might
have made to her chief iavourite, when the gates of the
Palace of Art were being rolled open wide to admit her. In
that moment, Lottie, all pre-occupied by the advent of a
mere man of fashion, in music not more than a charlatan, in
honour not much to brag of, gave her consent to the aiTange-
ment which was to iashion her life by — a nod. Heaven and
earth ! what a demonstration of female folly ! Could the
Signer be anything but vexed ? He could hardly restrain
his impatience, as Kollo came in, all ea^er and smiling, easy
and cordial, even to himself. The Signor, though he was as
innocent of sentiment as old Pick, looked like nothing in the
world so much as a scared, jealous, and despairing lover,
■watching, in spite of himself, the entrance of the conquering
hero, for whom all the songs were sung and all the welcomes
said.
' 1 might have known I shovdd find Rossinetti here,' said
Polio, * as he is an earlier bird than I am. Where could we
all flock this morning but here ? You have been thanking
Miss Despard for her divine singing last night. My life, what
singing it was ! I have never heard anything like it. Miss
Despard, I have come to announce to you my conversion. I
abjure opera as I abjure the pope. Henceforward Handel is
my creed — so long as you are his interpreter,' he added,
sinking his voice.
' Yes,' said the Signor. ' Miss Despard will sing very
well if she works ; but we are fiir yet Irom the highest ex-
cellence of Avhich such a voice as hers is capable. I will take
my leave now. Perhaps you have a friend who Avould bring
you to my house ? that would be the best. No doubt I could
come here ; but if you will come to my house, my piano is a
very good one, and that would be the best. Don't think it is
anything to bo remarked ; my pupils constantly do it. They
bring a maid Avith them, or, if it is needful, I send for
Mrs. , for my housekeeper. My young ladies are most
imflatteringly at their ease with me.'
' You are going to take lessons ? ' Polio asked quickly.
* I congratulate you, Possinetti. My good fellow, you are a
great genius, and I know very little, but I never was so
envious of you before. All the same you know lessons are —
teaching is — well, we must admit, not much more than »
264 WITHIN THE PRECIITCTS.
pretence in the present case. The habit of singing, that is
all Miss Despard wants.'
* You must pardon me that I don't agree with you,' tlie
Signor said, somewhat stiffly. ' Miss Despard does not want
flattery from me. She Avill get plenty of that by and by ;
but she does want teaching, sema complhnenti, and that she
shall have if she will take it. It rests with her whether or
not she will take it. If she does take it as I would have her
do — then,' said the Signor, with a gleam in his eyes of sup-
pressed enthusiasm, ' then I flatter myself '
Eollo was provoked. Though he was very sweet-tem-
pered, he did not like to be crowed over in thi-., way, and his
pleasant hyperbole flattened out ; besides, there is something
in the presence of a young woman which makes men, ever so
slightly pitted against each other, pugnacious. Pie laughed.
* I see,' he said, ' you won't flatter Miss Despard, Eossinetti,
but you flatter yourself.'
' I will send you word about hours,' said the Signor
hastily. ' I beg your pardon, I did not quite catch your last
observation. Good morning, Miss Despard. To-morrow or
after to-morrow I shall hope to begin.'
'Good-bye, for the moment; we shaU meet later,' said
Eollo, with a smile and a nod, turning to open the door for his
— not rival certainly, but competitor. He opened the door
and closed it behind the Signor with quite unnecessary atten-
tion, his face full of suppressed laughter and malicious satis-
faction. Eollo felt that he remained master of the field. He
came back to where Lottie, agitated and happy, was sitting,
rubbing his hands with triumph. ' The Signor is an excel-
lent musician, but he is a prig, Miss Despard, if you will
permit the word ; and now that we have got rid of him,' said
Eollo, dropping into that other seat beside her, let me
say '
What did he say ? Lottie remembered most of the words
for years and years. When she heard the soimd of them
again in other conversations, in sentences that had no relation
to her, from otlier people, and even addressed to other people,
she would hold her breath. Foolish girl ! they were well-
worn words, such as perhaps every woman possessing such a
gifr., or even a much smaller gift than Lottie's, has heard to
weariness; but the most common approbation, which aiter-
wards becomes the mere accompaniment and petty murmur
THE fool's paradise. 2G5
of existence, one lime in one's life is divine — as he told her
her voice was, as he let her infer she too was, and everything
about her, Lottie was not used to anything like flattery.
Even in the best of circumstances, fathers and brothers are
seldom enthusiastic ; and kind Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, though
she had given her countenance to Kowley's lessons, did not in
the least conceal that she was bored by them ; and the tenor
was a great deal too much occupied with his own voice, and
the compliments that had been paid to him, to leave him
much time for complimenting his pupil. It was true that the
Signor's wish to teach her was of itself the essence of flattery ;
but he never had given her any credit for her singing, and
always had seen the faults of it. So that it was KoUo who
had first revealed to her that heaven of praise which is so
doubly sweet to the neophyte when it is supposed to be not
her excellence, but his love, which inspires it. Lottie had nc^
defence against the enthusiasm, the admiration, the rhapsodies
of her companion. If they were excessive, that was not be-
cause he was failing in truth, but only abounding in love.
So she thought. The very atmosphere around her turned
into happiness. Her eyes were dazzled with it. She could
not look at him nor lift her face except in momentary sudden
glances, so much was the air full of this suffused, subdued,,
but penetrating glory. And, strangely enough, though he did
not feel half so much as she supposed him to feel, Kollo him-
self was moved by this something in the air which rayed out
from her ex(iuisite dawn of bliss and of love. He said
naturally a great deal more than he intended — and, what was
more wonderful, he felt a great deal more than he could hav&
supposed possible — and without the least purpose or thought,
dropped moment by moment deeper and deeper into that
curious kind of rapture which is tolerably well expressed by
the phrase, falling in love. Keason had noting to do with it^
nor intention ; and he had not come here driven by a passion
which was more strong than he was, as Lottie thought. But,
nevertheless, whether it was the magnetic influence of that
sentiment in her which he had called forth without knowing
it, and which now touched him with sympathetic life : or the
more commonplace result of her beauty, and of their close
propinquity and her loneliness, and the generous impulse of
protection and kindness that was in him : certain it is that all
Lottie's ideas of him realised themselves in the young man's
266 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
mind in the most miraculous way. He had always been, all
his friends knew, ridiculously sympathetic all his life. Never
before had it taken this precise form ; but then, never before
had Eollo met with the same combination of circumstances.
He had flirted with a great many people, and foolish girls,
who were not prudent enough to remember his younger
brotherhood and impecunious position, had liked his company
and been very willing to roam along the first beginnings
of the primrose path by his side ; but nothing more than the
liglitest exchanges of sentiment had ever come to pass. And
then he had believed of several women that they were ' making
a set' at him, and desiring to ' catch ' him. No degree of younger
brotherhood, no amount of impecuniosity, will prevent a man
from thinking that some woman or other is trying to ' catch '
him ; but never in all his life had Rollo come across a creature
like Lottie, simply, solemnly, gratefully convinced that he
was in love with her. Lottie had not been in love with him
Avhen she thought she found this out. But her certainty as
to Jus sentiments had been absolute. And now this certainty
was realising itself. It was a very difEerent thing from the
love which points directly and, as a matter of course, to the
natural conclusion. He thought of nothing of the kind. He
did not choose her out of all the world, as Lottie thought.
But it came to very much the same thing as they sat together,
talking about everything, dropping into mutual confidences,
wasting the sweet autumnal morning. Lottie knew that all
her domestic businesses were waiting for her, but did not care.
And Rollo knew that, if he were questioned as to where he
had been, he would have to invent an explanation other than
the true one. But what did this matter ? They sat and
talked, forgetting even music, which was the one thing hitherto
Avhicli had occupied them when together. He did not ask her to
sing to him, Avhich was a thing which made Lottie very
happy, notwithstanding that it was his admiration of her
voice only which had made her recognise and be glad of that
possession. She had sung for him gladly, but now she was
more pleased not to be asked to sing. What did they want
with music ? It Avould be hard to describe how well tliey
came to ki.jw each other during that long morning's talk. He
tol'i her about himself, and she told him about herself, and
thus tliey skimmed over very dangerous ground as to the
beginning of their own acquaintance. Lottie, with a girl's
TiiK fool's pahadise. 267
shrinking from premature avowal, Imrried over that point
lest he might perhaps tell her how he had seen her, and
dreamed ot" her, long before he dared claim acquaintance.
Poor Lottie ! but for that ibnd delusion she might have heard
the real cause of his first eagerness to make her acquaintance,
and been disenchanted. But what would it have mattered?
By this time, things had gone too far to make it an advantage
to her now to be undeceived.
This was the beginning of the time which was the crown
and flower of life to Lottie Despard. Deceived, and yet not
deceived ; creating really the sentiment which she believed in,
yet not as she believed it ; she herself all simple and trustful,
impassioned in everything she undertook, then and there, to
the last fibre of her being, gave her heart to Rollo Ridsdale —
loved him, believing herself as fully justified as ever woman
was, by the possession of his love, to bestow her own ; and
bestowing it purely, freely, without doubt or arriere petisee.
His rank and the pleasure of thinking that someone out of
the world above her, the world which she aspired to, and felt
herself to belong to, was seeking her, had dazzled Lottie at
the first ; — but by this time it did not matter to her who or
what Rollo was. Sometimes even, she thought that she would
prefer him to be more on her own level : then stopped and re-
proved herself proudly for wanting to take anything from him
who deserved everything. His position as a patrician, his
supposed wealth (how was Lottie to know that such a man,
possessing everything, could be just as poor, and perhaps not
much more honourable in respect to debt and such matters,
than her lather?), the grace and nobleness of all his surround-
ings, were part of his nature, slie thought in her simplicity.
To shut him up in small rooms, confine him to the limited
horizon of common life, and its poor little routine of duties,
would be to take something from Rollo ; and she did not want
to take anything from him, rather to add any honour and
glory that might be wanting. She did not know how long or
how short a time they had been together on that wonderl'ul
morning before they first began to talk (as Lottie said) like
friends. It lasted no more than a moment, and yet it was a
new life all luminous and great, throwing the twenty years of
the other life which had preceded it, entirely into shade. She
liad to stand still to steady herself and accustom her eyes to
the ordinary atmosphere when he went away. Everything
268 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
was changed. Her head went round. She did not know
how to go doAvnstairs (too late, much too late!) and look
after the household matters which she had postponed ; and
when she did go to them, went hazily like one in a dream.
What a change had come upon life ! Yesterday, even Rollo
was no more than a distant vision of possibilities to her ; now
she seemed to know him thoroughly, to know all about him ;
to feel that she could tell him whatever might happen, that it
would be natural to confide everything to him — everything !
her heart threw wide open its doors. She did not think even
that he might wonder to find himself so entirely received into
her life. Lottie had none of tihe experience which the most
ordinary encounter with the world, which even ball-room
tattle and the foolish commerce of flirtations give. She came
to this first chapter, all innocent and original in heart and
thought, with the frankness as well as the timidity of a nature
unalarmed and (in this kind) knowing no evil. Love was to
her an angel, the first of the angels — inspiring awe, but no
terror. She went to her work feelingasif she walked to some
noble strain of music. Nothing could irritate her, nothing
put her out.
That evening Lottie went out upon the slopes in the dusk
to breathe the evening air and give herself that fresher, sweeter
medium for her dreams. Law was out, the Captain was out
as usual ; and the little house was very still with only Mary
in the kitchen (for most of her time hanging about the back
entrance looking for the baker), and Lottie upstairs. Some-
how to-night Lottie did not wait for Captain Temple, who had
constituted himself her escort, but as soon as it began to be
really evening stole out by herself and made her way quickly
up the Dean's Walk, not anxious to join anyone. She
wanted to be alone fbr her thoughts. It was not that the
slightest idea of meeting Eollo entered into her mind — how
should it ? The dinners at the Deanery were not like the
afternoon meal in the Chevaliers' lodges, out of which all the
inhabitants streamed as soon as that was over, to get the good
of the summer night. Sunwner — for, though it was be-
ginning to be autumn, it was still summer — warm, soft,
delicious evenings with so much dusk in them, and misty
sweetness. Lottie wanted nothing at tliat moment of dreamy
happiness but silence and her own thoughts ; more, however,
was in store for her. The deanery dinner was a family
THE fool's paradise. 2G9
dinner that evening, and Avliile the Dean read the evening
paper, and Lady Caroline put up her feet on tlie sofa, what
was a young man to do ? He said he would go over to the
Signor's and talk music and smoke a cigar; and tiie elder
people, though they were fond of Eollo, were not sorry to be
rid of him. He wanted, perhaps, to enjoy his triumph over
the Signer, or to find out what his plans were and expectations
of Lottie's voice ; or, perhaps, only he wanted a little variety,
feeling the company of his venerated relations too much
pleasure. But, though he was not so full of dreams as Lottie,
something of the same charmed mood was in his mind. And
when caprice made him take the turn up to the slopes also,
instead of going the other way through the cloisters to the
musician's house — and when the two caught sight of each
other, they both started with genuine surprise, and there was
on Lottie's side even a little alarm. She was too shy to beg
him in so many words to go away, but it was only the want
of courage which kept her from saying so. It was too much;
it did not seem right to meet him again ; but then Lottie
reflected that to the merest acquaintance she was bound to be
polite. Mr. Kidsdale had the same thought. He was unfeignedly
delighted to see her, finding this way of escape from all possi-
bility of dulness much more complete than he thought ; but yet
he felt that perhaps a second encounter so soon, and in a place
open to all eyes, might be dangerous ; notwithstanding, what
could a man do ? He was bound to be civil. He could not
run away from a lady when he met her, simply because he
admired her — a reason, on the contrary, to keep him by her
side. So they took a stroll together, this way and that way,
from one end to the other : it was not a very long way. He
told her that he was going to the Signor's, and she accepted
the explanation very demm-ely, notwithstanding the fact that
the Signor lived on the lower side of the Deanery and this
was on the upper side ; and she told him that she had only
just come out, having missed Captain Temple, who would
appear presently : — ' He is my usual companion — he is very
old, the oldest of all the Chevaliers — and he is very, very
kind to me.' Each accepted what the other thus said with a
kind of solemnity ; and they made two turns up and down,
stopping now and then to look out upon the plain so broad
and blue, with the soft autumn mists hangincr on the horizon.
•At
* Season of mists and mellow fruitf uluess,' Kollo said ; and
270 -WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
they stood still and gazed, foUomng the river in its silvery
windings, and silent as if their minds were absorbed in these
atmospheric influences and that dusky bridal of the earth and
sky. When Captain Temple came up Rollo asked to be in-
troduced to him, and was very civil. ' Miss Despard has been
waiting for you, and I have kept her company,' he said, so
that the old Captain thanked him civilly, if a little stiffly ;
and then the two turned their backs upon each other, Rollo
hastening down to the cloisters to keep, as he said, his appoint-
ment, and Lottie turning away without so much as a parting
glance, without shaking hands. Captain Temple, alarmed at
first, took heart, and thought it was nothing but politeness
when he saw how they parted. ' You were quite right, my
dear, quite right to wait, and I am much obliged to Mr,
Ridsdale; I cannot think how I missed you.' Lottie did not
make a direct reply, but compelled herself to talk, and
very demurely, with much praise of the lovely night, went
with him home.
If Captain Temple had but known ! i\nd after this how
many meetings there were, so happily accidental, so easily
explainable, and yet requiring no such explanation ! How
Avell they began to know each other's habits and each other's
likings; and how sweet were all the dewy misty paths in
that fool's paradise! or on the slopes, if you prefer it;
it does not matter much about a name.
CHAPTER XXVH.
A TERRIBLE INTERRUPTION.
While the time went on in this dream for Lottie it did not
stand still with the rest of the world. Her absorption in her
own affairs, which for the moment had become complete, and
withdrew her thoughts from much that had previously occu-
pied them, was very agreeable to her father and brother.
Lottie had exercised no control that she was aware of upon
her father; but now that her keen eyes were veiled with
dreams, and her mind abstracted from what was going on
rcund her, it is inconceivable how much more free and at his
ease the Captain felt. He had a jauntier air than ever, when
A TERRIBLE INTERRUPTION. 271
ho walked down into the town after he was released from
matins ; and he ciime in later at night. Captixin Despard's
doings at this time were much talked of in the lodges. He
had never been approved by his brother Chevaliers. The old
gentlemen felt that this younger man, with bis jauntiness and
his love of pleasure, was no credit to them ; and if the
gossip was true about his intentions, some of them thought
that something oughtto bedone. The ladies were still more indig-
nant. They were threatened in their dignity more than their hus-
bands were. An officer was an officer, whatever happened; but if
this man, who was in himself so objectionable, should bring in a
dressmaker girl among them, it was the Chevaliers' wives who
wovild be the suffei'ers. The gentlemen thought vaguely that
■something should be done ; but the ladies were for carrying
it to Parliament, or to the Queen herself. Was there not
some old statute forbidding a Chevalier to marry ? If there
was not, there ought to be, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy said, with a
twinkle in her eye. There was nobody, indeed, so much
aggrieved as Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, who lived next door, and
was already intimate with the family ; and though there were
times when she made a joke of it, there were also times when
she was ready to go to the Queen on the subject.
' If there isn't a law there ought to be one ! ' INIrs.
O'Shaughnessy declared. ' What do they want with Avives at
their age, if they haven't got 'em already ? D'ye think I'd
like to hear of me Major with a second, and me not cold in
my grave ? '
It was suggested that the Chevaliers should ' speak to *
this dangerous member of their corporation ; but the old
gentlemen, it was found, did not care to undertake this. Who
would do it ? There was not one of them who could use the
privilege of friendship with this flighty, dissipated fellow, who
was young at fifty to the other veterans ; and they had not
the same confidence in the efficacy of ' speaking to ' a culprit
which the ladies had.
So the little world within the Precincts looked on in great
perturbation, sorry for Lottie, but still more sorry for them-
.selves, whose credit was threatened by this danger. And
jauntier and jauntier grew the Captain. He wore his hat
more and more over his left ear — he got a new tie, louder
and brighter than any that had ever been seen in the Pre-
cincts. His new suit was of a larger stripe. Altogether,
272 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
things were ripening for some new event. Something was going
to happen ; everybody felt it, in the air, in the heaviness of
the autumn weather. Lottie's proceedings, which might
otherwise have given much anxiety to the community, were
veiled by the interest attaching to her father's; which, indeed,
was well for Lottie, who was not at all times quite aAvare
what she Avas doing, or where her steps were tending,
as she walked and wandered — not in her sleep, but in her
dreams.
There was another who took advantage of Lottie's abstrac-
tion, and that was Law. He had begun by going quite
regularly to Mr. Ashford, ' reading,' as it was called, with
the Minor Canon, whom he liked, and who was kind to him,
and sharing the instructions which were being given to young
Uxbridge, the son of the Canon. For a little while there had
been gloom and consternation in this young man's home
because of Law. He was not a companion for her boy, Mrs.
Uxbridge thought; but when this was sviggested to the Minor
Canon he smiled so grimly, and answered with such uncom-
promising brutality, that, of course, he could have no possible
objections to yomig Mr. Uxbridge's removal, that the mother
nearly fainted, and Mr. Uxbridge himself, a large and stately
person, had to stammer forth an apology. There was a dan-
gerous gleam in Ashford's eye, enough to appal the Chapter,
notwithstanding his inferiority to them, and there was nothing
for it but to let him have his way. And for a week or two
Law was exemplary — he allowed that for the first time in his
life he could feel he was getting on ; he became what he
called ' thick ' with Uxbridge, who took him out boating and
cricketing; and so far all went well. But when Lottie's
vigilance all at once relaxed — when she began to steal out
herself, and come in with her eyes all dazzled and dreamj',
■often not knowing when she was spoken to, taking so much
less heed than usual of other people's proceedings, Law's
industry began to llag. Sometimes he ' shirked ' altogether ;
very often he never looked at his books, except under Mr.
Ashford's eye. He made Uxbridge idle too, who was but too
much disposed to take a bad example. Uxbridge had a boat
of his own, and they went on the river for days together
Sometimes a cricket match ended in a dinner, to which Law
would be invited with his friend. He got into better com-
pany, but it is doubtful whether this was much to the
A TERRIBLE INTERRUPTION. 27iJ
advantage of his morals, and it certainly was not at all
to the advantage of his studies. The Minor Canon remon-
strated, and Lottie would now and then wake up and make an
appeal to him.
' Are you Avorking, Law ? I hope you are working. Does
Mr, Ashford think you are getting on ? ' she would say. But
these were not like the energetic protests of old. And when
Law answered that he was getting on pretty well, hut that old
Ashford didn't say much — it wasn't his way — Lottie accepted
the reply, and asked no more questions. And Law accord-
ingly took ' his fling,' being lelt free on all sides. Why
shouldn't he take his fling? The others were doing it —
even Lottie ; did she think he was blind not to see how often
that fellow Ridsdale was spooning about, and how mnny more
walks she took than she used to .' Captain Temple got tired
of coming for her. Very often she had gone before he came
— and would run back breathless, and so sorry to have missed
him. What did all that mean if not that Lottie was taking
her fling too ? And his father — Captain Despard — was speed-
ing very quickly towards such a thing as Avould startle the
whole town, not to speak of the Abbey. It would be hard
if Law were the only one to have his nose kept to the grind-
stone ; and this, we may be sure, was the last thing he meant
to allow.
As for Lottie, she carried on the business of her life in a
way. The house did not suffer — the dinner was always
punctual, and the stockings mended, notwithstanding dreams.
She found time, indeed, for more actual occupation than
before. She went to the Signor's — Mrs. O'Shaughnessy
generally, but sometimes Captain Temple, going with her
when she went for her lessons — and she went to the Abbey
more frequently than she had been used to do. These lessons
were moments of excitement for the Signor's household.
When it was the old Captain who accompanied Miss Despard,
iMrs. PurcoU was had in from her room, where she sat
e.xpectant among her jam cupboards ; and profound was her
interest. She sjit near the door hemming some dusters, while
the lesson went on ; but sometimes would drop her work and
cross her hands, and raise her eyes to the dusky heaven of the
ceiling.
' bear, bless me ! ' said the housekeeper, ' that was a
note ! ' for she had learned a little about music afler all her
T
274 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
experiences. Her son rarely made his appearance at all ; he
Avould loiter about the passage and catch a glimpse of Lottie
US she went in or out, and sometimes he would come in sud-
denly very red and agitated, to turn over the music or look
for some song that was wanted. Lottie was very anxious
always to be friendly to him ; but though these lessons
seemed to poor young Pur cell the things which chiefly
made life desirable, yet he was not sufficiently at his ease
to make any reply to her greeting except by a deeper
blush and an embarrassed bow. And very often — so often
that the Signor had almost wound himself up to the point of
remonstrating, and old Pick had been charged to say that his
master was engaged, and that no one could enter — RoUo
Ridsdale would stray in by accident and form one of the party.
It was very strange that, though old Pick had orders so precise,
yet EoUo somehow always got in. How was it ?
' I don't know myself,' old Pick would say, with a grin ;
' he's the perseveringest gentleman I ever see — and awful fond
of music. It must cost him a deal,' Pickering said.
Eollo strolled in sometimes at the beginning, before due
precautions had been taken, sometimes near the end, when
they were relaxed. He made himself very agreeable. As for
Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, she was his slave and she Avas quite per-
suaded by this time that she herself was nearly connected with
the Courtland family, and that Rollo's uncle — or was it a
cousin ? — had been not only the Major's but her own dearest
friend. Captain Temple, when he was the chaperon, was
more suspicious ; but, notwithstanding his objection to young
men, and especially to Honourables, in connection with young
women, Rollo ended by making the old Chevalier his friend.
Ho had the gift of disarming prejudice — being kind himself
by nature, and of a friendly disposition, such as makes friends.
And Rollo was very careful under the eyes of all these keen
observers. He confined himself to music. He looked un-
utterable things ; but he did not speak the applause that was
implied in his looks. He said only, ' I nuist not say anything.
Miss Despard — I dare not, for Rossinetti ; but I think the
more.'
Lottie did not want him to applaud her. It was enough
for her that he heard her ; but it was only when he was there
that she did herself full justice. And it is not to be supposed
ijiat the Signor was ignorant of the changed tone in her voice
A TKHRIBLE INTERRUPTION. 275
■wliich showed when he appeared. It was too great a vexation
to him to be ignored. Art, luire art, was not as yet, if it ever
would be, the spring of Lottie's life. It was ' that fellow.'
Her voice grew softer and more exquisite, full of pathos and
meaning — her notes more liquid and sweet. If the Signor
had been RoUo's rival in reality he could scarcely have been
more annoyed — he Avhose aspiration was to make a true
artist of this creature, to whom heaven had given so glorious
a medium of expression, but who as yet knew nothing about
art.
Thus September stole away. Never before had Eidsdale
been so long at the Deanery. He gave sometimes one reason
and sometimes another for his delay. It was very convenient for
him, as the place was central, and he was often obliged to run
lip to town to see after business connected with the Opera.
His company meant to open their house in spring ; and the
manager being in Italy, there was a gi-eat deal to do which
fell upon Rollo. lie had invitations without number, but he
neglected them all. So long as his aunt would have him
there was no place so convenient for him as the Deanery.
And Lady Caroline was very willing to have him. She had
always been kind to him. If her feelings had been strong
enough to justify anyone in considering himself her favourite,
then Kollo might have done so. She had always been kind;
and a habit of kindness is as good as any other habit, and is
the best pledge of continuance. And she liked in a way to
have him there. He never gave her any trouble — noAV and
then he succeeded in something that was very like amusing
her. And he no longer demanded of her that she should in-
vite Miss Despard daily, or trouble herself witli the other
people who sang. Two or three times only during the month
did he ask for an invitation for the cjirl in whose voice he was
so much interested. And he was very domestic — triumphantly
disproving all the stories that had been told of him. He
never cared to dine anywhere but at home while he was at
the Deanery — he did not care for company. He was a very
nice companion for the Dean at dinner, and after dinner he
would stroll out and smoke a cigar. If he gave trouble at
Courtland it was only. Lady Caroline thought with gentle
complacency, because they did not know how to manage him ;
for anyone more ha[)py to be quiet she never saw. And thus
September passed ; the partridges did not tempt him away,
t2
276 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
any more than the grouse had done. He did not care, he de-
clared, about sport of any kind. Music and books, and hi&
stroll of an evening on the slopes to smoke his cigar — these
were all the virtuous amusements Rollo desired — with these
he was as happy as the day was long. And in October^
Augusta, coming home from her bridal tour, was to visit her
mother, and there would be a little society once more at the
Deanery. It came to be understood that Rollo would stay for
this. It would be something to make amends to him for the
quiet of the past.
October began : it was a beautiful autumn ; the trees on
the slopes were all red and yellow, like painted trees, and the
face of the country brilliant with sunshine. Everything was
smooth and fair Avithout and within, so far as appearances
went ; and, had there been no results to follow, little excep-
tion could have been taken to the proceedings of the persons
concerned in this history, who were each and all following their
own pleasure and doing what seemed good in their own eyes.
The Captain was perhaps the most safe and most virtuous of the
whole, seeing that there was no reason why he should not marry
PoUy if he desired very much to do so, except that it would
make his children uncomfortable and disturb the equanimity
of his brother Chevaliers and their belongincs. But he was
in no way bound to consider the dignity of his brethren in
the order, neither was he required by any law to sacrifice his
own comfort for that of his son and daughter — both of them
quite capable of taking thought for themselves. He may,
therefore, be left out of the question ; for, whether for good
or evil, he was doing nothing more than he had a right to do.
But in the case of the others : how pleasant would this
episode of life have been had there been no consequences to
follow ! It was a most charming episode in the experience of
Eollo Ridsdale. He was not a vicious man, but yet he had
never been so virtuous, so free of evil, in all his consciousness
before — his chief companion a perfectly pure-minded girl,
his chief occupation to explore and study her fresh young
heart and imagination, and vigorous intellifrent nature. If
only it could all go on to some as perfect conclusion, there
could be no doubt that it was good for the speculative man
of fashion. It restored him, body and soul — regular hours,
quiet, all the most luxurious comforts of life, and the delight
and exhilaration of a romance to amuse the mental and senti-
A TERRIBLE INTERRUPTION'. 277
mental side of him. The cleverest doctor that ever existed
could not have recommended a more admirably curative pro-
cess — if only there had been no responsibilities involved and
nothing painful to follow. And Law — if Law had only had
the prospect of a small estate, a small inheritance at the end,
enough to live on, what a perfectly pleasant 'time' he was
having ! He was doing no harm, only boating, cricketing,
beginning now as the season went on to think of football —
none of them wicked pursuits : if only there had been no ex-
aminations to think of, no work of life to prejiare for, Lottie
was the least to blame of the three ; the consequences did
not trouble her. She might perhaps be allowing herself to be
absorbed too much by the new and wonderful influence which
had taken possession of her : the vita nuova might have be-
come too entirely the law of her being ; but well or ill she
still did her duty, and her realisation of the result was perfectly
simple. What but one thing could all this lead to? No
doubt invaded Lottie's inexperienced mind; how could she
doubt that Rollo loved her ? AVhat proof was wanting that
man could give ? They had not yet spoken of that love,
though they had several times approached to the very verge
of an explanation, from which generally it was she who slirank
with a shy prolonging of that delicious imcertainty AvhichAvas
no uncertainty at all. How could Lottie have any doubt?
It was not necessary even for her to say to herself that he
Avas good and true. True! — she no more thought of false-
hood than Eve had thought of the serpent before he hissed his
first question into her ear. She did not understand what
lying meant, practical lying of this kind. She let the sweet
current sweep her on with many a heart-beat ; but why should
ehe be distrustful of it? What could love lead to but happi-
ness ? Lottie could not think of anything more.
And thus the time went on. Augusta Huntington (Mrs.
Daventry) was coming home Avith her husband in a day or
tAvo ; and though Lottie thought she Avould be glad to see her
old friend, she had a little secret fear of anything noAV hap-
pening. All Avas very Avell as it Avas. To meet Ivollo acci-
dentally as he smoked his cigar on the slopes Avould not be
so easy if his cousin were at the Deanery. He Avould not bo
nlile to get out so easily, and probably she Avould find a great
jnany new Avays of employing him Avhicli Avould take him out
of Lottie's Avay. She did not like to look forward to it; and
278 WITHIN THE PEECINCTS.
after Augusta's visit Eollo too would go away. It would be
almost winter, and he could not stop any longer. All the
shooting and the deer stalking and the round of visits to
great people, on which he ought to be going, he had given up
for her. What could the reason be but for her? The
thought that this moment of happiness Avas approaching an
end, was sad to Lottie, even though it should, as was natural,
be followed by greater happiness still. How her dull life had
flowered and blossomed out, made beautiful by the thought
that he was near her, this man who loved her — who had loved
her long before she had loved him, but whom now she too — !
He was near, she remembered every morning when she woke ;
some time in the day she Avould be sure to see him — nay,
half-a-dozen times in the day, if only strolling down the Dean's
Walk looking at her window, and in the Abbey, and perhaps,
while she took her lesson, listening to her with soft eyes;
perhaps walking home with her; perhaps just turning round
that old elm-tree on the slopes as she came out for her even-
ing walk ; always looking for her so eagerly, seeking her, with
a hundred little tender cares, and something in his eyes which
was more than all. Could it be possible to be happier than
now? She was keeping off the eclaircissement with delicious
shy malice, running away from it, prolonging a little longer,
and a little longer, this happy uncertainty. Some time, how-
ever, it must come, and then no doubt she would be more
happy — though not with such happiness as this.
On one of those lovely russet-coloured afternoons, full of
haze made golden by the sunshine, already turning to the
west, Lottie, Avalking up St. Michael's Hill, towards the Abbey,
had seen a fly driving along the street Avhich had caught her
eye as she passed. She knew it very well ; it was Jobling's
fly — a nice respectable clean cab, looking for all the world
like a shabby Avell-dressed man in a frock coat and high hat.
There are many shabby respectable well-preserved things
which resemble each other. The reason why this neat
and clean vehicle caught her eye was that the man who
Avas driving it wore a white wedding-favour, which is a
thing which no person of twenty can see without remark.
Lottie, like otlicrs of her age, Avas half amused, half
interested, and could not help Avondering Avho it was. It was
going to the railway, and someone looked out hastily as
Lottie passed, looking at her, the girl thought, Avithdrawing as
A TKHRIBLE INTERRUPTION'. 279
hastily again when she was seen to turn her eyes th.at way.
AV'ho could it be ? Lottie thought she would ask Law, who
knew all the news, who had been married ; but she had for-
gotten all about it long before she saw Law. She had too
many things to think of and to do, to remember so small a
matter as that ; and Law did not come in till late. When he
did come they took their simple supper together amicably, not
saying much ; but she forget the question. Now that Lottie
did not bully him they were very good friends. They said a
few friendly words to each other, and that was all, and then
they bade each other good-night. They were all alone, the
Caj)t;iin having left home for a few days, and had a very good
opportunity for talk. But Lottie did not seize the o^iportimity
to put disagreeable questions. She was altogether so much
more amicable than she had been used to be.
Three days after. Captain Despard was to come home. It
did not disturb Lottie that Captain Temple questioned her
very closely as to where her father had gone. ' Was he alone,
do you know ? ' the old man said. ' Alone ? Oh, yes, I
suppose so,' said Lottie. What did it matter? She could see
Eollo behind the old beech-tree. Of course it was a draw-
back that the Captain should be with her so often, but it pleased
the kind old man ; they met and they had their little talk,
which perhaps was all the more unlike the common intercourse
of earth that worlds of meaning had to be trusted to a tone,
to a sudden meeting in the dusk (when you could see nobody.
Captain Temple said) of two pairs of eyes : and when all
is unutterable is not this as good a way of utterance as
any? And then Lottie said she mu.st go home. Papa
was coming home. He had been gone three days. As
they went back the old Captain was more and more
kind to Lottie. He kept her at the door for a moment
with her hand between his two old kind hands. ' My dear,
don't be afraid to send for me or to come to me when you
want anything — my wife and I will always be ready to be of
use to you. You will not forget, Lottie? ' ' Oh, no. Captain
Temple,' slie said : ' You are always so kind to me : how
could I forget ? ' And she went in smiling to herself, won-
dering what he could think she would want. But he was
always kind, as kind as a father ; far, far kinder than her own
father, she could not but remember, with a little shrug of her
shoulders. Had papa come in ? Mary said ' No,' and Lottie
280 WITHIN TUE PRECINCTS.
went into the little dining-room to see that the si;pper was
prettily arranged. There was nothing more than cold meat,
and cheese, and bread and butter ; but the bouquet in the
middle, Avhich was made up of brilliantly-coloured leaves, was
pretty ; and the white tablecloth and the plates and glasses
looked bright. In her happiness she began to sing softly as
she pulled the leaves into a prettier form in the long clear
glass they were grouped in. The lamp was lighted, the table
was bright, the door stood open. Lottie, through her singing,
heard steps coming up the pavement outside, and voices. All
of a sudden she paused, thinking she heard her lather's voice.
Who could he be bringing Avith him, without any preparation ?
She cast a hasty glance at the beef, and saw with satisfaction
that there would be enough for a stranger; enough, but not
perhaps too much — he might have let her know. Then she
heard his voice quite close to the window, which Avas open,
for the night was warm for October — ' Look in, and you Avill
see her,' he said. ' Oh, I know her very well,' said another
voice, with a laugh. Lottie turned round, with her heart
beating, towards the window, where something white was
visible. What could it mean ? — was it a woman ? — a woman
with her father at this hour of the evening ? She grew pale,
she could not tell why, and gazed first at the window, then at
the door, with a flutter of tears which she could not understand.
How foolish it was ! ' Come in — this way — don't be afraid !
The passage is narrow and the house is small, but there is
plenty of room for happiness when once you are in it,' said
her father's voice in the doorway, coming through the little
crooked hall. Then the door was pushed wide open, and he
came in leading someone by the hand. It was a woman very
gaily dressed, with a mountain of brown hair and a white
bonnet perched upon it, who laughed, but was nervous too ;
upon whom Lottie gazed with Avondering eyes and blanched
cheeks. Who was this Avhom he Avas bringing in Avithout
warning, without notice? The Captain Avas very jaunty ; his
hat Avas still on his head over his left ear. He had a bunch
of violets somcAvhat crushed in his coat. He smiled a smile
Avhich was rather ghastly as Lottie gazed, struck dumb with
the horror of Avhat Avas coming. ' Mrs. Despard,' he said Avith
a flourish, * let me present you Avith a ready-made daughter.
Lottie, my child, come here and Avelcome your ncAV mamma.'
THE captain's WIFE. 281
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE captain's wife.
Lottie could do nothing but stand bewildered and gaze at
this new claimant of her regard. Surprise took all the mean-
ing, all the intelligence out of her face. She stood with her
eyes wide open, her lips dropping apart. Her new mamma !
She had the indescribable misfortune of not being able to
think upon her own mother with any reverence or profound
affection. Mrs. Despard Avas but ' poor mamma ' to her — no
more. Lottie could not shut her eyes to the deficiencies o£
that poor woman, of whom the best that could be said was
that she was dead, and beyond the reach of blame. There
was no cherished and vaunted idea, therefore, to be outraged;
but perhaps all the more Lottie's soul rose up in rebellion
against the title as applied to anyone else. She had known
what was coming, and yet she was as entirely taken by sur-
prise as if this idea had never been suggested to her. With
eyes suddenly cleared out of all the dazzling that had clouded
them, she looked at the woman thus brought in upon her —
this intruder, who, however, had more right to be there than
even Lottie had — the Captain's wife. If this event had hap-
pened a month or two ago, while she retained all her natiu-al
vigour, no doubt, foolish as it Avas, Lottie would have made
some show of resistance. She would have protested against
the sudden arrival. She Avould have withdrawn from company
so undesirable. She would have tried, however absurd it
might have been, to vindicate herself, to hold the new comer
at arm's length. But this had all become impossible now. At
no other moment could she have been so entirely taken by
surprise. All the apprehensions about her father which had
been communicated to her on former occasions had died out of
her mind. She had never said very much about this danger,
or been alarmed by it, as Law was. It had not occurred to
her to inquire how it would affect herself. And now she
wa's taken altogether by surprise. She stood struck dumb with
amazement, and gazed at the woman, instinctively taking in
every particular of her appearance, as only a woman could do.
Unconsciously to herself, Lottie appraised the other, saw
through her, calculating the meaning of her and all her finery
282 WITHm THE PRECINCTS.
No man could have done it, and she was not herself aware of
having done it; but Polly knew very well what that look
meant. Notwithstanding her own confidence in her bridal
array, even Polly felt it coming to pieces, felt it being set down
for what it was worth ; and, naturally, the feeling that this
was so made her angry and defiant.
* How do you do, miss ? ' she said, feeling that even her
voice sounded more vulgar than it need have done. ' I hope
as we shall be good friends. Your pa has played you a nice
trick, hasn't he ? But men is men, and when they're like he
is there's allowances to be made for them.' Polly was aware
that this speech was in her very worst style. She had not
intended to call Lottie Miss ; but with that girl standing
staring, in a plain cotton frock, looking a lady, every inch of
her, from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot — a
bride, in a fine bonnet covered with orange-blossoms, and a
bright silk dress that matched, was not in possession of her
faculties. Bold as she was, she could not but be conscious of
a tremor which mingled with her very defiance. ' Well, Pm
sure, what a pretty table ! ' she resumed. ' They might have
known we were coming home, Captain. There ain't much
on it, perhaps — not hke the nice chicken and sausages you'd
have got at mother's. But mother would never have set it
out so pretty, that I'll allow.' Then Polly looked round
upon the dim old walls, faintly lighted by the lamp. ' So this
is the dining-room,' she said ; ' this is my new 'ome. To
think I never should have been inside the door till now !
Let me alone, Harry. I don't want none of your huggings.
I want to make acqviaintance with my new 'ome. You know
well enough I married just as much for the sake of living in
the Lodges as for you — don't you, now ? ' she said, with a
laugh. Perhaps only fathers and mothers, and not even these
long-suffering persons always, can look on at the endearments of
newly-married couples with tolerance. Lottie was offended,
as if their endearments had been insulting to herself. She
looked at them with an annoyed contempt. No sympathetic
touch of fellow-feeling moved her. To compare this, as she
thought, hideous travesty of love with her own, would have
but hardened her the more against them. She turned away, and
shut the window, and drew down the blind with an energy
uncalled for by such simple duties. When the Captain led
his wife upstairs, that she might take off her bonnet, Lottie
THE captain's wii-n. 283
sat down and tried to think. But she could not think. It
had all happened in a moment, and her mind was in an
angry eonfusion, not capable of reason. She could not
realise what had happened, or what was going to hap-
pen — an indignant sense o£ being intruded upon, of having
to receive and be civil to an unwelcome visitor, and an
impatience almost beyond bearing of this strait mto which her
father had plunged her, filled her mind. Something more, she
dimly felt, lay behind — something more important, more
serious ; but in the meantime she did not feel that her occu-
pation was gone, or her kingdom taken from her. A disagree-
able person to entertain — a most unwelcome, uncongenial
guest. For the moment she could not realise anything more.
But her mind was in the most painful ferment, her heart beat-
ing. How Avas she to behave to this new, strange visitor ?
"What was she to say to her? She must sit down at table
with her, she supposed. She was Captain Despard's — guest.
What more? But Lottie knew very well she was something more.
Mary came in, bringing tea, which she placed at the head
of the table, where Lottie usually sat. Mary's eyes were
dancing in her head with curiosity and excitement. ' What is it,
miss? oh, what is it, miss? What's happened ?' said Mary.
But Lottie made her no reply. She did not herself know Avhat
had happened. She waited for the return of ' the woman '
with a troubled mind. Everything was ready, and Lottie
stood by ready to take her seat the moment they should come
back. She heard them come downstairs, laughing and talk-
ing. The woman's voice filled all the house. It flowed on in a
constant stream, loud enough to be heard in the kitchen,
■where Mary Avas listening with all her ears. ' Very nice on
the whole,' the new comer was saying ; ' but of course I shall
make a few changes. I've always heard that a room should
be like its mistress. There's not half enough pretty things to
please me. I do love a 2;)retty room, and plenty of antima-
cassars and pink ribbons. Oh, I shan't tcil you what I am
going to do to it ! — not a word. Gentlemen must be taught
their place. I am going to make it look very nice, and that
should be enough for you. Oh yes, I am quite ready for
supper. I haven't touched a bit of anything since five o'clock,
when Ave had tea. Poor Harry ! I can see hoAV you have been
put upon.' This Avas said at the foot of the stairs, where not
only Lottie but Mary could hear every Avord. Mary understood
28-4 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
it all, but Lottie did not understand it. She could not receive
Polly's programme into her mind, nor think what was meant
by it. While she still stood waiting, the two came in — the
bride, with her tower of hair upon her head, and all her cheap
ribbons and bangles. She came in, drawing herself away
from the Captain's encircling arm. ' Behave ! ' said Polly,
shaking a finger at him ; and she swept in and round the
table, almost pushing against the surprised spectator who
stood looking on, and deposited herself in Lottie's chair. ' It's
best to begin as you mean to end,' said Polly ; ' I'm not tired
to speak of, and I'll take my own place at once. You can sit
here. Miss Lottie, between him and me.'
Still, Lottie did not know what to think or to say. She
stood still, bewildered, and then took the place pointed out to
lier. What did it mean ? It was easy enough to see what it
meant, if her head had not been so confused. ' Yea, dear,'
said Polly, ' a little bit of cold beef — ^just a very little bit. I
am not fond of cold victuals. That's not how we've been
living, is it? and that's not how I mean you to live. Oh, no,
I don't blame Lottie. Unmarried girls don't know any better.
They don't study a man like his wife knows how to do. I
can see how it's been ; oh, I can see ! Too many mouths to
feed, and the meat has to be bought according. Who is your
butcher, miss ? Oh, him ! I don't hold with him. I shall
send for Jones to-morrow ; he's the man for my money.
W^asn't that a lovely sweetbread that we had at our wedding
breald'ast ? You didn't remark ? Oh, nonsense, I'm sure you
remarked ! It icas a beauty ! Well, that Avas from Jones's.
I'll send for him to-morrow. Do you take sugar in your tea,
Miss Lottie ? Dear ! I shouldn't have thought it ; so careful
■a young lady. 'Enery, darling, what are you drinking ? Do
you take tea ? '
' I don't mind what I take, my love, so long as you give it
ine,' said the gallant Captain ; ' tea or poison, I'd take it from
that hand ; and I don't want anything but to look at yoa at
the head of my table. This is how it should be. To think
how long I have been denying myself, forgetting what happi-
ness was ! '
' You poor dear Harry ! all for the siike of your children !
Well, I hope you'll find it repaid. They ought to be grateful.
The times and times that you and me has talked it over, and
given it up for their sakes 1 You're very quiet, miss ; you
THE captain's wife. 285
don't say much,' added Polly ; ' but I dare say it wub a sur-
prise to you, seeing me come home ? '
* Wliy don't you speak up and make yourself pleasant ? *
said the Captain, with a kind of growl, under his breath.
Lottie came to herself a little by dint of this pressure.
She did not seem to know how it had come about, or what the
emergency meant. ' I beg your pardon,' she said, her head
swimming and everything going round with her, * I am —
taken very much by surprise. If I had known what was going to
happen I — might have been more prepared.'
' I can understand that,' said Polly. ' Hold your tongue^
Captain. She is quite right. You ought to have written and
told her, as I asked you. But noAV that you do know I hope
you mean to be friendly, miss. Them that treats me well, I
treats them welL I don't wonder that yoii don't like it at
first,' she added graciously ; 'a girl no older than yourself!
But he would have it, you know, and what could I do ? When
a man's in that Avay, it's no use talking to him. I resisted as
long as I could, but I had to give in at the last.'
' By George ! ' said the Captain, helping the beef. He had
someone to stand by him now, who he felt might be a match
for Lottie ; but he was still a little afraid of Lottie, and con-
sequently eager to crow over her in the strength of his backer.
* The trouble Fve had to bring matters to this point ! ' he said.
* But never mind, my love, it is all right now you are here.
At one time I thought it never was going to be accom-
plished. But perseverance '
' Perseverance does a deal ; but, bless you, I never had no
doubt on the subject,' said the new Mrs. Despard, taking up
her teacup in a way that was very offensive to Lottie. The
Captain looked at her from the other end of the table with a
kind of adoration ; but nevertheless the Captain himself, with
all his faults, was painfully aware of her double negatives, and
thought to himself, even when he looked at her so admiringly,
that he must give her a few lessons. He had never paid much
attention to Lottie, and yet he could not help getting a glimpse
of his new wife through Lottie's eyes.
' Where is my son ? ' said Polly. ' Harry, darling, where
is that dear Law ? He won't be so much surprised, will he ?
He had a notion how things were going. But I've got a great
deal to say to him, I can tell you. I don't approve of his
goings on. There's a many things as I mean to put a stop to.
28G WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
Nobody shall say as I don't do my duty by your children. I
shall tell him- '
' Do you know Law ? ' said Lottie. This gave her a little
chill of horror ; though indeed she remembered that Law had
spoken of someone — about whom Lottie had not cared to
inquire.
' Oh, yes, miss, I know Law.' (Polly did not know how
it was that she said Miss to Lottie. She did not mean to do
it. She did it, not in respect, but in derision ; but the word
came to her lips, whether she Avould or not.) 'Law and I are
old friends. Time was when I didn't feel sure — not quite
sure, you know,' she said, with a laugh of mingled vanity and
malice, ' if it was to be the father cr the son ; but, Lord, there's
no comparison,' she added hastily, seeing that even on the
Captain's fine countenance this boast produced a momentary
cloud. ' Law will never be as fine a man as his father. He
hasn't got the Captain's carriage, nor he ain't so handsome.
Bless us, are you listening, Harry ? I didn't mean you to
hear. I don't think you handsome a bit, now, do I ? I'm
sure I've told you times and times '
The two thus exchanging glances and pretty speeches across
the table were too much occupied with themselves to think o£
anything else. And no one heard Law's approach till he
pushed open the door, and with a ' liillo ! ' of absolute amaze-
ment, stood thunderstruck, gazing upon this astonishing
spectacle. The sight that Law beheld Avas not a disagreeable
sight in itself; the table, all bright with its bouquet of
crimson leaves, which the Captain had pushed to one side in
order that he might see his wife — and the three faces round
it, two of them beaming with triumph and satisfaction. TIic
young man stood at the door and took it all in, with a stare,
at first, of dismay. Opposite to him sat Lottie, put out of her
place, looking stunned, as if she had follen from a height and
did not know where she was. As he stood there she lifted
her eyes to him with a look of Avondering and beAvildercd
misery which went to Law's heart ; but the next moment he
burst into a loud laiinh, in spite of himself To see the
governor casting languishing looks at Polly Avas more than his
gravity could bear. He could think of nothing, after the first
shock, but ' Avhat a joke ' it A\'as. A man in love, especially a
man in the first imbecility of matrinii iiial bliss, is a joke at
any time ; but Avhen it's your governor, LaAV said to himself I
TDE captain's WIFE. 287
He gave a great roar of laughter. • Polly, by Jove ! ' he said ;
' so you've been and done it ! ' It had alarmed him much
beforehand, and no doubt it might be tragical enough after ;
but for the moment it was the best joke that Law had en-
countered for years.
' Yes, we've been and done it,' said Polly, rising and hold-
ing out her hand to him. ' Come here and kiss me, my son.
I am delighted to see you. It's so nice to hear a good laugh,
and see a bright face. Lottie, Law, hasn't found her tongue
yet. She hasn't a Avord to throw at a dog, much less her new
mamma. But you, it's a pleasure to see you. Ah ! ' said
Polly, with effusion, ' the gentlemen for me ! Ladies, they're
spiteful, and they're jealous, and they're stuck up ; but gentle-
men does you justice. You mustn't call nie Polly, however,
though I forgive you the first time. You must know that I
am yovu: mamma.'
Law laughed again, but it was not a pleasant laugh; and
he grasped tlie hand which his father held out to him with a
desire to crush it, if he could, which was natural enough.
Law thought it a joke, it is true ; but he was angry at bottom,
though amused on the surface. And he did hurt his father's
somewhat flabby, unworking hand. The Captain, however,
would not complain. He was glad even to be met with a
semblance of cordialit}- at such a moment. He helped Law
largely to the beef, in the satisfaction of this family union,
and this was a sign of anxiety Avhich Law did not despise.
' Oh, and I assure you I mean to be a mother to you,' said
Polly. ' It shan't be said now that you haven't anyone to look
after you. / mean to look after you. I am not at all satis-
fied with some of your goings on. A gentleman shouldn't
make too free with them that are beneath him. Yes, yes,
Harry, darling ; it's too early to begin on that point ; but he
shall know my mind, and / mean to look after him. Now
this is what I call comfortable,' said Mrs. Despard, looking
round with a beaming smile; ' quite a family party, and quite
a nice tea; though the beef's dry to my taste (but I never was
one lor cold victuals\ and everybody satisfied '
'Lottie,' said the Captain, looking up from his beef with
some sternness, 'you seem the only exception. Don't you
think, my child, when you see everybody so happy, tliat you
miglit find a word to say ? '
'Oh, don't hurry her,' said Polly; 'we've took her by
288 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
surprise. I told you not to, but you would. We'll have a
nice long talk to-morrow, when she gives me over the house-
keeping ; and when she sees as I mean to act like a mother,
why things will come right between her and me.'
The Despards were not highly educated people, but yet
a shiver ran through them when Polly, unconscious, said,
'We've took her by surprise.' The Captain even shrank a
little, and took a great deal too much mustard, and made him-
self cough ; while Law, in spite of himself, laughed, looking
across the table to the place where Lottie sat. Lottie noticed
it the least of all. She heard every word they all said, and
remembered every word, the most trifling ; but at the moment
she scarcely distinguished the meaning of them. She said, ' I
think, papa, if you don't mind, I will go to my room. I am
rather tired ; and perhaps I had better give some orders to
Mary.'
' Oh, never mind ; never mind about Mary, if it's on my
account. I shall look after her myself,' said Polly. ' What's
good enough for the Captain is good enough for me ; at least,
till I settle it my own way, you know. I don't want to give
any trouble at all, till I can settle things my own way.'
' It is not I that have to be consulted,' said Captain
Despard ; ' but if you are going to sit sulky and not say a
word, I don't see — what do you think, my pet? — that it
matters whether you go or stay '
' Oh, don't mind me, Miss,' said Polly. She could not look
Miss Despard in the face and call her Lottie, knowing, how-
ever she might consent to waive her own rights, that Miss
Despard was still IMiss Despard, whatever Polly might do.
Not a thing on her that was worth five shillings, not a brooch
even, nothing like a bracelet ; a bit of a cotton frock, no
more ; but she was still Miss Despard, and unapproachable.
Polly, with her bracelets on each wrist, rings twinkling on her
hands as she took her supper, in a blue silk, and knowing her-
self to be an officer's lady — Mrs. Captain Despard- — with all
this, could not speak to her husband's daughter except as Miss.
She could not understand it, but still it was so.
The little crooked hall was full of boxes when Lottie came
out ; and ISLiry stood among them, wondering how she was
to get them upstairs. Perhaps she had been listening a little
at the door, for Mary's consternation was as great as Lottie's.
* Do you think, Miss, it's real and true ? Do you think as
Tiic captain's avife. 289
s1>e's married, sure ? Mother wouldn't let me stay a day if
thero was anytliing -wrong, and I don't know as I'll stay any-
Low,' Mary said.
'Wrong? what could be wrong?' said Lottie. She was
loss educated in knowledge of this kind than the little maid-
of-all-work. It troubled her to see the boxes littering the
hall, but she could not carry them upstairs. For a moment
the impulse to do do it, or, at least, to help ]\Iary in doing it,
came into her mind ; but, on second thoughts, she refrained.
What had she to do with this new-comer into the house, who
was not even a visitor, who had come to remain ? Lottie
went upstairs without saying any more. She went first into
the little faded drawing-room, Avhere there was no light except
that which came from the window and the lamp in the Dean's
Walk. It was not beautiful. She had never had any money
to decorate it, to make it what it might have been, nor pretty
furniture to put into it. But she sat down on her favourite
little chair, in the dark, and felt as if she had gone to sit by
somebody that was dead, who had been a dear friend. How
friendly and quiet the little room had been ! giving her a
centre for her life, a refuge for her thoughts. But all that
was over. She had never known before that she had liked it
or thought of it much ; but now, all at once, what a gentle
and pleasant shelter it had been ! As Lottie thought of every-
thing, the tears came silently and bitterly into her eyes. She
herself had been ungrateful, unkind to the little old house, the
venerable old place, the kind people. They had all been kind
to her. She had visited her own disappointment upon them,
scorning the neighbours because they were less stately than
she expected them to be ; visiting upon them her own dis-
content with her position, her own disappointment in being
less important than she expected. Lottie was hard upon her-
self, for she had not been unkind to anyone, but was, on the
contrary, a flivourite with her neighbours — the only girl in
the place, and allowed by the old people to have a right to
whims and fancies. Now, in the face of this strange, incom-
prehensible misfortune, she felt the difference. Her quiet old
room ! where kind voices had spoken to her, where he had.
come, saying such words as made her heart beat ; where she
had sung to him, and received those tender applauses which
had been like treasures to Lottie. She seemed to see a series
of past scenes Tike pictures rising before her. Not often
u
290 ^VITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
had Rollo been there — yet two or three times ; and Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy, Avith her mellow brogue, and Mr. Ashford,
and even the stately person of the Dean himself. She had
been at home here, to receive them, whoever came. The room
had never been invaded by anything that was unfr'endly or
unpleasing. Now — what was it that that woman said of" changes
— making it look nice ? Lottie had not understood the words
when they were said, but they came back upon her now.
By-and-by she heard someone coming up-stairs, and,
starting, rose to steal aAvay to her own room, afraid to meet
the stranger again ; but no light made its appearance, and
Law put in his head at the door, then seeing something moving
against the window, came to her, and threw himself down on
the window-seat. ' They're going on so downstairs, that I
couldn't stand it,' said Law ; ' it's enough to make a fellow
sick' — and then, after a pause, 'Well ! I told you what Avas
coming, but you Avouldn't believe me ; Avhat do you think of
it now ? '
' Oh, Law, Avhat does it mean ? — Are Ave not dreaming?
Can it be true ? '
' True ! of course it is true. I told you what was going
to happen.' Then his tone softened. ' Poor Lottie, it's you
I'm sorry for. If you could only see yourself beside her ! And
where Avere his eyes, that he couldn't see ? ' Here Law
paused abruptly, wondering all at once Avhether the difference
would be as marked betAveen his sister and the girls Avhom he
too liked to spend his evenings with. He was sure that
Emma was not like that woman ; but still the thought sub-
dued his indignation. ' I say,' he added hastily, ' I Avant to
give you a bit of advice. Just you give in to her, Lottie.
Fighting is no good : she has got a tongue that you couldn't
stand, and the things she Avould say you wouldn't understand. I
understand her Avell enough ; but you Avouldn't know Avhat
she meant, and it would make you angry and hurt you. Give
in, Lottie. Since the governor's been so silly, she has a right.
And don't you make any stand as if you could do it — for
you can't. It is a great deal better not to resist '
' What do you mean by resist ? Hoav can I resist ? The
house is papa's, I suppose ? ' said Lottie. ' The thing is, I
don't understand it. I can't understand it : that somebody
should be coming to stay here, to be one of us, to be mixed
tip in everything — Avhom we don't know '
THE captain's WIFE. 291
* To be mistress,' sjiid Law, * that's the worst — not to be
mixed up with us, but to be over us. To take everything out
of your hands '
' Do you think I care for that ? I do not mind who is
mistress,' said Lottie, all unaware of her own characteristics.
Law was wiser than she was in this respect. He shook his
head.
' That's the worst,' he said ; ' she'll be mistress — she'll
change everything. Oh, I know Polly well ; though I sup-
pose, for decency, I mustn't say Polly now.'
' How is it you know her so well ? And how did papa
know her ? ' said Lottie. ' I should have thought you never
could have met such women. Ah ! you told me once about
■ — others. Law ! you can't like company like that ; surely,
you can't like company like that ! how did you get to know
her ? ' Law was very much discomfited by this sudden
question. In the midst of his sympathy and compassion for
his sister, it was hai-d all at once to be brought to book, Avhen
he had forgotten the possibility o£ such a danger.
' Well, you know,' he said, ' fellows do ; I don't know
how it is — you come across someone, and then she speaks to
you, and then you're forced to speak back ; or perhaps it's
you that speaks first — it isn't easy to tell. This was as simple
as anything,' Law Avent on, relieved by the naturalness of his
own explanation. ' They all work in the same house where
Langton lives, my old coach, you know, before I went to old
Ashfbrd. I don't know how the governor got there. Perhaps
it was the same way. Going in and out, you know, day after
day, why, how could you help it ? And when a woman speaks
to you, what can you do, but say something ? That's exactly
how it was.'
' But, Law,' she said, grasping his arm — all this conversa-
tion was so much easier in the dark — ' Law, you will take
care ? she said she was not quite sure whether it was to be
the father or the son. Ah ! a woman who could say that.
Law '
' It's a lie,' said LaAv, fiercely, ' and she knows it. I never
thought anything of her — never. It's a lie, if she were to
swear it I Polly ! why, she's thirty, she's 1 give my word
of honour, it's a lie.'
' But, Law ! oh, Law dear '
* I know what you're going to say. I'll take care of my-
xj2
292 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
self; no fear of me getting entangled,' said Law briskly. Then
he stopped, and, still favoured by the dark, took her hands in
his. ' Lottie, it's my turn now. I know you won't stand
questioning, nor being talked to. But, look here — don't shilly-
shally if you can care for anybody, and he'll marry you and
give you a place of your own —You needn't jump up as if I
had shot you. If you talk about such things to me, I may
surely talk to you. And mind what I say. I don't expect
you'll be able to put up with your life here '
' I hear them stirring downstairs,' said Lottie, drawing her
hands out of his hold. ' Don't keep me, don't hold me, Law.
I cannot see her again to-night.'
' You won't give me any answer,' said the lad regretfully.
There was real feeling in his voice — ' But, Lottie, mind,
what I say. I don't believe you'll be able to put up with
it, and if there's anyone you care for and he'll marry
you -'
Lottie freed herself from him violently, and fled. Even in
the dark there were things that Law could not be permitted to
•say, or she to hear.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE HEAVINGS OF THE EARTHQUAKE.
The next morning dawned very strangely on all the members
of the little household. Lottie was down early, as she
generally was; but the advantages of early rising were
neutralised by the condition of the little maid, Mary, who
■vvas too much excited to do her work, and kept continually
coming back to pour her doubts and her difficulties into
Lottie's ear. ' I can't get no rest till I've told mother,' Mary
said. ' If there's anything wrong, mother won't let me stay,
not a day. And even if there's nothing wrong, I don't know
as I'll stay. I haven't got no fault to find with you. Miss;
nor the Captain, nor even Mr. Law : though he's a di-eadful
bother with his boots cleaning ; but to say as you're beginning
as you mean to end, and then to give all that trouble ! every
blessed thing, I had to drag it upstairs. Mr. Law was very
kind ; he took up the big box — I couldn't ha' done it ; but
THE HEAVIXGS OF THE EARTHQUAKE. 293
up and down, up and down, all the little boxes and the ba"^s,
and the brown paper parcels — " It saves trouble if you begins
as you means to end," she says '
* I don't want to hear what Mrs. Despard says,' s;iid Lottie.
Mrs. Despard : it was her mother's name. And thougli that
mother had not been an ideal mother, or one of those who
are worshipped in their children's memories, it is wonderful,
what a gush of tender recollections came into Lottie's mind
with the name. Poor mamma ! she had been very kind in
her way, always ready to indulge and to pardon, if indifferent
to what hajipened in more important matters. She had never
exacted anything, never worried her children about idleness
or imtidiness, or any of those minor sins wliich generally
make a small girl's life a burden to her. Lottie's mind went
back to her, lying on her sofa, languid, perhaps lazy — badly
dressed; yet never anything but a lady, with a kind of
graciousness in her faded smile, and grace in her faded
gown. Not a woman to be held in adoration, and yet — the
girlsighed, but set to work to make the little brown dining-
room neat, to get the table set, making up for Mary's dis-
tracted service by her own extra activity. For amid all the
horrors of last night there was one which had cut Lottie very
deeply, and that was the many references to the cold beef, and
the bride's dislike of ' cold victuals.' It is inconceivable,
among all the more important matters involved, how deeply
wounded Lottie's pride had been by this reproach. She
resolved that no one should be able to speak so to-day ; and
she herself put on her hat and went out to the shop on the
Abbey Hill almost as soon as it had opened, that this intolerable
reproach should not be in the interloper's power. She met
more than one of the old Chevaliers as she came up, for most
of them kept early hours and paced the terrace pavement in
the morning as if it had been morning parade. They all
looked at her curiously, and one or two stopped her to say
' good morning.' ' And a fine morning it is, and you look as
fresh as a flower,' one of the old gentlemen said; and another
hiid his hand on her shoulder, patting her with a tender
fatherly touch. ' God Vjlcss you, my dear, the sight of you is
a pleasure,' said this old man. How little she had thought or
cared for them, and Imw kind they were in hor trouble !
She could see that everybody knew. Lottie did not know
whether she did not half resent the universal knowledge.
204 WITHIX THE PRECINCTS.
Most likely they had known it before she did. The whole
town knew it, and everybody within the Precincts. Captain
Despard had got married ! Such a thing had not occurred
before in the memory of man. Many people believed,
indeed, that there was a law against it, and that Captain
Despard was liable to be turned out of his appointment.
Certainly it was unprecedented ; for the old Chevaliers before
they came to St. INlichael's had generally passed the age at
which men marry. The whole scene seemed to have taken
a different aspect to Lottie. Since her home had become
impossible to her, it had become dear. For the first time she
felt how good it was to look across upon the noble old
buttresses of the Abbey, to inhabit that ' retired leisure,' that
venerable quietness. If only that Avoman were not there !
But that woman was there, and everything Avas changed.
Lottie had been rudely awakened, dragged, as it were, out of
her dreams. She could not think as she usually did of the
meetings that were sure to come somehow in the Abbey, or
on the Slopes — or count how long it would be till the afternoon
or evening, Avhen she should see him. This, though it was
her life, had been pushed out of the way. She thought of all
last night's remarks about the cold beef and the poor fare, and
the changes that were going to be made. Would she think
bacon good enough for breakfast? — would she be satisfied
with the rolls, which Lottie herself felt to be a holiday indul-
gence ? Pride, and nothing but pride, had thrown the girl
into such excesses. She could not endure those criticisms
again. Her brain was hot and hazy, without having any
power of thought. The confusion of last night Avas still in
her. Would it all turn out a dream ; or Avould the door open
by-and-by and shoAV this unaccustomed figure ? Lottie did
not feel that she could be sure of anything. The first to come
down Avas Law, Avho had been forced from his bed for once
by sympathy, LaAV Avas very kind to Lottie. ' I thought I
Avouldn't leave you to face her by 3'ourself,' he said ; ' they're
coming down directly.' Then Lottie kneAv that it was no
di'eara.
The bride came doAvn in a bhie merino dress, as blue as
the silk of last night. Polly Avas of opinion that she looked
Avell in blue ; and it Avas not one of the ethereal tints that are
now used, but a good solid, full blue, quite uncompromising in
point of colour. And the hair on her head Avas piled up as if
THE IIEAVIXGS OF THE EARTHQUAKE. 295
it would reach tlie skies or the ceiling at least. She came
down arm-in-arm with her husband, the two smiling upon each
other, while Law and Lottie stood one on each side of the table
Avith no smile.s, looking very serious. It was !Mrs. Despard who
did tlie most of the conversation ; for the Caj)tain was passive,
feeling, it must be allowed, somewhat embarrassed by the pre-
sence oi" his children, who did not embarrass her at all. But she
did not think the bacon very good. Shethoughtit badly cooked.
She thought the girl could not have been well trained to send it
up like that. And she was not pleased either with the rolls ;
but announced herintention of changing the baker as well as the
butcher. ' We've always gone to Willoughby's, as long as I
can recollect, and I don't fancy any bread but his.' Lottie
did not say anything, she was nearly as silent as on the pre-
vious night ; and Law, who was opposite, though he made
laces at her now and then, and did his best to beguile his
sister into a laugh, did not contribute much to the conversation.
He got up as soon as he had swallowed his breakfast and got
his books. ' I'm off to old Ashford,' he said.
' Where are you going. Law ? — you must never get up
from table without asking my leave — it is dreadful unmannerly.
You have got into such strange ways ; you want me to bring
you back to your manners, all of you. Who are you going
to? — not to Mr. Langton as you used to do — I'm glad of
that.'
' I don't see why you should be glad of that. I'm going
to old Ashford,' said Law, gloomily. ' He is a much better
coach than Langton. I have not anything to do to-day, Lottie ;
I shall be back at twelve o'clock.'
' Dear me,' said Mrs. Despard, ' how long is Law going on.
going to school like a little boy ? I never heard of such a thing,
at his age. He should 'oe put into somctliing where he could
earn a little money for himself, instead of costing money ; a
great, strong young fellow like that. I think you're all going
to sleep here. You want me, as anybody can see, to wake you
up, and save you from being put upon, my poor man. But I
hope I know how to take care of my own husband, and see
that he gets the good of what he has, and don't just throw it
away upon other folks. And I begin as I means to end,' said
Polly, with a little toss of her head. Law, stopped by the
soiuid of her voice, had turned round at the door, and contem-
plated her with gloomy looks ; but seeing it was not to come
296 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
to anything bad, went away. And the bell began, and the
Captain rose. His bride came to him fondly, and brushed a
crumb or two off his coat and arranged the flower in his
button hole. 'Now you look quite sweet,' she said with
genuine enthusiasm. ' I ain't going in the morning, when
none but the regular folks is there, but I mean to go, my dear,
in the afternoon. It's only proper respect, living in the Pre-
cints ; but you won't be long, dear ? You'll come home to
your poor little wife, that don't know what to do without her
handsome husband? Now, won't you, dear ? '
'I'll be back as fast as my legs can carry me,' said the
Captain. ' Come and mtet me, my pet. Lottie will tell you
Avhen the voluntary begins '
' Oh, I can tell very well without Lottie,' said the bride,
hanging upon him till he reached the door. All these
endearments had an indescribable effect upon the girl, who
was compelled to stand by. Lottie turned her back to them
and re-arranged the ornaments on the mantelpiece, Avith
trembling hands, exasperated almost beyond the power of self-
restraint. But when the Captain was gone, looking back in his
imbecility to kiss his hand to his bride, the situation changed
at once. Polly turned round, sharp and business-like, in a
moment. ' Ring the bell, Miss,' she said, ' and tell the girl to
clear them things away. And then, if you will just hand me
over the keys, and let me see your housekeeping things and
your stores and all that, we may settle matters without any
trouble. I likes to begin as I mean to end,' said Polly per-
emptorily. Lottie stood and looked at her for a moment, her
spirit rekindling, her mind rising up in her arms against the
idea of obedience to this stranger. But what would be the
use o£ trying to resist ? Resist ! what power had she ? The
very pride which rebelled against submission made the sub-
mission inevitable. She could not humiliate herself by a vain
struggle. Polly, who was very doubtful of the yielding ot
this natural adversary, and rather expected to have a struggle
for her ' rights,' was quite bewildered by the meekness with
which the proud girl, who scarcely took any notice of her, she
thought, acquiesced in the orders she gave. Lottie rang the
bell. She said, ' You will prefer, I am sure, to give Mary her
orders without me. There are not many keys, but I will go
and get what I have.'
Not many keys I and you call yourself a housekeeper ? *
THE HEAVINGS OF THE EARTHQUAKE. 297
sviid Polly. Lottie turned away as the little maid came in,
looking impertinent enough to be a match for the new mistress ;
but Lottie was no match for her. She went and got out her
little housekeeping-book, which she had kept so neatly. She
gathered the keys of the cupboards, which generally stood un-
locked, for there was not so much in ihem that she should
lock them up. Lottie had all the instincts of a housekeeper.
It gave her positive pain to hand over the symbols of ofHce —
to give up her occupation. Her heart sank as she prepared
to do it. All her struaGrles about the bills, her anxious thought
CO ' o
how this and that was to be paid, seemed elements of happi-
ness now. She could not bear to give them up. The pain
of this compulsory abdication drove everything else out of her
head. Love, they say, is all a woman's life, but only part
of a man's ; yet Lottie forgot even liollo — forgot his love and
all the consolation it might bring, in this other emergency,
Avhich was petty enough, yet all important to her. She
trembled as she got together these little symbols of her domes-
tic sovereignty. She heard the new mistress of the house
coming up the sfciirs as she did so, talking all the Avay. ' I
never heard such impudence,' Polly was saying. ' Speak
back to her mistress! A bit of a chit of a maid-of-all-work
like that. I suppose she's been let do whatever she pleased ;
but she'll find out the difference.' Behind Polly's voice came
a gust of weeping from below, and a cry of, ' Pm going to tell
mother : ' thus hostilities had commenced all along the line.
'I can't think however you got on with a creature like
that,' said Polly, throwing herself down in the easy-chair.
' She don't know how to do a single thing, as far as I can see ;
but some folks never seem to mind. She shan't stay here not
a day longer than I can help. Pve given her warning on the
spot. To take impudence from a servant the very first day !
But that's always the way when things are let go ; the
moment they find a firm hand over them there's a to-do. To
be sure it wasn't to be looked ibr that you could know much,
Mis.s, about managing a house.'
' Maiy is a very good girl,' said Lottie hastily. ' She has
always done what I told her. Here are the keys of the cup-
boards, since you wish for them ; but there are not any stores
to lock away. I get the things every week, just enough to
use '
' And don't lock them up 1 ' Polly threw up her hands.
298 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' That's one way of housekeeping ; but how should you know
any better, poor thing, brought up like that ! I'm sure I don't
mean to be hard upon you ; but you should have thought a
bit of your papa, and not have wasted his money. However,
that's all over now. A man wants a nice 'ome to come back
to, he wants a nice dinner on the table, he wants somebody
that can talk to him, to keep him out of mischief. Oh, I know-
very well the Captain's been fond of having his fling. I ain't
one of the ignorant ones, as don't know a man's ways. And I
like that sort much the ffest myself. I like a man to be a
man, and knoAv what's what. But you'll soon see the difference,
now that he's got someone to amuse him, and someone to
make him comfoi'table at home. So these are all, Miss Lottie?
And what's this ? oh, a book ! I don't think much of keeping
books. You know how much you has to spend, and you spend
it; that's my way.'
Lottie made no reply. She felt it to be wiser for herself,
but no doubt it was less respectful to Polly, who paused now
and then for a reply, then went on again, loving to hear her-
self talk, yet feeling the contempt involved in this absence of
all response. At last she cried angrily, ' Have you lost your
tongue. Miss, or do you think as I'm not good enough to have
an answer, though I'm yoitr papa's wife? '
' I beg yoiu- pardon,' said Lottie ; ' I — don't know what to
say to you. We don't know each other. I don't under-
stand Don't you see,' she cried suddenly, unable to
restrain herself, ' that since 3'ou came into the house you have
done nothing but — find fault with all my — arrangements — '
(these mild words came with the utmost difficulty ; but Lottie
was too proud to quarrel). ' You can't tliink that I could like
that. I have done my best, and if you try as I have done,
you will find it is not so easy. But I don't want to defend
myself ; that is why I don't say anything. There can be no
good in quarrelling, whether you think me a bad housekeeper
or not.'
' I ain't so sure of that,' said Polly. ' Have a good flare-
up, and be done with it, that's my way. I don't hold with
your politeness, and keeping yourself to yourself. I'd rather
quarrel than be always bursting Avith spite and envy, like some
folks. It stands to reason as you must hate me, taking things
out oP your hands ; and it stands to reason as I should think
more of my own husband than of keeping up your brother and
THE HEAVIXGS OF THE EARTHQUAKE. 299
you in idleness. But for all that, and though we might fight
now and then — everybody does, I don't care nothing for a girl
us is always the same — I don't see why we shouldn't get on
neither. The Captain says as you've a very good chance of a
husband yoiu-self. ^Vnd though I'm just about your own age,
I've had a deal of experience. I know how to bring a man
to the point, if he's sliilly-shallying, or won't speak up like a
man. as a girl has a right to expect.'
• Oh ! stop, stop, stop ! ' cried Lottie, wild with horror.
She cast a hurried glance round, to see Avhat excuse she could
make for getting away. Then she seized eagerly upon her
music which lay on the old square piano. ' I must go to my
lesson,' she said.
• Your lesson ! Are you having lessons too ? Upon my
word I Oh, my poor husband I my poor Captain ! No
wonder as he has nothing but cold beef to eat,' said Polly, with
all the fervour of a deliverer, finding out one misery after
another. ' And if one might make so bold as to a*k. 3Iiss,
who is it as has the honoiu: to give lessons to you ? '
■ The Signor — Mr. Kossinetti.' Lottie added, alter a
moment. It seemed desecration to talk of any of the familiar
figures within the Abbey precincts by their familiar title to
this intruder.
• Oh I Fm not so ignorant as not to know who the Signor
is. That will be half-a-guinea, or at the least seven-and-six
a lesson ! ' she said, raising her hands in honor. * Oh. my
poor 'usband ! This is how his money goes I Miss.' said
Polly, severely, " you can't expect as I should put up with such
goings on. I have your papa to think of, and I won't see him
robbed — no. not whatever you may do. For I call that
robbery, just nothing else. Half-a-guinea a lesson, and en-
couraging Law to waste his time ! I can't think how you can
do it : with that good, dear, sweet, confiding man letting you
have your own way, and suspecting nothing.' cried Polly,
clasping her hands. Then she got up suddenly. ■ I declare,'
she cried, • church is near over, and me not ready to go out
and meet him I I can't go out a figure, in a common rag like
this, and me a bride. I must put on my silk. Of course, he
wants to show me off a bit before his friends. I'll nm and get
ready, and we can talk of this anodier time.'
Thus Lottie escaped for the moment. She was asked a
little later to see if Mrs. Despard's collar was straight, and to
300
WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
pin on her veil. ' Do I look nice ? ' said Polly triumphant,
and at the same time mollified by the services which Lottie
rendered without objection. She had put on her ' blue silk '
and the bonnet with the orange-blossoms, and neckties enough
to stock a shop. ' Perhaps, as there's nothing ordered, and I
mean to make a change with the tradespeople, the Captain and
me won't come back to dinner,' said Polly. ' There's your
favourite cold beef. Miss, for Law and you.' Lottie felt that
she began to breathe when, rustling and mincing, her strange
companion swept out, in the face of all the people who were
dispersing from matins, to meet her husband. Polly liked the
wondering encounter of all their eyes. With her blue silk
sweeping the pavement after her, and her pink parasol, and
the orange-blossoms on her bonnet, her figure descending the
Dean's Walk alone, while all the others issued out of the
Abbey doors, was conspicuous enough. She was delighted
to find that everybody looked at her, and even that some stood
still to watch her, looking darkly at her finery. These were
the people who were jealous, envious of her fine clothes and
her happiness, or jealous of her handsome husband, who met
her presently, but who perhaps was not so much delighted to
see her amidst all his fellow-Chevaliers as she thought. Captain
Despard was not a man of very fine perceptions ; but though
his blooming young wife was a splendid object indeed beside
the dark, little old figure of Mrs. Temple, he had seen enough
to feel that the presence of the old lady brought out into larger
prominence something Avhich the younger lacked. But he
met her with effusive delight, and drew her hand within his
arm, and thus they disappeared together. Outside the Pre-
cincts there was no need to make any comparison, and Polly's
brilliancy filled all hearts with awe.
When Law returned, he found Lottie seated in her little
chair, with her face hidden in her hands. It was not that she
was crying, as he feared at first. The face she raised to him
was crimson with excitement. 'Oh, Law ! ' she said, ' Law,
Law ! ' Lottie had got beyond the range of words- After a
while she told him all the events of the morning, which did
not look half so important when tliey were told, and they tried
to lay their heads together and think what was best to be done.
But what could anyone do ? Mary could scarcely put the
remnants of the cold beef on the table, for her eagerness to
tell that she had been to mother, and mother would not hear
THE IIEAVIXGS OF THE EAUTIIQUAKE. 301
of her staying. * Places isn't so hard to get as all that, for a
girl with a good cliaracter,' she said. When she was gone,
Lottie looked piteously at her brother.
' What kind of a place could I get ? ' she said. ' What am
I fit for ? Oh, Law ! I think it is a mistake to be brought up
a lady. I never thought it before, but I do now. How can
we go on living here ? and where are we to go ? '
' That's what I always said,' said Law. He was horribly
grave, but he had not a word to say except that he had got a
match at football, and perhaps might stay and sup with the
fellows afterwards. ' I'm just as well out of the way, for what
can I do for you ? only make things worse,' he siiid. And
though he had been so kind and sympathetic at first, Law stole
away, glad to escape, and left Lottie alone, to bear it as she
might. She had no lesson that day, though she had pretended
to have one. She would not go to the Abbey, where the new
member of the family meant to appear, she knew. Lottie
stayed in the familiar room which Avas hers no longer, imtil
the silence became too much for her, and she felt that any
human voice would be a relief. She went out in the afternoon,
when all seemed quiet, when everybody had gone to the Abbey
for the evening service. There would be nobody about, and
it seemed to Lottie that the shame was upon her, that it was
she who must shrink from all eyes. ]\Irs. O'Shaughnessy,
however, knocking on the window violently, instantly gave her
to understimd that this was impracticable. The girl tried to
resist, being afraid of herself, afraid of what she might say,
and of what might be said to her. But as she hurried on, ]\Irs.
O'Shaughnessy's maid rushed after her. Lottie had to go to
her old friend, though very reluctantly. ]\Irs. O'Shaughnessy
had a bad cold. She was sitting wrapped up in a shawl, and
a visitor with something to tell was beyond price to her.
' Come and tell me all about it, then ! ' she cried, ' me poor
darlin' ! ' enveloping Lottie in her large embrace. ' And tell
the Major, Sally, and let nobody come in.' The Major came
instantly to the call, and Lottie tried to tell her story to the
kind couple who sat on either side of her, with many an excla-
mation.
* I knew that was what it would come to,' Mrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy said.
' And I never thought Despard (saving your presence, my
dear) could have been such a fool I ' cried the Major.
302 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' Oh, sure, Mai'or, you're old enough to know that every man
is a fool where a woman's concerned.'
But what was Lottie to do ? They petted her and con-
doled with her, soothing her with their sympathy, and all the
tender words they could think of ; but they could throw no
light upon one point : what could the girl do ? Nothing, but
put up with it. They shook their heads, but could give
her no comfort. If Law had but been doino: somethino:,
instead of idling all his time away ! But then Law was not
doing anything. What was he good for, any more than
Lottie ?
' Mary can get another place. Her mother will not let her
stay, and she can get another place, she says : but here are
two of us. Law and I, and we are good for nothing ! ' cried
Lottie. How her thoughts were altered from the time when
she thought it necessary to stay at home, to do no visible work,
for the credit of the family ! Lottie was not young enough
to feel that it was necessary to be consistent. ' We are young
and strong and able to work, but we are good for nothing ! '
she said. And they both looked at her blankly, not knowing
what to say.
By-and-by Lottie escaped again into the open air, notwith-
standing their anxious invitation that she should stay with
them. She was too wretched to stay, and there had come
upon her a longing to see another face in which there might
be comfort. As she went out she almost AvaJked into Captain
Temple's arms, who was walking slowly along looking vip at
her window. The old man took both her hands into his. ' My
poor child ! ' he said. He was not so frankly inquisi-
tive as the good people she had just left, but he drew her
hand through his arm and walked with her, bending
over her.
' I do not want to tempt you from your duty, my dear ;
you'll do what is right, I am sure you will do what is right.
But I can't bear to think you are in trouble, and we so near.
And my wife,' said the old man slightly faltering, ' my wife
thinks so, too.' He was not quite so sure of his wife. She
had the restraining effect upon her huisband which a more
reserved and uncommunicative mind has over an impulsive
one. He knew what he would like to do, but he was not sure
of her, and this put hesitation into his speech.
* Oh ! Captain Temple,' cried Lottie, moved at last to
THE HEAVINGS OF THE EARTHQUAKE. 303
tears, ' -what am I to do ? I£ I cannot bear it, what am I
to do ? '
* Come and speak to my wife,' he said ; ' come, dear, and
see my wife. She can't talk about everything as I do, but
she has more sense than anyone, and knows the world. Come
with me, Lottie, and see what Mrs. Temple says.'
He thought the sight of the girl in her trouble Avould be
enough, and that his wife would certainly say what it was on
his own lips to say. Just then, however, there was a sound
of doors opening, and old Wykeham came out and looked
upon the world with a defiant countenance from the south
door of the Abbey, which was a sign that service was over ;
and the notes of the voluntary began to peal out into the air.
Lottie drew her arm from that of her old friend — she could
not bear the eyes of the crowd. ' Another time, another
time ; but I must go now,' she cried, escaping from him and
turning towards the Slopes. The old Captain's first impulse
was to follow. He stood for a moment gazing after her as she
sped along, slim and swift and young, up the deserted road.
It was beginning to grow dark, and the evening was colder
than it had been yet. Where was she going ? To her
favourite haunt on the Slopes to get the wind in her face ; to
let her thoughts go, like birds, into the Avide space and dis-
tance ? If that had been all ! The old man thought of an
alternative which filled him with alarm. He took a step after
her, and then he paused again, and shaking his head, turned
back, meeting all the people as they streamed out of the
Abbey. Poor child ! if she did meet him there, what then ?
It would comfort her to see her lover ; and if he was good, as
the anxious old Chevalier hoped, had not the lover more
power to save her than all the world ? There was no ques-
tion of taking Lottie from her father and mother, separating
her from her home. If this young man Avere to offer her a
home of her own, Avhere could there be so good a solution to
the problem ? Captain Temple turned and walked home with
a sigh. It Avas not his Avay of delivering Lottie, but pei-haps
it Avas the Avay that Avould be most for her happiness, and who
Avas he that he should interfere ? He let her go to her fate Avith
a sigh.
304 WITHIN THE PKECIXCTS.
CHxVPTER XXX.
Lottie's fate.
Lottie went up the Dean's Walk hastily, feeling as if she had
taken flight. And she was taking flight. She could not bear
to meet the people coming from the Abbey, among whom no
doubt her father and his wife would be. Lottie was scarcely
aware that there Avas anything else in her mind. She hurried
to the Slopes as the natural refuge of her trouble. The wind
blowing fresh in her face, the great sweep of distance, the air
and the clouds, the familiar rustle of the trees, seemed to have
become part of her, a necessity of her living. And the Slopes
Avere almost deserted now. In October the night comes early,
the afternoon is short, even before the winds become chill ;
already it was darkening, though the afternoon service was
but newly over. The trees were beginning to lose their gor-
geous apparel : every breeze shook doAvn hosts of leaves,
shreds of russet brown and pale gold ; the wind was wistful
and mournful, with a sigh in it that promised rain. Lottie
saw nobody about. She stole through the trees to her
favourite corner, and leaned upon the low parapet, looking
over the familiar scene. She was so familiar with it, every
line ; and yet it seemed to her to-night like scenery in a
theatre, which by-and-by would collapse and split asunder,
and give place to something different. It would vanish from
her sight, and in place of it there Avould appear the dim back-
ground of one of the little rooms at home, with a figure in a
blue gown relieved against it, tossing about a mountain of
braids and plaits. Lottie did not feel sure that this figure
would not appear at her very side, lay an imperative hand on
her slioulder, and order her to give up the secrets of her own
being. Thus she carried her care Avithin her. She stood
leaning over the parapet, Avith the trees rustling around,
scarcely aAvare Avhat she Avas thinking of Did she expect
anyone ? She Avould have said. No. The night was overcast
and growing dismal, Avhy should she expect anyone ? What
reason could he have for cominti out here ? He could have
no instinctive knowledge of her misery, to bring him, and he
had no longer that excuse of his cigar after dinner as on the
happy nights Avhen the air was still like summer. No ! it
LOTTIE'S FATE. 305
was only for the stillness, only for the air, only to fling her
troublesome thoughts out to the horizfui and empty her mind,
and thus feel it possible to begin again, that she had come.
And never had that stillness been so still before. By-and-by
this scene would melt away, and it would be the little dining-
room in the Lodge, with the white tablecloth and the lamp
lighted upon it. She had been weary of her home, she had
half despised it ; but never had she been disgusted, afraid of
it, never loathed the thought of going back to it before.
And she could not talk to anybody about this ; they were
all very kind, ready to be sorry for her, to do anything
they could for her, but she could not bear their sympathy to-
night.
All at once, in the silence which was so full of the
whisper of the leaves and the sighs of the wind, that she had
not heard any footstep, there came a voice close to her elbow
which made Lottie start.
' Is it really you, IMiss Dcspard ? I had almost given up
hopes; — and alone ! I thought you Avere never to be alone
again ? ' said KoUo, with pleasure in his voice.
How it startled her ! She ]o(ikcd roimd upon him with
so much fright in her eyes that he was half vexed, half
angered. Was it possible that Lottie after all was just like the
rest, pretending to be astonished by his appearance when she
knew as well
' You surely are not surprised to see me ? ' he said, with a
short laugh.
' I did not think of seeing you,' she said quietly, and
looked away from him again.
RoUo was angry, yet he was touched by something in her
tone ; and there must be something to cause this sudden
change. She had always been so hank and simple in her
welcome of him, always with a light of pleasure on her face
when he came in sight; but she Avould not so much as let him
see her face now. She looked round with that first start,
then turned again and resumed her dreamy gaze into the
night. And there was dejection in every line of her figure as
she stood dimly outlined against the waning light. Suddenly
there came into Kollo's mind a recollection that he had heard
something to account for this, Avithout accusing her of petty
pretence or affectation.
' Something has happened,' he said, with a sense of relief
X
306 WITHIN THE PKECINCTS.
Avhicli surprised himself. ' I remember noAV. I fear yoti are
not happy about it.'
' No,' she said, with a sigh. Then Lottie made a little
effort to recover herself; perhaps he would not care about
her troubles. ' It has been a great shock,' she said, ' but per-
haps it may not be so bad after a while.'
' Tell me,' said Hollo ; ' you know how much interest I
take in everything that concerns you. Surely, Miss Despard,
after this long time that we have been seeing each other, you
know that ? Won't you tell me ? I cannot bear to see you
so sad, so unlike yourself
' Perhaps that is the best thing that could happen,' said
Lottie, ' that I should be unlike myself. I wish I could be
like someone with more sense ; I have been so foolish !
Everybody knows that we are poor ; I never concealed it, but
I never thought Oh ! how silly we have been. Law and
I ! I used to scold him, but I never saw that I was just the
same myself. We ought to have learned to do something, if
it were only a trade. We are both young and strong, but we
are good for nothing, not able to do anything. I used to
scold him : but I never thought that I was just as bad
myself
' Don't say so, don't say so ! You Avere quite right to
scold him ; men ought to work. But yoxi^ cried RoUo with
real agitation, ' it is not to be thought of You ! don't speak
of such a thing. What is the world coming to, when you talk
of working, while such a fellow as I '
' Ah ! that is quite different,' said Lottie. ' You are rich,
or, at least, you are the same as if you were rich ; but we are
really poor, we have no money : and everything we have, it is
papa's. I suppose he has a right to do whatever he likes
with it ; it seems strange, but I suppose he has a right. And,
then, what is to become of us ? How could I be so silly as
not to. think of that before? It is all my own limit; don't
think I am finding fault with papa, Mr. liidsdale. I suppose
he has a right, and I don't want to pTumble ; it only — seems
natural — to tell you.' Lottie did not know what an admission
she was making. She sighed again into that soft distant
horizon, then turned to him with a smile trembling about her
lips. It was a relief to tell him — she could spesik to him as
she could not speak to Captain Temple or Mrs. O'Shai ghnessy,
though she had known them so much longer. ' Perhaps I am
Lottie's fate. 307
only out of temper,' she s;iid. She couid not but feel more
light of heart standing beside him with nobody near ; they
seemed to belong to each other so.
' How good, how sweet of you to say so,' he cried. ' Then
treat me as if it were natural; come and sit down — no-
body will interrupt us — and tell me everything I want to
know.'
They had met together in Lottie's little drawing-room
before, in the eye of day, and three or four times under Lady
Caroline's eye; but never before like this, in the twilight, all
alone in the world, as it were, two of them, and no more.
Lottie hesitated for a moment ; but what could be wrong in
it ? There Avas nobody to disturb them, and her heart was
so full ; and to talk to him was so pleasant. She seemed able
to say more to him than to any other. He understood her at
half a word, whereas to the others she had to say everything,
to say even more than she meant before they saw what she
meant. She sat down, accordingly, in the corner of the seat,
and told him all that had happened ; herself beginning to see
some humour in it as she told the story, half laughing one
moment, half crying the next. And Kollo went into it with
all his heart. All their meetings had produced their natural
effect; for tlie last fortnight he had felt that he ought to go
away, but he had not gone away. He could not deprive him-
self of her, of their intercourse, which was nothing yet implied
so much, those broken conversations, and the language of
looks, that said so much more than words. Never, perhaps,
had his intercourse with any girl been so simple, yet so unre-
strained. If the old Captain sometimes looked at him with
suspicion, he was the only one who did so ; and Lottie had
neither suspicion nor doubt of him, nor had any question as
to his ' intentions ' arisen in her mind. She told him her
grief now, not dully, with the heavy depression that cannot
be moved, but with gleams of courage, of resolution, even of
fun, unable to resist the temptation of Polly's absurdity, see-
ing it now as she had not been able to see it before. ' I never
knew l)efore,' she said fervently, ' what a comfort it was to
talk things over — but, then, whom could I talk them over
with ? Law, who thinks it best not to think, never to mind
— but sometimes one is obliged to mind : or Mrs. O'Shauirh-
nessy, whom I cannot say everything to or; — Mr.
Kidsdale 1 ' said Lottie, in alarm — ' pray, pray forgive me if I
x2
308 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
have bored you. I have been pouring out everything to you,
I never thought — I did not intend '
* Don't tell me that,' he said. * I hoped you did intend to
confide in me, to trust to my sympathy. Who can be so
much interested? to whom can it be so important ? ' He
leaned forward closer to her, and Lottie instinctively drew
away from him a hairsbreadth ; but she thought that quite
natural too, as natural as that she should be able to speak to
him better than to anyone else. They had both made the
whole avowal of their hearts in saying these words; but it
had not been done in words which frightened either or
changed their position towards each other. Meanwhile she
was content enough, quieted by the sense of leaning her
trouble upon him, while he was gradually growing into agita-
tion. Lottie had got all her emergency required — his sym-
pathy, his support, the understanding that was so dear to her.
After all her trouble she had a moment of ease ; her heart
was no longer sore, but soothed with the balm of his tender
pity and indignation.
But that which calmed Lottie threw Eollo into ever-
increasing agitation. A man who has said so much as that to
a girl, especially to one who is in difficulty and trouble, is
bound even to himself to say more. The crisis began for him
where for her it momentarily ended. To love her and as good
as tell her so, to receive, thus ingenuously given, that confes-
sion of instinctive reliance upon him which was as good as a
betrayal of her love; and to let her go and say nothing more —
could a man do that and yet be a man? Rollo was not a man
who had done right all the days of his life. He had been
in very strange company, and had gone through many an
adventure ; but he was a man whom vice had never done more
than touch. Even among people of bad morals he had not
known how to abandon the instincts of honour ; and in such
an emergency what Avas he to do ? Words came thronging to
his lips, but his mind was distracted with his own helplessness.
What had he to offer ? how could he marry ? he asked himself
with a kind of despair. Yet something must be thought of, some-
thing suggested. 'Lottie,' he said after that strange pause —
' Lottie — I cannot call you Miss Despard any more, as if I were
a stranger. Lottie, you know very well that I love you. I
am as poor as you are, but I cannot bear this. You must trust
to me for everything — you must — Lottie, you are not afraid
Lottie's fate. 509
to trust yourself to me — you don't doubt me?' lie cried. Hi.s
miud -was driven wildly from one side to another. Marry !
hoAV could he marry in his circumstances? Was it possible
that there was anything else that would answer the purpose,
any compromise? His heart beat wildly with love and ardour
and shame. What would she say? Would she understand
him, though he could not understand himself?
*Mr. Kidsdale,' cried Lottie, shrinking back from him a
little. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry,
being overcome with so many emotions, one heaped on another.
At another moment she would not have been surprised ; she
would have been able to lift her eyes to the glow of the full
happiness which, in half-light, had been for Aveeks past the
illumination of her life. But i'or the moment it dazzled her.
She put up her hands between her and that ecstacy of light.
As for Kollo, very different Avere the thoughts in liis mind.
He thought Lottie as wise as himself: he thought she had
investigated his words ; had not foimd in them the one that
is surety for all, and shrank from him. Shame overwhelmed
him : the agony of a mind wliich was really honest and a
heart which was full of tenderness, yet found tliemselves on
the verge of dishonour. ' Lottie !' he cried with anguish in
his voice, * you do not imderstand me — you will not listen to
me. Do not shrink as if I meant any harm.'
Then she uncovered her face, and he saw dimly through
the twilight a coimtenance all trembling with eniotion and
happiness and astonishment. ' Harm ! ' she said, with wonder
in her voice — 'harm!' His heart seemed to stand still, and
iill his confused thinkings broken off in the unspeakable con-
trast between the simplicity of her innocence thinking no
evil, and the mere knowlege in his mind which, if nothing
more, made guilt possible. Such a contrast shamed and hor-
rified, and filled with an adoration of penitence, the man wdio
might have drawn her into evil, ambiguously, had it been pos-
sible. He found himself with one knee on the cold gravel,
before he knew, pressing his suit upon her Avith passion.
' Lottie, you must marry me, you must be my Avife, you must
let me be the one to Avork to tjike care of you, to protect you
ii-om all trouble,' he cried. But Avhat did Lottie Avant Avith
those more definite Avords Avhich he had thought she missed and
Avaited for? Had she not knoAvn his secret long ago before
lie ever spoke a Avord to her? Had -he not been led delicately,
SIO WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
tenderly, step by step, through infinite dreams and visions,
towards this climax ? She cried with happiness and trouble,
and the sense of deliverance.
' Oh, why should you kneel to me?' she said. ' Do you
think it needs that ? ' While he, more happy than ever he had
been in his life, alarmed, disturbed, shaken out of all his habits
and traditions, held her fast like a new foimd treasure, and
lavished every tender word upon her that language could supply.
He owed her a million apologies, of not one of which Lottie
was conscious. How could it have been possible for her to
suppose that even for a second, in his inmost thoughts, he had
been less than reverent of her? And he — had he meant any
harm ? He did not think he had meant any harm ; yet how, in
the name of heaven, was he to marry — how was he to marry —
in his present circumstances ? While he was pouring out
upon Lottie his love and worship, telling her how she had
gathered to herself day by day all his thoughts and wishes,
this question rose up again in his heart.
' I know,' said Lottie, very low — her voice still trembling
with the first ecstacy of feeling. It was like the dove's voice,
all tenderness and pathos, coming out of her very heart. ' I
guessed it long — oh, long ago '
' How did you do that ? Whisper, darling — tell me —
when did you first think ? '
Is not this the A B C of lovers ? and yet her tone implied
a little more than the happy divining of the easy secret. She
laughed softly — a variety of music in his ear — the two faces
were so close.
' You did not think I knew anything about it. I saw you
— looking up at my window — the very night of the wedding.
Do you remember ? ' Again Lottie's low happy laugh broke
into the middle of her words. ' I could not think what it
meant. And then another time before I knew you — and
then You did not suppose I saw you. I could not
believe it,' she said, with a soft sigh of content. Laugh or
sigh, what did it matter, they meant the same : the delight of
a discovery which was no discovery — the happy right of con-
fessing a consciousness which she dared not have betrayed an
hour ago — of Vjeing able to speak of it all : the two together,
alcne in all the world, wanting nothing and no one. This
was what Lottie meant. But her disclosures struck her lover
dumb. What would she say if she knew his real object
Lottie's fate. 311
then ? A prima donna who was to make his fortune — a new
voice to be produced in an opera ! lie shuddered as he drew
her closer to him, with terror — with compunction, though he
had meant no harm. And he loved her now if he did not
love her then ; with all his heart now — all the more tenderly,
he thought, that she had mistaken him, that she had been so
innocently deceived.
By this time it had got dark, though they did not observe
it ; yet not quite dark, for it is rarely dark out of doors
under the free skies, as it is within four walls. It was Lottie
who suddenly awoke to this fact with a start.
' It must be late — I must go home,' she said. And when
she looked about among the ghostly trees Avhich waved and
bent overhead, sombre and colourless in the dark — she thought,
with a thrill of horror, that hours must have passed since she
came here. Rollo too Avas slightly alarmed. They were
neither of them in a condition to measure time ; and though
so much had happened, it had flown like a moment. They
came out from among the trees in the happy gloom, arm-in-
arm. Nobody could recognise them, so dark as it was — and
indeed nobody was in the way to recognise them — and the
Abbey clock struck as they emerged upon the Dean's Walk,
reassuring them. Rollo was still in time for dinner, though
Lottie might be too late for tea ; and the relief of discovering
that it was not so late as they thoiight gave them an excuse
for linc:erin<r. He walked to the Lodges with her, and then
she tiu"ned back with him ; and finally they strayed round the
Abbey in the darkness, hidden by it, yet not so entirely
hidden as they thought. Only one little jar came to the
perfect blessedness of this progress homeward.
* Shall you tell them 7 ' Lottie whispered, just before she
took leave of her lover, with a movement of her hand towards
the Deanery.
This gave Rollo a serrement de co>ur. He replied hastily,
'Not to-night,' with something like a shiver, and then he
added, ' Where shall I see you to-morrow ? '
This question struck Lottie with ihe same shock and jar
of feeling. Would not he come and claim her to-morrow ?
This was what she had thought. She did not know what to
reply, and a sudden sensation of undefined trouble — of evil
not yet so entirely over as she hoped — came into her mind ;
but he added, before she could speak —
312 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' In the old place — that blessed corner which I love better
than any other iu the world. Will you come while every-
body is at the Abbey, Lotde ? for we must talk over everything.'
This melted the little momentary vexation away, and she
promised. And thus they parted perforce — opposite Captain
Despard's door. How glad Lottie was that the door was
open ! It stood open all through the summer, and the habits
of the summer were scarcely over. By the light in the
dining-room downstairs and the sound of the voices she
divined that tea was not yet over. But she was not able to
encounter Mrs. Despard to-night. She did not want to see
anyone. Her heart was still so full of delicious tumult, her
eyes of sweet tears. She had gone out so sorrowful, so
indignant, not knowing Avhat was to become ol her. And
noAv she knew what was to become of her — the most beautiful,
happy fate. He had said he was poor. What did it matter if
he was poor ? Was she not used to that ? Lottie knew, and
said to herself with secret joy, that she was the right wife for a
poor man. He might have got the noblest of brides, and she
Avculd not have been so fit for him ; bvit she was fit lor that post
if ever a young woman was. She would take care of the little
he had, which one might be sure he would never do himself —
he was toe generous, too kind for that ; Lottie loved him for his
prodigality, even while she determined to control it. She
would take care of him, and do everything for him, as no woman
used to wealth could do. And she would spur him on so that
he should do great things — things which he had not done
heretofore, only because he had not stimulus enough. He
should have stimiilus enough noAV, with a Avife who would
exult in all he did, and support him with sympathy and help.
It was not any passive position that she mapped out for her-
self. She knew what it meant to be poor, far better than
Rollo did. And she did not mind it. Why should she mind
it ? She had been used to it all her life. She would not care
what she did. But he should never have to blush for his wife
as a drudge. She Avould never forget her position, and his
position, which was so nuich greater than hers. This was the
first time that Lottie thought of his position. She did so now
with a heightening of colour, and louder throb of her heart.
By this time she was sitting in her own room without even a
candle, glad of tlie seclusion and of the darkness in which she
could think, unbetrayed, even to herself. Her heart gave a
Lottie's fate. 313
bound, and a flusli came to her cheek. There could be no
doubt now about her position. No one could dream, no one
could think that Kollo's "wife was ever to be looked down
upon. Tliis gave her a distinct thrill of pleasure ; and then
she passed it by, to return to a dearer subject — Himself! how
anxious he had been I as if it were possible she could have
resisted his love. He had wooed her, she thought, as if she
had been a princess — doubling Lottie's happiness by doing in
this respect the thing she felt to be most right and fit, though,
oh! so xmneccssary in respect to herself I Could he really
have any doubt how it would turn out ? The thought of this
humility in our hero brought tears of love and happiness to
Lottie's eyes. Was she the same girl who had sat here in
gloom and darkness only last niglit, wondering what was to
become of her ? But how was she to know how soon fate
would unfold like a flower, and show her what was in store
for her ? How liappy she was — how good, how thankful to
God — how charitable to others ! She could have gone down-
stairs and said something kind even to Polly, had it not been
for fear of betraying herself. Everything that Avas tender and
sweet blossomed out in her heart. She was so happy. Is not
that the moment in which the heart is most pure, most kind,
most humble and tender ? God's hand seemed to be touching
her, blessing her — and she in her turn was ready to bless all
the world.
CHAPTER XXXL
WBAT OTIIEr. PEOPLE THOUGHT.
The appearance of the new IMrs. Despard in the Abbey made
a very great impression. Tlie brilliancy of her blue silk and
the bushiness of her orange blossoms -were calculated to strike
awe into all beholders. There was scarcely a lady within the
Precincts who did not feel herself personally insulted by the
appearance of the milliner girl flaunting in her bridal finery
and taking her place by right among them. As for the wives
of the Chevaliers, their indignation was too great for words.
Mingled curiosity and enmity had brought them out in larger
numbers than usual, to see the creature, if she was so lost to
314 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
every feeling of shame as to show herself; and it is scarcely
necessary to say that Polly was in that particular entirely lost
to every feeling of shame. She came in with her Captain,
clinging to his arm, and whispering to him, even in the sacred
quiet of the Abbey, and as the pair were late, and almost the
entire congregation had assembled, nothing was Avanting to
the full enjoyment of her triumph. Polly felt, when she
raised her head, after that momentary homage to the sacred
place which even in her state of excitement she felt bound to
make, that one object of her life was attained, that everybody
was staring at her, and that in her blue silk she was more the
centre of regard than the Dean himself under his canopy, or
the Minor Canon just about to begin the service, who percep-
tibly paused, in acknowledgment of the little rustle and com-
motion which accompanied her entrance. The feelings of the
ladies among whom this intruder pushed her way may be
imagined. It was all that Mrs. O'Shaughnessy could do, .she
said afterwards, to refrain from throwing a hymn-book at the
head of the jaunty Captain, as he handed his bride into her
place, before taking his own among his brother Chevalier.s.
The ladies in the Abbey were divided from their partners,
being placed in a lower row, and to see the Captain pass on to
his stall with a swing of elation in his step after handing
his bride to her seat, was enough to make any veteran
blaspheme. Why should a man be so proud of himself
because he has got a new Avife ? The imbecile glow ot
vanity and self-congratulation which in such circumstances
comes over the countenance, nay, the entire person, even
of the wisest, conveys exasperation to every looker-on.
The sentiment of indignation, however, against Captain Des-
pard was mingled with pity ; but scarcely even contempt
.sufficed to soften the feeling with which Polly in her blue
silk was universally regarded. Polly was an intruder, an
aggressor. The very way in which she tossed her head
upwards with its bristling crown of artificial flowers Avas an
offence. The ladies might have their little differences now
and then, and it was an undoubted fact that Mrs. Dalrymple,
for instance, who was very well connected, had never been able
to endure Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, who had no connections at
all ; but now they all clung together as with one impulse.
They crowded upon eacli other in the seat, so as to leave a
clear space between them and Polly, who, unabashed, took
WHAT OTHEn PEOPLE THOUGHT. 315
full advantage of it, and spread out her flounces, her blue
silken skirts around her, ^vith a rustle of deliance. Mrs.
Temple was the one who was left next to Mrs. Despard.
This lady, who took no notice at first, soon roused up, and
putting on her spectacles, looked very seriously at the intruder.
Polly faced round upon her, with dauntless readiness, but
Mrs. Temple's look was so serious that even Polly felt some-
what discomfited. She felt this new observer's eyes upon her
all the time. ' Who was that old woman Avho stared at me
so ? ' she asked, scarcely taking the trouble to whisper, as her
husband led her round the nave while the vohmtary was
being ployed. ' That ! that's the wife of an old idiot who
gives himself no end of airs,' said the Captain. ' I thought
as much,' said Polly, tossing her head, ' but she'll find 1 can
stare just as well as she can. Two can play at that game.'
, She spoke so loudly that some of the people near said,
* Hush-sh ! ' The Signor was just then playing a very delicate
cadenza in the minor key.
Mrs. Temple took her old husband's arm without a Avord,
and went straight home. He had not himself been at the
service, but met her at the door : where he too saw the bride
in her blue silk. The old Captain did nothing but shake his
head. He could not trust himself to speak. ' Wliat arc
things coming to?' he said at last, as they got within their
own door. ' When that young fellow was made a Chevalier,
I said nothing could come of it but mischief to the community.
Captain Despard, being only fifty, was a young fellow to this
veteran. ' Never mind the community,' said JNIrs. Temple,
which was a bold thing to say. It was getting late in the
October afternoon, and within the Utile sitting-rooms of the
Lodges it seemed dark, coming in even from the grey after-
noon t.kies outside. Mrs. Temple rang for the lamp before
she went upstairs to take oflf her bonnet. She was very f'ldl
of thought, and sighed as she went. Her OAvn girl, for whom
she would so gladly have died, was gone, leaving father and
mother desolate — and here was another poor girl who lived,
but had no one to care for her. Strange are the decrees of
Providence. Mrs. Temple sighed as she came downstairs
again to where her old Captain sat gazing at the lamp with a
sorrowful face. ' Yes, my dear,' he said as she came in, ' you
were right to say never mind the conmiunity. After all, I
BU])pose there is no community in the world that has not ita
S16 WITHIN THE rnECINCTS.
black sheep. Nobody -will be so foolish as to confound us
■with such a fellow ; but when I think of that poor girl '
' That is what I have been thinking of,' said Mrs. Temple;
* but perhaps,' she added, still imwilling to betray her interest
in Lottie, that interest which was half opposition, ' perhaps
she may not feel it so much as we suppose.'
' Feel it ! I have not liked to say very much about her,
my dear. She reminds me so of our own and I know
you could not bear to talk of that,' said the good. Captain,
innocent of the fact that he had talked of little else for
months past. ' But if you only knew her better ! There is
something in her walk — in the turn of her head — that so
reminds me — but I never liked to say much about it. You
must not think she does not feel it. I met her and was
talking with her just before I came for you. But for leaving
you alone I should have taken her for a walk ; it Avould have
■done her good. I believe she rushed off to the Slopes
after all.'
' I do not think she would get much good on the Slopes,'
said Mrs. Temple, thinking of the little wind of gossip about
Mr. RoUo Ividsdale which had be2:un to breathe about the
Lodges.
' She would get fresh air — and quiet ; she likes that ; she
is a ver}^ thoughtful girl, my dear — very serious, just like our
own poor — ■ — . You must forgive me if I am always seeing
resemblances. Lottie is very fond of the twilight. I have
gone with her so often I know her tastes. IMany a time I
Jiave done the same with . When I feel her little arm in
mine, I could almost think sometimes that other days have
•come back.'
The shadow of INIrs. Temple's cap quivered on the wall.
The thought of the little arm in his, the other days, which
this simple touch brought back, was not sweet but terrible to
her. A film floated before her eyes, and something choking
and intolerable rose in her throat. ' I do not suppose,' she
said liastily, ' that a girl brought up like that can mind as one
thinks.'
The Captain shook his head. ' I wish you knew her
better,' he said, with that soft answer which turns aAvay iiTi-
tation. The servant-maid, came in Avith the tray at this
moment, and Mrs. Temple began to pour out the tea. She
Was a little tired, having had many things to do that day, and
WnAT OTHER PEOPLE THOUGHT. 317
it occurred to her suddenly that to lean back in her easy-chair
as the Captain was doing, and to have her cup of tea brought
to her would be sweet. To have someone to wait upon her
tenderly, and read her wishes in her eyes, and divine her
thoughts before they came to her lips, that would be sweet.
But could anyone do that except a child, could anything but
love do it, and that sacred influence which is in the blood, the
Siime blood running in the different veins of parent and child?
These thoughts went through her mind without anybody
being the wiser. She gave her husband his tea, and sat down
in her turn to rest a little. There was nothing said in the
still little room. The two together, did not they know all
each other's thoughts and wishes and recollections ? They
were old, and what could happen to them except the going
out to the Abbey, the coming in to tea ! But if there had
been three instead of two — and one young, with all the dawn-
ing world before her feet — everything would have borne a
very different aspect. Ah I Mrs. Temple moved quickly, as
she had the habit of doing when that recollection, always
present to her mind, struck suddenly like a new blow. And
hers Avas a creature, helpless, fbrlorn, without a mother to fly
to. The mother who had no child stood doubtful between
earth and heaven, asking, speechless, what she was to do :
pass by on the other side as if there was no mother in her ?
or pardon God for taking her child, and hold out her hand to
His ? She did not know what to do. Things were not easy
for her as for her husband. It was cruel of this girl even to
live, to pass by a poor Avoman's windows who had lost her
child ; yet Avhat was the Avoman to do Avhen this creatmre who
Avas living, Avho Avas an offence to her, Avas in trouble ? Let
her sink and never hold out a hand ? But Avhat then Avould
the other girl in lieaA'en think of her mother ? Mrs. Temple
Avas torn by this conflict of Avhich she gave no sign, Avhile
perhaps the old Captain in his kind and simple heart, yearn-
ing over the young creature Avho Avas so helpless and desolate,
Avas unjust to his wife, and thought her less than kind.
Aud it Avas not only in Captain Temple's house that Polly's
appearance Avas the cause of excitement. The Signor put his
hand upon the arm of his young assistant as they went out
together by the north door. ' Did you see them ?' he said,
Avith meaning. Young Purcell Avas pale Avith excitement.
He had done nothing but Avatch Polly promenading through
318 WITHIN THE PRECINCTr..
the nave on her husband's arm, and the very fact of Lottie's
superiority to himself made him feel with more horror the
impossibility of any harmony between her and Polly, whom
he considered so much inferior to himself He had watched
her from the organ loft, while the Signor played the voluntary,
Avith feelings indescribable ; and so did his mother, who was
also in the Abbey, and who gaped at the fine young woman
with a mixture of consternation and admiration, by no means
sure of her inferiority, yet feeling that a crisis had arrived,
and that whatever Miss Despard might have said before, she
could not but be glad now of any offer of an 'ome. Mrs. Pur-
cell did not stay for the voluntary, but went home quickly to
see after ' her dinner,' very full of thought, and tremulous with
expectation. The young lady was proud, she would not have
anything to say to John before — but now, no doubt she would
send for him and all would be settled. The housekeeper
knew that a young stepmother Avas a strong argument against
the peace of a girl who had been used to have everything her
own way, and she felt with a tremor of her heart, half-pride,
half-pain, that now at last she would have to resign her boy,
and see him pass from beyond her ken into those regions of
gentility Avith which the Signor's housekeeper had nothing to
do. Very likely John, or John's wife, Avho Avas 'such a lady,'
would Avant her to leave her comfortable situation. Mrs.
Purcell did not like the idea of it, but still, if it Avould help
to make her boy happy — perhaps even it might remove a
stumbling-block out of John's way if she Avere to take it into
her own hands, and give up her situation. The thought
made her heart heavy, for she liked her place, and the Signor,
and her comfortable rooms, and the poAver of laying by a
litt e money. But John Avas the first person to be considei'ed.
What could a young lady object to in his position? lie Avas
all that a gentleman could wish to be ; but a mother who
was in service might no doubt be an objection. Mrs. Purcell
made up her mind hurriedly, that if it proved needful she
would not wait to be asked, but Avould herself take the
initiative and make the sacrifice ; but she did so with a heavy
heart. To give up not only her boy, Avho, Avhen he Avas mar-
ried, Avould not, she knew, be much more to his mother, but
her occupation likeAvise, and her chief comforts, and her master
who Avas, in a waA'. like another son to her, a foster-son, much
greater and richer than she, but still dependent on her for his
WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THOUGHT. 319
comfort — it was hard — but still she could do it for her John's
sake. Meanwhile her John, feeling the Signor's hand heavy
with meaning on his arm, answered with tremulous excite-
ment, ' Yes 1 saw it. It is terrible, terrible ! a desecra-
tion. To think she should have to put up with that even for
a day !'
' I wonder what will be the issue,' said the Signor, medi-
tatively. ' Her heart is not in her work now. K she becomes
an artist, it will be against her will — Art is not what she is
thinking of I wonder what will come of it. Will she feel
the hollowness of this world and throw herself into her pro-
fession, or will she '
' Master,' said the young musician, fervently, ' sooner or
later she will turn to me. It is not possible that a man could
love a young lady as I do, and have an 'ome to offer her, as I
have '
Purcell was educated — he did not forget his h's in general ;
but how many people are there who, beguiled by that femiliar
phrase, forget all precautions, and plunge recklessly into the
pitfall of an 'ome !
' You think so ? ' said the Signor. He did not himself put
any confidence in this result, and was even surprised, after
his recent experience, that the young man should be sanguine ;
but still, after all, who ought to have such true intuitions as
the hero himself? and there is no telling what perseverance
mingled with enthusiasm may do. The Signor was not
satisfied with his pupil. She would not devote herself to her
work as he wished. She had no abstract devotion to art, as
art. The Signor felt, musing over it, that it was possible she
might take to it more warmly if by any chance she became
Purcell's wife. John was a very good fellow, and when he
Avas disappointed, the Signor was very angry with Lottie ;
but, still, he thou^'ht it probable that Lottie, if she man-ied
him, would not find much to satisfy her in Purcell, and,
therefore, would be driven to art. And of all results that
could be attained, was not this the best? In the meantime,
however, he was very doubtful whether by this means it ever
would be attained.
' Yes, master,' said the young man ; 'how can I help think-
ing so ? I can give her, if not very much, at least indepen-
dence and the comforts of an 'ome. She would not be
dragged down by anything about me. My mother's position
320 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
may be doubtful,' he said, with passing embarrassment; 'but
you have been so good, you have never made her like a
common servant, and at Sturminster nobody need ever know.'
' Your mother has been very good, and done a great deal
for you ; you must never let anyone ignore your mother.'
' Certainly not,' said the young man. * She is my mother;
that ought to be enough for anybody. And I shall have her
come to see me the same as if she were a duchess ; but, still,
there is no need of publishing to everybody what she is when
she is at home.'
' That is true, that is true,' said the Signor. ' Then you
really think there is a chance that this is how it will end ? '
' Master,' said Purcell, pausing at the door before they
entered. It Avas one of the Italian traditions which had
lingered in the Signer's habitual bearing, to stand still now
and then as he was walking, by way of giving emphasis to a
sentence. They paused now, looking at each other before
they went in, and the colour came to the young fellow's face.
' Master,' he said, * it may look self- sufficient — but how can
it end otherwise ? There is no one else who will offer her
what I can offer her ; and it would be like saying she had no
sense, which is very far from the case, to think she would
stand out for ever. She is a lady, she is above me in birth ;
but, thanks to you, I know how to behave like a gentleman ;
and surely, sooner or later, this is how it must end.'
' Amen, with all my heart,' said the Signor, turning in at
the door, which old Pick held open behind, waiting, as one
who knew his master's way.
It was Mr. Ashford who had intoned the service that
afternoon, and his attention had been so caught by Polly's
entrance that he had made a kind of stumble in the beginning
— a pause which was perceptible. After that, during the singing
of the anthem and at other moments when his attention was
free, he had looked down upon that gorgeous apparition from
his high desk with a look of compassion on his face. The
compassion, it is needless to say, was not for Polly, who
wanted none of it. He watched her behind his book, or
behind the hand which supported his head, with the most
curious alarmed attention. And when he passed her with
her husband going out, Mr. Ashford looked at her in a way
which Polly thought to be flattering. ' That's one as takes an
interest in us,' she said. ' It's Ashford, the Minor Canon.
WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THOUGHT, S21
It must be you he takes an interest in,' whispered the Cap-
tain, and Polly laughed and tossed her head. Mr. Ashlbrd
Avent home Avith the same strange look on his face, softened,
and touched, and pitiful. ' Poor thing,' he said to himself,
* poor girl ! ' and when he got in he sat for a long time
in the centre window, in the dark, looking out, and trying to
think out some way of help. What could he do for her ?
Poor thing ! with all her better instincts and higher feelings,
with her impulse of taking care of everybody and keeping
her father and brother right, what would become of her now ?
Mr. Ashfbrd asked himself, with many an anxious thought,
what could be done ? A man could do nothing — where it
was a girl that was in the case a man was more helpless than
a baby. He could do nothing to help her ; he could not even
show his sympathy without probably doing more harm than
good to the sufferer. He sat in the window-seat, gazing out
on the dusk and the dim horizon, as if they could help him
in his musings. If he had only had a mother or sister — any
woman to whom he could have appealed, he thought he must
have done so on behalf of this girl. But he had neither sister
nor mother. He was a man very much alone in the world.
He had a brother, a poor clergyman, with a large family, and
a wife, who would not understand in the least why Ernest
should interest himself in a stranger — a girl. If he
wanted someone to spend his money upon, why not take one
of the children ? he thought he heard her say ; and certainly
she would not understand, much less respond to, any appeal
he could make to Iier. What could he do? If any other
suggestion swept across ]\Ir. Ashford's face in the dark or
through his heart, nobody was there to see or divine it. He
sat thus Avithout ringing for his lamp till it was quite late,
and was much discomposed to be found sitting in the dark
when a messenger arrived with a note from the Deanery about
the extra service for the next saint's day. He was annoyed
to be found so, being conscious, perhaps, of reasons for the
vigil which he Avould not have cared to enter upon ; for he
was shy and sensitive, and it had often happened to him to be
laughed at, because of his undue anxiety about others.
* What is it to you ? ' had been often said to him, and never
with more occasion than now. For, after all, Avhat did it
matter to the INIinor Canon what became of Lottie Despard ?
Whether she and her stepmother should ' get on ' together, or
T
322 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
if they should never ' get on ' but yet might manage to live
Tinder the same roof a cat-and-dofrsrish life — what was it to
Lim ? One way or other, it would not take sixpence out of
his pocket, or affect his comfort in any way. But yet he
could not get it out of his head. No one in the house had
thought of coming to his room to light his lamp, to see that
all Avas in order for him. He was not served with precision,
as was the Signor, for he was fond of saving his servants
trouble and making excuses for them. And when the man
came from the Deanery and followed the maid into the study,
where she went groping, declaring that her master was not at
home, the Minor Canon was uncomfortable, finding himself
thus taken by surprise. ' You need not Avait for an answer.
I will send one in the morning,' he said, when the candles on
the writing-table had been lit with a match, and he had read
the note. He felt that his confused and troubled thoughts
might be read in his eyes. But nobody had any clue to the
subject of these thinkings ; and how could anyone suspect
that it was a matter of such absolute indifference to himself
that was occupying his thoughts — a thing with which he had
nothing in the world to do ?
CHAPTER XXXH.
WHAT ROLLO HAD TO MARRY OX.
The moment after a man has made a proposal of marriage,
and has been accepted, is not always a moment of unmitigated
blessedness. There are ups and downs in the whole business
from beginning to end. Sometimes the man has the best of
it, and sometimes the woman. When either side has betrayed
itself without a response on the other, when the man seems to
waver in his privilege of choice, when the Avoman hesitates
in her crowning prerogative of acceptance or rejection, then
there are intervals on either side which are not enviable ; but
when all these preliminaries are over, and the explanation has
been made, and the tAvo understand each other — then the
lady's position is, for the first few days at least, the
most agreeable. She has no parents to intervieAV, no
pecimiary investigations to submit to, nor has she to enter
WHAT ROLLO HAD TO JfARRY ON. 323
iipon the question of ways and means, settlements and
income liir tlie iiitnre. But Avhen a man who knows
he has nothing to marry upon is beguiled by circumstances,
by a sudden emergency, or by strain of feeling into the
momentous offer, and, alrer the first enthusiasm of acceptance,
looks himself in the face, as it were, and asks himself how it
is to be done, there is something terrible in the hours that
follow. How was it to be done ? Rollo Eidsdale left Lottie
at her door, and went across the road towards the Deanery in
a state of mind which was indescribable. He was not an
immaculate man, nor had he now spoken of love for the first
time ; but yet he was real in his love, and the response had
been sweet to him — sw^eet and terrible, as conveying every
risk and danger that life could bring, as well as every delight.
He had lingered with his love untiUhe last available moment,
and yet it was a relief to turn his back upon her, to go
away into the chaos of his own life and try to find a way out
of this maze in which he had involved himself. How was he
to marry ? what was he to do ? He felt giddy as he walked
along, steadily enough to outward seeming, but in his soul
groping like a blind man. He had asked Lottie Despard to
marry him, and she had consented. He wanted nothing
better than her companionship, her love, the delight and com-
fort of her to be his own ; but, good heavens ! — but, by
Jove! — but in the name of everything worth swearing by —
how was it to be done ? — how was he to marry ? — Avhat was
he to do ? The happiness was delicious — it was a taste of
Paradise, a whiff of Elysium— but . Eollo did not know
where he was going as he crossed the Dean's Walk, He went
— steadily enough, his legs carrying him, his knowledge of the
place guiding him mechanically, but his whole soul in a maze
of thought. How was he to do it ? How could he, a man
with nothing, not much better than an adventurer, living
upon chances and windfalls — how could he weight himself
with the support of another — marry a wife ? It was pre-
posterous, it was terrible— yet it was sweet. Poor child, she
was in want of his arm to shelter her, in want of someone to
take care of her, and he could not tolerate the idea that
anyone but himself should give her the succour she needed ;
but how was he to do it ? The question seemed to get into
the air and whisper round him — how^ Avas he to do it?
He had nothing, or what to such a man was nothing, and
y2
324 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
worse than nothing. He managed to live no one could tell
how. True, in living he did not know how Rollo managed to
spend a good deal of money — more than many a family is
reared upon ; but there is proportion in everything, and he
never could tell from one year's end to another how he had
got through. And he had asked a girl to marry him ! He
groaned within himself when he came back to this centre
thought, this pivot of all his reflections, though it was sweet.
He had asked her to marry him ; he had pledged himself to
take her away out of her troubles, to throw open a refuge to
her, to make her escape practicable : speedily, certainly,
easily, so far as she knew — -and how was he to do it ? If the
question went through his mind once, it flew and circled in
wavering rounds about him, like a moth or a bat in summer,
a himdred times at least as he went from the Chevalier's lodge
to the Deanery door. He had no time for thinking, since the
hour of dinner approached, and the Dean waited for no one ;
but he thought and thought all the same. What was he to
do ? He marry ! how was he to do it ? Yet it must be done.
He did nothing but ask himself this while he brushed his hair
and tied his evening tie. He had nothing, not a penny — he
had a valet and a dressing-case, with gold tops to all the
bottles, and the most expensive clothes from the dearest tailor
— but he had nothing, and everybody knew that he
had nothing. The situation was appalling. A cold
dew came out on his forehead ; he to do such a thing ! but yet
he had done it — he had committed himself— and now the
question that remained was — not how to get out of it, which
under any other circumstances would have been his clear
duty, but how to do it ? This was the problem he tried to
solve while he was dressing, which flitted about his head
while he sat at dinner, between every mouthful of his soup,
and fluttered all through the dessert. How was he to do it ?
And when the evening was over — when Lady Caroline had
gone to bed, and the Dean to his study, Kollo at length
ventured out into the Deanery garden with his cigar, in spite
of the black looks of Mr. Jeremie, who wanted to shut up the
house and get to bed himself at a reasonable hour, as a dean's
butler has a rii^ht to do.
It was cold — but he did not feel the cold — and the wind
was still strong, blowing the black branches wildly about the
leaden sky. The Dean's garden was bounded by the Slopes,
only a low and massive grey wall, as old as the buttresses
WHAT ROLLO HAD TO MARRY ON. 325
amid which the lawn Avas set, separating it from the larger
grounds, which Avere open to the community — and Rollo
leaning on that wall could almost see the spot where he had
sat with Lottie, when she had clasped her hands on his arm,
leaning upon him with delicious trust, and giving up
all her future into his hands. Even then what a
difference there had been between them ! — she throw-
ing herself upon him in utter faith and confidence, feeling
herself delivered completely and at once from all the troubles
that overwhelmed her ; while he, even in the thrill of plea-
sure which that soft weight and pressure gave him, felt his
heart jump with such sudden alarm as Avords could not describe.
Now, when he thought it over, the alarm was more than the
pleasure. Lottie, retired into her little chamber, Avas at that
hour going o\'er the whole scene Avith the tenderest happiness
and reliance — feeling safe Avith him, feeling free of all respon-
sibility, not even forecasting the future, safe and relieved from
all the anxieties of the past, caring for nothing but this
moment, this exquisite climax of life, this perfect union that
had begun and Avas never to end. Very, A'ery different were
RoUo's thoughts. How Avas he to do it ? Marry ! The very
idea seemed impossible. It involved disclosiu-e, and disclo-
sure would be madness. What Avould his relations say to
him ? — Avhat Avould his friends say to him ? His tradesmen
would send in their bills, his associates would contemplate him
Avith the very horror of astonishment. Ridsdale married ! as
Avell cut his throat at once. Had he ever thought of the
little menage on Avhich Lottie's thoughts (had they been free
to plan anything) Avould have dwelt with simple pride and
happiness, he Avould have been disposed really to cut his
throat. In such a case Lottie Avould have been sure of her
own po Avers — sure that if they Avere poor she could make their
money go twice as far as Rollo by himself could make it go —
and could much more than balance her share of the expenses
by the housewifely powers Avhich it Avould have been her de-
light and her ambition to exercise. But to Rollo love in a cottage
was a simple folly, meaning nothing. The very idea was so
foreign to him that it never entered into his mind at all.
What did enter into his mind, as the only hope in the blank
of the future, Avas of a very different description. It Avas the
original idea which had first of all moved him toAvards this
girl, who gradually had awakened Avithin him so many other
sentiments : her voice. Should he be able to produce this as
326 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
hf; hoped, then there Avould be a way of escape from the diffi-
culty. The ]\Ianager had beliaved like a fool, but Hollo had
not changed his opinion. Though he had fallen in love with
the singer, and his sentiments in regard to her had thus been
modified, he had never changed his opinion. She possessed a
magnificent organ ; and though (which seemed to him very
strange) Handel at present was her only inspiration, yet he
felt that with proper care that voice could do anything, and
that in it might yet lie all the elements of fortune. Casting
about around all his horizon for something like salvation, this
was the only light that Rollo perceived. It, perhaps, was not
the most desirable of lights. To marry a singer in full hey-
day of her powers, admired by all the world, and making a
great deal of money, was not a thing that any younger son
would hesitate to do; but an unknown singer, with all her
way to make, and her very education still so imperfect, that
was a very different matter ; but still it was the only chance.
In former times, perhaps, a man would have thought it neces-
sary to pretend at least a desire to snatch his bride from the
exposure of publicity, from the stage, or even from the concert-
room — a determination to work for her rather than to let her
work for him ; but along with circumstances sentiments
change, and the desire of women for work is apt to be sup-
ported from an undesirable side by those who once would
have thought their honour concerned in making women's
work unnecessary. In civilisation there can be no advance
without its attendant drawback. Mr. Ridsdale had fallen in
love, a thing no young man can entirely guard against, and
he had engaged to marry Lottie Despard, partly because he
was in love with her, partly because she was in want of pro-
tection and succour. But he did not know in what way he
could keep a wife ; and short of breaking his word and aban-
doning her altogether (things which at this moment it seemed
utterl}^ impossible to do), what other way was open to him
than to consider how his wife could keep him? This was a
great deal more easy. He had nothing — no money, no pro-
fession — but she had a profession, a .something which was
worth a great deal of money, which only required cultivation
to be as good as a fortune. Kollo's heart perceptibly lightened
as he thought of this. It did not make the social difficulties
much easier, or soften the ti-oubles which he must inevitably
have with his family; but still, whereas the other matter had'
WHAT HOLLO HAD TO MARRY ON. 327
"been impossible, this brought it within the range of things
that could be contemplated. He could not refrain from
one sigh (in the i;ndercurrent of his mind — not dwelt upon or
even acknowledged, a thing which he would have been ashamed
of had he admitted it to himself) — one sigh that the idea of
marriiige had come in at all. She might have found in him
all the succour, all the companionship, all the support she
wanted without that ; and it would have done her no harm
in her after career. But that Avas a secret thought — -an in-
advertence, a thing which he dared not permit himself to
think, as it were, in the daylight, in his own full knowledge.
He knew very well what a fool he would appear to every-
body — how the idea that he, Rollo, with all his experience,
should be thus taken in at last, would cause infinite surprise
and laughter among his friends — but still there came a gleam
of possibility into the matter when he thought of Lottie's gift.
By that means they might do it. It was not quite out of the
(juestion, quite impossible. Eollo had been so lost in thought
that he had not seen Mr. Jeremie looking out from the
window through which he had gone into the garden; but as
he arrived at this, which was a kind of conclusion, if not
a very satisfactory one, he became at last aware of the
respectable butler's anxiety.
' Her ladyship, sir, don't hold with leaving the windows
open,' said Mr. Jeremie, who did not hold with staying out of
bed to attend upon a young man's vagaries. There had been
nothing of this kind in IMiss Augusta's time — not even when
Mr. Daventry came courting. Kollo tossed the end of his
cigar over the wall and came in, somewhat relieved in his
mind, though the relief was not very great. It left all the
immediate question unsolved — what his family would say,
and what was to be done in the meantime — but it gave a
feeble light of possibility in the future. He had calculated
on Lottie's voice to make his fortune when he thought of it
only as a speculator. He had much more right to look upon
her as likely to make his fortune now.
In the morning the same thought was the first in Eollo's
mind ; but the faint light of hope it gave was surrounded by
clouds that were full of trouble. Supposing that in the course
of time, when she was thoroughly established in her profes-
sion, trained and started, she could manage to attain that most
necessary thing called an income, with which to meet the
328 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
world — this was a contingency which still lay in the future;
whereas it might be necessary to act at once. The veiy
urgency and anxiety of Eollo's thoughts will show that he
neither wanted to abandon Lottie nor to allow her to guess
that he was alarmed by his engagement to her. The whole
scope and object of his deliberations was to make the thing
possible. But for this, why should he have troubled himself
about it at all? He might havr* 'let things take their course'
— he might have gone on enjoying the delights of love-making,
and all a lover's privileges, without going any further. Lottie
was not the kind of girl who ever would have hurried matters,
or insisted upon the engagement being kept. He knew well
enough that she Avould never ' pull him up.' But he was in
love with Lottie — he wanted to deliver her from her troubles —
he wanted to have her for his own — if he could only see how
it was to be done. Evidently there were various conditions
which must be insisted on — which Lottie must yield to.
Public notice must not be called to the tie between them
more than was absolutely necessary. Everything must be
conducted carefully and privately — not to make any scandal
— and not to compel the attention of his noble iamily. EoUo
did not want to be sent for by his fathiT, to be remonstrated
with by his elder brother, to have all his relatives preaching
sermons to him. Even his aunt Caroline — passive, easy-going
soul — even she would be roused, he felt, to violence, could
Rhe divine what was in the air. Marry ]\Iiss Despard ! the
idea would drive her out of all the senses she possessed. Kind
as she was, and calm as she was, Eollo felt that in such cir-
cumstances she would no longer be either kind or calm ; and
if even Lady Caroline were driven to bay, what would be the
effect of such a step on Lord Courtland, who had no calm of
nature with which to meet the revelation ? Therefore his
heart was heavy as he went out, as soon as the bells had ceased
ringing for matins, to meet his love on the Slopes. His heart
was heavy, yet he was not a cool or indifferent lover. The
thought of seeing her again was sweet to him ; but the cares
were many, and he did not know how to put into language
which would not vex or hurt her the things that must be said.
He tried to wrap them up in honeyed words, but he was not
very successful ; and at last he decided to leave it all to Pro-
vidence — to tidie no thought for what he was to say. ' The
words will be put into my mouth at the right time,' he said
WHAT ROLLO HAD TO MARRT ON. 329
to himself piously. He could not exactly forecast what shape
the conversation might take, or how this special subject should
be introduced. He would not settle what he had to say, but
would leave it to fate.
The morning sunshine lay as usual unbroken upon the
Dean's Walk. It had been feeble and fitful in the morning,
as sunshine has often begun to be in October, but now had
warmed into riper glory. The paths on the Slopes were
strewed with fallen leaves, which the winds of last night had
blown about in clouds. Rollo was first at the trysting-place ;
and when he siiw Lottie appear suddenly round the bole of the
big elm-tree, she seemed to be walking to him, her foot all light
and noiseless, upon a path of gold. Her steps seemed to have a
fairy tinkle upon that yellow pavement. The movement of
her figure was like music, with a flowing liquid measure
in it. The little veil that dropped over her hat, the ribbons
at her neck, the soft sweep of her dark merino gown, commonest
yet prettiest of fabrics, all united in one soft line. There was
nobody by, and it was the first heavenly morning upcn which
they had belonged to each other. She came to him as if out of
paradise, out of heaven, all radiant with happiness and celestial
trust and love. A glow of tenderness and gladness came over
the young man. He forgot all about the difficulties, about
money, about his family, about how they were to live and
what was to be done. He went to meet her, ardent and
eager, forgetting everything but herself It was the vita
nuova all over again — a new earth and new skies. It seemed
to both of them that they had never lived before, that this
was the birthday of a glorified existence. Even last night, in
the agitation of their happiness, had not been like this first
new day. When they stepped into each other's sight, realising
the mutual property, the mutual right, the incomprehensible
sweetness of belonging to each other, everything else seemed
to be sw'ept out of the world. There was nothing visible but
themselves, the sweet sky, and genial air: the leaves dropping
softly, all crimson and golden, the sun shining on them with a
sympathetic surprise of pleasure. For the moment, even to
the young man of the world, everything was simple, primitive,
and true, all cf mplication and conventionalities swept away ;
and if so to Kolio, how much more to Lottie, thus advancing
sweetly, with a soft measure in her step, not hurried or eager,
but in modest faith and innocence, into her lover's arms I
3.30 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
And, lo ! in a moment all his calculations proved needless.
Instead of talking seriously to each other, making their mutual
an-angenients, deciding what was to be done, as woidd have
been far the wisest way of employing the solitude of this
sweet morning, which seemed to brighten expressly for them —
what did the two do but fall into an aimless delicious whis-
pering about their two happy selves, and nothing more !
They had things to say to each other which came by stress of
nature, and had to be said, yet were nothing — while the things
of real importance were thrust aside. They fell a-gossiping
about themselves, about each other, going over all the old ground,
repeating the last evening's tender follies, about — when you
first began to think — and when I first knew — and what had
been in the one heart and in the other, when both had to talk
of other things, and make no sign. What need to follow all
the course of that foolishness? There was nothing in earth
or heaven so deeply interesting to Lottie as to hear how Eollo
was thinking of her Avhile he stood and talked to somebody
else, watching her from far ; and how his heart Avould beat
when he saw her coming, and how he blasphemed old Captain
Temple, yet blessed him next moment for bringing her here ;
and what he had really meant when he said this and that,
which had perplexed her at the time ; nor to Eollo than to
know how she had watched for him, and looked for his
sympathy, and felt herself backed up and supported the
moment he appeared. There was not a day of the past month
but had its secret history, which each longed to disclose to the
other — and scarcely an hour, scarcely a scrap of conversation
which did not contain a world of unrevealed meaning to be
unfolded and interprtited. Talk of an hour ! they had
ample enough material for a century without being ex-
hausted ; and as for arrangements, as for the (so to speak)
business of the matter, wlio thought of it ? For Lottie was
not an intelligent young Avoman, intending to be married, but
a happy girl in love ; and Rollo, though he knew better, was in
love too, and wished for nothing hetterthan these delightful con-
fidences. The hours went by like a moment. They had already
been aroused two or three times by the roll of baby carriages
propelled by nursemaids before the greater volume of music
from ' he Abbey proclaimed that service was over. ' Already ! '
thi'V both cried, with wonder and dismay ; and then, for the
first time, there was a pause.
WHAT ROLLO UAD TO MAERT OX. 331
' I liad so much to talk to you about,' he said, 'and we
have not had time to say a word, have we ? Ah ! when can
we have a good long time to ourselves? Can you escape your
Captain to-niglit, my darling ? I should like to shake him
by the hand, to thank him for taking care of you ; but
couldn't you escape from him, my Lottie, to-night ? '
Lottie grew a little pale ; her heart sank, not with distrust,
but with perhaps a little, a very little disappointment. Was
this still how it was to be ? Just the same anxious diploma-
cies to secure a meeting, the same risks and chances ? This
gave her a momentary chill. ' It is very diihcult,' she said.
' He is the only one I have to take care of me. He would
think it unkind.'
' You must not say now the only one, my Lottie — not the
only one — my substitute for a little while, who will soon have
to give me up his place.'
' But he will not like to give it up now ; not till he
knoAvs ; perhaps not even then — for his daughter, you
know — ■ — '
' Ah ! it was she Avho married Dropmore. Lottie, my
love, my darling, I cannot live through tlie evening without
you. Could you not come again, at the same time as last
night ? It is early dark, heaven be praised. Take your walk
with him, and then give him the slip, and come here, sweet,
here; to me. I shall be watching, countim; the moments. It
is bad enough to be obliged to get through the day without
you. Ah ! it is the Signor's day. The Signer is all wrapt up
in his music. He will never suspect anything. I shall be
able to see you at least, to hear you, to look at you, my lovely
darling '
Alter a moment sjiid Lottie, 'That was one thing I wanted
to ask you about. You know why the Signor gives me lessons.
Will it be right now to go on with him ? now that everything
is changed ? Should not I give them up?'
' Give them up ! ' cried Kollo, with a look of dismay.
' My darling, what are you thinking of? They are more
necessary, more important than ever. Of course, we will pay
for them after. Oh ! no fear but he will be repaid ; but no,
no, my love, my sweet, you must not give them up !'
She looked at him with something like anxiety in her
eyes, not knowing what he could mean. What was it ? Lottie
Could not but feel a little disappointed. It seemed tliat
everything was to go on just tlie .same as before.
332 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' I shall see you there,' he said. * So long as we are in the
same place everything is sweet ; and I have always taken so
much interest in your dear voice that no one can suspect.
And to-night you will come — promise me, my darling — ^just
after the service, when it is getting dark ?'
' Yes,' she whispered, with a sigh — then started from his
side. * I saw someone among the trees. The old Chevaliers
are coming up for their morning walk. Let me go now — you
must let me go — Mr. Ridsdale '
' " Mr. Ridsdale ! " How can I let my Lottie go before
she has called me by my right name ? '
* Oh, I must not stay. I see people coming,' said Lottie,
disappointed, troubled, afraid of being seen, yet angry with
herself for being afraid. ' Mr. Eidsdale — RoUo, dear RoUo —
let me go now '
' TiU it is time for the Signor ' And he did let her
go, with a hasty withdrawal on his own part, for unmistakably
there were people to be seen moving about among the trees ;
not, indeed, coming near their corner, yet within sight ot
them. Lottie left him hurriedly, not looking back. She was
ashamed, though she had no cause for shame. She ran down
the bank to the little path which led to the foot of the hill
and to the town. She could not go up and run the risk of
being seen going home by the Dean's Walk. She drew her
veil over her face, and her cheeks burned with blushes ; she
was ashamed, though she had done no wrong. And RoUo
stood looking down after her, watching her with a stOl more
acute pang. There were things which were very painful to
him which did not affect her. That a girl like Lottie should
go away alone, unattended, and Avalk through the street, with
no one with her, a long roimd, annoyed him beyond measure.
He ought to have gone with her, or someone ought to be
with her. But then, what could he do ? He might as well
give up the whole matter at once as betray all he was medi-
tating to his people in this way. But he watched her, leaning
over the low parapet, with trouble and shame. The girl
whom he loved ought not to go about unattended ; and this
relic of cnivalry, fallen into conventionality, moved him more
than greater things. He did not object, like Ferdinand, to
let his Miranda carry his load for him ; but it did trouble
him that she should walk through St. Michael's by herself,
though in the sweet security of the honest morning. Thus
minds differ all over the world.
Lottie's side of the question. 333
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Lottie's side of the question.
Lottie made her way doAvn the Slopes alone, with feelings
which had greatly changed from those of a few minutes ago.
How happy she had been ! The hour that had passed under
the falling leaves had been like paradise ; but the portals of
exit from paradise are perhaps never so sweet as those of
entrance. Her coming away was with a sense of humiliation
and shame. As she wound her way do^vn her favourite by-
road winding among the shrubs and trees, she could not help
feeling that she was making her escape, as if from some guilty
meeting, some clandestine rendezvous. In all her life Lottie
had never known this sensation before. She had been shy,
and had shrunk from the gaze of people who had stared at
her, in admiration of her beauty or of her singing, but in her
shyness there had always been the pride of innocence ; and
never before had she been afraid to meet any eye, or felt it
necessary to steal away, to keep out of sight as if she were
guilty. She had not done anything wrong, but yet she had
all the feeling of having done sometliing wrong — the desire to
escape, the horror of detection. To some the secret meeting,
the romance and mystery, would have been only an additional
happiness, but Lottie, proud and frank and open-hearted,
could not bear the very thought of doing anything of which
she was ashamed. The sensation hurt and humiliated her.
All had been very different before : to meet her lover un-
awares, yet not without intention, with a delightful element
of chance in each encounter — to look out secretly for him, yet
wonder innocently to find him — to let her steps be drawn here
or there by a sense of his presence, with a fond pretence of
avoiding him, a sweet certainty of meeting him — all these
risks and hazards of emotion had been natural. But Lottie
felt with a .sudden jar of her nerves and mind that this ought
not to continue so. She had felt a little wondering disap-
pointment on the previous night when he had asked her to meet
him again, without any suggestion that he should go to her, or
make the new bond between them kno^^Tl. Even then there,
had been a faint jar, a sigh of unfulfilled expectation. But
334 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
now their hurried parting, her own flight, the little panic lest
they should be seen, and discovery follow, made Lottie's heart
sick. How -well she could imagine how this ought to have
been ! They ought not to have fled from each other, or been
afraid of any man's eye. It ought not to have mattered
whether the Signer or anyone suspected. Blushing and shy,
yet with full fliith in the sympathy of all who saw her, Lottie
should have walked down the Dean's Walk with her be-
trothed : she should have avoided no one. She should have
been shame-faced but not ashamed. What a difference be-
tween the two ! all the difference that there is between the
soft blush of happiness and the miserable burning of guilt.
And this was what ought to have been. Half the misery of
Lottie — as half the misery of all imaginative inexperienced
Avomen — arose from the pain and disappointment of feeling
that those she loved did not come up to the ideal standard
she had set up in her soiil. She was disappointed, not so
much because of the false position in which she herself was
placed (for this, except instinctively, she had but little real-
ised), but because EoUo was not doing, not yet, all that it
seemed right for him to do. She would have forced and
beaten (had she been able) Law into the fulfilment of his
duty, she would even have made him generous to herself, not
for the sake of herself, but that he should be a model of
brotherhood, an example of all a true man ought to be ; and
if this was so in the case of her brother, how much more with
her lover? If to be harsh as a tyrant or indifferent as a
sultan, was the highest ideal of a man's conduct, how much
happier many a poor creature would be ! It seems a paradox
to say so, but it is true enough ; for the worst of all, in a
woman's mind, is to feel that the wrong done to her is worse
wrong to liim, an infringement of the glory of the being
whom she Avould fain see perfect. This, however, is a mys-
tery beyond the comprehension of the crowd. Lottie was
used to being disappointed Avith Law — was she fated to
another disappointment more cruel and bitter ? She did not
ask herself the question, she Avoidd not have thought it even,
much less said it for all the Avorld ; but secretly there was a
Avonder, a pang, a iliintness of failure in her heart.
It is not Avithout an effort, hoAvever, that the heart Avill
permanently admit any such disappointment. As Lottie went
her Avay thus drooping, ashamed and discouraged, thinking of
Lottie's side of the question. 305
everything that had been done and that ought to have been
done, there drifted vaguely across her mind a kind of picture
of Rollo's meeting with her father, and what it would be.
She had no sooner thought of this than a glow of alarm came
over her face, bringing insensibly consolation to her mind.
Eollo and her father ! What would the Captain say to him ?
He would put on his grand air, in which even Lottie had no
faith ; he woidd exhibit himself in all his vain greatness, in
all his self-importance, jaunty and fine, to his future son-in-
law. He would give Lottie herself a word of commendation
in passing, and he would spread himself forth before the
stranger as if it was he whom Kollo wanted and cared for.
Lottie's steps quickened out of the languid pace into Avhich
they had fallen, and her very forehead grew crimson as she
realised that meeting. Thank heaven, it had not taken place
yet ! Rollo had been too wise, too kind, too delicate to
humble his love by hurrying into the presence of the Captain,
into the house where the Captain's new wife now reigned
supreme. The new wife — she too woidd have a share in it,
she would be called into counsel, she would give her advice
in everything, and claim a right to interfere. Oh, Lottie
thoucrht, how foolish she had been ! how much wiser wag
EoUo, no doubt casting about in his mind how it was best to
be done, and pondering over it carefully to spare her pain.
She felt herself enveloped in one blush from the crown of her
head to the sole of her feet ; but how sweet was that shame !
It was she who was foolish, not he who had failed. Her
cheeks burned with a penitential flush, but he was faultless.
There was nothing in him to disappoint, but only the most
delicate kindness, the tenderest care of her. How could she
have thought otherwise ? It was not possible that Kollo
should like secret meetings, should fear discovery. In the
first days of their acquaintance he had shown no reluctance to
come to the humble little lodge. But now — his finer feeling
shrank from it now — he wanted to take his love away from
that desecrated place, not to shame her by prying into its
ignoble mysteries. He was Aviser, better, kinder than anyone.
And she was ashamed of herself, not any longer of anything
else, ashamed of her poor, mean, unworthy interpretation of
him ; and as happy in her new, changed consciousness of
guilt, and penitence and self disgust — as happy as if, after her
downfall into earth, she had now safely got back into heaven.
336 WITHIN TUE PRECINCTS.
By this time slie had got out of the wooded Slopes, and
over the stile, and into the steep thoroughfare at the foot o£
the Abbey walls, the pavement of St. Michael's Hill. Lottie
did not feel that there was any harm in walking through the
street alone, as Rollo thought there was. She wanted no
attendant. A little body-guard, invisible, but with a radiance
going out from them which shone about her, attended upon
her way — love and innocence and happiness, no longer with
drooping heads but brave and sweet, a band invisible, guaran-
teeing their charge against all ills. As she went along the
street with this shining retinue, there was nothing in all the
world that could have harmed her ; and nobody wanted to
harm the girl — of whom, but that she was proud, no soul in
St. Michael's had an unkind word to say. Everybody knew
the domestic trouble that had come upon her, and all the
town was sorry for Lottie — all the more that there was per-
haps a human satisfaction in being sorry for one whose fault
was that she was proud. She met Captain Temple as she
entered the Abbey Gate. Many thoughts about her had been
in the kind old man's heart all the morning, and it was partly
to look for her, after vain Avalks about the Abbey Precincts,
that he was turning his steps towards the town. He came up
to her eagerly, taking her hand between his. He thought she
must have been wandering out disconsolate, ho matter where,
to get away from the house which was no longer a fit home
for one like her. He was so disturbed and anxious about
her, that the shadow which was in his mind seemed to darken
over Lottie, and cast a reflection of gloom upon her face.
* You have been out early, my dear ? Why did you not send
for me to go with you ? After matins I am always at your
service,' he said.
But there was none of the gloom which Captain Temple
imagined in Lottie's face. She looked up at him out of the
soft mist of her own musings with a smile. ' I went out
before matins,' she said ; ' I have been out a long time. I
had — something to do.'
' My poor child ! I fear you have been wandering, keep-
ing out of the way,' said the old Captain. Then another
thought seized him. Had she begun already to serve the new
wife and do her errands ? ' My dear,' he said, ' what have
you been doing ? you must not be too good — you must not
forget yourself too much. Your duty to your father is ono
Lottie's side of the question. ^37
thing, but you must not let yourself be made use of now — you
must recollect your own position, my dear.'
' j\Iy position ? ' she looked up at him bewildered ; for she
was thinking only of Rollo, while he thought only of her
father's wife.
'Yes, Lottie, my dear child, you have thought only of
your duty hithertO; but you must not yield to every encroach-
ment. You must not allow it to be supposed that you give
up everything.'
' Ah,' said Lottie, lifting to him eyes which seemed to
swim in a haze of light ; ' to give up everything would be
so I don't know what you mean,' she added hastily, in
a half-terrified tone. As for Captain Temple, he was quite
bewildered, and did not know what to think.
' Need I explain, my dear, what I mean ? There can be
but one thing that all your friends are thinking of. This
new relation, this new connection. I could not sleep all night
for thinking of you, in the house with that woman. My poor
child ! and my wife too. You were the last thing we talked
of at night, the first thing in the morning '
'Ah,' said Lottie again, coming back to reality with a
long-draATO breath. ' I was not thinking of her ; but I under-
stiind you now.'
Lottie had, however, some diflficulty in thinking of her^
even now ; for one moment, being thus recalled to the idea,
her countenance changed ; but soon came back to its original
expression. Iler eyes were dewy and sweet — a suspicion of
tears in them like the morning dew on flowers with the sun-
shine reflected in it, the long eyelashes moist, but the blue
beneath as clear as a summer sky ; and the corners of her
mouth would run into curves of smiling unawares ; her face
was not the face of one upon whom the cares of the world
were lying heavy, but of one to whom some new happiness
had come. She was not thinking of what he was saying, but
of something in her own mind. The kind old Captain could
not tell what to think ; he was alarmed, though he did not
know why.
' Then it is not so bad,' he said, ' as you feared? '
'What is not so bad? Things at home? Oh, Captain
Temple ! But I try not to think about it,' Lottie said hastily,
with a quiver in her lip. '^he looked at him wistfully, with
z
338 ' WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
a sudden longing. ' I wisli — I wisli — but it is better not to
5ay anything.'
' You may trust to me, my dear ; whatever is in your
heart I will never betray you ; you may trust to me.'
Lottie's eyes filled with tears as she looked at him, but
she shook her head. They wei-e not bitter tears, only a little
bitter-sweet of happiness that wanted expression, but whieh
she dared not reveal. If she could but have told him ! If
Eollo, iailing her father, would but come and speak to this kind
and true friend ! But she shook her head. She was no
longer free to say and do whatever pleased her out of her own
heart. She must think of him; and while he did not speak,
what could she say ? She put out her hand to her old friend
again with a little sudden artifice unlike Lottie. ' I have
been out all the morning,' she said ; ' I must make haste and
get back now.'
I am very glad you are not unhappy,' said the old Captain,
looking at her regretfully. He was not quite sincere. To
tell the ti'uth it gave him a shock to find that Lottie was not
unliappy ; how could she put up with such a companion,
witli such a fate ? He went in to his wife, who had been
watching furtively at the Avindow while tliis conversation was
going on, to talk it all over. Mrs. Temple was almost ghid
to find something below perfection in the girl about whom
secretly she thought as much as her husband talked. ' We
have been tliinking too much about it,' she said ; ' if she can
find the stepmother congenial, it will be better for her.'
' Congenial ! you are talking folly. How could she be
congenial ? ' cried Captain Temple, with great heat, but he
di<i not know what to make of it. He was disappointed in
Lottie.' When he had met Jier the day before she hail been
quivering with pain and shame, revolted and outraged, as it
was riglit and natural she should be : but now it seemed to
have passed altogetlier from her mind. Ho could not make
it out, ■ He was disappointed ; he went on talking of tliis
wonder all day long and .shaking his white head.
As for Lottie, wlien she went home, she passed through
the house, light and silent as a ghost, to lier own little room,
where, abstracted from everything else, .she could live in the
new littl(! world of lier own which had come out of the mists
into such sudden and beautiful life. It was very unlike
Lottie, but what more does the young soul want when the
Lottie's side of the question. 339
vita nuova has just begun, but such a possibility of self-
abstraction and freedom to pursue its dreams ? Rapt in these,
she gave up her occupation, lier charge, Avithout a sigh.
Wlien she was called to table she came quite gently, and
took no notice of anything that passed there, having enough
in her own mind to keep her busy. Law was as much
astonished as Captain Temple. He had thought that Lottie
woidd not endure it for a day ; but, thanks to that happy
preoccupation, Lottie sailed serenely through these troubled
waters for more than a v/eek, during which she spent a con-
siderable portion of her time on the Slopes, though the
weather grew colder and colder every day, and the rest in
her own room, in which she sat fireless, doing her accustomed
needlework, her darnings and mendings, mechanically, while
Polly remodelled the drawing-room, covering it up with
crocheted antimacassars, and all the cheap and coarse devices
of vulgar upholstery, "While this was going on, she too was
content to have Lottie out of the way. Polly pervaded the
house with high-pitched voice and noisy step ; and she filled
it with savoury odours, giving the two men hot suppers,
instead of poor Lottie's cold beef, which they had often I'ound
monotonous. The Captain now came in for this meal, which
in former times he had rarely favoured ; he spent the evenings
chiefly at home, having not yet dropped out of the fervour of
the honeymoon ; and on the whole even Law Avas not sure
tliat there was not something to be said for the new adminis-
tration of the house. There was no cold beef — that was an
improvement patent to the meanest capacity. As for Polly,
nothing had yet occurred to mar her glory and happiness.
She wore her blue silk every day, she walked gloriously about
the streets in her orange-blossoms, pointed out by ever}'body
as one of the ladies of the Abbey. She Avent to the afternoon
.«ervice and sat in her privileged seat, and looked doAvn with
dignified SAveetness upon ' the girls ' Avho Avere as she once
Avas. She felt herself as a goddess, sitting there in the elevated
place to Avhich she had a right, and it seemed to her that to
be a Chevalier's Avife Avas as grand as to be a princess. But
Polly did not soil her lips Avith so vulvar a Avord as Avife.
She called herself a Chevalier's lady, and her opinion of her
class Avas great. ' Chevalier means the same thing as knight,
and, instead of being simple missis, I am sure we should all
be My lady,' Polly said, ' if Ave had our rights.' Even her
z2
340 WITIItN THE PRECINCTS.
husband laughed, but this did not change her opinion. It
was ungrateful o£ the other Chevaliers' ladies that they took
no notice of this new champion of their order. But for the
moment Polly, in the elation of her success, did not mind
this, and was content to wait for the recognition which sooner
or later she felt would be sure to come.
This elation kept her from interfering with Lottie, whose
self-absorbed life in her own room, and her exits and entrances,
Mrs. Despard tolerated and seemed to accept as natural ; she
had so many things to occupy and to please her, that she
could afford to let her step-daughter alone. And thus Lottie
pursued for a little time that life out of nature to which she
had been driven. She lived in those moments on the Slopes,
and in the hours she spent at the Signer's piano, singing ;
and then brooded over these intervals of life in the silence.
Her lessons had increased to three in the week, and these
hours of so-called study were each like a drama of intense
and curious interest. Kollo was always there — a fact which
he explained to the Signor by his professional interest in the
new singer, and which to Lottie required no explanation ; and
there too Avas her humble lover, young Purcell, who as she
grew familiar with the sight of him, and showed no displeasure
at his appearance, grew daily a little more courageous, some-
times daring to turn the leaves of the music, and even to
speak to her. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, who sat by, watching
them all with lively but not extravagant interest, was the
only one in the little party who was not more or less excited.
As for Lottie, this lesson was the centre of all her life. If
music be the food of love, love was the very inspiration of
music to her ; the two re-acted upon each other, raising her
to such a height of pi-imitive heroic passion as nobody near
her divined — as nobody, indeed, except perhaps the Signor,
with his Italian susceptibility, Avas capable of divining. He
saw indeed with dissatisfaction, Avith an interest which Avas
almost angry, that it Avas not art that moved her, and that tiie
secret of the astoiiishing progress she made, Avas not in his
instructions. What Avas it ? The Signor Avas angry, for he
I'clt no certainty that thi.^ Avonderful progress Avas real. Some-
thing made her sing like an angel. What Avas it ? not art.
The natural qualities of her voice Avore not to be gainsayed ;
but the nuisician felt that the training under Avhich she
seemed to be adwincing visibly, Avas all fictitious, and that
Lottie's side of the question. 341
it ■was something else that inspired her. But Ivollo had no
such enliglitenment. He remarked with all the technicality
of an amateur how her high notes gained in clearness, and
her low notes in melody, at every new effort. It was Avonder-
ful ; but then the Signer was a wonderful teacher, a wonder-
ful accoinpanyist, and what so natural as that a creature of
genius like this, should grow under his teaching like a flower ?
Thoun;h it was to him she saner, and though her love for him
was her inspiration, Rollo was as unaware of this as old
Pickering in the hall, who listened and shook his head, and
decided in his heart that a woman with a voice like that was
a deal too grand for Mr. John. ' She's more like Jenny
Lind than anything,' old Pick said ; and in this Mr. Ridsdale
agreed, as he sat and listened, and thought over the means
which should be employed to secure her success. As for
young Purcell, he stood entranced and turned over the leaves
of the music. Should he ever dare to speak to her again, to
offer her his love, as he had once ventured to do, — she who
seemed born to enthral the whole Avorld ? But then, the young
fellow thought, who was there but he who had an 'ome to
offer Lottie ? He Avas the nobler of the tAvo between Avhom
she stood, the tAvo men Avho loved her : all his thought Avas,
that she being unhappy, poor, her father's house made
Avretched to her, he had an 'ome to offer her ; Avhereas Rollo
thought of nothing but of the success she must achieve in
which he Avould have his share. In order to achieve that
success Kollo had no mind to lend her even his name ; but
the idea that it Avas a thing certain, comforted him much in
the consciousness of his OAvn imprudent engagement, and gave
a kind of simction to his love. To marry a Avoman Avith such
a faculty for earning money could not be called entirely
imprudent. These Avere the calculations, generous and the
reverse, Avhich were made about her. Only Lottie herself
made no calculations, but sang out of the fulness of her heart,
and the delicate passion that possessed her ; and the Signor
stood and Avatched, dissatisfied, s^^mpathetic, the only one that
understood at all, though he but poorly, the high emotion
and spring-tide of life Avhich produced that flood of song.
In this highly-strained unnatural Avay, life Avent on amid
this little group of people, feAv of whom Avere conscious of any
volcano under their feet. It Avent on day by day, and they
neither perceived the gathering rapidity of movement in the
342 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
events, nor any other sign that to-day should not be as
yesterday. Shortly after the explanation had taken place
between Rollo and Lottie, Augusta Huntington, now Mrs.
Daventry, arrived iipon her first visit home. She was the
Dean's only child, and naturally every honour was done to
her. All the country round, everyone that was of sufficient
importance to meet the Dean's daughter, was invited to hail
her return. The Dean himself took the matter in hand to see
that no one was overlooked. They would all like, he thought,
to see Augusta, the princess royal of the reigning house ; and
Augusta was graciously pleased to like it too. One of these
entertainments ended in a great musical party, to which all
who had known Miss Huntington, all the singers in the
madrigals and choruses of which she had been so fond, were
asked. When Lottie's invitation came, there was a great
thrill and commotion in Captain Despard's house. Lottie did
not even suspect the feeling which had been roused on the
subject when she took out her white muslin dress, now, alas,
BO longer so fresh as at first, and inspected it anxiously. It
would do still with judicious ironing, but Avhat must she do
for ornaments, now that roses were no longer to be had ? This
troubled Lottie's mind greatly, though it may be thought a
frivolous question, until a few hours before the time, when
two different presents came for her, of flowers : one being a
large and elaborate bouquet, the other a bunch of late roses,
delicate, lovely, half-opened buds, which could only have
come out of some conservatory. One of these was from
Eollo, and who could doubt which it was? Who but he
would, have remembered her sole decoration, and found for
her in winter those ornaments of June ? What did she care
who sent the other ? She decked herself with her roses, in a
glow of grateful tenderness, as proud as she was happy, to
find herself thus provided by his delicate care and forethought.
It did not even occur to Lottie to notice the dark looks that
were thrown at her as she came downstairs all white and
shining, and was wrapped by Law (always ostentatiously
attentive to his sister in Polly's j^resence) in the borrowed
glory of "Shs. O'Shaughnessy's ureat Indian shawl.
The party was large and crowded, and liOttie, all alone in
it, was frightened and confused at first ; but they were all
very kind to her, she tliought. Lady Caroline said, ' How do
jfou do, Miss Despard ? ' with something like a smile, and
Lottie's sidk of the QUESTioy. 343
looked as if she might have given Lottie lier hand, had not
the girl been afiaid ; and Augusta, when she found her out,
came forward with a welcome which was almost effusive. ' I
hear you have improved so much,' she said, taking in at one
glance all the particulars of Lottie's appearance, with a won-
dering question within herself where the roses came from,
though she perceived at once that it Avas the same white
muslin frock. And when Lottie sang, which the Signer
managed she should do with great effect towards the close of
the evening, Augusta ruslied to her with great eyes of
astonishment. ' Where did you get all that voice ? ' she
cried : ' you did not have that voice when I went away.' ' I
flatter myself it was I that found Miss Despard out,' said
Eollo, suffering himself to look at her, which hitherto he had
only done when there was a shield of crowding groups between
him and his cousin. Before this he had managed to make the
evening sweet to Lottie by many a whispered word : but
when he lool<ed at her now, unawares, under Augusta's very
eyes, with that fond look of proprietorship which is so xin-
mistakable by the experienced, and to which Lottie responded
shyly by a smile and blush, and conscious tremor of happi-
ness, neither of them kncAV what a fatal moment it was.
Augusta, looking on, suddenly woke up to the meaning of it,
the meaning of Kollo's long stay at the Deanery, and various
other wonders. She gave the pair but one look, and then she
turned away. But Lottie did not see that anything strange
had happened. She was so happy that even when Ifollo too
left her, her heart was touched and consoled by the kindly
looks of the people whom she knew in the crowd, the ladies
who had heard her sing before at the Deanery, and who were
gracious to her, and Mr. Ashford who kej)! by her side and
watched over her — ' like a father,' Lottie s:ud to herself, with
affectionate gratitude, such as might have become that im-
possible relationship. The I\Iinor Cancn did not leave her for
the rest of the evening, and he it was who saw her home,
waiting till the door was opened, and pressing kindly her
trembling cold hand : for, she could not tell how, the end of
the evening was depressing and discoiiraging, and the pleasure
went all out of it when Rollo whispered to her in passing,
* Take care, for heaven's sake, or Augusta will find us out ! '
Why should it matter so much to him that Augusta, should
find it out? Was not she more to him than Augusta?
342 ■WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
events, nor any other sign that to-day should not be as
yesterday. Shortly after the explanation had taken place
between Rollo and Lottie, Augusta Huntington, now Mrs.
Daventry, arrived upon her first visit home. She was the
Dean's only child, and naturally every honour was done to
her. All the country round, everyone that was of sufficient
importance to meet the Dean's daughter, was invited to hail
her return. The Dean himself took the matter in hand to see
that no one was overlooked. They would all like, he thought,
to see Augusta, the princess royal of the reigning house ; and
Augusta was graciously pleased to like it too. One of these
entertainments ended in a great musical party, to which all
who had known Miss Huntington, all the singers in the
madrigals and choruses of which she had been so fond, were
asked. When Lottie's invitation came, there was a great
thrill and commotion in Captain Despard's house. Lottie did
not even suspect the feeling Avhich had been roused on the
subject when she took out her white muslin dress, now, alas,
no longer so fresh as at first, and inspected it anxiously. It
would do still with judicious ironing, but what must she do
for ornaments, now that roses were no longer to be had ? This
troubled Lottie's mind greatly, though it may be thought a
frivolous question, until a few hours before the time, when
two different presents came for her, of flowers : one being a
large and elaborate bouquet, the other a bunch of late roses,
delicate, lovely, half-opened buds, which could only have
come out of some conservatory. One of these was from
Hollo, and who could doubt which it was? Who but he
would have remembered her sole decoration, and found for
her in winter those ornaments of June? What did she care
who sent the other ? She decked herself witli her roses, in a
glow of grateful tenderness, as proud as she was happy, to
find herself thus provided by his delicate care and forethought.
It did not even occur to Lottie to notice the dark looks tliat
Avere thrown at her as she came downstairs all white and
shining, and was wrapped by Law (always ostentatiously
attentive to his sister in Polly's presence) in the borrowed
glory of .Airs. O'Shaughncssy's great Indian sliawl.
The party was large and crowded, and liOttie, all alone in
it, was frightened and confused at first ; but they were all
very kind to her, she thought. Lady Caroline said, ' How do
you do, Miss Despard ? ' with something like a smile, and
Lottie's side of the question. 343
looked as if she might have given Lottie her hand, had not
the girl been afraid ; and Augusta, when she found her out,
came forward with a welcome which was almost effusive. ' I
bear you have improved so much,' she said, taking in at one
glance all the particulars of Lottie's appearance, with a won-
dering question within herself where the roses came from,
though she perceived at once that it was the same white
muslin frock. And when Lottie sang, which the Signor
managed she should do with great effect towards the close of
the evening, Augusta rushed to her with great eyes of
astonishment. ' "W^here did you get all that voice ? ' she
cried ; ' you did not have that voice Avhen I went away.' ' I
flatter myself it was I that found Miss Despard out,' said
Eollo, suffering himself to look at her, which hitherto he had
only done when there was a shield of crowding groups between
him and his cousin. Before this he had managed to make the
evening sweet to Lottie by many a whispered word : but
when he lool<ed at her now, imawares, under Augusta's very
eyes, with that fond look of proprietorship which is so un-
mistakable by the experienced, and to which Lottie responded
shyly by a smile and blush, and conscious tremor of happi-
ness, neither of them kncAV what a flital moment it was.
Augusta, looking on, suddenly woke up to the meaning of it,
the meaning of Kollo's long stay at the Deanery, and various
other wonders. She gave the pair but one look, and then she
turned away. But Lottie did not see that anything strange
had happened. She was so happy that even when Kollo too
left her, her heart was touched and consoled by the kindly
looks of the people whom she knew in the crowd, the ladies
who had heard her sing before at the Deanery, and who were
gi-acious to her, and Mr. Ashfbrd who kept by her side and
watched over her — ' like a father,' Lottie said to herself, with
affectionate gratitude, such as might have become that im-
possible relationship. The INIinor Canon did not leave her for
the rest of the evening, and he it was who saw her honie,
waiting till the door was opened, and pressing kindly her
trembling cold hand : for, she could not tell how, the end of
the evening was depressing and discouraging, and the pleasure
Avent all out of it when Rollo whispered to her in passing,
' Take care, for heaven's sake, or Augusta will find us out ! '
"SA'liy should it matter so much to him that Augusta should
find it out? Was not she more to him than Augusta?
346 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS,
* And who are you, you lazy, useless lout, that dares to
call me Polly?' she cried. 'Polly, indeed! your father's wife,
and far better than you. I'll make him put you to the door,
too, you idle low fellow, spending your time with a pack of
silly, dressing, useless girls '
' I say, stop that,' cried Law, growing red and seizing her
suddenly by the arm ; he stood upon no ceremony with Polly,
though she was his father's wife ; but he gave an uneasy
alarmed glance at Lottie. ' There's someone waiting for you
outside,' he cried. ' Lottie, go.'
She did not wait for any more. Trembling and horrified,
she ran past and got out breathless, hastily closing the door
behind her. The door had been open, and Mrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy outside — drawing her skirts round her, physically and
metaphorically, so as to avoid all pollution, yet listening to
everything she could hear, was walking up and down the
pavement. 'Me poor child!' the good Irishwoman said, half
sorry, half delighted to hear the first of the scandal. ' Already !
has it come to this ? Me heart is sore for ye, Lottie me dear 1 '
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A CRISIS.
Lottie scarcely knew how she got through that afternoon.
EoUo presented himself for but a moment at the Signer's, in
great concern that he could not stay, and begging a hundred
pardons with his eyes, which he could not put into words.
Lady Caroline and Augusta had made an engagement for him
from which he could not get free. ' At the elm-tree ! ' he
"whispered in the only moment when he could approach Lottie.
Her heart, which was beating still with the mingled anger,
and wonder, and fright of her late encounter, sank within her.
She could only look at him with a glance which was half
appeal and half despair. And when he went away the day
seemed to close in, the clouds to gather over the very window
by which she was standing, and heaven and earth to fail her.
Eollo's place was taken by a spectator whose sympathy was
more disinterested than that of Rollo, and his pity more tender ;
but what Avas that to Lottie, who wanted only the one man
A CRISIS. 347
■whom she loved, not any other ? Wlint a saving of trouble
and pain there would be in this world if the sympathy of
one did as well as that of another ! There was poor Purcell
turning over the music, gazing at her with timid eye.-^ i'uU of
devotion, and longing to have the courage and the opportunity
to offer her again that 'ome which poor Lottie so much wanted,
which seemed opened to her nowhere else in the whole world.
And on the other side stood Mr. Ash ford without any such
definite intention as Purcell, without any perception as yet oi
anything in himself but extreme ' interest in,' and compassion
for, this solitary creature, but roused to the depths of his
heart by the sight of her, anxious to do anything that could
give her consolation, and ready to stand by her against all the
Avorld. The Minor Canon had been passing when that scene
took place in the hall o£ Captain Despard's hovTse with its
open door. He had heard Polly's loud voice, and he had seen
Law rush out, putting on his hat, and flushed with unusual
feeling. ' I don't mind what she says to me as long as she
keeps off Lottie!' the young man had said; and careless as
Law was, the tears had come to his eyes, and he had burst
forth, 'My poor Lottie! what is she to do?' Mr. Ashford's
heart had been wrung by this outcry. What could he do ? —
he Avas helpless — an unmarried man ; of what use could he
ever be to a beautiful, friendless girl ? He felt how impotent
he was with an impatience and distress which did not lessen
that certainty. He could do notliing lor her, and yet he could
not be content to do nothing. This was why he came to the
Signer's, sitting down behind backs beside Mrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy, who distracted him by much pantomimic distress,
shaking her head and lifting up her hands and eyes, and would
fain have Avhispered to him all the time of Lottie's singing,
had not the Signer sternly interfered. (' Sure these musical
folks they're as big tyrants as the Eooshians themselves,' Mi's.
O'Shaughnessy said indignantly.) This was all the Minor
Canon could do — to come and stand by tlie lonely girl, though
no one but himself knew what his meaning was. It could
not be any help to Lottie, who was not even conscious of it.
Perhaps, after all, the sole good in it was to himself.
Lottie had never sung so little well. She did not sing
badly. She took trouble ; the Signer felt she tried to do her
best, to work at it, to occupy herself v/ith the music by way
of getting rid of things more urgent which would press them-
S13 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
selves upon her. In short, for the first time, Lottie applied
herself to it with some faint conception of the purposes of art.
To have recourse to art as an opiate against the pangs of the
inner being, as an escape from the harms of life, is perhaps
not the best way of coming at it, but the Signor knew that
this was one of the most beaten ways towards that temple
which to him enshrined everything that was best in the world.
It was, perhaps, the only way in which Lottie was likely to
get at it, and he saw and understood the effort. But it could
not be said that the effort was very successful. The others,
who were thinking only of her, felt that Lottie did not do so
•well as usual. She was not in voice, Purcell said to himself;
and to the Minor Canon it seemed very natural that after the
scene which she had just gone through poor Lottie should have
but little heart for her work. It was easily explained. The
Signor, however, Avho knew nothing of the circumstances,
came to the most true conclusion. The agitation of that epi-
sode with Polly would not have harmed her singing, however
it might have troubled herself, had Lottie's citadel of personal
happiness been untouched. But the flag was lowered from
that donjon, the sovereign Avas absent. There was no inspira-
tion left in the dull and narrowed world where Lottie found
herself left. Her first opening of vigorous independent life
had been taken from her, and for the first time the life of
visionary passion and enthusiasm was laid low. She did not
give in. She made a brave effort, stilling her excited nei-ves,
•commanding her depressed heart. The Signor himself was
more excited than he had been by all the previous easy
triumphs of her inspiration. Now was the test of what she
had in her. Plappiness dies, love fails, but art is for ever.
Could she rise to the height of this principle, or would she
drop upon the threshold of the sacred place incapable of an-
swering to the guidance of art alone ? Never before had he
felt the same anxious interest in Lottie. He thought she was
groping for that guidance, though without knowing it, in mere
instinct of pain to find something that would not fail her.
She did not rise so high as she had done under the other
leading ; but to the Signor this seemed to be in reality Lottie's
first step, though she did not know it, on the rugged ascent
which is the artist's way of life. Strait is the path and narrow
is the way in that, as in all excellence. The Signor praised
her more than he had ever praised her before, to the surprise
A CRISIS. otO
of the lookers-on ; the generous enthusiasm of the artist
plowed in him. If he could, he would have helped her over
the roughness of the way, just as tlie jNIinor Canon, longing
and pitiful, would have helped her if he could, over the rough-
ness of life. But the one man was still more powerless than
the other to smooth her path. Here it was not sex, nor cir-
cumstances, which were in fliult, but the rigid principles of
art, which are less yielding than rocks; every step, however
painful, in that thorny way the neophyte must tread for her-
self The Signer knew it ; but the more his beginner stumbled,
the more eager was he to cheer her on.
' I am afraid I sang very badly,' Lottie said, coming out
with Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and the Minor Canon, who went
along with them he scarcely knew why. He could do nothing
for the girl, but he did not like to leave her — to seem (to
himself) to desert her. Only himself was in the least degree
aware tliat he was standing by Lottie in her trouble.
* Me child, you all think a deal too much about it. It was
neither better nor worse ; that's what I don't like in all your
singing. It may be fine music, but it's always the same thing
over and over. If it was a tune that a body could catch — but
it's little good the best tune would have been to me this day.
I didn't hear you, Lottie, for thinking what was to become of
you. What will ye do ? Will you never mind, but go back ?
Sure you've a right to your father's house whatever happens,
and I wouldn't be driven away at the first word. There is
nothing would please her so well. I'd go back !'
' Oh, don't say any more I ' cried Lottie with a movement
of sudden pride. But when she caught the pitying look of
the ]\Iinor Canon her heart melted. ' INIr. Ashford will not
be angry because I don't like to speak of it,' she said, raising
her eyes to him. ' He knows tliat things are not — not very
happy — at home.'
Then Mr. Ashford awoke to the thought that he might be
intruding upon her. He took leave of the ladies hurriedly.
But when she had given him her hand, he stood holding it
for a minute. ' I begin to like Law very much,' he said. To
feel that this was the way in which he could give her most
pleasure was a delicate instinct, but it was not such a pleasure
as it would have been a month ago. Lottie did not speak,
but a gleam of satisfaction rose in her eyes. ' It there 19
anything I can do,' he said ialtering, ' to be of use
350 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
What could he do? Nothing? He knew that, and so
did she. It was only to himself that this was a consolation,
he said to himself when they were gone. He went away to
his comfortable house ; and she, slim and light, turned to the
other side of the Abbey, with ]\Irs. O'Shaughnessy, with no-
where in the world to go to. Was that so ? was it really so ?
But still he, with that house of his, a better home than the
one which young Purcell was so eager to offer her, what could
he do ? Nothing ; unless it were one thing which had not
before entered his thoughts, and now, when it had got in,
startled him so, that, middle-aged as he was, he felt his
countenance turn fiery red, and went off at a tremendous
pace, as if he had miles to go. He had only a very little
way to go before he reached his own door, and yet he had
travelled more than miles between that and the dwelling of
the Signer.
As for Lottie, she went home with Mrs. O'Shaughnessy,
not knowing what she was to do after. The elm-tree — that
was the only place in the world that seemed quite clear to her.
For a moment, in the sickness of her disappointment to see
RoUo abandon her, she had said to herself that she would not
go ; but soon a longing to tell him her trouble came upon her.
After the Abbey bells had roused all the echoes, and the usual
congregation had come from all quarters for the evening service,
she left Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, and went slowly towards the
Slopes. It was still early, and the wintry afternoon was cold.
There was an east wind blowing, parching the landscape, and
turning all its living tints into lines of grey. Lottie was not
very warmly clothed. She had her merino gown and little
cloth jacket, very plain garments, not like the furs in which
Augusta had come home ; but, then, Lottie was not used to
living like Augusta, and perhaps her thinner wrap kept her as
warm. She went up the Dean's Walk, languidly, knowing
that it Avas too early, but unable to rest. She would have to
go home after all, to steal in and hide herself in her room,
for this night at least ; but, after that, what was she to do ?
The O'Shaughnessys had not a room to give her. She had
no relations whom she might go to ; what was to become of
her ? When she got to the elm-tree there was nobody there.
She had known it was too early. She sat down and thought,
but Avhat could thinking do ? What could she make of it ?
She looked over the wide landscape which had so often stilled
A cnisis. 351
and consoled her, but it was all dead and unresponsive, dried
up by that east wind ; the earth and the sky, and even the
horizon on which they met, all drawn in pale outlines of grey.
Her face was blank and pale, like the landscape, when the
lover for whom she was waiting appeared. The wind, which
Avas so cold, had driven everybody else away. They had it
all to themselves, this chilly wintry landscape, the shadowy
trees, with a few ragged garments of yellow or faded brown
still clinging to them. Rollo came up breathless, his feet
ringing upon the winding path. lie came and placed himself
beside her, with a thousand apologies that slie should have
had to wait. ' It was a trick of Augusta's,' he said ; ' I am
sure she suspects something.' Lottie felt that this repeated
suggestion that someone suspected ought not to be made to
her. But her paleness and sadness roused Eollo to the most
hearty concern. ' Something has happened,' he said ; ' I can
see it, darling, in your eyes. Tell me what it is. Have not
I a right to know everything?' Indeed he was so anxious
and so tender that Lottie forgot all about offence and her dis-
appointment, and everything that w\as painful. Who had she
beside to relieve her burdened heart to, to lean upon in her
trouble ? She told him what had happened, feeling that with
every word she uttered her load was being lightened. Oh !
how good it is to be able to say forth everything, to tell some-
one to whom all that hajipens to you is interesting ! As she
told Polly's insults, even Polly herself seemed to grow more
supportable. Kollo listened to every word with anxious in-
terest, with excitement, and indignation and grief. He held
her closer to him, saying, ' JNIy poor darling, my poor Lottie !'
■with outbursts of rage and tender pity. Lottie's heart grew
lighter and lighter as she went on. He seemed to her to be
taking it all on his shoulders, the whole of the burden. His
eyes shone with love and indignation. It was not a thing
which could be borne ; she must not bear it, he would not
allow her to bear it, he cried. Finally, a great excitement
seemed to get possession of him all at once. A sudden impulse
seized upon him. He held her closer than ever, with a sudden
tightening of his clasp, and hasty resolution. ' Lottie ! ' he
cried ; and she could feel his heart suddenly leap into wild
beating, and looked up trembling and expectant, sure that he
had found some way of deliverance, ' Lottie, my love ! you
must not put up with this another day. You must come away
352 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
at once. Why not this very night ? I could not rest and
think you were bearing such indignity. You must be brave,
and trust yourself to me. You Avill not be afraid, my darling,
to trust yourself to me ? '
' To-night ! ' she said, with a cry of answering excitement,
alarm, and Avonder.
* Why not to-night ? ' he cried, with more and more
energy. ' I know a place where I could take you. A quiet,
safe place, with people to take care of you, who would not
suffer you to be annoyed even when I was not there myself to
watch over you. Lottie, dearest, you would not be afraid to
trust yourself to me ? '
'No, Rollo, why should I be afraid ?— but ' The
suddenness of this prospect of deliverance, which she did uot
understand, took away Lottie's breath.
' But — there are no buts. You would be taken care of as
if you were in a palace. You would have everything to
make your life pleasant. You could work at your music *
' Ah ! ' she said, interrupting him ; his excitement roused
no alarm in her mind. She was incapable of understanding
any meaning in him that was inconsistent with honour.
' Would it be so necessary to think of the music ? ' she said.
It seemed to her that for Rollo Ridsdale's wife it need not be
any longer a point essential. A host of other duties, more
sweet, more homely, came before her dazzled eyes.
' Above all things ! ' he said, Avith a sudden panic, ' with-
out that what would you — how could I ? ' — the suggestion
v/as insupportable — ' but we can discuss this after,' he said.
' Lottie, my Lottie, listen ! Trust yourself to me — let me
take you away out of all this misery into happiness. Such
happiness ! I scarcely can put it into Avords. Why should
you have another day of persecution, Avhen you can be free,
if you will, this very night? '
His countenance seemed aflame as he bent toAvards her in
the Avintry tAvi light ; she could feel the tumultuous beating ot
his heart. It Avas no premeditated villany, but a real impulse,
acted upon, without any pause for thought, Avith that sudden
and impassioned energy Avhich is often more subtle than the
craftiest calculation. Even while his heart beat thus Avildly
Avit.h awakened passion, Rollo ansAvered the feeble resistance
of his conscience V)y asking himself Avhat harm could it do
her? it Avould not iiiteifere A\'ith her career. As for Lottie,
A cnisis. 353
she raised herself up within his arm and threw back lier head
and looked at him, not shrinking irom him nor showing any
liorror of the suggestion, '^riiere was a pause — only for a
moment, but it felt like half-an-hour, while wild excitement,
love, and terror coursed through his veins. Surely she under-
stood him, and was not alarmed ? If she had understood
him and flung away from him in outraged virtue, Eollo would
have been abject in guilt and penitence. For the moment,
however, though his heart beat with alarm, there was a sense
of coming triumph in all his being.
Lottie raised her drooping shoulders, she threw back her
head and looked at him, into the glowing face that was so
close to her. Iler heart had given one answering leap of ex-
citement, but was not beating like his. At that moment, so
tremendous to him, it was not passion, but reflection, that was
in her eyes.
* Let me think — let us think,' she said. ' Oh, RoUo ! it
is a great temptation. To go away, to be safe with you '
' My darling, my own darling ! you shall never have
cause to fear, never to doubt me ; my love will be as steady,
as true ' So high had the excitement of suspense grown,
that he had scarcely breath to get out the Avords.
' Do you think I doubt that ? ' she said, her voice sounding
80 calm, so soft to his excited ear. ' That is not the question ;
there are so many other things to think of. If you will not
think for yourself, I must think for you. Oh, Kollo, no ! I
don't see how it could be. Listen to me ; you are too eager,
oh ! thank you, dear Hollo, too fond of me, to take everything
into considei-ation — but / must. Hollo ! no, no ; it would
never do ; how coidd it ever do, if you will only think ?
Supposing even that it did not matter ibr me, how could you
marry your wife from any place but her home ? It would
not be creditable,' said Lottie, shaking her head with all the
gentle superiority of reason, ' it would not be right or becoming
for you.'
His arm relaxed round her ; he tried to say something,
but it died away in his throat. For the moment the man was
conscious of nothing but a positive pang of gratitude for a
danger escaped ; he was safe, but he scarcely dared breathe.
Had she understood him as he meant her to understand him,
what vengeance would have flashed upon him, Avhat thunder-
bolt scathed him ! But for very terror he would have shrunk
A A
354 WITHIN THE PUECIXCTS.
and hid his face now in the trembling of the catastrophe
escaped.
' More than that, even,' said Lottie, going on all unaware ;
* I have nothing, you know ; and how could I take money —
'money to live xipon — from you ! — till I was married to you ?
No ! it is impossible, impossible, Rollo. Oh ! thank you,
thank you a thousand times for having thought more of me
than of anything else ; but you see, don't you see, how im-
possible it is ? I will never forget,' said the girl softly, draw-
ing a little closer to him who had fallen away from her in the
strange tumult of failure — yet deliverance — which took all
strength from him, ' I will never forget that you were ready
to forget everything that was reasonable, everything that was
sensible, and even your own credit, for me ! '
Another pause, but this time indescribable. In her bosom
gratitude, tender love, and that sweet sense of calmer judg-
ment, of reason less influenced by passion than it would he
fitting or right for his to be, which a woman loves to feel
Avithin herself — her modest prerogative in the sujjreme mo-
ment ; in his a tumult of love, disappointment, relief, horror
of himself, anger and shame, and the thrill of a hairbreadth
escape. He could not say a word ; what he had done seemed
incredible to him. The most tremendous denunciation would
not have humbled him as did her unconsciousness. He had
made her the most villanous proposal, and she had not even
known what it meant ; to her it had seemed all generosity,
love, and honour. His arm dropped from around her, he had
no force to hold her, and some inarticulate exclamation — he
could not tell wdiat — sounded hoarsely in utter confusion and
shame in his throat.
' You are not angry ? ' she said, almost wooing him in her
turn. ' Rollo, it is not that I do not trust you, you know ;
who should I trust but you ? If that Avere all, I Avould j^iit
my hand in yours; you should take me wherever you pleased.
But then there are the other things to be considered. And,
Rollo, don't be angry,' she said, drawing his arm within hers,
* I can bear anything now. After talking to you, after feeling
your sympathy, I can bear anything. What do I care for a
woman like that ? Of course I knew,' said Lottie, with tears
in her eyes, * that you did feel for me, that you thought of
me, that you were always on my side. But one wants to have
it said over again to make assurance sure. Now I can bear
A CRISIS. 355
anything, now I can go home — though it is not much like
home — and wait, till you come and fetch me, Rollo, openly,
in the light, in the day.'
Here, because she was so happy, Lottie put her hands up
to her face, and laid those hands upon his shoulder and cried
there in such a heavenly folly of pain and blessedness as
words could not describe. That he should not claim her at
once, that was a pain to her ; and to think of that strange,
horrible house to which she must creep back, that was pain
which no happiness could altogether drive out of her thoughts.
But yet, how happy she was ! What did it matter if for the
moment her heart was often sore ? A little while and all
Avould be Avell; a little while and she would be delivered out
of all these troubles. It Avas only a question of courage, of
endurance, of fortitude, and patience ; and Lottie had got
back her inspiration, and felt herself capable of bearing any-
thing, everything, with a stout heart. But Rollo had neither
recovered his speech nor his self possession ; shame and anger
were in his heart. He had not been found out, but the very
awe of escape was mingled with intolerable anger ; anger no
doiibt chiefly against himself, but also a little against her,
though why he could not have said. The unconsciousness of
her innocence, which had impressed him so deeply at first and
confounded all his calculations, began to irritate him. How
■was it possible she did not understand ? was there stupidity as
well as innocence in it? Most people would have had no
difliculty in understanding, it would have been as clear as
noonday — or, rather, as clear as gaslight ; as evident as any
' intention ' could be. He could not bear this superiority, this
obtuseness of believing; it offended him, notwithstanding that
he had made by it Avhat he felt to be the greatest escape of his
life.
They parted after this not with the same enthusiasm on
Eollo's part as that which existed on Lottie's. She was chilled,
too, thinking he was angry with her for not yielding to his
desire ; and this overcast her happiness, but not seriously.
They stole down by the side of the Abbey, in the shadow — ■
Lottie talking, Rollo silent. When they came within sight of
the cloister gate and the line of the Lodges opposite, Lottie
withdrew her hand from his arm. The road looked empty
and dark ; but who could tell what spectator might suddenly
appear ? She took his role in the eagerness of her heart to
aa2
356 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
■make up to him for any vexation her refusal might have given.
* Don't come any further,' she Avhispered; ' let us part here ;
someone might see us.' In her eagerness to make up to him
for her own unkindness, she allowed the necessity for keeping
that secret — though to think of it as a secret had woimded her
before. Nevertheless, when he took her at her word and left
her, Lottie, like the fanciful girl she was, felt a pang of dis-
appointment and painfully realised her own desolateness, the
dismal return all alone to the house out of which every quality
of kindness had gone. Her heart sank, and with reluctant,
lingering steps she came out of the Abbey shadow, and began
to cross the Dean's Walk, her forlorn figiire moving slowly
against the white line of the road and the grey of the wintry
sky.
Someone was standing at the door as she came in sight of
her father's house. It was Captain Despard himself, looking
out, ' Is that you, Lottie ? ' he called out, peering into the
gloom. ' Come in, come in ; where have you been ? You
must not stay out again, making everybody anxious.' Then
he came out a step or two from his door and spoke in a
whisper : ' You know Avhat a woman's tongue is,' he said ;
' they have a great deal to answer for ; but when they get
excited, what can stop them ? You must try not to pay any
attention ; be sensible, and don't mind — no more than I do,'
"Captain Despard said.
CHAPTER XXXV.
FAJIILY DUTY : ACCORDING TO MRS. DESPARD.
There are some victories which feel very much like defeats.
"When Polly had scattered her adversaries on every side,
driven forth Lottie and got rid of Law, and silenced Captain
Despard — who sat in his room and heard everything, but
thought it wisest not to interfere — she retired upstairs to her
drawing-room and celebrated her triumph by shedding tor-
rents of tears. She had intended to make everybody very
wretched, and she had done so ; supposing, perhaps (though
she did not really know what her motive was), that some
pleasure would come to herself out of the discomfiture of the
FAMILY duty: ACCORDING TO MfiS. DESPAUD. 357
Others. But pleasure rarely comes by that means, and when
she had thus chased everybody out of her way, Polly threw
herself down and burst forth into angry sobs and tears. It is
not to be supposed that Captain Despard entertained any ro-
mantic illusions about his bride ; he knew very well what
Polly was. He had, as facts proved, been sufficiently fond ot
her to marry her, but he did not expect of her more than
Polly could give, nor was he shocked to find that she had a
temper and could give violent utterance to its vagaries ; all
this he had known very well before. Knowing it, however,
he thought it wise to keep out of the way and not mix him-
self up in a fray with which evidently he had nothing to do.
Had she gone a step further with Lottie it is possible that he
might have interfered, for, after all, Lottie was his child; and
though he might himself be hard upon her at times, there is
generally a mingled sentiment of family pride and feeling
which makes us unwilling to allow one who belongs to us to
be roughly treated by a stranger. But when Jjivf put himself
in the breach, his father sat close and took no notice ; he did
not feel impelled to turn his wife's batteries upon himself out
of consideration for Law. Nor did it make any impression
upon the Captain Avhen he heard her angry sobs overhead.
' She will come to if she is left to herself,' he said, and he did
not allow himself to be disturbed. Polly, in her passion,
threw herself on the carpet, leaning her head upon a chair.
She had changed the room after her own fashion. She had
lined the ciutains with pink muslin, and fastened her crochet-
work upon the chairs with bows of pink ribbon ; she had
covered the old piano with a painted cover, and adorned it
with vases and paper flowers. She had made the faded little
room which had seemed a fit home enough, in its grey and
worn humility, for Lottie's yoimg beauty, into something that
looked very much like a dressmaker's ante-room, or that
terrible chamber, ' handsomely fitted up with toilet requisites,'
where the victims of the photographic camera prepare for the
ordeal. But the loveliness of her handiwork did not console
Polly ; she got no comfort out of the pink bows, nor even
from the antimacassars — a point in which Lottie's room was
painfully deficient. She flung herself upon the carpet and
sobbed. What was the use of being a lady, a Chevalier's
wife, and living here in the heart of the Abbey, if no one
called upon her or took any notice of her ? Polly was not of
S58 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
a patient nature ; it did not occur to her even that there •was
still time for the courtesies she had set her heart upon gaining.
She had looked every day for someone to come, and no one
had ever come ; no one had made any advances to her at the
Abbey, which was the only place in which she could assert
her position as a lady and a Chevalier's wife. Even Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy, who had risen from the ranks, who lived next
door, who was not a bit better, nay, who was much less good
than Polly to begin with (for what is a trooper's wife ? and
she had been nothing but a trooper's wife) — even Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy had passed the door as if she did not see it,
and had waited outside till Miss Lottie came to her. PoU^^'s
dreams had been very different. She had seen herself in
imagination the admired of all admirers ; she was by far the
youngest of all the Chevaliers' wives, and the gentlemen, at
least, she was sure would rally round her. Women might
be spiteful, but men always did justice to a woman when she
was handsome and young. "Was not that written in all the
records ? She expected that the ladies would be spiteful —
that w^ovild be indeed a part of her triumph. They would be
jealous of her superior attractions, of her youth, of her hus-
band's adoration of her; the old things would be in a flutter
of alarm lest their old men should come within her influence.
But Polly had felt pretty sure that the old gentlemen would
admire her and rally round her. To make the women envious
and the men enthusiastic, was not that always the way ? cer-
tainly such was the course ot events in the Family Herald.
The heroine might have one friend devoted to her fortunes,
a confidant more admiring, more faithful even than her lover;
but all the rest of womankind was leagued against her. And
so it had been in most of the novels Polly had read. But that
neither men nor Avomen should take any notice, that w^as a
thing for which she was not prepared, and which she declared
to herself she would not bear.
She had seen enough already from her windows to make
her furious. She had seen Mrs. O'Shaughnessy ostentatiously
waiting for Lottie, walking up and down outside, making
signs to the girl upstairs. She had seen Captain Temple pass
and repass, looking tip at the same window. She had seen
the greetings that met Lottie wherever she appeared. The
Chevaliers and their wives had not always looked upon Miss
Despard with such favourable eyes. They had thought her
FAMILY DUTV : ACCORDING TO MRS. DESPARD. 359
proud, and they had resented her pride ; but now that Lottie
was in trouble it was round her tliey had all rallied. It was
the jiarty at the Deanery, however, which had been the last
drop iti Polly's cup. How was she to know that on the
highest elevation she could reach as the lady of a Chevalier,
she was still beneath the notice of Lady Caroline, and as far
as ever from the heaven of the highest society? Polly did
not know. The elevation to Avhich she herself had risen was
so immense in her own consciousness that there seemed no
distinction of ranks above her. She thought, as Lottie had
once thought, though from a different point of view, that
gentlefolks were all one ; that a gentleman's wife, if not so
rich or so grand, was still on a level with Lady Caroline
herself, and within the circle which encompassed the Queen.
* You can't be no better than a gentleman,' Polly said to
herself. You might, it was true, be a lord, Avhich some
people thought better, but even a lord was scarcely above an
officer. All this glorious ambition, however, what was it
going to end in ? tShe watched the carriages going to the
Deanery, and with still more furious feelings she watched
Lottie in her white dress crossing the Dean's Walk. And
she left at home, at the window, neglected, left out, though
she was Mrs. Dcspard, and the other nobody ! "Was it
possible that it might be better even to be a dressmaker,
forewoman in the workroom, acknowledged to have the best
eye ibr cutting out, and to be the quickest worker of the lot.
superior so far among her equals — than to be ignored and
neglected and treated as the dust under their feet by a set of
poor gentlefolks ? Polly felt that she must wreak her venge-
ance on somebody.
When she had got her fit of crying over accordingly, slie
jumped up to her feet and hurried to her room to put on her
' things.' It was her ' best things ' that she put on. Indeed,
Polly had been wearing her best things every day with an
extravagance which rather touched her conscience, though
it delighted her fancy. She made herself very fine indeed
that wintry afternoon, and pattered downstairs upon a pair
of high heels which were more splendid than comfortiible,
and burst into the little room where Captain Despard sat
attentive to all these sounds, and wondering what was coming
next. Few people realise the advantage of a silly wife to a
man who is not over wise. The Captain, though he had a
360 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
high opinion of himself, Avas aware at the bottom of his heart
that other people scarcely shared that sentiment. And to
have a wife whom he was fond of, and Avhose acquisition
flattered his vanity, and who was unmistakably, though clever
enough, less clever, less instructed, than he was, gave him a
sense of superiority which was very pleasant to him. He
looked upon her follies with much more indulgence than he
had ever felt for Lottie, who did not give him the same con-
solation.
* Well, what is it now? ' he said, with a smile.
* I want you to come out with me,' Polly said. ' I want
to buy some things. My old muff is shabby, I couldn't wear
it in the Abbey. Though they're a set of old frights and
frumps, I don't wish your wife to be looked down upon by
them, Harry. I can see them looking at all my things,
counting up what everything costs, and Avhispering behind
my back. That old Mrs. Jones has trimmed her bonnet
exactly like mine, though she looks as if she was too grand
to see me. They ain't above copying me, that's one thing.'
* No wonder,' said the admiring husband ; ' for it is long
since anything so young and so handsome has been among
them before. Don't they Avish they could coj^y your face as
well as your bonnet ! that's all.'
' Oh, get along ! ' said Polly, Avell pleased ; ' you're always
flattering. Come and buy me a mutf". I don't know what
kind to get. Grebe is sweetly pretty and ermine is delicious,
but sealskin, perhaps, is the most genteel ; that always looks
lady-like. Did you see Mrs. Daventry go by in her carriage ?
Ah ! ' Polly sighed ; how could she help it ? She was very
fine in her blue silk, but Augusta Avas flner. ' She has just
come from France, you know, and then, of course, they are
rich. She had on a velvet Avith sable tlait deep ! Ah 1
it's hard to see folks that are no better than you Avith things
that are so much better,' cried Polly; 'but, after all, though
velvet and sable are very nice, give me sealskin — that's always
lady-like. A sealskin jacket ! — if I had that, 1 don't think
there is anything more I should Avish for in the Avorld.'
'Are they very dear ?' said the Captain, Avith a sudden
fit of liberality. He had a native love of buying, Avhich is
very general Avith impecunious persons, and at present was
in a prodigal mood.
* Dear I Oh, not for the good they are,' said Polly. ' You
FAMILY duty: ACCORDING TO MRS. DESPARD. 361
never want another winter mantle all your life. You're set
up. That makes them cheap in the end ; but they cost a
deal of money. I haven't seen nobody with one in all the
Abbey, except the Canon's ladies.'
' Then you shall have one ! ' said Captain Despard. He
looked like a prince, Polly thought, as he stood there glowing
with generous purpose. The sound of the ' O — Oh ! ' with
which she received the offer rang through the Lodges. Such
a shriek of pleas\:re had not been heard there since there had
been Chevaliers in St. Michael's. They went out togetlier,
all beaming, arm in arm, the bride clinging fondly to her
husband, the Captain looking down with delighted protection
upon his bride. This sight, which is so pretty in some cases,
and calls forth, if much amusement, often a great deal of
sympathy, roused anything but friendly feelings in the
Lodges, where the good people wore getting ready for the
afternoon service. Old tool was the best name they had for
the bridegroom, though he was not very old ; and Polly was
a grievance which the ladies could not tolerate. They looked
after her from their windows with feelings which were far
from Christian. It was a thing they ought not to have been
exposed to. There should have been an appeal to the Queen,
if the gentlemen had the least energy. ' But even the Queen,
bless her ! could not keep a man from marrying,' the Warden
said, deprecatingly. He did not like it any more than they
did; but it is only when you are yourself of the executive
that you know the difficulties of action ; that is why the
ladies are such critics — they have not got it to do.
Captain and Mrs. Captain Despard (Polly had got beautiful
glazed cards printed stiff and strong with this title upon them)
walked down to the best shop in St. Michael's, Avhich is a
very good shop indeed ; and there they bought a beautiful
seahkin. Impossible to tell the pride, the happiness, the glory
with which Polly ac([uired this new possession. She had not
expected it. These were the days when sealskins were still
a hope, a desire, an as[)iration to the female mind, a property
which elevated its possessor, and identified her among her
peers. ' That lady with the sealskin,' who would think of
pointing out anybody by so general a description now ? are
they not even going out of fashion ? But Polly, for one,
could not realise the possibility that such a thing could ever
happen. And she had not anticipated such a bliss; the
SG2 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
liappiness was doubled by being unforeseen. This, indeed,
was a proof of the blessedness of being a married lady, of
having bettered herself, of having married a gentleman. Her
mind was in a confusion of delight. Nevertheless she did not
forget that she had come out with another and quite distinct
purpose. The fact that she had herself been so fortunate did
not turn her from her mission. Was it not more her duty
than ever to do everything that could be done for her
husband's family ? When she had decided upon her sealskin,
Polly began to shiver. She said, ' It is a very cold day. I
don't know why it should be so cold so early in the year.
Don't you think it is very cold, Harry ? I have come out
without any AVi-ap. Do you know I think I will put the
sealskin on' Why should not she ? The proprietor of the
shop accomplished the sale Avith a pang. He knew Captain
Despard well enough and he knew Polly, and he trembled
Avhen he thought of his bill. But what could he be but civil ?
He put it on for her — though how any ordinary sealskin
could have covered a bosom so swelling with pride and bliss
it is hard to say. And the pair went out together as they
came in, except that one was almost speechless with the proud
consciousness of drawing all eyes. ' It is not the appearance,'
said Polly, ' but it is so deliciou.sly vrarm ; there never was
anything like it. And now I am set up. I shall not cost
you any more for a winter cloak, not for years and years.'
' I thought you said it was to last for ever,' said the Captain,
efiually delighted. They promenaded all the way down St.
IMichael's Hill, the admired of all beholders. If the remarks
that were made were not precisely such as Polly hoped, still
there was no doubt that remarks were made by everybody,
and that the sealskin had all the honour it deserved. Some-
times, indeed, there would be a bitter in the sweet, as when
the Ca[)tain took off his hat with jaunty grace to some lady
whom he knew. ' Who is that ? ' Polly would ask sharply ;
but the ladies all hurried by, and never stopped to be intro-
duced ; and no man took off his hat to Polly. Even against
this, however, the happiness that wrapped her round defended
Mrs. Despard. And how the people stared ! — people who
had seen her going up and down with a little bundle of pat-
terns on her way to her work, on her way to try on a dress —
people in the shops, who had been her equals if not her
superiors — to see them gazing out at her with big eyes, at
FAMILY duty: ACCOHDING TO MRS. DESPARD. oG3
her fine sealskin and her fine husband, that comforted her
souL She walked slowly, getting the full good of her triumph.
But when she had got to the foot of the hill she dismissed her
escort. ' Now you may go,' she said ; ' you always had plenty
to do in the old days. I don't want you to say / tie you to
my apron-string. You may go now.'
'This is a pretty Avay to dismiss your husband,' said Cap-
tain Despard ; ' and where are you going, may I ask, that you
send me away ? '
* Oh, I will tell you fast enough. I am not going anywhere
you can disapprove of. I am going to see tlie girls,' said
Polly, ' that is all.'
' The girls ! My love, you must recollect,' said Captain
Despard with dignity, ' that the girls, as you call them, are not
fit companions for you.'
' You may trust me to know my place,' said Polly, ' and
to keep them in theirs. I should think you may trust me J*
Fortified by this assurance, the Captain left his lovely
bride. He turned back to kiss his hand to her when he was
half-way up the hill, prolonging the sweet sorrow of the
parting, and Polly blew him a kiss with infantine grace. It
was ' as good as a play.' ' Lord, what fools they are ! ' said
the fishmonger on the hill, who was a cynic ! and the young
ladies in the draper's shop shook their heads at each other and
said, ' Poor gentleman ! ' Avith the protbundest commiseration.
When he had left her, Polly threw out her skirts and
smoothed the fur of her lovely new coat with a caressing
hand. She lelt that she loved it. It was more entirely de-
lightful than even her husband — a happiness without alloy.
She walked very slowly, enjoying every step of the way.
She gave a penny to the beggar at the corner in the fulness
of her satisfaction. So far her happiness had evidently a fine
moral influence on Polly ; and she Avas going to pay a visit,
which was also very kind, to 'the girls' in the River Lane.
She was not one to forcret old friends. She sailed along in
her pride and glory through the quarter where she was so Avell
known, and curved her nostrils at the smells, and allowed
disgust to steal over her face when her path was crossed by
an unlovely figiire. Polly flattered herself that she was a
fine lady complete; and there was no doubt that the imitation
Avas very good in the general, so long as you did nH enter
into details.
S64 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS?.
At the entrance of the River Lane, however, she ceased
to stand upon ceremony with herself. She picked up her
skirts and Avent on at a more business-like rate of speed.
Someone was coming up against the light, which by this time
of the afternoon came chiefly from the west, someone with
his shoulders up to his ears, who took off his hat to Polly,
and pleased her until she perceived that it was only Law.
' You here ! ' she said : and as she looked at him the moral
influence of the sealskin almost vanished. Thus she went ia
state to visit the scenes in which so much of her previous life
had passed. But a new sentiment was in Polly's eyes. She
felt that she had a duty to do — a duty which was superior to
benevolence. She pushed open the green swing door with a
delicious sense of the difference. The girls were talking fast
and loud when she opened the door, discussing some subject
or other with all the natural chatter of the workroom. There
was a pause when the sound of her heels and the rustle of her
silk was heard — a hush ran round the table. How well Polly
knew what it meant! ' They will think it is a customer,' she
said to herself; and never customer swept in more majesti-
cally. They were all at Avork when she entered, as if they
did not know what it Avas to chatter, and Ellen rose respect-
fully at the first appearance of the lady.
' Mother is upstairs, ma'am, but I can take any orders,'
she said ; and then Avith a shriek cried out ' PoUy ! '
' Polly ! ' echoed all the girls.
Here was a visitor indeed. They got up and made a circle
round her, examining her and all she ' had on.' ' In a seal-
skin ! ' 'Liza and Kate cried in a breath, Avith an admiration
Avhich amounted to aAve. One of them even put forth her
hand to stroke it in her enthusiasm. For an instant Polly
allowed this fervour of admiration to haA'c its Avay. Then she
said, languidly —
' Give me a chair, please, and send Mrs. "Welting to me.
I Avish to speak to ]\[rs. Welting. I am sorry to interrupt
your work, young ladies — it is Mrs. Welting I AA'ant to see.'
' But, Polly ! ' the girls cried all together. They Avere too
much startled to knoAV Avhat to say. They stood gaping in a
circle round her.
' I thought you had come to see us like a friend — like
Avhat you used to be.'
' And Averen't Ave all just glad to see you again, Polly^
FAMILY DUTY : ACCORDING TO MRS. DESPARD. 3C5
and quite the lady ! ' cried another. They would not take
their dismissiil at the first word.
' Young ladies,' said Polly, ' I've not come in any bad spirit.
I don't deny as I've passed many a day here. My family
(though always far above the dressmaking) was not well off,
and I shall always be thankful to think as I did my best for
them. But now that I'm married, in a different position,' said
Polly, * though always ready to stand your friend, when you
want a friend, or to recommend you among the Abbey ladies,
you can't think as I can go on with you like you were in my
own sphere. Where there's no equality there can't be no
friendship. Perhaps you wouldn't mind opening a window?
It's rather early to put on my sealskin, but one never knows
at this time of the year — and I'm 'eated with my walk. Send
Mrs. Welting to me, please.'
There was a great commotion among the girls. The two
passive ones stood with open mouth, struck dumb by this
magnificence.
' Lor ! ' cried Kate, finding no other word that could express
her emotion.
Emma, though she was *he youngest, was the most vehe-
ment of all. ' I know what she's come for. She's come to
make mischief,' cried Emma. ' I wouldn't fetch mother. I
wouldn't go a step. Let her speak straight out what she's got
to say.'
' There's reason in everything,' said Ellen. ' You mayn't
mean to keep us up like friends. Just as you like, I'm sure ;
none of us is wanting to keep it up ; but mother takes no
hand in the business, and that you know as well as me.'
' Send Mrs. Welting to me,' cried Polly, waving her hand
majestically. She did not condescend to any further reply.
She leant back on her chair and unfastened her beloved mantle
at the throat. Then she got out a laced handkerchief and
fanned herself. * Me that thought it was so cold,' Polly re-
marked to herself, ' and it's like summer ! ' She did not pay any
further attention to the young women, who consulted together
with great indignation and excitement at a little distance.
' What can she have to say to mother ? I wouldn't call
mother, not if she was to sit there for a week,' said Enmia,
who had a presentiment as to the subject of the visit.
' Lord ! just look at her in her sealskin,' interrupted Kate,
who could think of nothing else.
SQQ WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
But Ellen, who was the serious one, paused and hesitated.
' We can't tell what it may be — and if it turned out to be a
job, or something she had got us from some of the Abbey
ladies! She's not bad natured,' said Ellen, full of doubts.
All this time Polly waved her handkerchief about, with its
edge of lace, fanning herself. She looked at no one — she was
too much elevated above all the associations of the place to
deign to take any notice. Had not she always been above it?
With her disengaged hand she smoothed the fur of her sealskin,
rubbing it knowingly upward. She was altogether uncon-
scious of their talk and discussion. What could they have in
common with Mrs. Despard ? To see her, if any of her former
associates had been cool enough to notice it, was still ' as good
as a play.'
The upshot was, that Avhile the others, with much ostenta-
tion of dragging their seats to the other end of the table, sat
down and resumed their work with as much appearance of
calm as possible, Ellen ran upstairs in obedience to her own
more prudent suggestions, and reappeared shortly with her
mother, a large, comely woman, who, not knowing who the
visitor was, was a little expectant, hoping for a very good
order — a trousseau, or perhaps mourning. ' Or it might be
the apartments,' Mrs. Welting said. And when she entered
the workroom she made the lady a curtsey, then cried out, as
her daughters had done, ' Why, bless my heart, Polly ! The
idea of taking me in like this, you saucy things,' she cried,
turning, laughing, upon the girls. But she did not get any
response from these indignant young women, nor from Polly,
who made no reply to her salutation, but sat still, delicately
fanning herself.
Mrs. Welting stood between the two opposed parties, won-
dering what was the matter. Since Polly was here, she could
have come only in friendship. * I'm sure I'm very glad to see
you,' she said, 'and looking so well and so 'andsome. And
what a lovely sealskin you've got on ! '
' IMrs. Welting,' s<'iid Polly, with great dignity, taking no
notice of these friendly remarks, ' I asked for you because I've
something to say that is very particidar. You don't take
mucli charge of the business, but it is you as one must turn to
about the girls. Mrs. Welting, you mayn't know, but there's
goings on here as always gave me a deal of annoyance. And
now I've come to tell you they must be put a stop to. I
FAMILY DUTY : ACCORDING TO MRS. DESPARD. 3G7
never could endure such goings on, and I mean to put a stop
to them now.'
' Lord bless us ! ' said Mrs. Welting. She was really-
alarmed. She gave a glance round upon her girls, all burst-
ing with self-defence, and made them a sign to be silent.
Then she turned to her visitor with a mixture of anxiety and
defiance. ' Speak up, Polly,' she siiid ; ' nobody shall say as I
won't hsten, if there's anything against my girls ; but speak
up, for you've gone too far to stop now.'
* How hot it it is, to be sure ! ' said Mrs. Despard, ' in this
close bit of a place. I wish someone would open a window.
I can't think how I could have put up with it so long. And
I wonder what my 'usband would say if he heard me spoke
to like that? I thought you would have the sense to under-
stand that I've come here for your good. It wasn't to put
myself on an equality Avith folks like you, working for your
living. I don't want to be stuck up, but a lady must draw
the line somewhere. Mrs. Welting, I don't suppose you
know it — you ain't often in the workroom — it would be a
deal better if you was. There's gentlemen comes here, till
the place is known all over the town ; and there is one young
gentleman as I take a deal of interest in as malces me and his
papa very imcasy all along of coming here '
' Gentlemen ! coming here ! ' cried Mrs. Welting, looking
roimd upon her daughters with mingled anger and dismay.
' I know Avhat I'm talking about,' said Polly ; ' let them
contradict me if they dare. He comes here mostly every day.
One of the girls is that silly as to think he's after her. After
her ! I hope as he has more sense ; he knows what's what a
deal too Avell for that. He takes his fim out of them — that is
what he does. But you may think yourself Avhat kind of
feelings his family has — the Cajitain and me. That's the one
that encourages him most,' Mrs. Despard added, pointing out
Emma with her finger. ' She is always enticing the poor boy
to come here.'
' Oh, you dreadful, false, wicked story ! ' cried Emma,
flushed and crying. ' Oh, mother, it ain't nothing of the
kind ! It was she as brought him first. She didn't mind
who came when she was here. She said it was no harm, it
was only a bit of fun. We was always against it — at least
Ellen was,' added the culprit, bursting forth into sobs and
tears.
3C8 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
'Yes, I always was,' said Ellen, demurely — it was not in
liuman nature not to claim the palm of superior virtue — ' but
it was not Emma, it was Polly that began. I've heard her
argue as it was no harm. She was the first with the Captain,
and then when young Mr. Despard '
' I am not going to sit here, and listen to abuse of my
family,' said Polly, rising. ' I wouldn't have mentioned no
names, for I can't abide to have one as belongs to me made a
talk about in a place like this. I came to give you a warning,
ma'am, not these hardened things. It isn't for nothing a lady
in my position comes down to the River Lane. I've got my
beautiful silk all in a muddle, and blacks upon a white bonnet
is ruination. I did it for your sake, Mrs. Welting, for I've
always had a respect for you. And now I've done my
Christian duty,' said Polly, with vehemence, shaking the dust
from her blue silk. ' There's them that talk about it, like
that little Methody Elleil, but there ain't many that do it.
But don't let anybody suppose,' she cried, growing hotter and
hotter, * that I mean to do it any more ! If you let him come
here after this, I won't show you any mercy — we'U have the
law of you, my 'usband and I. There's laws against artful
girls as entice poor innocent young men. Don't you go for
to think,' cried Mrs. Despard, sweeping out while they all
gazed after her, speechless, 'because I've once done my
Christian duty that I'm going to do it any more ! '
"We will not attempt to describe the commotion that
followed — the reproaches, the tears, the fury of the girls be-
trayed, of which none was more hot than that of Ellen, who
had to stand and hear herself called a Methody — she who Avas
conscious of being an Anglican and a Catholic without blemish,
and capable of anything in the world before Dissent.
Polly sailed up the hill, triumphant in that consciousness
■of having done her duty as a Christian, but equally determined
Ti(jt to do it any more; and what with the consciousness
of this noble performance, and Avhat with the sealskin, found
it in her power to be almost agreeable to her step-daughter,
when the Captain, who, after all, was Lottie's lather, and did
not like the idea that his girl should be banished from his
house, had met her and brought her in.
' She has not had the careful bringing-up that you have
had, my child,' the Captain said. ' She hasn't had your ad-
vantages. You must have a little patience with her, for my
FAMILY DUTY : BY A FIXEH AUTIST. 309
Bake.' Captain Despard had always been irresistible -when he
asked tendi-rly, with his head on one side, and an insinuating
roll in his voice, that anything should be done for his
sake.
Lottie, who was happy in the sense of her lover's readiness
to sacrifice everything lor her sake (as she thought), and to
whom the whole world seemed fairer in consequence, yielded
without any struggle ; while Polly, on her part, put on her
mo.st gracious looks.
'If you take every word I say for serious,' said Polly, 'I
don't know whatever I shall do. I never was used to have my
words took up hasty like that. I say a deal of naughtiness
that I don't mean — don't I, Harry ? You and me would never
have come together, should we, if you'd always gone and
taken me at my word ? ' And so the reconciliation was
effected, and things went on as before. There was no similar
occurrence in respect to Law, whose looks at Polly were
murderous; but, then. Law had no delicacy of sentiment,
and, whatever had happened, would have come into his meals
all the siime.
CHAPTER XXXVL
FAMILY DUTY : BY A F INEIl ARTIST.
RoLLO did not come away from the strange excitement of that
interview on the Slopes with the same feelings which filled
the mind of Lottie. The first intense sensation of shame
with which he had realised the villany of the proposal which
Lottie did not understand soon changed into a different senti-
ment. He had felt its guilt, its treacherous cruelty, under
the guise of devotion, far more bitterly and intensely than as
if she had understood and denounced him; and the relief of
his escape from an indignation and horror which must have
been as overwhelming as the confidence, had made him feel
how great a danger he had run, and how terrible to him, as
well as to her, would have been the discovery of his base in-
tention. How could he ever think that Lottie, proud, and
pure and fearless of evil as she was, could have fallen into such
a snare ! He felt himself a fool as well as a villain ; per-
B B
370 WITinX THE PRECINCTS.
ceiving, too, by the light of fact, Avhat he would not have
xinderstood in theory, that the very uncomprehension of in-
nocence makes guilt contemptible as well as terrible. If she
could have understood him, he would scarcely have felt so
mean, so miserable, so poor a creature as he did now ; not even
a gay and fine betrayer, but a pitiful cheat and would-be
criminal, false to everything that nature trusts in. Eollo had
not been irreproachable hitherto ; but such sins as he had
indulged in had been done among those who were sinners
like himself, among people who had a cynical comprehension
of the worth of promises and the value of vows. He had
never tried that role of the seducer before ; and the fact that
his own shame and horror were real made them all the more
hard to bear. Shame, however, of this bitter kind is not an
improving influence. Soon it began to turn to anger equally
bitter. He tried to think that Lottie was partly to blame,
that she had ' led him on,' that he never would have gone so
far but for ' encouragement ' from her. Even it flashed
across his mind that she was not so unconscious as she ap-
peared, but had pretended ignorance in order to rivet her
chains upon him, and force him to the more honourable Avay
which Avas so much more for her interest. Pie tried to force
this idea into his own mind, which was not sufficiently de-
praved to receive it ; but yet it was not long before he was
angry, irritated against the girl who would not understand
him, and sore with the humiliation she had inflicted un-
awares.
Other influences, too, came in to break the purer spell of
honourable love under which Eollo, to his own surprise, had
so entirely fallen. With the return of Augusta and her
husband, the world seemed to have come back and seized him.
Even the society of Augusta, of itself, had an immediate
inlluence, breaking up the magic of the seclusion in which he
had been content to live. Lady Caroline was not a Avoman
who could be called unworldly, but she Avas passive, and did
not take; any initiative even in the Avay of gossip. She liked
to hear it; there can\e a little gleam of interest to her eyes
when the stories of the great Avorld Avere brought to her, when
she AA'as told Avho Avas going to marry who, and by Avhat
schemes and artifices the marriage had been brought about ;
and who had most frequently and boldly broken the marriage
vow, and by whom it had been most politely eluded ; and hoAV
FAMILY DlTy. I;Y A riXKi: AKTIST. 371
everybody lived and cheated, and notliing was as it seemed ;
and all that is done for money', and that is done for pleasure,
in that busy, small, narrow-minded village society — which is
the world. But though she loved to hear, she could not begin ;
for, imless people told her what was going on, how, she some-
times asked piteously, was she to know ? As for the Dean,
he was not in the habit of it any more than his wife, though
when he went to town he Avould bring down invariably a
piece of news from his club — of somebody^ appointment, or
somebody's good luck, or somebody's wedding. ' Now, why
can't you go and do likewise ? ' he would say to Rollo. But
all this was mild and secondary in comparison with
Augusta, who brought the very air of what Mr. Jenkins
calls the Upper Ten into the Deanery, perfuming all the
rooms and all the meals with stories of fortunes won and
lost, of squabbles, ministerial and domestic, of marriages and.
dinners alike ' arranged,' and all the wonderful dessous des
cartes and behind the scenes with which so many people are
acquainted in fashionable life. Who so well as Augusta
knew that when the Duke of Mannering gave up his governor-
ship, it was not from any political reason, but because the
life he led was such that the place was far too hot to hold him,
and Government was only too glad to send out Algy Fairfax,
though he was only a younger son, and had no particular
interest, simply to smooth things down ? And what a lucky
thing it was for Algy to be there just at the right moment,
when there was nobody else handy, and just when Lord
Arthur was there, who had got him to explain matters to his
elder brother, and knew what he could do ! It was what old
Lady Fairfax had been scheming for all her life, just as slie
had been scheming to catch young Snellgrove for Mina. Ot
coiirse she had succeeded. INIina was almost distracted, every-
body knew. It was she who had that affair with Lord Col-
brookdale, and now everybody said she was wildly in love
Avith Reginald Fane, her cousin ; but she might just as well be
in love with St. Paul's, for he had not a penny, and she was to
be married directly. Did you hear about her settlements?
They were simply ridiculous. But that old woman was
wonderful. There was nothing she did not think of, and
everything she wanted she got. And then there was that
story about poor young Jonquil, of the "War Department,
•who married somebody quite out of the question a poor
B B 2
372 -WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
clergyman's daughter, or something of that sort, without a
penny (though he might have had the rich Miss Windsor
Brown for the asking, people said), and of the dreadful end
he had come to, living do-vvn in some horrid weedy little
cottage about Kew, and wheeling out two babies in a peram-
bulator. All these tales and a thousand more, Augusta told,,
filling the Deanery with a shameful train of people, all doing
something they did not want to do, or forcing others to do-
it, or following their pleasure through every laAV, human
and divine. Lady Caroline sat in her easy-chair (she
was not allowed to put up her feet except in the evening,,
after dinner, when Augusta was at home), and listened with
half-closed eyes, but unfailing attention. ' I knew his father
very well,' she would say now and then, or 'his mother was
a great friend o£ mine.' As for Eollo, he knew all the
people of whom these stories were told. He had seen the
things beginning of which his cousin knew all the con-
clusions, and what went on behind the scenes, and thus he
was carried back after the idyll of the last six weeks to his
own proper Avorld. He began to feel that there was no
world but that, that nothing else could make up for the
want of it ; and a shudder run over him Avhen he thought of
Jonquil's fate. Augusta, for her part, did not conceal her
surprise to find him at the Deanery. * What is Rollo doing
here ? ' she said to her mother.
' I am sure, my dear, I do not know. He seems to like
it, and we are very glad to have him,' Lady Caroline replied.
But that did not satisfy IMrs. Daventry's curiosity. What
could a young man of fashion, a man of the world, do here?
'I wonder what he is after,' she said; 'I Avonder Avhat
his object can be. It can't be only your society and papa's.
I should just like to know what he is up to. He is not a
fool, to have gone and got entangled somehow. I wonder
what he can mean by it ! ' Augusta cried ; but her mother
could give her no idea. Lady Caroline thought it was
natural enough.
' I don't see that it is so strange,' she said. 'Autumn is
a terrible time. To sleep in a strange bed night after night,
and never settle down anywhere ! Rollo likes to be com-
fortable ; and then there is this Miss Despard. You have
heard about Miss Despard ?'
'What about Miss Despard?' Augusta said, pricking up
her ears.
FAMILY PUTY: DY A tlN'ER ARTIST. 373
* She is to be the prima donna,' caid Lady Caroline.
* He tliinks she will make his fortune. He has always got
some ^vild scheme in his head. He used to annoy me very
much to have her here '
'And did you have her here?' cried Augusta, roused into
sudden excitement. 'Oh, why didn't I know of it ! I thought
there must be some reason ! Lottie Despard ! And were
you obliged to have her here, mamma? What a bore it
must have been for you ! '
' I did not like it, my dear,' her ladyship s;ud. But after
a Avliile she added, conscience compelling her, * She sang
very nicely, Augusta ; she has a pretty voice.'
' She has plenty of voice, but she cannot sing a note,'
Slid Augusta, with vehemence, who was herself, without any
voice to speak of, a very well-trained musician. She would
not say any more to frighten Lady Caroline, but she took her
measures Avithout delay, xind the result of Augusta's en-
quiries was that RoUo found his feet entjingled in a web of
engagements which separated him from Lottie. But tliough
he was sore and angry, he had not given up Lottie, nor had
he any intention so to do. When, however, the day came
for Lottie's next lesson, ]Mrs. Daventry herseU did the Signor
the honour of calling upon him just before his pupil appeared.
' You know the interest I always took in Lottie. Please let
me stay. We have so many musical friends in town that I
am sure I can be of use to lier,' Mrs. Daventry said ; and the
consequence was that when Lottie and her companion
•entered the Signor's sitting-room, the great chair between
the fire and the window in which Mrs. O'Shaughnessy usually
placed herself was found to be already occupied by the much
greater lady, whose sudden appearance in this cordial little
company put everybody out. Augusta sat leaning back in
the big chair, holding a screen between her cheek and the
tire, her tine Paris bonnet, her furs, and her velvet making a
great appearance against the dark wall, and her smiles and
courtesy confounding every individual of the lamiliar party.
She was more refined, far less ol>jectionable than Polly, and
•did her spiriting in a very different way ; but there could
be little doubt that the fine artist was also tlie most effectual.
.She put the entire party out, from the least to the greatest,
tliough the sweetest of smiles was on her face. Even tho
i)ignor was not himself with this gracious personage super-
374 -WITHIN THE ri^ECINCTS.
intending his exertions. He was a good Englisli Tory, of
the most orthodox sentiments ; but he was at the same time
an impatient Italian, of despotic tastes, and did not easily
tolerate the position of second in his own house. EoUo,
who had determined to be present, whatever happened, but
who, by a refinement of cruelty, did not know his cousin
was coming, came in with all the ease of habit, and had
already betrayed the fact of his constant attendance at these
strange lessons, when Augusta called to him, covering him
with confusion. ' We shall be quite a family party,' she
said. ' I am so glad you t;d^;e an interest in poor Lottie too.'
Eollo could not but ask himself Avhat was the meanino; of this
sudden friendliness and interest; but he was obliged to
place himself by her side when she called him. And when
Lottie came in, at whom he not dare to look, his position
became very uncomfortable. Mrs. O'Shaughnessy, finding
her seat occupied, and herself compelled to take a lower
place, sat down on a chair near the door, with wrath which
made her countenance flame. She had stood up in the room a
minute before she seated herself, looking round for a more
comfortable place, and had greeted Mr. Ridsdale joyously as an
old friend. But even Rollo, usually so poUte, who never saw
her without doing his very best to make himself agreeable, even
he never attempted to introduce her to his cousin, and the good
woman sat down accordingly, against the Avail, silent and
fuming, while Augusta took the chief place. The stranger
in the midst of them turned the Avhole party upside doAvn.
Even Purcell was so occupied by the conversation that Avas
kept up in whispers by Augusta, in her corner, even during
the singing, that he missed to turn the leaA^es at the proper
moment. Augusta knoAV very Avell Avhat she Avas doing.
She had a respect for the Signor, but she had higher purposes
in hand. She kept Rollo by her side, and kept up a conver-
•sation Avith him through all, Avhich Avas, like her usual con-
versation, deeply perA'aded by the essence of society and
'the Upper Ten.' She kept it up in a Avhisper Avhen Lottie
began to sing. ' Don't you think she is handsome ? She is
a little like Lady Augustns Donjon about the eyes — don't you
think so? Oh, I never told you that good story about the
Augiistus Donjons,' said Mrs. Daventry ; and sh(} told her
story, all through the song, half audible.
* Wasn't it ftood ?' Auiiusta said : and tlien, ' That is such
FAMILY PUTV : BY A FIXEII ARTIST. 375
a pretty song ; and, Lottie, yoxi are so improved, I should
never have known it to be the same voice. Yes, wasn't it
good, liollo ? Augustus Donjon is always the first to laugli
himself, and even the children have got it in the nursery.
She is such a jolly woman, she never minds. What are we
going to have next ? Oh, that will be very nice ! ' sjiid
Augusta.
Was it wonderful that Purcell should lose the place?
The young fellow did all he could to stop the fine lady with
furious glances ; and the Signor, though his back was turned
to her, felt the whisper and the indignity run through every
nerve of him. Evnn in his back you could see, Purcell
thought, how horribly annoyed he was. His sensitive shoul-
ders winced and shuddered, his elbows jerked. He could
not attend to his accompaniment, he could not attend to his
pujiil. In tlie very midst of a song he said aloud, dis-
tracted by the s's of a whisper which was louder than usual,
' This must never happen again.' As for Lottie, she did not
know what she was doing. She sang — because it was the hour
lor her lesson, because she found herself sttxnding there by the
side of the Signor's piano — but not for any other reason. She
had neither inspiration, nor had she that nascent sense that
Art might perhaps console for other losses which she had once
felt when Kollo was away. She was distracted by the whis-
pering behind her, from which she could not withdraw her
attention. Why did he listen? Why did he allow Augusta
to draw him into unfaithfulness to her ? And yet, how couhl
he help it? Was it not all Augusta's fault ? But with whom-
soever the fault lay, Lottie was the victim. Her voice could
not be got out. And the reader knows that Augxista was
right — tliat this poor girl, though she had the voice of an angel,
did not as yet know how to sing, and had no science to
neutralise the impressions made upon her which took away
all her heart and her voice. She went on making a brave
fight ; but when once the Signor faltered in his accompani-
ment, and said loud out, ' This must never happen again,'
and when Puicell forgot to turn the page, what is it to be
supposed Lottie could do, who was not the tenth part of a
musician such as they Avere ? She faltered, she went wrong.
Tune she could not help keeping, it was in her nature : even
her Avrong notes were never out of harmony ; but in time she
•went wildly floundering, not even kept right by the Signer.
376 \nTHIN THE PRECINCTS.
Even that did not matter very much, seeing that none of these
people, who generally were so critical, so censorious, so ready
to be hard upon her out of pure anxiety for her, were in a
state of mind to perceive the mistakes she was making. And
it was only vaguely that Lottie herself was aware of them.
Her whole attention was attracted in spite of herself by the
whispering in the corner.
' Oh thank you so much ! ' Augusta broke forth, when
she came to the end. ' What a charmina; bit that is. It is
Schubert, of course, bvit 1 don't know it. The time was a
little odd, but the melody was beautiful.'
' You know my weakness,' said the Signer stiffly, turning
round. ' I cannot answer for myself when people are talking.
I am capable of doing anything that is wrong.'
' Oh ! I remember,' cried Mrs. Daventry ; ' you used to
be very stern with all our little societies. Not a word were
we allowed to say. We all thought it hard, but of course it
was better for us in the long run. And are you as tyrannical
as ever, Signor ? '
' Not so tyrannical since ladies come here, and carry on
their charming conversation all the same. I only Avish I
could have profited by it. It seemed ami;sing and instructive.
If I were not imhappily one of those poor creatures who can
only do one thing at a time '
' Oh, Signor, how very severe you are ! ' said Augusta.
* I was only telling my cousin some old stories which I am
sure you must have heard weeks ago. You know the Donjons?
No ! Oh, I thought everybody knew the Augustus Donjons !
They go everywhere ; they have friends in music and friends
in art, and you meet all sorts of people at their house. Lottie,
when you are a great singer, I hope you Avill remember me,
and send me cards now and then for one of your concerts.
There are so many things going on now, and all so expensive,
that peojile in our circumstances really can't do everything.
Spencer has stalls Avhere we go when there is anything par-
ticular ; but I assure you, now-a-days, one can no more afford
a box at the opera ! You know, Signor ; but I daresay
your friends always find you places somewhere.'
' That is true. If everything else fails, a friend of mine
who plays second violin will lend me his instrument,' said the
Signor, ' or a box-keeper now and then will be glad of an
evening's holiday. They are biases, these people. They do
FAMILY DUTT : UT A FINER ARTIST. 3/7
not care if Pattl sings. They will rather have a holiday and
go to a nmsic-hall.'
Augusta looked at her cousin, puzzled. She did not see the
irony. Alter all, she thought, there was not, perhaps, so very
much dift'erence between a musician and those perfectly
gentlemanlike people who showed you to your box or your
stall. She had often thought how nice they looked. The
Signer saw her bewilderment, and added, with a smile —
* You have never recognised me in my borrowed part ? '
' Oh, Signor ! — certainly not. I never meant to say any-
thing that would suggest — to imply anything that might
indeed, I hope you will not think I have been indiscreet,'
cried Augusta. ' But, Kollo, we must go, we must certainly
go. I told mamma you would come with me to see the old
Skeffingtons. Spencer is away, and I must return their call.
Signor, I do hope you will forgive me. I meant nothing
that was disagreeable. I am sure we are all put to worse
straits than that, in order to get a little amusement without
ruining ourselves. Oh, Kollo, please come away ! '
Rollo had snatched an instant as Lottie gathered her music
together. ' It is not my fault,' he said. ' She never lets me
alone. I did not know she was coming here to-day. Do not
put on that strange look.'
' Have I a strange look ? ' Lottie said. What ups and downs
were hers ! — the other day so triumphant, and now again so
cast down and discouraged. The tears were standing in her
eyes, but she looked at him bravely. ' It does not matter,'
she said ; ' perhaps she does not mean it. It takes away my
heart, and then I have not any voice.'
' Oh, my love ! ' he whispered under his breath. ' And I
must put up with it all. At the elir.-tree, dear, to-night.'
* Oh, no, no ! ' she said.
* Why no no ? it is not my fault. Dear, for pity '
'What are you siiying to Miss Despard, liollo? I am
jealous of you, Lottie ; my cousin never comes to my lessons.
And, indeed, I wonder the Signor allows it. It is very de-
lightful for us, but how you can work, really U'07'k with such
a train ! ' Augusta turned roimd and looked severely at Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy. 'If I were the Signor I should not admit
one creature except your maid.'
But this was an indignity which mortal could not endure.
The kind Irishwoman rose to lier feet as quickly as the low
378 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
chair would permit. ' And sure, I agree with the lady,' she
said. 'Lottie, me love, I can bear a deal for you, and I've
stood your friend through thick and thin, as all here knows.
But come again to the Signer's I won't, not if you were to go
down on your knees — unless he gives his word of honour that
them that hasn't a scrap of manners, them that don't know
how to behave themselves, that whispers when you're singing,
and interrupts when you're speaking, will never be here again
to insult you — at least not when Mistress O'Shaughnessy's
here.'
Leaving this fine outburst of indignation to vibrate through
the room, Mrs. O'Shaughnessy turned upon her heel, and,
grasping Lottie by the arm, took the pas from Augusta, and
marched out with blazing eyes and countenance flushed with
war. ' Ye can bring the music,' she said to old Pick, v/ho had
been listening, and whose disappointment at Lottie's breakdown
was great, ' and there'll be a shilling for you. I'd scorn to be
beholden to one of them.' Eollo made an anxious attempt,
but in vain, to catch Lottie's eyes as she was swept past him.
But Lottie would not return his glance. Augusta had done a
great deal more execution with her subtle tactics than Polly
with hers — which, perhaps, were not more brutal because
they were so much less refined.
' What an odious Avoman ! ' Augusta cried ; ' walking out of
the room before me. But, Hollo, she was quite right, though
she was so impudent. You ought not to go there. Mamma
says you want Lottie Despard for your new opera. She would
never do. She has a voice, but she doesn't know how to sing.
A good audience would never put up with her.'
' That is all a mistake,' said Rollo ; ' it may be very well to
know how to sing, but it is much better to have a voice.'
* I could not have supposed you were so old-fashioned ;
never say that in public if you want anyone to have any
opinion of you. But even if you are so sure of her you should
keep away ; you should not interfere with her training. The
fact is,' said Augusta, very seriously, ' I am dreadfully afraid
you have got into some entanglement even now.'
* You are very kind,' said Rollo, smiling, ' to take such
care of me.'
' I wish I could take a great deal more care. I am almost
sure you have got into some entanglement, though, of course,
you will say no. But, Rollo, you know, you might as well
ANOTHER CHANCE. 070
hang yourself at once. You could never hold up your head
again. I don't know what on earth would become of you.
Uncle Courtland would wash his hands of you, and what
could any of your ixiends do ? It would be moral suicide,'
said Augusta, Avith solemnity. ' I told you about young
Jonquil, and the state he was in. Rollo ! that's the most;
miserable thing that can happen to a man ; other things may
go wrong, and mend again ; your people may interpose, or a
hundred things may happen ; but this sort of thing is without
hope. Oh, Rollo, take it to heart ! There are many things
a man may do that don't tell half so much against him. You
would be poor, and everybody would give you up. For good-
ness' sake, Rollo, think of what I say.'
He gave her an answer Avhich was not civil ; and, as he
went along by her side to old Canon Skeffington's there sud-
denly gleamed across his mind a recollection of the elm-tree
on the Slopes, and all the sweetness of the .stolen hours which
had passed there. And Lottie had said • No.' Why should
she have said ' No ? ' It seemed to him that he cared for
nothing else so much as to knoAV why for this first time she
had refused to meet him. Had she begun to understand his
proposition ? had she found out what it Avas he meant ? "Was
.she afraid of him, or indignant, or ? But she had not
looked indignant. Of all things in the world, there was
nothing he wanted so much as to know what Lottie meant by
that refusal. Yet, notwithstanding, he did take to heart what
Augusta said.
CHAPTER XXXVIL
ANOTHEU CHANCE.
INIr. Ashford, the INIinor Canon, had, anyone would have sup-
posed, as tranquil yet as pleasantly occupied a life as a man
could have. He had not very much of a clergyman's work to
do. There was no need for him to harass himself about the
poor, who are generally a burden upon the shoulders or hung
about the neck of the parisli piiest ; he was free from that
weight which he had found himself unable to bear. He had
only the morning and evening prayers to think of, very rarely
i?80 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
even a sermon. Most clergymen like that part of their duties ;
they like to have it in their power to instruct, to edify, or even
to torture the commvmity in general, with perfect safety from
any reprisals ; but Ernest Ashford in that, as in many other
things, Avas an exception to the general rule in his profession.
He was not fond of sermons, and consequently it Avas a
very happy thing for him that so few were required of him.
He was now and then tormented by his pupils, which brought
his life within the ordinary conditions of humanity ; otherwise,
■with his daily duty in the beautiful Abbey, which was a de-
light to him, and the leisure of his afternoons and evenings,
and the landscape that lay under his window, and the antique
grace of his little house, and all his books, no existence could
have been more unruffled and happy. He was as far lifted
above those painful problems of common life which he could
not solve, and which had weighed upon him like personal
burdens in the beginning of his career, as his window was
above the lovely sweep of country at the foot of the hill.
What had he to do but sing Handel, to read and to muse, and
to be content? These were the natural conditions of his
life.
But it would appear that these conditions are not fit for
perverse humanity ; for few indeed are the persons so happily
exempt from ordinary troubles who do not take advantage of
every opportunity to drag themselves into the arena and
struggle like their neighbours. Mr. Ashford did this in what
may be called the most wanton and unprovoked way. What
business had ho to take any interest in Lottie Despard ? She
was out of his sphere ; the Abbey stood between them, a sub-
stantial obstacle ; and many things a great deal more im-
portant — social differences, circumstances that tended to separ-
ate rather than to bring together. And it was not even in the
orthodox and regular way that he had permitted this girl to
trouble his life. He might have fallen in love with her, seeing
her so often in the Abbey (for Lottie's looks were remarkable
enough to attract any man), and nobody could have found iault.
It is true, a great many people would have found fault, in all
likelihood people Avho had nothing to do with it and no right
to interfere, but who would, as a matter of course, have pitied
the poor man who had been beguiled, and indignantly de-
nounced the designing girl ; but no one would have had any
right to interfere. As a clergyman of the Church of England
Wr. Ashford had absolute freedom to fall in love if he pleased,
AKOTIIER CIIAKCE. 381
and to marry if he pleased, and nobody would have dared to
say a word. But he had not done this ; he had not fallen in love,
and he did not think of marriage; butbeinghiraself too tranquil
in his well-being, without family cares or anxieties, perhaps
out of the very forlornness of his happiness, his attention had
been fixed — was it upon the first person ho had encountered
in the midst of a moral struggle harder, and therefore nobler,
than his own quiescent state ? Perhaps this Avas all. He
could never be sure whether it was the girl fighting to keep
her father and brother out of the mire, fighting with them to
make them as honest and brave as herseltj or whether it was
simply Lottie tliat interested him. Possibly it was better noS
to enter into this question. She was the most interesting per-
son within his range. His brethren the Canons, Minor and
Major, were respectable or dignified clergymen, very much
like the rest of the profession. Within the Abbey precincts
there was nobody with any particular claim upon the sympathy
of his fellows, or whose moral position demanded special in-
terest. The Uxbridges were anxious aboiit their son, who
was a careless boy, not any better than Law ; but then the
father and mother were quite enough to support that anxiety,
and kept it to themselves as much as possible. It was not a
matter of life and death, as in Law's case, who had neither
father nor mother to care what became of him, but only Lottie
— a creature who herself ought to have been cared for and re-
moved far from all such anxieties. Even the deficiency in
Lottie's character — the pain with which she was brought to
see that she must herself adopt the profession which was
within her reach, and come out from the shelter of homo and
the menial work with which she was contented, to earn money
and make an independence for herself — had given her a ^^rmer
hold upon the spectator, who, finding himself imable to>
struggle against the world and liimself, had withdrawn from
that combat, yet never could quite pardon himself for having
withdrawn. She, poor child, could not withdraw ; she was
compelled to confront the thing she hated by sheer force of
necessity, and had done so — compelled, indeed, but only as
those who can are comnelled. Would she have fled from the
contemplation of want and pain as he had done? Would she
have allowed herself incapable to bear the consequences of the
duty set before her, whatever it might be ? Sometimes Mr.
Ashford would ask himself this question : though what could
382 ■VVITIIIN THE PnECINCTS.
be more ridiculous than the idea that a girl of twenty could
judge better than a man of five-and-thirty ? But he was in-
terested in her by very reason of her possession of qualities
which he did not possess. He had given her good advice,
and she had taken it ; but even while he gave it and j^ressed
it upon her he had been thinking Avhat would she have said
to his problems, how would she have decided for him ? All
this increased his interest in Lottie. He realised, almost more
strongly than she did herself, all the new difficulties that sur-
rounded her ; he divined her love, which pained him not less
than the other troublous circumstances in her lot, since he
could not imagine it possible that any good could come out of
such a connection. That Rollo Ridsdale would marry anyone
but an heiress his superior knowledge of the world forced him
to doubt ; he could not believe in a real honest love, ending in
marriage, between the Chevalier's daughter and Lady Caroline's
nephew. And accordingly this, which seemed to Lottie to
turn her doubtful future into a certainty of happiness, seemed
to Mr. Ashford the worst of all the dangers in her lot. It
would be no amusement for her, as it would be for the other ;
and what was to become of the girl with her father's wife in
possession of her home and such a lover in possession of her
heart ? His sj^ectatorship got almost more than he could bear
at times ; nobody seemed to see as he did, and he was the last
person in the world who could interfere to save her. Could any-
one saveher ? He could not tell ; heknew no oneAvho would take
the office upon himself; but least of all could he do it. He
Avatched with interest which had grown into the profoundest
anxiety — an anxiety which in its turn was increased tenfold
by the sense that there was nothing which he could do.
Such Avere the feelings in his mind when the Signor joined
him on his homeward way after service on the afternoon when
Mrs. Daventry had so interrupted Lottie's lesson. Augusta
had sailed up the aisle and out by the door in the cloisters
which adjoined the Deanery, as they came out of the room where
all the surplices were hanging in their old presses, and where the
clergy robed themselves. The two men came out when the
rustle and flutter of the party of ladies were still in tlie air,
and old Wykeham looking after them with cynical criticism.
The hassocks in the aisles, which had been placed there for
the convenience of the overflowing conQ-resrations, too jjreat for
the Abbey choir, which crowded every corner now and then,
AXOTnER CHANCE. 383
were all driven about like boats at sea by the passage of these
billows of trailing silk, and "Wykeham had stooped to put them
back into their places. Stooping did not suit the old man,
and he could not do without his natural growl. ' I wish they'd
stick to 'em,' he said ; ' plenty of dirt sticks to 'em. They
sweeps up the aisles and saves us trouble ; but I'd just like one
o' them heavy hassocks to stick.'
' And so should I,' said the Signor under his breath.
*They are insufferable,' he said with vehemence as he emerged
into the cloister. ' I have made up my mind I shall not allow
any intrusion again.'
' Who are in.'^ufferable, and what is the intrusion you are
going to prevent? ' said the Minor Canon with a smile.
'Ashford,' said the Signor with much heat, 'I am not
going to have you come any more to Miss Despard's lessons.
Don't say anything to me on the subject; I know all about
interest and so forth, but I can't permit it. It's ruin to her,
and it irritates me beyond bearing. Interest ? if you take
any real interest in her you would see that nothing could be
less for her welfare, nothing more destructive of any chances
she may have '
' My dear Eossinetti, I never was present at Miss Despard's
lesson but once.'
'It was once too much, then,' the Signor cried. 'The
girl is getting ruined. That woman, that Mrs, Daventry —
you should have heard her whispering behind our backs with
her fon in front of her face, then stopping a moment to say,
"What a pretty song : how much you have improved." '
The Signor made an attempt to mimic Augusta, but he had
no talent that way, and the mincing tone to which he gave
utterance was like nothing that had ever been heard before.
But if his imitation was bad his disgust was quite genuine.
He could not think of anything else; he returned again and
again to the subject as tliey went on.
' The upper classes,' he said, ' are famous for good manners.
This is their good manners: Two of them thrust themselves
in for their amusement to a place where a poor girl is working
hard at art, and a man who has spent most of his life in learn-
ing is trying to transmit his knowledge to her. And the mo-
ment that girl begins singing thcij begin their loathsome chat-
ter about Mr. this and My Lady that. Do not say anything
to me, Ashford ; I tell you, you shall not come, you nor any-
one else again.'
384 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' Is she making progress? ' said the Minor Canon.
'Progress? how could she with that going on? No;
sometimes she will sing like an angel, sometimes like — anyone.
It drives me wild ! And then our gracious patrons appear^
Mr. Eidsdale (who ought to know better) and Mrs. Daventrj.
I ought to know better too ; I will defend my doors from
henceforth. To be sure, I did not mean that ; yo^i may come
if you like.'
'And Mr. Eidsdale talked? How did she bear it?' said
Mr. Ashford nervously.
' It is I who will not bear it,' said the musician. 'And
these are people Avho pretend to love music — pretend to know:
it is insufferable. If she ever becomes a great singer '
' If ? I thought you had no doubt.'
' How was I to know I should be intruded upon like
this ? Poor girl. I think, after all, the best thing for
her will be to marry my boy, John Purcell, and live a quiet
life.'
'Marry— Purcell?'
' Why not ? He is a very good musician ; he will live to
make a great deal of money : he has genius — positively
genius. The best thing she could do would be to marry
him. She is too sensitive. Susceptibility belongs to the artist
temperament, but then it must be susceptibility within
control. Her voice flutters like a flame when the wind is
blowing. Sometimes it blows out altogether. And he loves
her. She will do best to marry my John.'
' You cannot have so little perception, Rossinetti. How
can you entertain such an idea for a moment ? Purcell ? '
' In Avhat is he so inferior ? ' said the Signor with quiet
gravity. ' He is young, not like you and me. That is a
great deal. He is an excellent musician, and he has a home
to offer to her. I should advise it if she would take my
advice. It woidd not harm her in her career to marry a
musician, if finally she accepts her career. She has not
accepted it yet,' siiid the Signor with a sigh.
' Then all your certainty is coming to nothing,' said Mr.
Ashford, ' and Ridsdale's '
'Ah, Ridsdale — that is what harms her. Something might
be done if he were out of the way. He is an influence that is
too much for me. Either she has heard of his new opera, and
expects to have her place secured in it, under his patron-
ANOTHER CHANCE. 885
age, or else she hopes — something else.' The Signer kept
his eyes fixed upon his companion. lie ^Yanted to surprise
Mr. Ashford's opinion without giving his own.
' Do you think,' said the Minor Canon indignantly, * even
with the little you know of her, that she is a girl to calculate
upon having a place secured to her, or upon anyone's patron-
age ? '
' Then she hopes for — something else ; which is a great
deal worse for her happiness,' said the Signor. Then there
was a pause. They had reached Mr. Ashford's door, but he
did not ask his companion to go in. The Signor paused, but
he had not ended what he had to say : ' With the little I
know of her ' — he said — ' do you know more ? '
This was not an easy question to answer. He could not
say, I have been watching her for weeks ; I know almost all
that can be foimd out ; but, serious man as he wan, jNIr.
Ashford was embarrassed. He cleared his throat, and indeed
even went through a fit of coughing to gain time. * Her
brother is my pupil,' he said at last, ' and, unfortunately, he
likes better to talk than to work. I have heard a great deal
about her. I think I know enough to say that she Avould not
hope — anything that she had not been wooed and persuaded
to believe in '
' Then you think — you really suppose — you are so credu-
lous, so optimist, so romantic,' cried the Signor with a
crescendo of tone and gesticulation — ' you think that a man
of the world, a man of society, with no money, would marry
— for love ? '
The musician broke into a short laugh. * You should
have heard them,' he added after a dramatic pause, ' this very
day whispering, chuchoteing, in my room while she was
singing — talking — oh, don't you know what about? About
girls who marry rich men while (they say) their hearts are
breaking for poor ones — about women using the most shame-
less arts to entrap a rich man, and even playing devotion to
a woman with money ; and the only one to be really pitied of
all is the poor fellow, who has followed his heart, who is poor,
who lives at Kew, and has two babies in a perambulator. I
laugh at him myself,' said the Signor — 'the fool, to give up his
club and society because he took it into his silly head to love!'
'Rossinetti,' said the Minor Canon, 'I know there are
quantities of these wretched stories about ; but human naturo
cc
o
386 WITHIX THE PRECINCTS.
is human nature, after all, not the pitiful thing they make it
out. I don't believe they are true.'
' What ! after all the newspapers — the new branch of
literature that has sprung from them ? ' cried the Signer.
Then he paused again and subsided. 'I am of your opinion,*
he said. ' The fire would come down from heaven if it
was true ; but they believe it : that is the curious thing.
You and I, we are not in Society ; we are charitable ; we
say human nature never was so bad as that ; but they believe
it. EoUo Ridsdale would be ashamed to behave like a man,
as you and I would feel ourselves forced to behave, as my boy
John is burning to do.'
' You and I.' The IMinor Canon scarcely knew how it
was that he repeated these words ; they caught his ear and
dropped from his lips before he was aware.
The Signer looked at him with a smile Avhich was half
satire and a little bit sympathy. He said, ' That is what you
are coming to, Ashford. I see it in your eye.'
' You are speaking — folly,' said Mr. Ashford ; then he add-
ed hastily, ' I have got one of my boys coming. I must go in.'
' Good day,' said the other with his dark smile. He had
penetrated the secret thoughts that had not as yet taken any
definite form in his friend's breast. Sometimes another eye
sees more clearly than our own what is coming uppermost
in our minds — or at least its owner believes so. The Signer
was all the more likely to be right in this, that he had no
belief m the calm sentiment of ' interest ' as actuating a man
not yet too old for warmer feelings, in respect to a woman.
He smiled sardonically at Platonic affection — as most people
indeed do, unless the case is their own. He knew but one
natural conclusion in such circumstances, and settled that it
would be so without more ado. And such reasoning is sure
in the majority of cases to be right, or to help to make itself
riglit by the mere suggestion. To be sure he took an ' interest'
— a great interest — in Lottie himself ; but that was in the way
of art.
Mr. Ashford had no boy coming that he knew of when he
said this to escape from the Signer; but, as sometimes
happens, the expedient justified itself, and he had scarcely
stated himself in his study when someone came up the oak
staircase two or three steps at a time, and knocked at his
door. In answer to the ' Come in,' which was said with
ANOTHER CHANCE. 387
some impatience — for the JNIinor Canon had a great deal to
think about, and had just decided to subject himself to
a cross-examination — who should open tlie door but Law
Law, Avithoutan book under his arm, and with a countenance
much more awake and alive than on the occasions when he
carried that sign of study. ' Can 1 speak to you ? ' Law
said, casting a glance round the room to see that no one else
Avas there. He came in half suspicious, but with serious
meaning on his face. Then he came and placed himself in
the chair which stood between Mr. Ashford's Avriting-table
and his bookcases. ' I want to ask your advice,' he said.
' Well ; I have done notliing else but give you my advice
for some time past, LaAv.'
* Yes — to work — I knoAV. You have given me a great
deal of that sort of advice. What good is it, Mr. Ashford ?
I've gone on Aveek after Aveek, and Avhat Avill it ever come
to ? Well, I knoAV Avhat you are going to say. I Avork, but
I don't Avork. I don't care a bit about it. 1 haven't got my
heart in it. It is quite true. But you can't change your
disposition ; you can't change your nature,'
' Stop a little, LaAv. So far as Avork is concerned you
oflen can, if you Avill '
' Ah, but there's the rub,' said LaAv, looking his Mentor
in the lace. ' I don't Avant to — that is the simple fact. I
don't feel that I've the least desire to. I feel as if I Avon't
even AA-hen I knoAv I ought. I think it's more honest noAV
at last to tell you the real truth.'
' I think I kncAv it pretty aa-cII some time ago,' said the
Minor Canon Avith a smile. 'It is a very common complaint.
Even that can be got over Avith an effort. Indeed, I am glad
you have found it out. Perhaps even, you knoAV, it is net
yoiu- brain at all but your Avill that is at fault.'
■' Mr. Ashford,' said LaAv solemnly, ' Avhat is the good of
talking ? You knoAv and I knoAv that I never could make
anything of it if I Avere to Avork, as we call it, till I Avas
fifty. I never could pass any examination. They Avould be
fools indeed if they let me in. I am no real good for any-
thing like that. You knoAV it Avell enough ; Avhy shouldn't
you say it? Here are you and me alone — nobody to over-
hear us, nobody to be vexed. What is the use of going on
in the old Avay ? I shall never do any good. You knoAV it
just as Avell as I.'
c c 2
388 WITUIN THE PRECINCTS.
* Law,' said Mr. Asliford, ' I will not contradict you. I
believe you are right. If there was any other way of
making your living I should say you were right. Books are
not your natural tools ; but they open the door to everything.
The forest service, the telegraph service — all that sort of
thing would suit you.'
At this point Law got up with excitement, and began
walking up and down the room. ' That is all very well,' he
said. ' Mr. Ashford, what is the use of deceiving ourselves ?
I shall never get into any of these. I've come to ask your
advice once for all. I give up the books ; I could only waste
more time, and I've wasted too much already. It has come
to this : I'll emigrate or I'll 'list. I don't see how I'm to do
that even, for I've no money — not enough to take me to
London, let alone Australia. Why shouldn't I do the other ?
It's good enough; if there was a war it Avouldbe good enough.
Even garrison duty I shouldn't mind. It wouldn't hurt mi/
pride,' the lad said with a sudden flush of colour that belied
his words; 'and I misht go away from here, so that it
would not hurt he7\ That's all, Mr. Ashford,' he said with
suppressed feeling. ' Only her — she's the only one that
cares; and if I went away from here she would never
know.'
' Has anything haj^pened to drive you to a decision at once ?
Is there anything new — anything ? '
' There is always something new,' said Law. ' That
woman has been to — to the only place I ever cared to go — to
shut the door against me. They were her own friends too —
at least people as good as — a great deal better than she. She
has been there to bully them on my account, to say they are
not to have me. Do you think I'll stand that ? What has
she to do with me?'
' It must be a great deal worse for your sister, Law.'
' Well, isn't that Avhat I say ? Do you think I can stand
by and see Lottie bullied ? Once she drove her out of the
house. By Jove, if Lottie hadn't come home I'd have killed
her. I shouldn't have stopped to think ; I should have killed
her,' said Law, whose own wrong had made him desperate.
* Do you think I can stand by and see Lottie bullied by that
woman ? She's brought it partly upon herself. She was too
hard in the* house with her management both upon the go-
venor and nie. She meant it well, but she was too hard. But
ANOTHER CHANCE. 389
Still she's Lottie, and I can't see her put upon. Do you thinlc
I am made of stone,' cried Law indignantly, ' or something
worse than stone ? '
' But if you were in Australia what better would she be ?
There you would certainly be of no use to her.'
Law was momentarily staggered, but he recovered himself.
* She would know I was doing for myself,' he said, ' which
might mean something for her, too, in time. I might send for
lier. At least,' said the lad, ' she woidd not have me on her
hands; she would only have herself to think of; and if she
got on in her singing — the fact is, I can't stand it, and one way
or other I must get away.'
' What would you do if you were in Australia, Law ? '
' Hang it all ! ' said the young man, tears of vexation and
despite starting to his eyes, ' a fellow must be good for some-
thing somewhere. You can't be useless all round ; I'm strong
enough. And here's one thing I've found out,' Law added
with a laugh : ' it doesn't go against your pride to do things in
the Colonies which you durstn't do here. You can do — what-
ever you can do out there. It doesn't matter being a gentle-
man. A gentleman can drive a cart or carry a load in Austra-
lia. That is the kind of place for me. I'd do whatever turned
up.'
Said Mr. Ashford suddenly, * I know a man out there — '
and then he paused. ' Law, what would your sister do ?
There would be no one to stand by her. Even you, you have
not much in your power, but you are always someone. You
can give her a little sympathy. Even to feel that there are
two of you must be something.'
' ^[r. Ashford,' said Law, ' you will do her more good than
I should. What have I been to poor Lottie ? Only a trouble.
Two of us — no ; I can't take even that to myself. I've worried
her more than anything else. She would be the first to thank
you. You know a man ? '
' I know a man,' said the Minor Canon — ' I had forgotten
him till now — a man who owes me a good turn ; and I think
he would pay it. If I were sure you would really do your best,
and not forget the claims she has upon your kindness '
' Would you like me to send lor her as soon as I had a
home for her ? ' Law asked with fervour. There was a
subdued twinkle in his eye, but yet he was too much in earnest
not to be ready to make any promise.
390 wiTnm the precincts.
' That would be the right thing to do,' said the Minor
Canon with excessive gravity, ' though perhaps the bush is not
exactly the kind of place to suit her. If you will promise to
do your very best '
< I will,' said the lad, ' I will. I am desperate otherwise ;
you can see for yourself, Mr. Ashford. Give me only an
opening ; give me anything that I can work at. If I were to
'list I never should make much money by that. There's only
just this one thing,' said Law : ' If I had a friend to go to, and
a chance of employment, and would promise to pay it back, I
suppose I might get a loan somewhere — a loan on good interest,'
he continued, growing anxious and a little breathless — ' per-
haps from Die of those societies, or some old money-lender, or
something — to take me out ? '
The Minor Canon laughed. ' If this is what you are really
set upon, and you will do your best,' he said, * I will see your
father, and you need not trouble your mind about the interest.
Perhaps we shall be able to manage that.'
* Oh, Mr. Ashford, what a good fellow you are ! what a
good friend yoix are ! ' cried Law, beaming Avith happiness.
The tears once more came into his eyes, and then there came a
glow of suppressed malice and fun behind that moisture.
' Lottie will be more obliged even than I,' he said ; ' and I
could send for her as soon as I get settled out there.'
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
LOTTIE RESENTFUL.
Lottie was sadly disheartened by the events of that day. She
came home alike depressed and indignant, her heart and her
pride equally wounded. She had scarcely seen Rollo for the two
intervening days, and the meeting at the Signor'shad appeared
to her before it came a piece of happiness which was certain,
and with which no one could interfere. He would resist all
attempts to wile him away for that afternoon, she was sure ;
he Avould not disappoint her and take all her inspiration from
her again. Since that last meeting under the elm-tree she had
been more full of happy confidence in him than ever. His
readiness and eagerness to take her away at once, overcoming,
LOTTIE RESENTFUL. 301
as she thought, all the scruples and prejudices of his class, in
order to secure deUverance for her, had filled her mind with
that soft glow of gratitude which it is so sweet to feel to those
we love. The elation and buoyant sense of happiness in her
mind had iloated her over all the lesser evils in her path.
What did they matter, what did anything matter, in com-
parison.' She was magnanimous, tolerant, ready to believe
the best, unready to be offended because of this private solace
of happiness in her bosom, but all the more for those imdoubt-
ing certainties she had felt the contrast of the actual scene.
She did not even think that Kollo might be innocent of his
cousin's visit, or that he knew nothing of her coming till he
had walked unawares into the snare. Lottie did not know
this. She saw him by Augusta's side, talking to her and listen-
ing to her. She was conscious through all her being of the
rustle and whispering behind her, which went on in spite of
her singing. She would not look at him to see what piteous
apologies ho was making with his eyes, and w'hen Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy in sudden wrath dragged her away Lottie was
glad of the sudden exit, the little demonstration of offence and
independence of which she herself might have failed to take the
initiative. She went home tingling with the wound, her
nerves excited, her mind irritated. She would not go to meet
him, as he had asked her. She went home instead, avoiding
everybody, and shut herself up in her own room. She was
discouraged too and deeply annoyed with herself, because in
the presence of the unkindly critic who had been listening to
her, Lottie felt she had not done well. Generally her only
care, her only thought, was to please RoUo ; but that day she
would have wished for the inspiring power that now and then
came upon her, as when she had sung in the Abbey not know-
ing of his presence. She would have Uked to sing like that, over-
awing Augusta and her whispering ; but she had not done so.
She had liiiled while that semi-lk-iend who was her enemy
looked on. She felt, with a subtle certainty beyond all need
of proof, that Augusta was her enemy. Aiigusta had at once
suspected, though Rollo had said that she would never suspect;
and she wanted to make her cousin see how little Lottie was his
equal, how even in her best gifts she was nothing. It was bitter
to Lottie to think that she had done all she could to prove
Augusta right. Why was it that .she could not sing then, as,
two or three times in her life, she had felt able to sing, con-
392 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
founding all who had been unfavourable to her? Lottie
chafed at the failure she had made. She was angry with her-
self, and this made her more angry both with Augusta and
with him. In the heat of her self-resentment she began tc
sing over her music softly to herself, noting where she had
failed. Had the Signor been within hearing hoAV he would
have rejoiced over that self-instruction. Her friends had been
so much mortified that it opened her eyes to her own faults.
She saw where she had been wrong. There is no such stimu-
lant of excellence as the sense of having done badly. Lottie's
art education advanced under the sting of this failure as it
had never done before. She threw herself into it with fervour.
As she ran over the notes she seemed to hear the ' sibilant s's '
behind her, pursuing her, and the chance words she had caught.
'Like him — she did not care a straw for him.' ' The old lady
made it all up,' ' and the settlements Avere astonishing.' That
and a great deal more Lottie's jealous ears had picked up, al-
most against her will, and the words goaded her on like so-
many pricks. She thought she never could suffer it to be
possible that Augusta or any other fine lady should do less
than listen when she sung again.
While Lottie sat there cold in the wintry twilight (yet
warm with injured pride and mortification) till there was
scarcely light enough to see, humming over her music, Rollo,.
getting himself with difficulty free of his cousin and all the
visitors and commotion of the Deanery, ruslied up to the elm-
tree, and spent a very uncomfortable moment there, waiting in
the cold, and wondering if it Avas possible that she would not
come. It did not occur to him that Lottie, always so acqui-
escent and persuadable, could stand out noAV, especially as he
was not really to blame. He stood about under the elm, noAv
and then taking a little walk up and doAvn to keep himself
warm, watching the light steal out of the wide landscape and
everything darken round him, for half an hour and more.
No one was there; not an old Chevalier ventured upon a
turn in the dark, not a pair of lovers confronted the north
wind. Eollo shivered, though he was more warmly clad than
Lottie would have been. He Avalked up and down Avith an
impatience that helped to keep him warm, though with dis-
may that neutralised that livelier feeling. He had no desire
to lose his love in this Avay. It might be foolish to imperil
his comfort, his position, his very living, for her, but yet noAV
LOTTIE RESENTFUL. 303
at least Rollo had no intention of throwing her away. He
knew why she sang badly that afternoon, and instead of
alarming him this knowledge brought a smile upon his face.
Augusta had behaved like a woman without a heart, and
Lottie was no tame girl to bear whatever anyone pleased, but
a creature full of fire and spirit, not to be crushed by a
fashionable persecutor. Eollo felt it hard that he should wait
in the cold, and be disappointed after all ; but he was not
angry with Lottie. She had a right to be displeased. He
was all the more anxious not to lose her, not to let her get free
from him, that she had thus asserted herself. His love, which
had been a little blown about by those fashionable gales that
had been blowing round him, blazed up all the hotter for this
temporary restraint put upon it. She who had trusted him
with such an exquisite trust only the other evening, who had
not in her innocence seen anything but devotion in the sudden
proposal into which (he persuaded himself) only passion could
have hurried him — her first rebellion against him tightened
the ties that bound him to her. Give her up ! it would be
giving up heaven, throwing away the sweeiest thing in his
life. He was cold, but his heart burned as he paced his little
round, facing the north wind and listening for every rustling
sound among the withered leaves that lay around him, thinking
it might be her step. The darkness, and the chill, and the
solitude all seemed to show him more clearly how sweet the
intercourse had been which had made him unconscious of
either darkness or cold before. Augusta repeating her endless
monotonous stories of universal guile and selfishness had made
him half ashamed of his best feelings. He was ashamed now
of her and her influence, ashamed of having been made her
tool for the humiliation of his love. What a difference there
was between them ! "Was there anyone else in the world so
tender, so pure, so exquisite in her love and trust, as Lottie,
the creature whose sensitive heart he had been made to
wound ? When at last, discouraged and penitent, he turned
homeward, Kollo had the intention trembling in his mind of
making Lottie the most complete amends for everything that
had ever been done to harm her. He paused at the gates of
the cloister, and looked across at the light in her window with
a yearning which surprised him. He seemed to have a
thousjind things to say to her, and to be but half a being
when he had not her to confide in, to tell all his affairs to —
o94 \nTHIN THE PRECINCTS,
although he had never told her one of his affairs. This fact
did not seem to affect his lonsino;. He went so far as to walk
across the Dean's Walk, to see what he thought was her
shadcnv on the blind. It was not Lottie's shadow, but Polly's
who had taken her place ; but this the lover did not know.
Mt^anwhile Lottie had been disturbed in her seclusion by
a s'larp knock at her door. 'Do you mean to stay there all
night, Miss ? ' cried Polly's sharp voice. ' You might
pay me the compliment to keep me company now and
again as long as you stay in my house. It" you think it is
civil to stay there, shut up in your room, and me all alone
in the drawing-room, I don't. I can't think where your
hearts is. you two,' PoUv went on, a whimper breaking into the
tone of offence with which she spoke. ' To see one as is not
much older than yourself, and never did you no harm, and
nor a soul to keep her company. Was it for that I give up
all my own folks, to come and sit dressed up in a comer
because I'm Mrs. Despard, and never see a soul ? '
Lottie had opened her door before this speech was half
done. She said with a Httle alarm, ' Please don't speak so
loud. We need not let the maid in the kitchen know ! '
' Do you think I care for the maid in the kitchen ? She's
my servant, m make her know her place. Never one of
them sort of folks takes any freedom with me. I have always
been known for one as allowed no freedoms — no, nor no
followers, nor perquisites, nor nothing of the kind. They
soon find out as I ain't one to be turned round their finder.
Ni)W you,' said Polly, leading the way into the little drawing-
room, ' you're one of the soft sort. I dare say they did what
they liked with yoia ! '
' I don't think so,' said Lottie, following. She put her
music softly down upon the old piano, which PoUy had
swathed in a cover, and the changed aspect of the room
moved her half to laughter, half to anger and dismay.
' There are few as knows themselves,' said Polly. ' That
girl, that Mary as you had, I couldn't have put up with her for
a dav. Some folks never sees when things is huggermugger.
but I'm very particular. Tour Pa— dear, good, easy man — I
dare say he's put up with a deal ; but to be sure no better
was to be expected, for you never had no training, I suppose ? '
Lottie was almost too much taken by surprise to reply —
she, who had felt that it' there was one thing in the world she
LOTTIE KESEKTFUL. 39i»
could do it -was house-keeping ! The confusion that is pro-
duced in the mind by the sudden perception of ancthef s
opinion of us which is diametrically opposed to her own seized
her; otherwise she would have been roused to instant ^vrath.
This, which was something so entirely opposite to what she
could have expected, raised only a kind of ludicrous bewilder-
ment in her mind. ' I — don't know what you mean,' said
Lottie. ' Papa has not very much money to give for house-
keeping. Perhaps you are making a mistake.'
' Oh, it is likely that I should make a mistake I Do you
think I don't know my own husband's income ? Do you think,'
said Polly with scorn, ' that he has any secrets from me ? '
Lottie was cold with her imprisonment in her fireless
room. She drew her little chair to the blazing fire and sat
down by the side. Polly had placed herself in the largest
chair in the room, directly in front of it. The fire was heaped
up in the little grate, and blazed, being largely supplied. It
was very comfortable, but it went against the rules of the
economy which Lottie had strenuously prescribed to herself.
' Papa spends a great deal of money himself,' she said ; ' you
will find that you must be very sparing at home.'
' My dear,' said Polly in a tone of condescending patronage
which brought the colour to Lottie's face, ' I am not one as
can be sparing at home. Pinching ain't my way. I couldn't
do it, not if I was to be made a countess for it. Some folks
can scrape and cut down and look after everything, but it
ain't my nature. What I like is a free hand. Plenty to eat
and plenty to drink, and no stinting nowhere — ^thaf s what
will always be the law in my house.'
' Lottie made no reply. She felt that it was almost a
failure from her duty to put out her hands to the warmth of
the too beautiful fire. Someone would have to suffer for it.
Her mind began to run over her own budget of ways and
means, to try, as had been her old habit, where she could
find something to cut off to make up for the extravagance,
' These coals bum very fast,' she said at last. ' They are
not a thrifty kind, I used to have the '
' I know,' said PoUy, • you used to have slates and think it
was economy — poor child ! — but the best for me : the best
is always the cheapest in the end. If anyone thinks as I will
put up with seconds, either coals or bread ! — but since we're
on the subject of money,' continued Polly, ' Til tell you my
396 vriTniN the precincts.
mind, I\Iiss, and I don't mean it unfrj^endly. The thing as eats
up my husband's money, it ain't a bright fire or a good dinner,
as is his right to have; it's your brother Law, Miss, and
you.'
' You have told me that before,' Lottie said, with a strenu-
ous eiFort at self-control.
'And I'll tell it you again — and again — till it has its
effect,' cried Polly : ' it's true. I don't mean to be unfriendly.
I wonder how you can live upon your Pa at your age. Why,
long before I was your age I was doing for myself. My Pa
was very respectable, and everybody belonging to us ; but do
you think I'd have stayed at home and eat up what the old
folks had for themselves ? They'd have kept me and wel-
come, but I wouldn't hear of it. And do you mean to say,'
said Polly, folding her arms and fixing he eyes iipon her step-
daughter, ' as you think yourself better than me ? '
Lottie returned the stare with glowing eyes, her lips falling
apart from very wonder. She gave a kind of gasp of bewil-
derment, but made no reply,
*I don't suppose as you'll say so,' said Polly; 'and why
shouldn't you think of your family as I did of mine ? You
mightn't be able to work as I did, but there's always things
you could do to save your Pa a little money. There's lessons.
There's nothing ungenteel in lessons. I am not one as would
be hard upon a girl just starting in the world. You've got
your room here, that don't cost you nothing; and what's a
daily governess's work ? Nothing to speak of — two or three
hours' teaching (or you might as well call it playing), and
your dinner with the children, and mostly with the lady of
the house — and all the comforts of 'ome after, just as if you
wasn't out in the world at all ; a deal different from sitting at
your needle, working, working, as I've done from morning to
night.'
' But I don't know anything,' said Lottie. * I almost
think you are quite right. Perhaps it is all true ; it doesn't
matter noAvadays, and ladies ought to work as well as men.
But — I don't know anything.' A half-smile came over her
face. Notwithstanding that she was angry with Hollo, still —
he who Avould have carried her away on the spot rather than
thr.t she should bear the shadow of a humiliation at home —
was it likely ? Lottie's mind suddenly leaped out of its
anger and resentment with a sudden rebound. He did not
LOTTIE RESENTFUL. 397
deserve that she should be so angry with him. Was it his
fault? and in forgiving him her temper and her heart got
suddenly right again, and all was well. She even woke to a
little amusement in the consciousness that Polly was advising her
for her good. The extravagant coals, the extravagant meals,
would soon bring their own piuiishment ; and though Lottie
could not quite iree herself from irritation on these points,
yet she Avas amused by the thought of all this good advice.
' That's nonsense,' said Polly promptly. ' Now here's a
way you could begin at once, and it would be practice for you,
and it would show at least that you was willing, I've been
very careless,' she said, getting up from her chair and opening
the old piano. She had to push off the cover first, and the
noise and commotion of this complicated movement filled Lottie
with alarm. ' I've done as a many young ladies do before
they see how silly it is. I've left off my music. You mayn't
believe it, but it's true. I can't tell even if I know my notes,'
said Polly, jauntily but clumsily placing her hands upon the
keyboard and letting one finger fall heavily here and there
like a hammer. 'I don't i-emember a bit. It's just like a
great silly, isn't it ? But you never think when you are young,
when your head's full of your young man and all that sort of
thing. It's when you've settled down, and got married, and
have time to think, that you find it out.'
Polly was a great deal less careful of her language as she
became accustomed to her new surroundings. She was fully
herself by this time, and at her ease. She sat down before
tl>e piano and ran her fingers along the notes. ' It's scandalous,'
she said. ' We're taught when we're young, and then we
thinks no more of it. Now, Miss, if you was willing to do some-
• thing for your living, if you was really well disposed and
wanted to make a return, you might just look up some of
your, old lesson-books and begin with me. I'd soon pick up,'
said Polly, making a nm of soimd up and down the keys with
the back of her fingers, and thinking it beautiful; 'it woidd
come back to me in two or three lessons. You needn't ex-
plain nothing about it ; we might just say as we were learning
some duets together. It would all come back to me if you
would take a little trouble; and I shouldn't forget it. I never
forget it when anyone's of use to me.'
' But,' cried Lottie, Avho had been vainly endeavouring to
break in, * I cannot play.'
398 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
* Cannot play ! ' Polly turned round upon the piano-stool
with a countenance of horror. Even to turn round upon that
stool was something delightful to her, like a lady in a book,
like one of the heroines in the Family Herald ; but this in-
timation chilled the current of her blood.
' No — only two or three little things, and that chiefly by
ear. I never learned as I ought. I hated it ; and I was
scarcely ever taught, only by — someone who did not know
much,' said Lottie with a compunction in her mind. Only by
someone who did not know much — This was her mother, poor
soul, whom Polly had replaced. Lottie's heart swelled as she
spoke. Poor, kind, silly mamma ! she had not known very
much ; but it seemed cruel to allow it in the presence of her
supplanter.
' Goodness — gracious — me ! ' said Polly. She said each
word separately, as if she were telling beads. She cast at
Lottie a glance of sovereign contempt. ' You to set up for
being a lady,' she cried, ' and can't play the piano ! I never
heard of such a thing in all my born days.'
If she had claimed not to be able to work, Polly could
have understood it ; but if there is a badge of ladyhood, or
even a pretence at ladyhood, in the world, is it not this ? She
was horrified ; it felt like a coming down in the world even to
Polly herself.
Again Lottie did not make any reply. She was simple
enough to be half ashamed of herself and half angry at the
criticism which for the first time touched her ; for it was a
fact that she was ignorant, and a shameful fact. She could
not defend, but she would not excuse herself. As for Polly,
there was in her a mingling of triumph and regret.
* I am surprised,' she said. ' I thought one who pretended
to be a lady ought at least to know that much. And you
ought to be a lady, I am sure, if ever anyone was, for your
Pa is a perfect gentleman. Dear, dear — if you can't play the
piano, goodness gracious, what have you been doing all your
life ? That was the one thing I thought Avas sure — and you
are musical, for I've heard as you could sing. If it's only
that you won't take any trouble to oblige,' paid Polly angrily,
' Sfxy it out. Oh, it won't be no surprise to me. I've seen it
in your face already — say it out ! '
' I have told you nothing but the truth,' snid Lottie. ' I
am sorry for it. I can sing — a little — but I can't play.'
LOTTIE RESENTFUL. 399
* It's just the same as if you said you could Avritc but
couldn't read,' said Polly ; ' but I've always been told as I've a
nice voice. It ain't your loud kind, that you could hear from
this to the Abbey, but sweet — at least so folks say. You can
teach me to sing if you like,' she said, after a paiise ' I never
learned singing. One will do as well as the other and easier
too.'
This was a still more desperate suggestion. Lottie quaUed
before the task that was offered to her. ' I can show you the
scales,' she said doubtfully ; ' that is the beginning of every-
thing ; but singing is harder to teach than playing. The
Signor thinks I don't know anything. They say I have a
voice, but that I don't know how to sing.'
' The fact is,' cried Polly, shutting down the piano with a
loud bang and jar which made the whole instrument thrill, and
snapped an old attenuated chord which went out of existence
with a creak and a groan, ' the fact is, you don't want to da
nothing for me. You don't think me good enough for you.
I am only your father's wife, and one as has a claim upon
your respect, and deserves to have the best you can do. If it
was one of your fine ladies as don't care a brass farthing for you
— oh, you'd sing and you'd play the piano safe enough : but
you've set your mind against me. I see it the first day I
came here — and since then the life you've led me ! Never a
civil word — never a pleasant look ; yes and no, with never a
turn of your head; you think a deal ofyouself. And you
needn't suppose I care — not I — not one bit ; but you shan't
stand up to my face and refuse whatever I ask you. You'll
have to do what I tell you or you'll have to go.'
' I will go,' said Lottie in a low voice. She thought of Rollo's
sudden proposal, of the good people whom he said he would
take her to, of the sudden relief and hope, the peace and ease
that w^ere involved. Ought she not to take him at his word ?
For the moment she thought she would do so. She would
let him know that she was ready, ready to go anywhere, only to
escape from this. How foolish she had been to be angry with
Rollo — he who Avanted nothing better than to deliver her at a
stroke, to carry her away into happiness. Her heart softened
Avith a great gush of tenderness. She would yield to him ;
why should she not yield to him ? She might think that he
ought to marry his wife from her father's house, but he had
not seemed to think so. He thought of nothing but to deliver
400 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
her from this humiliation — and what would it matter to him ? a
poor Chevalier's house or a poor quiet lodging, Avhat would it
matter ? She would go. She would do as Kollo said.
' You will go ? ' cried Polly ; * and where will you go ?
Who have you got to take you in ? People ain't so fond of
you. A woman as can do nothing for herself, who wants her ?
and isn't even obliging. Oh, you are going to your room again,
to be sulky there ? But I tell you I won't have it. You shall
sit where the family sits or you shall go out of the place alto-
gether. And you'll come to your meals like other people, and
you'll mix with them as is there, and not set up your white
face, as if you were better than all the world. You're not so
grand as you think you are, Miss Lottie Despard. If it comes
to that Pm a Despard as Avell as you ; and Pm a married
woman, with an 'usband to work for me — an 'usband,' cried
Polly, ' as doesn't require to work for me, as has enough to
keep me like a lady — if it wasn't that he has a set of lazy
grown-up children as won't do nothing for themselves, but
eat us out of 'ouse and 'ome ! '
Was it possible that this humiliation had come to Lottie
— Lottie of all people — she who had felt that the well-being
of the house hung upon her, and that she alone stood between
her family and utter downfall ? She sat still, not even at-
tempting now to escape, her ears tingling, her heart beating.
It was incredible that it was she, her very self, Lottie, Avho
was bearing this. It must be a dream ; it was impossible
that it could be true.
And thus Lottie sat the Avhole of the evening, too proud
to withdraw, and bore the brunt of a long series of attacks,
"which were interrupted, indeed, by the supper, to which Polly
had to give some personal care, and by Captain Despard's
entrance and Law's. Polly told her story to her husband with
indignant vehemence. ' I asked her,' she said, ' to help me a
bit with my music — I know you're fond of music, Harry — and
I thought we'd learn up some duets or something, her and me,
to please you ; and she says she can't play the piano ! and,
then, not to show no offence, I said as singing would do just as
well, and then she says she can't sing ! ' The Captain re-
ceived this statement with much caressing of his wife and
smoothing of her ruffled plumes. He said, * Lottie, another
time you'll pay more attention,' with a severe aspect; and not
even Law, had a word to say in her defence. As to Law,
LOTTIE SUBDUED. 401
indeed, he was very much preoccupied with his own af-
fairs; his eyes were shining, his face full of secret im-
portance and meaning. Lottie saw that he was eager to catch
her eye, but she did not understand the telegraphic commu-
nications he addressed to her. Nor did she understand him
much better when he pulled her sleeve and whispered, ' I am
going to Australia,' when the tedious evening was over. Law's
career had fallen out of her thoughts in the troubles of those
few weeks past. She had even ceased to ask how he was
getting on, or take any interest in his books ; she remembered
this with a pang when she found herself at last safe in the
shelter of her room. She had given up one part of her natural
duty when the other was taken from her. Australia ? What
could he mean ? She thought she would question him to-mor-
row ; but to-morrow brought her another series of petty struggles,
and once more concentrated her mind upon her own affairs.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
LOTTIE SUBDUED.
* I WAITED half an hour. I was not very happy,' said Rollo.
* It is never cold when you are here, but last night the wind
went through and through me. That is the consequence of
being alone. And you, my Lottie, had you no compunctions ?
Could you make yourself happy without any thought of the
poor fellow freezing under the elm-tree ? '
' Happy ! ' Lottie cried. She was happy now. Last night
she had been alone, no one in the world caring what became
of her; noAV she felt safe, as if the world held nothing
but friends; but she shivered, notwithstanding her lover's
supporting arm.
' Not happy then ? Does it not answer, darling ? Can
you endure the woman ? Is she better than at first ? I like
her,' said Rollo, ' for you know it was her arrival which
opened your heart to me — which broke the ice — which
brought us together. I shall always feel charitably towards
her for that.'
Lottie shivered again. ' No, it is not because of the cold,'
she said. • I do not suppose you could understand if I were
to tell you. Home ! I have not any home,' cried the girl.
D D
-102 WITHIN THE PRECI^■CTS.
' I was thinking — if it was really true what you said the other
night — if it would make no difference to you, Kollo, to take
your wife out of some poor little lodging instead of out of
her father's house — are you sure you would not mind ? ' she
said, looking wistfully, anxiously into his face. In the Avaning
light all he could see distinctly was this wistful dilation of her
eyes, gazing intently to read, before he could utter it, his
answ^er in his face. ' I could manage to live somehow,' she
went on, tremulously. ' Thougli I cannot give lessons, I can
work, very well. I think I am almost sure I could get work.
No ; I would not take money from you ; I could not, Rollo :
— not until — no, no ; that would be quite impossible; rather
stay here and bear it all than that. But if really, truly, to
marry a poor girl, living in a poor little room, working for
her bread, would not make any difference to you Oh,
I knoAV, I know it is not what ought to be — even here, even
at home, I am not equal to you. You ought to have some-
one a great deal better off — a great deal higher in the world.
But if you would not think it — discreditable ; if you would
not be ashamed oh, Kollo,' she ciied, ' I cannot bear it!
it is impossible to bear it ! — 1 Avould ask you to do Avhat you
offered and take me away ! '
It is impossible to describe the feelings with which Rollo
listened to these unexpected words. To see a bird walk into
the snai'e must awake compunctions in the most experienced
tra|iper. The same sensation does not attend a sudden fall ;
but the sight of an innocent creature going calmly into the
death set before it, as if into safety and shelter — a man must
be hard indeed to see that unmoved. And Rollo was no
villain. His heart gave one wild leap again, as it had done
when, in the hurrying of passion, not with deliberation (as
he had always been comforted to think), he had laid that
snare. The thrill of his hairbreadth escape from her horror
and loathing, the leap of sudden, horrified delight to find her
in his power all at once, by her own act and deed, transjiorted
him for the moment with almost uncontrollable power ; and
then this sudden passion in his mind was met by the stream,
the torrent, of a more generous impulse, a nobler passion,
which carried everything before it. A man may trap his
prey with guile, he may take advantage of the half willing-
ness of a frail resistance ; but to turn to shame the perfect
and tender confidence of innocence, who but a villain could
LOTTIE SUBDUED, 403
do that ? and Rollo was no villain. He grasped her almost
convulsively in his arms as she spoke ; he tried to interrupt
her, the words surging, almost incoherent, to his lips. ' Lottie !
my Lottie ! ' he cried, ' this is not how it must be. Do you
think I will let you go to live alone, to work, as you say ? '
lie took her hand hastily, and kissed the little cold fingers
with lips that trembled. ' No, my love, my darling, not that
— but I will go to town to-morrow and settle how we can be
married — at once, without an hour's delay. Oh, yes, it is
possible, dear — quite possible. It is the only thing to do.
Why, why did I not think of it before ? I will go and settle
everything, and get the licence. That is the way. My dar-
ling, you muFt not say a word. You had made up your mind
to marry me some time, and why not to-morrow — next day —
as soon as I can settle ? What should we wait for ? who
should we think of except ourselves ? And I want you, my
love ; and you, thank heaven, Lottie, have need of me.'
He held her close to him, in a grasp which was almost
fierce — fierce in the strain of virtue and honour, in which his
own nature, with all its easy principles and vacillations, was
caught too. He wanted to be off and do it at once, without
losing a moment, lest his heart should fail. He would do it,
whatever might oppose. She should never know that less
worthy thoughts had been in his mind. She should find that
her trust was not vain. His blood ran in his veins like a
tumultuous river, and his heart beat so that Lottie herself was
overawed by the commotion as he held her against it. She
was half frightened by his vehemence and tried to speak, but
he would not let her at first. ' No,' he said, ' no, you must
not say anything. You must not oppose me. It must be done
first, and then we can think of it after. There is nothing
against it, and everything in its favour. You must not say a
word but Yes,' he cried.
' But, Rollo, Eollo, let me speak. It might be good for
me, but would it not be wrong for you ? Oh, let me speak !
Am I so selfish that I would make you take a sudden resolu-
tion, perhaps very foolish, perhaps very imprudent, for my
sake ? Rollo, Rollo, don't ! I will bear anything. It would
be wrong for you to do this.'
' No ; not wrong, but right — not wrong, but right,' he
cried, bewildering her with his vehemence. Lottie's own heart
was stirred, but not like this. She wondered and was troubled,
DD 2
404 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
even in the delight of the thought that everything in the
world was as nothing to him ia comparison with his love for
herself.
' But, Rollo,' she cried again, trembling in his grasp, * if
this is really possible — if it is not wrong — why should you go
to London to do it ? It would be quite as easy here '
' Lottie, you will sacrifice something for me, will you not ? ^
he said. * If it were done here, all would be public ; it would
be spoken of everywhere ; and I want it to be quiet. I have
not much money. You will make this sacrifice for me, dear ? '
' Oh,' said Lottie, compunctious, ' I wish I had said
nothing about it ; I wish I had not disturbed you with my
paltry little troubles. Do not think of them any more. I
can bear anj^thing when I know you are thinking of me. It
was only yesterday when — Avhen all seemed uncertain, that it
seemed more than I could bear.'
' And it is more than you ought to bear,' he said. ' No,
I am glad that you told me. We will go away, Lottie —
to Italy, to the sunshine, to the country of music, where you will
learn best of all — we will go away from the very church door.'
And then he told her how it could be done. To-morrow
he Avould go and settle everything. His plans all took form
with lightning speed, though he had never thought of them
till now. There would be many things to do ; but in three
days from that time he would meet her in the same place, and
tell her all the arrangements he had made : — and the next
morning after that (' Saturday is a lucky day,' he said) they
Avould go to town, if not together, yet by the same train — and
go to the church, where he would have arranged everything.
Eollo Ridsdale was an adventurer born. He Avas used to
changing the conditions of his life in a moment, in the
twinkling of an eye. But it all seemed a dream to Lottie —
not one of her usual waking dreams, but a dream of the night,
with no possibility in it, which would dissolve into the mists
presently and leave nothing bvit a happy recollection. She
acquiesced in everything, being too much taken by surprise
to oppose a plan in which he was so vehement.
' May I tell Law ? ' she asked, always in her dream, not
feeling as if there was any reality in the idea she suggested.
A nd he said No at first, but afterwards half relented, and it
was agreed that on Friday everything was to be decided, but
nothing done till then. Thus, though they had met without a
LOTTIE SUDDCED. 405
thouglit that this stolen interview would be more decisive than
any other of the same kind, they parted with a decision that
concerned their entire lives.
They walked closer tofijether after this, in the safe eloom
-of the darkness, till they had again reached the door of the
<^loisters which led to the Deanery. No one was about, and
Ivollo was full of restless excitement. lie would not liear
what she said about prudence, and walked across with her to
her oAvn door. There was not a creature to be seen up or
down ; the lamps flickered in the cold wind, and all the popu-
lation liad gone in to the comfort of warm rooms and blazing
fires. He kissed her hand tenderly as he took leave of her.
'Till Friday,' he said.
Lottie went in, still in her dream, walking, she thought, in
her sleep. She hoped this sleep would last for ever — that it
might not be rashly disturbed by waking, or even by that
which would be almost as bad as waking — coming true. She
could scarcely feel that she wanted it to come true ; it was
enough as it was, a bewildering happiness that tingled to the
very ends of her fingers, that made her feel as if she were
walking on air. She went softly upstairs, caring for nothing
but to get to her room, where, though it was dark and cold,
she could still go on with this wonderful vision. That seemed
all she wanted. But, alas ! something very diflferent was in
store for Lottie. As she went with solt steps up the stairs the
•door of the little drawing-room was suddenly opened, letting
out a warm stream of ruddy light. Then a sound of laughter
reached her ears, and Polly's voice
' Come in, come in ; we are waiting for you ; we are both
here,' with another gay outburst.
Lottie came to herself, and to all the disagreeable realities
of her life, with a start of pain. She had to obey, though
nothing could be more disagreeable to her. She went in with
dazzled eyes into the room full of firelight. She remembered
now that she had remarked outside that no lamp was lighted,
and had supposed with relief that Mrs. Despard Avas out. But
Mrs. Despard had not been out. She had been lurking in the
ruddy gloom near the window, her husband by her side.
They greeted Lottie with another laugh, as she came in with
her pale, astonished face Avithin the circle of the fire.
' So that's how you spend your afternoons, miss, as I never
could think where ^ou were,' cried Polly ; ' but why didut you
406 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
bring in your beau with you? I'd have given him his tea
and a nice leg of a goose, as comfortable as could be.'
' My child,' said the Captain on his side, ' I congratulate
you. I've been expecting something of this kind for a long
time. I've had my eye upon you. But why didn't you
bring Mr. Ridsdale in, as Mrs. Despard says ? '
Lottie felt as if she had been turned into stone. She stood
all dark in her winter dress, the firelight playing upon her,
and seeking in vain to catch at some possibility of reflection.
She had not even a button that would give back the light.
And she had not a word to say.
' Come, come, you need not be so put out,' said the Captain,
not unkmdly. 'We saw you coming; and very proper of
Mr. Ridsdale not to leave yovi at the Deanery, but to see you
home to your own door. You thought no one was paying
any attention — but I hope,' Captain Despard added, ' that I
think more than that of my child. I don't doubt from what
I saw, Lottie, that you understand each other; and why
hasn't he come before now to speak to me ? You might have
known that such a suitor would not be received unfavourably.
Happy myself,' said the Captain, throwing out his chest,
' would I have put any obstacle between you and your happi-
ness, my dear ? '
' I did not think — I did not know — I think — you are mis-
taken,' Lottie faltered, not knowing Vv^hat to say.
' Mistaken, indeed ! Oh, we've gone through all that too
lately to be mistaken, haven't we, Harry ? ' cried Mrs. Des-
pard. ' We know all about it. You couldn't come to those
as would understand you better. Don't be frightened ; you
haven't been found out in anything wrong. If that was wrong
I've a deal to answer for,' Polly cried, laughing. ' I should
think you must be frozen with cold after wandering about on
them Slopes, or wherever you have been. How foolish young
people are, to be sure, getting their deaths of cold. We never
were as foolish as that, were we, Harry ? Come and warm
yourself, you silly girl. You needn't be afraid of him or me.'
Amid their laughter, however, Lottie managed to get
away, to take off her hat, and to try as best she could to re-
alise this new phase of the situation. What her father had
said was very reasonable. Why had not Rollo come, as the
Captain said? How that would have simplified everything,
made everything legitimate ! She sighed, not able to under-
LOTTIE SUDDUEP. 40T
stand her lover, feeling that for once her father was right ; but
Kollo had said that this could not be, that it would be neces-
sary to keep everything (juiet. Her dream of ha{)pine!?a was
disturbed. Dreams are better, so much better, than reality.
In them there is never any jar with fact and necessity ; they
can adapt themselves to everything, fit themselves into every
new development. But now that she was fully aAvoke it was
less easy to steer iier way through, all the obstacles. Rollo's
reluctance to declare himself, and her father's right to know,
and the pain of leaving her home in a clandestine way, all
rushed upon her, dispersing her happiness to the winds. She
had felt that to awake would be to lose the sweetness which
had wrapped her about ; and now the rude encoimter with the
Avorld had come, and Lottie felt that even with that prospect
of happiness before her it was difficult to bear what she would
have to bear; — Polly's innuendoes and, Avorse still, Polly's
sympathy, and the questions of her father appalled her as she
looked forward to them. During this sti-ange courtship of
hers, so perplexed and mixed up as it was with her music and
the ' career ' which they all, even Eollo, had tried to force
upon her (though surely there need be no more of that now),
and the changes that had taken place at home, Lottie had al-
most lost herself She was no longer the high-spirited girl,
full of energy and strength, who had reigned over this little
house and dragged Law's heavy bulk along through so many
difficulties. She had dreamed so much, and taken refnge so
completely from the troubles of her position in those dreams,
that now she seemed to have lost her own characteristics, and
had no vigotir to sustain her when she had actual difficulties
to face. She tried to recall herself to herself as she smoothed
her hair, which had been bloAvn about bv the lirecze. From
the beginning she had been pained by Kollo's reserve, though
she had persuaded herself it was natural enough ; but now, in
this new, strange revolution of alfairs — a revolution caused en-
tirely, she said to herself, by her father's own proceedings —
Avhat could she do but stand firm on her own side ? She
would not betray the great purpose in hand. She would still
her own heart, and keep her composure, and not allow any
agitation or any irritation to Avrest from her the secret which
Hollo desired to keep. To smooth her rulfled hair was not
generally a long process with Lottie : but it Avas more difli-
cult to arrange her apitated thouLdits, and there had been
408 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
various calls for her from below, where the others had gone
for their evening meal, before she was ready to follow.
Finally Law was sent upstairs with an urgent demand for
her presence.
' They've gone to tea,' said Law, knocking at her door ;
and then he added, in a low tone, ' Open, Lottie. I want to
speak to you. I have got lots to say to you.'
She heard him, but she did not attach any meaning to his
words. What he said to her on the night before had left no
definite impression on her mind. LaAV had lost his sister, who
thought of him above all. In the midst of a pressing crisis in
our own individual life, which of us has time to think of
others ? She was afraid to talk to Law, afraid to betray her-
self Love made Lottie selfish and self-absorbed, a conse-
quence just as apt to follow as any other. She was afraid of
betraying herself to him ; her mind was too full of this won-
derful revolution in her own life to be able to take in Law's
desire, on his side, not to know about her, but to expound
himself. She came out upon him hastily, and brushed past
him, saying, ' I am ready.' She did not think of Law, not
even when he followed her, grumbling and murmuring — ' I
told you I wanted to speak to you.' How difficult it is to
realise the wants of another when one's heart is full of one's
own concerns ! Neither brother nor sister had room in their
minds for anything but the momentous event in their respec-
tive lives, which was coming ; but Law was aggrieved, for he
had always hitherto possessed Lottie's sympathy as a chattel
of his own.
Polly and the Captain were seated at table when the two
younger members of the family went in, and never had Captain
Despard been more dignified or genial. ' Lottie, my child, a
bit of the breast,' he said—' a delicate bit just fit for a lady.
I've saved it up for you, though you are late. You are very
late ; but for once in a way we will make allowances, espe-
cially as Mrs. Despard is not offended, but takes your side.'
' Oh, / know,' said Polly, ' I am not one as is hard upon
natural feelings. Pride I can't abide, nor stuck-up ways, but
when it conies to keeping company '
' Is anyone keeping company with Lottie ? ' said Law, look-
ing up fiercely ; and then the elder pair laughed.
' But, my love, it is not a phrase that is used in good
society,' the Captain said.
LOTTIE SUBDUED. 409
' Oh, bother good society ! ' said Polly. She was in an
exuberant mood, and beyond the influence of that little top-
dressing of too transparent pretence Avith Avhich occasionally
she attempted to impose upon her step-children. Lottie, in
■whose mind indignation and disgust gradually overcame the
previous self-absorption, listened to every -word, unable to
escape from the chatter she hated, witli that keen interest of
dislike and impatience which is more enthralling than affec-
tion ; but she scarcely ventured to raise her eyes, and kept
herself rigidly on her guard lest any rash word should betray
her. It was not till the meal was over that she was brought
to actual proof. Then her father detained her as she was
about to escape. Law, more impatient than ever Avith the
pressure of his own affairs, which it seemed impossible to find
any opportunity of confiding to his sister, had got up at once
and gone out. The Captain threw out his chest majestically
and waved his hand as Lottie was about to follow.
' My child, I have got something to sa}'^ to you,' he said.
Mrs. Despard was standing by the fire, warming herself
Avith frank ease, with a good ankle well displayed. Lottie, on
her way to the door, unwillingly arrested, t-tood still because
she coiild not help it. But the Captain occupied with majesty
his seat at the foot of the table between his Avife and his
daughter. ' My love,' he said, Avith his favourite gesture,
throAving back his Avell-devcloped shoulders, ' I have every
faith in my daughter, and Mr. Kidsdale is in every Avay quite
s;itis(actory. Your family is as good as his, but my Lord
Courtland's son is not one to be turned aAvay from any door ;
and as you have no fortune, Lottie, I should not be exacting
as to settlements. I suppose he knoAvs that you have no for-
tune, my dear ? '
* La, Harry ! ' said Polly from the side of the fire, ' hoAv
should he think she had a fbrtime ? Fortimes don't groAv on
every tree. And hoAv do you knoAV as he has got that far ? A
young man may keep company Avith a girl lor long enough,
and yet never go as far as that.''
' You must alloAv me to knoAv best, my love,' said the
Captain. ' I hope he is not trifling Avith my girl's affections.
If he is he has Ilarry Despard to deal Avith, I'd have him to
knoAV. By Jove, if I thought that ! '
' I dare say it's nothing but keeping company,' said Polly,
holding up her foot to the lire. ' Taking a Avalk together, or
410 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
a talk ; there's nothing wrong in that. She v/ants her bit of
fun as well as other girls. I'm not the one to stand up for
Miss Lottie, for it's not what she'd do for me ; but if it's only
her bit of fun you shouldn't be hard upon her, Harry ; if my
pa had hauled me up for that '
Lottie could not bear it any longer. ' Do you wish me to
stay,' she said, 'papa? can you wish me to stay?' The Cajstain
looked from his wife in her easy attitude to his daughter,
pale with indignation and horror.
' My love,' he said, with mild remonstrance, ' there are
different ways of speaking in different spheres. Lottie is an
only daughter, and has been very carefully brought up. But,
my child,' the Captain added, turning to Lottie, ' you must
not be neglected now. I will make it my business to-morrow
to see Mr, Ridsdale, to ascertain what his intentions are. Your
interests shall not suffer from any carelessness.'
* Papa,' cried Lottie in despair, ' you will not do anything
so cruel ; you could not treat me so ! Wait — only wait — a few
days — three or four days ! '
Polly was so much interested that she let her dress drop
over her ankles and turned round. ' Don't you see,' she said,
*that she feels he's coming to the point withoiit any bother?
That's always a deal the best way. It can't do no harm, as I
can see, to wait for three or four days.'
' By Jove, but it will, though,' said Captain Despard with
sudden impatience, ' all the harm in the world. ^ ou'll allow
me to understand my own business. It is clearly time for a
man to interfere. I shall see Mr. Eidsdale to-morrow, if all
the women in the world were to try their skill and hold me
back. Hold your tongue, Mrs. Despard ; be quiet, Lottie.
When a man is a husband and a father he is the best judge of
his own duties. It is now my time to interfere.'
Polly was really concerned ; she had a fellow feeling for
the girl whose rights were thus interfered Avith. ' Don't you
mind,' she said, turning to Lottie with a half-audible whisper.
' If he's coming to the point himself it won't do no harm, and
if he ain't it will give him a push, and let him see what's
expected of him. I ain't one for interfering myself, but if you
can't help it you must just put up with it ; and I don't think,
after all, it will do so very much harm.'
Now Lottie ought to have been grateful for this well-inten-
tioned and amiable remark, but she was not. On the contrary,
LOrriE SUBDUED. 411
her anger rose more uildly airainst the stranger wlio thus
attempted to console her, than it did against her father, whose
sudden resolution was so painliil to her. She gave Polly a
look of wrath, and, forgetting even civility, darted out of the
room and upstairs in vehement resentment. I'oUy was not so
much angry as amazed to the point of consternation. She
gasped for the breath which was taken away by Lottie's
sudden flight. ' Well ! ' she exclaimed, ' that's manners, that
is ! that's what you call being brought up careful ! A young
immarried girl, as is nothing and nobody, rushing out of a
room like that before a married lady and her Pa's wife 1 '
Lottie, however, was in a passion of alarm, which drove
everything else out of her head. Of all things that seemed to
her most to be avoided, a meeting between her father and
Kollo at this crisis was the worst. She left her room no more
that evening, but sat and pondered what she could do to avert
the danger. True, without a meeting between them it would
be impossible that her love should have its legitimate sanction,
and that the beginning of her new life should be honest and
straightforward, as it ought. But partly because she had
schooled herself to think (by way of excusing Eollo's silence)
that a meeting between him and her father would only make
him less respectful of the Captain's pretensions and the
* family ' which Lottie still with forlorn iiiith believed in. and
parti}' because the visit of a lather to ask a lover's ' intentions'
was perhaps the very last way in which a beginning of inter-
course could be agreeably established, it seemed to Lottie that
she would do anything in the world to prevent this meeting.
With this view she wrote one little note and then another to
warn Kollo — writing with cold fingers but a beating heart, hot
Avith anxiety and trouble, upon the corner of her little dress-
ing table — ibr there was no room for any other convenience
of a table in the small, old-fashioned chamber. But when
she had at last achieved a composition of one which seemed
to express feebly yet .sufficiently what she w-anted to say, the
(question arose. How was it to get to Eollo ? She had no one
to send. She dared not trust it to Law, for that would involve
an explanation, and there was no one else at Lottie's command.
A thought of Captain Temple floated across her mind ; but
how could she employ him upon such an errand, which would
involve a still more difficult explanation ? At last she burnt
regretfully by the flame of her candle tho very lajit of these
412 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
effusions, and decided that she must trust to the chances of
the morrow. She had promised to be at the elm-tree in the
morning to bid JvoUo good-by. She must manage, then, to
get him to go away before matins were over and her father
Iree. But it was with an anxious heart that Lottie, when her
candle burned out, crept cold and troubled to bed, chilled to
the bone, yet with a brow which burned and throbbed with
excitement. Law did not come in till after she had fallen
asleep. Law, whom she had watched over so anxiously, was,
at this crisis of Lottie's personal history and his own, left
entirely to himself
In the morning she managed to run out immediately after
breakfast, just as the aii- began to vibrate with the Abbey
bells, and, after some anxious waiting under the elm, at last,
to her great relief, saw Kollo coming. Lottie Avas not able to
disguise her anxiety or her desire for his departure. ' Never
mind speaking to me,' she said. ' Do not waste time. Oh,
Eollo, ibrgive me — no, it is not to get rid of you,' she cried,
and then she told him the incident of last night.
Eollo's eyes gave forth a gleam of disgust when he heard
of the chance of being stopped by Captain Despard to enquire
his ' intentions.' He laughed, and Lottie thought instinctively
that this was a sound of merriment which she would never
wish to hear again. But his face brightened as he turned to
Lottie, who was so anxious to save him from this ordeal. ' My
faithful Lottie ! ' he said, pressing her close to him. There
was nobody stirring in the winterly morning ; but yet day
requires more reserve than the early darkness of night.
' But go, go, Hollo. I Avant you to be gone before they
are out of the Abbey,' she cried, breathless.
' My dear love — my only love,' he said, holding both her
hands in his.
' Oh, liollo, is it not only for a day or two ? You are so
serious, you frighten me — but go, go, that you may not meet
anyone,' she said.
' Yes, it is only for a day or two, my darling,' he replied. ' On
Friday, my Lottie, at five under this tree. You won't fail me ? '
' Never,' she said, Avith her blue eyes full of sweet tears.
And then they kissed in the eye of day, all the silent world
looking on.
' r^o,' he said, with feiwour — ' never ; you will never fail
•me ; you will always be true.'
And so they parted, she watching jealously Avhile he took
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE : LAW. 41
o
Ilis way, not by the common road, but down the windings of
tlie Slopes, that he might be safe, that no one might annoy
him. 'Till Friday!' he called to her in the silenci',
waving his hand as he turned the corner out of her sight.
She drew a long breath of relief when she saw him emerge
alone farther down upon tlie road that led to the railway.
The Signor was only tlien beginning the voluntary, and Cap-
tain Despard evidently could not ask Rollo Kidsdale his ' in-
tentions ' that day. Lottie waved her hand to her lover,
though he was too far off' to see her, and said to herself, ' Till
Friday,' with a sudden realisation of all these words implied
— another life, a new heaven and a new earth ; love, and ten-
derness, and worship instead of the careless use and wont of
the family ; to be first instead of last ; to be happy and at rest
instead of tormented at everybody's caprice ; to be with Kollo,
who loved her, always, for ever and ever, with no more risk
of losing him or being forgotten. Her heart overflowed with
sweetness, her eyes with soft tears of joy. Out of that en-
chanted land she went back for a little while into common life,
but not in any common way. The sunshine, which had been
slow to shine, broke out over the Dean's Walk as she emerged
from under the shadow of the trees ; the path was cleared for
her ; the music pealed out from the Abbey. Unconsciously
her steps fell into a kind of stately movement, keeping time.
In her blessedness she moved soflly on towards the .shadow of
the house in which she had now but a few days to live — like
a princess walking to her coronation, like a martyr to her
agony. Who could tell in which of the tAvo the best similitude
lay?
CIIAPTEli XL.
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FOUTl'XE : LAW.
Law had left Mr. Ashford, not knowing, as thu vulgar have
it, if he stood on his head or his heels. He had somewhat
despised the Minor Canon, not only as a clergyman and an
instructor, intending to put something into l^aw's luckless
brains, yet without force enough to do it effectually, but as a
man, much too mild and gentle to make any head against the
deceitfulness of mankind, and all those guiles and pretences in
which an unwilling student like Law knows 'himself so much
414 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
more profoundly iufonned than any of his pastors and teachers
can be. The sense of superiority with which such a youth,
learned in all manner of ' dodges ' and devices for eluding
work, contemplates the innocent senior who has faith in his
excuses, was strong in Law's mind towards his last tutor, Avho
Avas so much less knowing than any of the others, that he had
taken him ' for nothing,' without even the pay which his
earlier instructor, Mr. Langton, had been supposed to receive :
supposed — for Captain Despard Avas paymaster, and he was
not any more to be trusted to for recollecting quarter-day
than Law was to be trusted to for doing his work. But Mr.
Ashford had never said anything about pay. He had taken
Law for his sister's sake, ' for love,' as the young man said
lightly ; taken him as an experiment, to see what could be
made of him, and kept him on without a word on either side of
remuneration. This curious conduct, which might have made
the pupil grateful, had no such result, but filled him instead
with a more entire contempt for the intellects of his benefactor.
It is easy, in the estimation of young men like Law, to be
learned and wise in book-learning, yet a ' stupid ' in life ; and
if anything could have made this fact more clear, it would
have been the irregularity of the business transaction as be-
tween a non-paying pupil and a 'coach' who gave just as
much attention ro him as if he had been an important source
of revenue. ' What a soft he must be ! What a stupid he
is,' had been Law's standing reflection. But he had liked all
the same the object of his scorn, and had felt ' old Ashford '
to be ' very jolly,' notwithstanding his foolish believingness,
and still more foolish indifference to his own profit. It was
this which had made him go to the Minor Canon with such
a frankness of appeal — but he had not been in the least pre-
pared for the reply he received. It took away his breath.
Though it was a superlative proof of the same ' softness ' which
had made Mr. Ashford receive a ])upil who paid him nothing,
the dazzled youth could no longer regard it with contempt.
Though he was tolerably fortified against invasions of emotion,
tliere was something in this Avhich penetrated to his heart.
Suddenly, in a moment, to be lifted out of his dull struggle
with books which he could not understand, and hopeless anti-
cipation of an ordeal he could never pass, and to have the
desire of his heart given to him, Avithout any trouble of his,
without price or reward, was all very wonderful to Law. At
TDK EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE : LAW. 415
first he could not believe it. To think 'old Ash ford ' was
jokinp; — to think that a man so impractical did not put the
ordinary meaning into his Avords — this was the first natural
explanation ; but when the Minor Canon's first recollection
that he ' knew a man ' brightened into the prospect of money
to pay the young emigrant's passage, and an actual beginning
of his career, Law did not know, as we have said, whether he
was standing upon solid ground or floating in the air. The
happiness was almost too much for him. lie went up to
London ne.xt day by Mr. Ashford's suggestion, and, at his cost,
to learn all particulars about the voyage, but kept his own
secret until it had gained so much of solid foundation as the
actual sight of a ship which was bound for Australia, a printed
account of the times of sailing, and fares, and an outfitter's list
of indispensables, could give ; then, still dazzled by the sudden
fulfilment of his wishes, but feeling his own importance, and
the seriousness of his position as a future emigrant, Law had
endeavoured to find an opportunity of communicating the
great news to Lottie, but had failed, as has been seen. And
having thus failed, and seeing in her none of the eager desire
to know what he was about, which he thought would have
been natural in circumstances so profoundly interesting, Law
got up from the table and went out- with a certain sense of
injury in his mind. He saw there was ' something up ' in
respect to his sister herself, but he did not take very much
interest in that. Yet he thought it curiously selfish of her,
almost incomprehensibly sellish, to ask no question, show no
concern in what was happening to him. He had said, ' I am
going to Australia ! ' but had he said, ' I am going to play
football,' she could not have taken it more calmly ; and she had
never asked a question since. What funny creatures women
are, one time so anxious about you, another time caring
nothing, Law said to himself; but he was not at all conscious
that it might have been natural for him too to take some interest
in Lottie's aftliirs. He did not. It was some rubbish, he
supposed, about that fellow Eidsdale. He thought of the
whole business with contempt. Far more important, beyond
all comparison, were those affairs which were his own.
And when he went out, a little angry, irritated, but full of
excitement and elation, and eager to find somebody who would
take due interest in the story of his good fortune, where could
Law's footsteps stray but to the place where they had turned
416 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
BO often in his idleness and hopelessness ? He had gone once
before since the visit of Polly, and had been confronted by
Mrs. Welting, now established in the workroom, to the con-
fusion of all the little schemes of amusement by which the
girls had solaced the tedium of their lives. ' Mother ' had
been glad enough to be allowed to look after her house in
quiet, and the rest of the family, without troubling herself
about her girls. But the sharp prick of Polly's denunciation
had given Mrs. Welting new ideas of her duty. Would she
let it be said by an artful creature like that, who had done the
same thing herself, as her daughters were laying themselves
out to catch a gentleman ? Not for all the world ! She
would not have a girl of hers marry a gentleman, not for any-
thing, Mrs. Welting said. She forbade the little expeditions
they were in the habit of making in turns for thread and
buttons. She would not allow even the Family Herald.
She scolded ' for nothing at all,' resenting her compulsory
attendance there, and banishment from her domestic concerns.
The workroom was quite changed. There was no jollity in
it, no visitors, not half so much chatter as had been carried
on gaily while Polly was paramount. ' She took all the good
herself, but she never could bear seeing anyone else happy,'
Emma said, who was doubly aggrieved. And it could not
be said that the Avork improved under this discipline. The
moment altogether was not happy ; and when Law, by dint
of wandering about the windows, and whistling various airs
knoAvn to the workroom, made his presence known, Emma,
when her mother withdrew, as she did perforce as the evening
got on, and it became necessary to look after the family supper,
the younger children, and her lodgers — came cautiously out
to meet him, with a cloak aboiit her shoulders. ' I haven't
got a moment to stay,' Emma said. ' Mother would take off
my head if she found me out ! ' Yet she suffered herself to
be drawn a few steps from the door, and round the corner to
the riverside, where, on this wintry evening, there was nobody
about, and the river itself in the darkness was only discernible
by the white swell and foam round the piers of the bridge, by
which it rushed on its neadlong passage to the weir. Here,
now going, now coming, a few wary steps at a time, awaiting
a possible warning from the window of the lighted workroom,
the two wandered in the damp darkness, and Emma, opening
large eyes of astonishment, heard of all that was about to
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE: LAW. 417
happen. * Old Ashford has behaved like a brick,' Law said.
' He is going to give me intioductions to people be knows,
and he means to give me my passage-money too, and something
to begin upon ! '
' Lor ! ' cried Emma, * what is it for ? Is he going to
marry your sister ? ' Her attention was awakened, but she
did not tliink she had anything to do with it ; she was so
much al'raid of not hearing any possible tap on the window,
or not having time to run home before her absence was
discovered.
'Now look here, Emma,' said Law, He did not speak
with any enthusiasm of tenderness, but calmly, as having
something serious to propose. ' If I go away, you know, it's
for life ; it's not gone to-day and back to-morrow, like a
soldier ordered off to the Colonies. I'm going to make my
living, and my fortune, if I can, and settle there for life. No,
nobody's knocking at the window. Can't you give me
your attention for a moment ? I tell you, if I go, it's for
life.'
' Lor ! ' said Emma, startled. ' You don't mean to sav as
you've come to say good-bye, ^Ir. Law ? and you as always
said you were so true. But I do believe none of you young
men ever remembers nor thinks what he's been saying,' she
added with a half whimper. A lover's desertion is never a
pleasant thing in any condition of life.
' It's just because of that I'm here,' said Law, sturdily. * I
remember all I've ever said. I've come to put it to you,
Emma, straightforward. I am going away, as I tell you, for
life. Will you come with me ? that's the question. There
is not very much to spare, and there's the outfit to get, Init it
will go hard if I can't draw old Ashford for your passage-
money,' said the grateful recipient of the lilinor Canon's
boimty ; ' and it would be a new start and a new life, and I'd
do the best I could for you. Emma, you must make up your
mind quick, for there isn't much time. The boat sails — well,
I can't exactly tell you when she sails ; but in a fortnight
or so '
' A fortnight ! ' Emma cried, with a sense of dismay.
' Yes. We needn't have a very grand wedding, need
we ? Emigrants must be careful both of their money and their
time.'
* Emigrants? I don't know what you mean by emigrants
E £
418 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
— it don't sound much,' said the girl, with a cloud upon
her face.
' No, it is not very fine. It means people that are going
to settle far away, on the other side of the world. Australia
is — I don't know how many thousand miles away.'
* Can you go there by land ? ' said Emma. ' You needn't
laugh — how was I to know ? Oh, I can't abide going in
a ship.'
' That's a pity, for you can't go in anything else. But it's
a fine big ship, and every care taken. Look here, Emma, you
must make up your mind. Will you go ? '
' Oh, I don't know,' cried Emma ; * I can't tell ; how long
would you be in the ship ? It isn't what I ever expected,' she
said in a plaintive voice. ' A hurry, and a fuss, and then
a long sea- voyage. Oh, I don't think I should like it,
Mr. Law.'
' The question is, do you like me ? ' said Law, with a little
thrill in his deep yet boyish bass. ' You couldn't like the
parting and all that — it wouldn't be natural ; but do you like
me Avell enough to put up with it ? I don't want you to do
anything you don't like, but when I go it will be for good,
and you must just make up your mind which you like best —
to go with me, though there's a good deal of trouble, or to stay
at home, and good-by to me for ever.'
At this, Emma began to cry. ' Oh, I shouldn't like to say
good-by for ever,' she said ; ' I always hated saying good-
by. I don't know Avhat to do; it would be good-by to
mother, and Ellen, and them all. And never to come back
again would be awful ! I shouldn't mind if it was for a year
or two years, but never to come back — I don't know what
to do.'
' We might come home on a visit, if Ave got very rich,'
said Law ; ' or Ave might have some of the others out to
see us.'
' Oh, for a visit ! ' said Emma. ' But they'd miss me dread-
ful in the Avorkroom. Oh, I Avish I kncAV Avhat to say.'
' You must choose for yourself — you must please yourself,'
said LaAv, a little piqued by the girl's many doubts ; then he
softened again. ' You knoAv, Emma,' he said, ' Avhen a girl
gets married it's very seldom she has her oAvn people near her,
and I don't knoAv that it's a good thing Avhen she has. People
say, at least, husband and Avife ought to be enough for each
The QUiSTioif js: Do you iike me?'
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE: LAW. 419
other. And, supposing it was only to London, it would still
be away from them.'
'Oh, but it would be different,' cried Emma; 'if one
could come back now and again, and see them all ; but to live
always hundreds of thousands of miles away.'
' Not hundreds of thousands ; but a long voyage that takes
months '
' Months ! ' Emma uttered a cry. ' Too far to have mother
if you were ill,' she said, casting her mind over the eventuali-
ties of the future ; ' too far, a deal too far for a trip to see
one. I don't think itAvould be nice at all. Mr. Law, couldn't
you, oh, couldn't you stop at home ? '
' Perhaps you'd tell me what I should do if I stayed at
home,' said Law, not Avithout a touch of contempt. ' It's more
than 1 can tell. No, I can't stay at home. There is nothing
I could do here. It is Australia or nothing, Emma ; you must
make up your mind to that.'
' Oh, biit I don't see why you shouldn't stay in London ;
there are always places to be got there ; you might look in
the papers and see. Mother used to get the Times from the
public-house, a penny an hour, when Willie was out of a
place. Did you ever answer any advertisement, or try —
really try ? '
' All that is nothing to the purpose,' said Law, with some
impatience. ' The advertisements may be all very well, but
I know nothins; about them. I am o-oinc: to Australia whether
or not. I've quite made up my mind. Now the thing is, will
you come too ? '
Emma did not know what answer to make. The going
away was appalling, but to lose her gentleman-lover, though
he was banished from the workroom, was a great humiliation.
Then she could not but feel that there was a certain excite-
ment and importance in the idea of preparing for a sudden
voyage, and being married at seventeen, the first of the family.
But when she thought of the sea and the ship, and the separation
from everything, Emma's strength of mind gave way. She
could not do that. The end was that, driven back and
forward between the two, she at last faltered forth a desire to
consult ' Mother ' before deciding. Law, though he was con-
temptuous of this weakness, yet could not say anything
against it. Perhaps it was necessary that a girl should own
such a subjection. * If you do, I can tell you beforehand
£) E 2
-420 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
what she will say,' he cried. ' Then Ellen ; I'll ask Ellen,'
said Emma. ' Oh, I can't settle it out of my own head.' And
then the girl started, hearing the signal on the window, and
fled from him, breathless. ' Mother's come to shut up,' she
said. Law walked away, not Avithout satisfaction, Avhen this
end had been attained. He was more anxious to have the
question settled than he was anxious to have Emma. Indeed,
he was not at all blind to the fact that he was too young to
marry, and that there were disadvantages in hampering him-
self even in Australia with such a permanent companion.
Then, too, all that he could hope for from Mr. Ashford was
enough for his own outfit and passage, and he did not see how
hers was to be managed. But, still, Law had been ' keeping
company ' with Emma for some time, and he acknowledged
the duties of that condition according to the interpretation
put upon it in the order to which Emma belonged. Clearly,
when good fortune came to a young man who was keeping
company with a yoimg woman, it was right that he should
offer her a share of it. If she did not accept it, so much
the better ; he would have done what honour required with-
out any further trouble. As Law walked up the hill again,
he reflected that on the whole it Avould be much better if he were
allowed to go to Australia alone. No one could know how
things would turn out. Perhaps the man Mr. Ashford knew
might be of little use, perhaps he might have to go from one
place to another ; or he might not succeed at first ; or many
things might happen Avhich would make a wife an undesirable
burden. He could not but hope that things might so arrange
themselves as that Emma should drop back into her natural
sphere in the workroom, and he be left free. Poor little
Emma ! if this were the case, he would buy her a locket as
a keepsake off Mr. Ashford's money, and take leave of her
with comfort. But in the other case, if she should make up
her mind to go Avith him, Law was ready to accept the alterna-
tive. His good fortune put him doubly on his honour. He
Avould prefer to be free, yet, if he were held to it, he Avas
prepared to do his duty. He Avould not let her perceive that
he did not Avant her. But, on the Avhole, he would be much
better satisfied if ' Mother ' interfered. Having disposed of
this matter, Law began to think of his outfit, which was very
important, Avondering, by the Avay, if Emma Avent, Avhether
her family Avould provide hers ? but yet keeping this question,
TnE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE: HOLLO. 421
as uncertain, quite in the background. lie recalled to him-
self the list he had got in his pocket, with its dozens of sliirts
and socks, with no small satisfiiction. Was it poasible that he
could become the owner of all that ? The thought of becom-
ing the owner of a wile he took calmly, hoping he might still
avoid the necessity ; but to have such a wardrobe was excit-
ing and delightful. He determined to get Lottie to show him
how to mend a hole and sew on a button. To think that
Lottie knew nothing about his plans, and had never asked him
what he meant, bewildered him when he thought of it. What
could be * up ' in respect to her ? Something like anxiety
crossed Law's mind; at least, it avus something as much like
anxiety as he was capable of — a mingling of surprise and
indignation ; for were not his affairs a great deal more impor-
tant than anything affecting herself could be? This was the
idea of both. Law was going to Australia, but Lottie was
going to be married, a still more important event ! and each
felt that in heaven and earth no other such absorbing interest
existed. It must be said, however, for Lottie, that Law's
whispered communication counted for nothing with her, since
.she knew no way in which it could be possible. Wild hopes
that came to nothing had gleamed across his firmament before.
How could he go to Australia ? As easy to say that he was
going to the moon ; and in this way it took no hold iipon her
mind ; while he, for his part, had no clue whatever to the
disturbing influence in Lottie's thoughts.
CIIAPTLR XLL
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FOKTL'NE : ROLLO.
The night after that decisive talk upon the Slopes was a try-
ing one for KoUo Ridsdale. He went home with the fumes
of his resolution in his mind. Now the die was cast. What-
ever prudence might say against it, the deci^on was made,
and his life settled for him, partly by circumstances, but much
more by his personal will and deed. And he did not regret
Avhat he had donp. It was a tremendous risk to run ; but he
had confidence that Lottie's voice was as good as a fortune,
and that in the long run there would be nothing really im-
422 WITHIN' THE PnECINCTS,
prudent in it. Of course it must be kept entirely ' quiet.*
No indiscreet announcements in the newspapers, no imneces-
sary publicity must be given to the marriage. Whosoever
was absolutely concerned should know ; but for the general
public, what did it matter to them whether the bond which
bound a man of fashion to a celebrated singer was legitimate
or not ? Lottie would not wish for society, she would not
feel the want of society, and particularly in the interval, while
she was still not a celebrated singer, it was specially necessary
that all should be kept ' quiet.' He would take her to Italy,
and it would be not at all needful to introduce any stray
acquaintance who might happen to turn up, to his wife. In
short, there was no occasion for introducing anyone to her.
Lottie would not want anything. She would be content with
himself Poor darling ! what wonderful trust there was in
her ! By this time he was able to half-laugh at his own guilty
intention, which she had so completely extinguished by her
inability to vmderstand it, her perfect acceptance of it as all
that was honourable and tender. He was going to do the
right thing now — cerbiinly the right thing, without any mis-
take about it ; but still that it should be made to look like the
wrong thing, Avas the idea in Rollo's mind. He would take
her to Italy and train her for her future career ; but neither
at the present time nor in the futui'e would it be necessary to
put the dots iipon the i's in respect to her position. As for
Lottie, he knew very well that she, having no doubt about
her position, would not insist upon any publication of it. It
w^ould never once occur to her that there was any possibility
of being misconstrued.
With these thoughts in his mind, Eollo dressed very hastily
for dinner, as he had lingered with Lottie to the last moment.
And as it happened, this was the very evening which Augusta
chose for discussing openly the subject to Avhich she had,
without speaking of it, already devoted all her powers of re-
search since she had arrived at home. In the evening after
dinner Eollo was the only one of the gentlemen who came into
the drawing-room. Augusta's husband was an inoffensive
and silent man, with what are called ' refined tastes.' For
one thing he was in a mild way an antiquary. He did not
enter very much into his Avife's life, nor she into his. She
was fashionable, he had refined tastes; they Avere perfectly
good friends ; and though not yet married six months, fol-
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE : ROLLO. 423
lowed eacli their own way, Spencer Daventry had gone to
his father-in-law's study accordingly, to investigate some rare
books, and his wife was in the drawing-room alone — that is,
not exactly alone, for Lady Caroline was ' on the sofa.' When
Lady Caroline was on the sofa she did not trouble anybody
much, and even the coming in of the lamps had not disturbed
her. She had 'just closed her eyes.' Her dress was care-
fully drawn over her feet by Mrs. Daventry's care, and a
wadded couvrc-pitd in crimson satin laid over them. Augusta
liked to see to every little decorum, and would have thought
the toe of her mother's innocent shoe an improper revelation.
Perhaps it was by her orders that IMr. Daventry had not
come in. There was no company that evening, and when
Rollo entered the drawinix-room he saAV at once that he had
fallen into a trap. Augusta sat on a comfortable chair by the
fire, with a small table near her and a lamp upon it. The
other lights were far away, candles twinkling in the distance
on the piano, and here and there against the walls : but only
this one spot by the fire in warm and full light ; and a vacant
chair stood invitingly on the other side of Augusta's tiiblo.
No more snug arrangement for a tcte-d-tctc could have been,
for Lady Caroline was nothing but a bit of still life — more
still almost than the rest of the furniture. Augusta looked up
as her cousin came in, with a smik-.
' Alone ? ' she said ; ' then come here, Kollo, and let us
have a talk.'
Eollo would not have been Kollo if he had felt any repug-
nance to this amusement. Needless to say that in their boy
and girl days there had been passages of something they were
pleased to call love between the cousins ; and equally need-
less to add that all this liad long been over, both being far
too sensible (though one had been led astray by Lottie, to his
own consternation and confusion) to think of any serious
conclusion to such a youthful folly. Kollo sat down with
mingled pleasure and alarm. lie liked a confidential talk
with any woman ; but in this case he was not without fear.
And his fears were thoroughly well founded as it turned
out. After a few preliminaries about nothing at all, Augusta
suddenly plunged into her sul:)ject.
' I am very glad,' .she said, ' to have a chance of speaking
to you, by ourselves. IManinia does not pay a)>y attention ;
it is quite the same as if she were not there. Y(>u know I've
424 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
always taken a great interest in you, Hollo. "VVe are cousins;
and we are very old friends — more like brother and sister.'
' I demur to the brother and sister ; but as old friends as
memory can go,' said he ; ' and very happy to be permitted
all the privileges of a cousin — with such a good fellow as
Daventry added on.'
' Oh, yes. Spencer's very nice,' said she. ' He takes
very kindly to my people ; but it is not about Spencer I want
to talk to you. Hollo, but about yourself.'
' That's so much the better,' said Rollo ; ' for I might not
have liked bridal raptui-es, not being able, you know, Augusta,
quite to forget '
' Oh, that's all nonsense,' said Augusta, with the faintest
of blushes ; ' bridal fiddlesticks ! People in the world keep
clear of all that nonsense, heaven be praised. No, KoUoy
it's about youi'self. I am very anxious about you.'
' Angelic cousin 1 — but there is no cause for anxiety that
I know of in me.'
' Oh, yes, Rollo, there is great cause of anxiety. I must
speak to you quite frankly. "When I was married you had
never seen Lottie Despard '
' IMiss Despard ! ' He repeated the name in a surprised
tone and with eyes full of astonishment. He was glad of the
opportunity of looking to the buckles of his armour and
]»eparing for the onset ; and therefore he made the surprise
of the exclamation as telling as he could. ' What can she
have to do with your anxiety ? ' he said.
' Yes, Lottie Despard. Oh, she has a gi-eat deal to do
with it. Rollo, how can you think that any good can come
of such a flirtation either to you or the girl ? '
' Flirtation, Augusta ? '
' Yes, flirtation, or something worse. Why do you always
go to her lessons ? Oh, I know you always go. She can't
sing a bit, poor thing ; and it only fills her poor heart with
vanity and nonsense ; and you meet her when you walk out.
Don't contradict me, please. Should I say so, if I had not
made quite sure ? I know the view you men take of honour.
You think when a girl is concerned you are bound to deny
everything. So you may be sure I did not say it till I had
made quite sure. Now, Rollo, I ask you what can possibly
come of anything of this kind ? Of course you only mean,
to amuse yourself; and of course it is the girl's fault if
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE : ROLLO. 425
slie gets herself talked about ; for slie must know as well as I
do that there can be nothing in it; but for all that '
' You take away my breath,' said Rollo ; ' you seem to
know so much better than I do the things that have happened
or are happening to myself.'
' I do,' said Augusta, ' for I have been thinking about it,
and you have not. You have just done what was pleasant at
the moment, and never taken any thought. Y'ou are doing
a great deal of harm to Lottie, poor thing, filling her head
with silly fancies, and turning her against people of her own
class. And suppose some really nice girl were to turn up,
someone with money, what would she think of you, dangling
for ever after a young Avoman who is not even in society ? I
am taking it for granted that it is only a silly flirtation: for
as for anything worse,' said Augusta, with severity, ' it cannot
be supposed for a moment that / could speak to you of that ;
but you know very well, Rollo, a man of the world, like you,
how very dreadful, how fatal all those sort of entanglements
are, even when you don't look at them from a high moral
point of view.'
'You make me out a pretty character,' said llolloj
Avith an angry smile. ' I never knew I was a Lovelace till
now.'
* Oh, all you men are the same,' said Augusta, * if women
will let you. Women have themselves to thank when any-
thing happens, for it is of ten times more importance to them
than it is to you. A man is none the worse for things that
would ruin a girl for ever. But, still, you are not in a.
position to be careless of what people say. Y"ou have not a
penny, Kollo; and I don't believe in your opera. The only
•way in which you will ever have an^fthing is by a suitable
marriage. Suppose that any of your relations were to find a
really nice person for you, and you were to spoil it all by a
folly like this ! That is how I look at it. To ruin yourself
for a girl's pretty face ! and her voice — when she can't sing a^
note ! '
' Am I to infer that you have got a nice person for me? '
said Kollo, furious inwardly, yet keeping his temper, and-
turning the conversation in this direction by way of diverting
it from more dangerous subjects. And then Augusta (draw-
ing somewhat upon her imagination, it must be allowed) told
Lira of a very nice person indeed. Kollo listened, by way of.
426 WIXniK THE PRECINCTS.
securing liis escape ; but by and by lie got slightly interested,
in spite of himself. This really nice girl was coming to the
Deanery for two or three days. She had a hundred thousand
pounds. She had heard of Rollo Ridsdale, and already ' took
an interest ' in him. It was perhaps partly fiction, for the
visit of this golden girl to the Deanery was not by any means
settled — but yet there was in it a germ of fact. ' It is an op-
portunity that never may occur again,' Augusta said, like a
shop that is sellmg off. And indeed it was a sale Avhich she
would have greatly liked to negotiate, though Eollo was less
the buyer than the piece of goods of which sale was to be
made.
A hundred thousand pounds ! He could not help think-
ing of it later in the evening, when he smoked his cigar, and
as he went to bed. His affairs seemed to him to be managed
by some malign and tricky spirit. Just at this moment,
when he was pledged to the most imprudent marriage that
could be conceived, was it not just his luck that fate should
take the opportunity of dangling such a prize before him ?
A himdred thousand pounds ! Why was it not Lottie that
had this money ? or why, as she had no money, had she been
thrown in his way ? To be sure she had a voice, which was
as good as a fortune, but not equal to a hundred thousand
pounds. HoAvever, he said to himself, there was no help for
it now. All this happened before the brief interview on the
hill, Avhich sent him off to town before the hour he intended,
and which proved to him, over and over again, her trust in
him, which was beyond anything he had ever di*eamed of.
That she should guard him even from her father, that she
should believe in him, to the disdain of every safeguard which
the vulgar mind relied on, astonished, confounded, and im-
pressed his mind beyond description. To deceive her would
be the easiest thing in the world, but, at the same time, would
it not be the most impossible thing, the last that any man not
a villain could do ? And there was besides a glimmering per-
ception in EoUo's mind that deception would only be practicable
up to a certain point, and that the scorn and horror and indig-
nation Vv^ith which Lottie would turn upon the criminal who
had intended shame to her, would be something as much
unlike the ordinary rage of a wronged woman as her trust was
beyond the ordinary suspicious smoothness of ordinary belief.
Shame and she had nothins; to do with each other. She miojht
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FOPwTCNE : nOLLO. 427
die in the agony of the dij<;ovcry, but first her eyes, her lips,
the passion of lier indignant purity would slay. With ;i deep
regret he thought of the easier tie. Augusta's words had been
those of a silly woman when she spoke of fatal eutanglomi'uts.
On the contrary, marriage was the fatal thing. The other —
what harm would it have done ? None to Lottie in her
career ; no one Avoiiid have thought any the worse of her.
i 'eople would be sure to suppose that something of the kind
had occurred in a singer's life, whether it was true or not. It
Avcnild have done her no harm ; and it would not have done
Itollo any harm. To think of it as fatal was the greatest
folly. On the contrary, they would have been of use to each
other now, and after they would each have been free to con-
sult their own interests. He could not help thinking very
regretfully of this so easy, agreeable expedient, which would
liave been anything but fatal. To be sure, this was not, as
Augusta said, a high moral point o£ view ; but RoUo did not
pretend to be a moralist. All these thoughts poured through
his mind again as he went to London, with the full intention
of getting a license for his marriage, and making all the ar-
rangements which would bind Lottie to him as his wife, lie
was obliged to do this; he could not help himself. ]Much
rather woidd he have done anything else — taken the other
alternative — but it was not possible. There was but this one
thing to do — a thing which put it entirely out of his power
for ever and ever to consider the claims of any really nice
person with a hundred thousand pounds at her disposal.
Rollo did not pretend to himself that he took the decisive
step Avith any satisfaction. He was no triumphant bride-
groom ; but he was a true lover, and not a villain, and regret-
fully but steadfastly he gave himself up to what he had to do.
It was too late to do anything in respect to the license
when he arrived in town, but there were many other things
to be settled, in order to make u considerably long absence
practicable, and these he arranged in his own mind as he
approached his journey's end. For one thing, he had the
funds to provide ; and that, as will be readily perceived, was
no small matter. He walked out of the railway station, pon-
dering this in his mind. It was a grave question, not one to
be lightly solved. He did not want to return to town till tho
season should have begun. No doubt five months' Imney-
mooning would bore any man, but he felt it to be too impor-
428 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
tant to think of mere personal amusement; and he could
always make expeditions himself to more lively places, and
get a share of any amusement that might be going, when he
had settled down Lottie to her studies, under the best masters
that were to be had. All this was quite easily settled ; but
for an absence of five months, if you have not any income to
speak of, it is necessary to have an understanding with your
bankers, or somebody else. He meant to try his bankers, for
his confidence in Lottie's future success was extreme, and he
felt justified in speaking of it as money which his future wife
would be entitled to. All these plans he was laying very
deliberately in his head, calculating how much he would need,
and various other particulars, when the face of a man
approaching in a hansom suddenly struck him. It was Rixon,
his father's confidential servant, a man who had been in Lord
Courtland's service as long as anybody could recollect. What
was he doing there ? The hansom was directing its course
towards the railway from which Rollo had just come, and
Eixon's countenance was of an extreme gravity. What could
it mean ? Could anything have happened ? Rollo saw the
hansom pass, but its occupant did not see him. He could
not banish from his thoughts the idea that something must
have happened — that it was to tell him something, some news
more or less terrible that Rixon Avas on his way to the railway
which went to St. Michael's. After a moment's hesitation he
turned and went back to the station, not being able to divest
himself of this idea. To be sure Rixon might be going some-
where on business of his own ; he might be looking grave
about his own affairs. Still Rollo turned and went back ; in
any case it was best to know. The man was standing among
several others, waiting to take his ticket for the train, when
Rollo re-entered the station ; he was getting his money out of
his pocket to pay his fare ; but looking up as he did this,
Rixon started, put his money back, and immediately disen-
gaged himself from the queue. It was then a message from
home of sufficient importance to be sent by special envoy.
Rollo had time to examine this bearer of ill-news as he
approached. What but ill-news was ever so urgent ? special
messengers do not travel about to stray sons of a family with
news of birth or bridal. There is but one thing which calls
for such state, and that is death. Rollo ran over all the
chances in a moment, in his mind. His father — if it were
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE : KOLLO. 429
his father, there ■would be a little delay, a little ready money,
more need than ever, and a very good excuse, for keeping
everything quiet. It Avas not absolute want of feeling that
suggested this thought. If it was his father there would be
many reasons for being sorry. Home, with your brother at
the head of affairs, is not home like your father's house. And
Lord Courtland, though his second son had worn out his
kindness, was still kind more or less. Eollo was not insen-
sible ; he felt the dull consciousness of a blow before he
received it, as he fixed his eyes upon Rixon's mournful
countenance, and the band on his hat.
' What is the matter ? ' he said, as the man approached.
* What has happened ? You were going to me ? Tell me at
once what it is.'
* I beg your pardon. Sir,' said Eixon, with the pei-petual
apology of a well-bred servant. ' Yes, sir, I was going to St.
Michael's. My lord sent me to tell you '
'Thank heaven, that it is not my father ! You mean that
my father sent you ? That is a relief,' said Eollo, drawing a
long breath.
' Yes, my — Sir ! ' said Eixon, with confusion, ' my lord
is in the enjoyment of perfect health — at least as good as is
compatible Avith the great misfortime, the catastrophe that
has — snatched '
' What do you mean ? ' said Eollo. Eixon was fond of
long words. He laughed, * You are always mysterious. But
if my father is all right '
' Oh, don't ! my — don't. Sir ! ' said the man, laughing is
not what ought to be on your lips at such a moment. Your
brother has had an accident '
' My brother — Eidsdale ? Good heavens ! Can't you
speak out ? What has happened ? ' said Eollo, with blanched
cheeks. Horror, fear, hope, all sprung up within him, indis-
tinguishable the one from the other. The moment seemed
a year during which he stood waiting for Kixon's next
words.
' It is too true, my lord,' said the man, and the address
threw around Eollo a sudden gleam of growing light.
' Your brother had a terrible accident on the hunting-field.
His horse stumbled on King's Mead, at that bad fence by Wil-
lowbrook. He was taken up insensible, and died before he
could be got home. Things are in a terrible state at Court-
430 WITHIN THE rEECINCTS.
lands. I was sent to let your lordship know. My lord would
be glad if you would come home at once.'
Kollo staggered back, and put himself against the wall.
A cold moisture burst out over him. He grew so pale that
Eixon thought he was going to faint. The man said after-
wards that he could not have believed that Mr. Eidsdale had
so much feeling. And partly it was feeling as Hi xon thought.
For the first moment the thought that his brorher, upon whom
late had always smiled — Eidsdale ! Eidsdale ! — the very im-
personation of prosperity and good fortune, should be lying
dead, actually dead, at his age, with all his prospects, appalled
him. It seemed too much, unnatural, beyond all possibility
of belief. Then the blood rushed back through all his veins
Avith a flush and suffusion of sudden heat. The change
alarmed the messenger of so nuich evil and so much good.
He put out his hand to support his young master. ' My lord,
my lord ! ' he said (they were words which Eixon loved to
re]3eat, and which added to his own dignity as a gentleman's
gentleman), ' remember your father ; now that your lamented
brother is gone, all his lordship's trust is in you.'
Eollo waved his hand, not caring for the moment to speak.
' Let me alone ! ' he said. ' Let me alone ! leave me to my-
self.' And it did not take him long to recover and shake off
the horrible impression, and realise the astounding change
that had occurred. Perhaps it is not possible that the death
of a brother, which produces so extraordinary and beneficial
a change in the situation and prospects of the next in suc-
cession, can be regarded with the natural feeling which such
an event uncomplicated by loss or gain of a pecuniary kind
calls forth. There was a sudden shock, then a consciousness
that something was expected from him, some show of grief
and profound distress ; and then a bewildering, overwhelming,
stupefying, yet exciting realisation of the change thus sud-
denly accomplished in himself. He was no longer merely
Kollo, a fashionable adventurer, dealing in every kind of
doubtful speculation, and legitimatised gambling, a man of no
importance to anyone, and free to carry out whatever schemes
might come into his head ; but now — an altogether different
person — Lord Ridsdalc, his father's heir ; the future head of
a great family ; a future peer ; and already endowed with all
the importance of an heir-apparent. The world seemed to go
round and round with EoUo, and when it settled again out of
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE : HOLLO. 131
the -whirling and pale confusion as of an earthquake, it was
not any longer the same world. The proportion of things
had changed in the twinkling of an eye. The distant and the
near had changed places. What Avas close to him before re-
ceded ; what was far away became near. In the hurry of his
thoughts he conld not even think. Pain mingled with every-
thing, with the giddiness of a strange elation, with the bewil-
derment of a surprise more startling than any that had ever
come to him before in all his life. Ridsdale ! — he who had
always been so smiling and prosperous ; he to whom every-
thing was forgiven ; whose sins were only peccadilloes ; whose
lightest schoolboy successes Avere trumpeted abroad, whose
movements were recorded wherever he went ; it Avas incon-
ceivable that he should be lying — dead ; inconceivable that
Rollo, the detrimental, the one in the family Avhom all dis-
approved of, should be put in his place, and succeed to all his
privileges and exemptions. It did not seem possible. It
needed Rixon saying my lord to him at every moment, to
make the curious fiction seem true. Kixon got a cab to drive
his young master to the other station, by Avhich he must go to
Courtlands ; and Rollo, leaving all his ibrmcr life behind him,
leaving his license, his marriage, his bride, in the opposite di-
rection, fading into misty spectres — turned his hack upon all
that had been most important to him half an hour ago, and
drove away.
He went through that day like a dream — the whole course
of his existence turned into another channel. He got home,
rolling up to the familiar door with sensations so different
from any that had ever moved him when entering that door
before. He looked at it this time with a feeling of proprietor-
ship. It had been his home for all his early life ; but now it
was going to be his oicn, Avhich is very different. He looked
at the very trees with a different feeling, wondering why so
many should be marked for cutting down. What had tliey
been doing to want to get rid of so many trees ? When he
went into the room where his brother lay dead, it Avas to him
as if a Avaxen image lay there, as if it Avere all a skilful scene,
arranged to make believe that such a change, one man substi-
tuted for another, could be real. To Rollo it did not seem to
be real. It was the younger son Avho had died, Avith all his
busy schemes — his plans for the future, his contrivances to
get money, and the strange connections Avhich he had formed.
432 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
Eollo, who was the founder of the new opera, the partner of
the bustling manager ; it was he who was lying on that bed.
All his plans would be buried with him — his Bohemianism,
his enterprises, his — ■ — . What was it that the poor fool had
gone in ibr, the last of all his undertakings, the thing in which
he had been happily arrested ere he could harm himself or
embarrass the family ? — his love . It was when standing
by the bed on which his brother lay dead that this thought
suddenly darted into the new Lord Eidsdale's mind. He
turned away with a half groan. Providence had interposed to
prevent that foolish fellow from consummating his fate. He
bad not yet reached the highest pitch of folly when the blow
fell. Something there was which the family had escaped.
When the key was turned again in the door, and he went back
to another darkened room and heard all about the accident, it
was almost on his lips to contradict the speakers, and tell them
it was not Eidsdale that was dead. But he did not do so.
He preserved his decorum and seriousness. He was * very
feeling.' Lord Courtland, who had been afraid of his son's
levity, and had trembled lest Rollo, who had never been on
very intimate terms with his brother, should show less sorrow
than was becoming, was deeply satisfied. ' How little we
know what is in a man till he's tried,' he said to his sister,
Lady Beatrice. Lady Courtland, the mother of the young
man, was happily long ago dead.
Thus, after setting out in the morning, full of tender ar-
dour, notwithstanding his many doubts — to make the arrange-
ments for his marriage, Rollo found himself at night one of
the chief mourners in a house full of weeping. It Avas late at
night when he got to his own room, and was able really to set
himself to consider his oAvn affairs. Which were his own
affairs ? The cares of the head of the family, the earl's heir
and right hand — or those strangely different anxieties which
had been in the mind of the second son ? When he sat down
to think it over, once more there came a giddiness and bewil-
derment over Rollo's being. He seemed scarcely able to force
back upon himself the events which had happened at St.
Michael's only this morning. The figure of Lottie appeared
to him through the mist, far, far away, dimly apparent at the
end of a long vista. Lottie. What had he intended to do ?
He had meant to get a license for his marriage to her, to
arrange how he could get money — if money was to be had by
THE EFFECT OF GOOD FORTUNE : KOLLO. 433
hook or by crook — to see about the tickets for their journey,
to decide Avhere to go to — even to provide travelling-wraps
for his bride. All this he had come to London to do only this
morning, and now it almost cost him an effort to recollect
what it was. He would have been glad to evade the subject,
to feel that he had a right to rest after such a fatiguing day ;
but the revolution in and about him was such that he could
not rest. St. Michael's and all its scenes passed before him
like dissolving views, foding off into the mist, then rising again
n specti-al indistinctness. lie could not think they belonged
to him, or that the central figure in all these pictures was his
own. Was it not rather his brother — he Avho had died. ? It
seemed to Lord Ridsdale that he Avas settling Rollo's affiiirs
for him, thinking what was best to be done. He had been
horribly imprudent, and had planned a still greater impru-
dence to come, when death arrested him in mid-career ; but.
Heaven be praised, the heedless fellow had been stopped be-
fore he committed himself ! Hollo shuddered to think what
would have happened had the family been hampered by u
■wife. A wife ! What a fool he had been ; Avhat a dream he
had been absorbed in ; folly, unmitigated, inexcusable ; but,
thank Heaven, he had been stopped in time. Lottie — that
was her name, and she had been very fond of him ; poor girl,
it Avould be a great disappointment for her. Thus Eollo
thought, not feeling tliat he had anything to do with it. It
was all over, so completely over, that there vas scarcely a
struggle in his mind, scarcely any controversy with himself,
on the subject. No advocate, heavenly or diabolical, spoke on
Lottie's behalf. The Avhole alliiir was done with — it was im-
possible — there was no room even for consideration. For
Lord Ridsdale to marry a nameless girl, the highest possibi-
lity in whose lot was to become a singer, and who had to be
educated before even that was practicable, was not to be
thought of. It was a bad thing for the poor girl ; poor
thing ! no doubt it was hard upon her.
Thus — was it any doing of Rollo's ? Providence itself
opened a door of escape for him from his unwary folly. Law
did not act in the same way ; when good fortune came to
him, by a mere savage and uncultivated sentiment of honour,
he had gone to the girl who had been his sweetheart to pro-
pose that she should share it. Lord Ridsdale, however, was
not of this vulgar strain. The savage virtues were not in his
FF
4.34 wnniN the precincts.
way — they Avere not possible in his circumstances. Noblesse
chlige ; he could not raise Lottie to the sublime elevation of
the rank he had so unexpectedly fallen into. That Avas not
possible. The matter was so clear that it barred all question.
There was not a word to be said on her side.
Nevertheless, had it not been for all the trouble about
poor Ridsdale's funeral, and the attentions required by the
father, whose manner had so entirely changed to his surviving
son, and who was now altogether dependent upon him — the
new heir to the honours of the Courtland family might have
broken off with his old love in a more considerate way. But
he had no time to think. The very day had come before he
could communicate Avith her ; and then it had to be done
abruptly. And, alter all, a little more or less, what did it
matter? The important point, for her sake especially, was
that the change should be perfectly definite and clear. Poor
Lottie ! he was so sorry for her. It would be better, much
better for her to hate him now, if she cotild; and, above all,
it Avas the kindest thing to her to make the disruption distinct,
beyond all possibility either of doubt or of hope.
CHAPTER XLIL
FRIDAY.'
Captain Despard put on his best coat after his retiu-n from
the Abbey on the morning of RoUo's departure. He brushed
his hat Avith more than his usual care ; he found, after much
investigation, among Avhat he called his papers, an ancient
and shabby card-case : and thus equipped set forth on his
solemn mission. He had a bit of red geranium in his button-
hole which looked cheerful against the damp and gloom of
the morning. Polly, looking out after him, thought her
Captain a finished gentleman, and felt a swell of pride expand
lier bosom — of pride and of anxiety as Avell — for if, by good
fortune, the Captain should succeed in his mission, then Polly
felt that there Avould be a reasonable chance of getting ' her
house to herself.' Lottie's proud withdrawal from all the
concerns of the house had indeed given her stepmother a
TILL FRIDAY.' 435
great deal less trouble than she had expected ; but she could
not escape from the idea of Lottie's criticism; and the sight
of the girl, sitting there, looking as if she knew better, though
she never said an}- thing, was to Polly as gall and wormwood.
If she Avould have spoken, there would have been less harm.
Mrs. Despard was always ready for a conflict of tongues, and
knew that she was not likely to come oft' second best ; but
Lottie's silence exasperated her; and it was the highest objeftt-
of her desires to get her house to herself. Lottie was coming
down the Dean's Walk, calm, and relieved, and happy, after
seeing her lover make his way down the Slopes, Avhen the
Captain turned towards the cloisters. Her heart gave a jump
of irritation and excitement, followed by a gleam of angry
pleasure. This mission, which was an insult to her and to
KoUo alike, would be a failure, thank Heaven ; but still it
was a shame that it should ever have been undertaken. Oh,
how unlike, she thought, the perfect trust and faith that was
between them, to intrude this vulg;ar inquiry, this coarse
interference, into the perfection of their love ! It brought
the tears to Lottie's eyes to think how ready he was to throw
prudence to the winds for her sake, to accept all the risks of
lii'e rather than leave her to suffer ; the only question between
them being whether it was right for her to accept such a
sacrifice. Lottie did not think of the approval of his family
as she ought to have done, and as for the approval of her own,
though the secret vexed her a little, yet she was glad to escape
from the noisy congratulations to which she would have been
subjected, and her father's unctuous satisfaction had her
prospects been known. A few days longer, and the new wife
Avhose presence was an offence to Lottie would have her house
to herself. The two, upon such opposite sides, used the very
same words ; Lottie, too, was thankful above measure that
Mrs. Despard Would have her house to herself. She calcu-
lated the days — Wednesday, Thursday, Friday ; Friday was
the day on which she was to meet him in the afternoon, while
all the world at St. Michael's was at the afternoon service,
and when the Signor, on the organ, which had been the
accompaniment to all the story of their love, would be filling
the wintry air with majestic and tender and solemn sound.
She seemed to hear the pealing of that wonderful symphony,
and Rollo's voice against it, like a figure standing out against
a noble background, telling her all he had done, and when
FF 2
43 G WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
and how the crowning event of their story was to be. Her
heart was beating loudly, yet softly, in Lottie's breast. Su-
preme expectation, yet satisfaction, an agitated calm, a pathetic-
happiness, feelings too exquisite in their kind to be without a
touch o£ pain, filled all her being. The happiness she had
most prized all her life was to have her ideal fulfilled in ihose
she loved ; and was it possible that any man could have more-
nobly done what a true lover should do, than Rollo was doing
it ? She was happy, in that he loved her above prudence and
care and worldly advantage ; but she was almost happier in
that this generosity, this tender ardour, this quick and sudden
action of the deliverer, was all that poet could have asked or
imagination thought of These were her fancies, poor girl ;
the fancies of a foolish, inexperienced creature, knowing
nothing — and far enough from the truth that the charitable
may forgive her. Heaven knows !
"When she went in, Polly called her, Avith a certain
imperiousness. She was on her way to her room, that sole
bower of safety ; but this Mrs. Despard had made up her
mind not to allow. ' You may show me those scales you
were speaking of,' said Polly. ' I daresay I'll remember as
soon as I see them. It will take vip your attention, and it
will take up my attention till your pa comes back. I'm that
full of sympathy (though it can't be said as you deserve it),
that though I have nothing to do with it, I am just as anxious
as you are.'
' I am not anxious,' Lottie said proudly ; but she would
not condescend to say more. She brought out an old music-
book with easy lessons for a beginner, at which she had
herself laboured in her childhood, and placed it before her
scholar. The notes were like Hebrew and Greek to Polly,
and she could not twist her fingei's into the proper places ;
these fingers were not like a child's pliable joints, and how
to move each one separately was a problem v.^hich she could
not master. She sat at the piano with the greatest seriousness,
striking a note a minute, with much strain of the unac-
customed hand — and now and then looking up jealously to
see if her instructress was laughing at her ; but Lottie was
too preoccupied to smile. She heard her father coming back
in what she felt to be angry haste; and then, with her heart
beating, listened to his step upon the stairs. At this Polly
too was startled, and jumping up from her laborious exercise,
-* TILL FRIDAY.' 437
snatched the old music-book from its place and opened it at
random at another page.
' Me and ISIi.ss Lottie, we've boen practising our duet,' she
said. ' La, Harry ! is that you liack so soon ? '
* The fellow's gone ! ' said Captain Despard, throwing
down his hat and cane; that hat which had been brushed
for nothing, which had not even overawed Mr. Jeremie, who
gazed at him superciliously, holding the Deanery door half
open, and not impressed at all by the fine manners of the
Chevalier. ' The fellow's gone ! lie did not mean to go
yesterday, that odious menial as good as confessed. He has
heard I was coming, and he has fled. There could not be
a woroe sign. ]\Iy poor child ! Lottie ! ' said the Captain,
suddenly catching a gleam of something like enjoyment in
her eyes, ' you do not mean to tell me that you were the
traitor. You ! Was it you told him ? You may be a fool,
but so great a fool as thot couldn't be ! '
Lottie scorned to deny Avhat she had done. She was too
proud and too rash to think that she was betraying herself by
the acknowledgment. She met her father's eye with involun-
tary defiance. ' You would not listen to me,' she said, ' and
I could not bear it. It was a disgrace ; it was humbling me
to the dust. I warned him you were coming ' As she
spoke she suddenly perceived all that was involved in the
confession, and grew crimson-red, and then pale. J
' So, miss,' said Polly ' you're nicely caught. Keeping
comj^anv all this time, and never to .say a word to nobody ;
but if I were your pa, yoi; shouldn't be let oft" like that.
Was it for nothing but a bit of fun you've been going on
with the gentleman ? That's carrying it a deal too far, that
is. And when your ])a takes it in hand to bring him to the
point, you ups and tells him, and irightens him away ! I'd
just like to know — and, Harry, I'd have you to ask her —
what she means by it ? What do you mean by it, miss ?
Do you mean to live on here for ever, and eat us out of house
and home? If you Avon't work for your living, nor do
anything to get an 'usband, I'd just like to know what you
mean to do ? '
' Hold your tongue,' said her husband. ' Let her alone.
It is I that must speak. Lottie, is it really true that you
hnvii betrayed your father ? You have separated yourself
from me and put yourself on the side of a villain I '
438 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
' Mr. Ridsdale is not Ji villuin,' said Lottie, passionately.
'What has he done? He has done notliing that can give
you any right to interfere with him. I told him, because I
would not have him interfered with. He has done nothing
wrong.
' He has trifled with my child's affections,' said the Captain.
' He has filled our minds with false expectations. By Jove,
he had better not come in the way of Harry Despard, if that's
how he means to behave. I'll horsewhip the fellow — I'll kill
him ; I'll show him up, if he were twenty times the Dean's
nephew. And you, girl, what can anyone .say to you — never
thinking of your own interest, or of what's to become of you,
as Mrs. Despard says ? '
' Her own interest ! ' cried Polly. ' Oh, she'll take care
of herself, never fear. She knows 5^ou won't turn her to the
door, Harry. You're too soft, and they knows it. They'll
hang upon you and eat up everything you have, till you have
the courage to tell them as you won't put up with it. Oh,
you needn't turn upon me, Miss Lottie. As long as there
was a chance of a good 'usband I never said a word ; but
when you goes and throws your chance away out of wilful
pride, then I'm bound to speak. Your poor pa has not a
penny, and all that he has he wants for himself ; and I want
my house to myself, Harry ; you always promised I was to
have my house to myself. I don't want none of your grown-
up daughters, as think themselves a deal better than me. I
think I will go out of my mind with Miss Lottie's lessons, and
Mr. Law's lessons, and all the rest. I never would have
married you — you know I shouldn't — if I hadn't thought as
I was to have my house to myself.'
' My love,' said the Captain deprecatingly, ' you know it
is not my fault. You know that if I could I would give you
everything. I had very good reason to think '
' Papa,' said Lottie, who had been standing by trembling,
but less with fear than passionate disgust and anger, ' do you
agree in what she Siiys ? '
' Of course he agrees,' says Polly. ' He hasn't got any
choice; he's obliged to say the same as me. He promised
me when I married him as you shouldn't be long in my way.
He told me as you was going to be married. One girl don't
like another girl for everlasting in her road ; and you never
took no trouble to make yourself agreeable, not even about
the music. Harry, do you hear me ? Speak up, and say
TILL rr.iDAY.' 439
the truth for once. Tell her if she goes on going against nic
and you, and all we do for her, like this, that you won't have
her here.'
' My child,' said the Captain, who, to do him justice, was
by no means happy in his task, 'you see me in a difficult
position, a most difficult position. What can I say ? !\Irs.
Despard is right. When I married it was my opinion that
you, too, would soon make a happy and brilliant marriage.
How far that influenced me I need not say. I thought you
would be established yourself, and able to help your brother
and — and even myself. I'm disappointed, I cannot deny
it ; and if you liave now, instead of fulfilling my expectations,
done your best, your very best, to balk '
The Captain hesitated and faltered, and tried to swagger,
but in vain. He had the traditions of a gentleman lingering
about him, and Lottie Avas his child, when all was said. He
could not look at her, or meet her eyes; and Lottie, for her
part, who could see nothing but from her own side of the
question, who did not at all realise his, nor recognise any
extenuating circumstances in the plea that he had thought
her about to marry, so blazed upon him with lofty indignation
as to have altogether consumed her father had he been weak
enough to look at her. She did not even glance at Polly,
who stood b)'', eager to rush into the fray.
' In that case,' she said with a passionate solemnity, ' you
shall be satisfied, papa. A few days and you shall be satis-
fied. I will not ask any shelter from you after — a few days.'
Though it was happiness Lottie looked forward to, and
there could no longer in this house be anything but pain and
trouble for her, these words seemed to choke her. To leave
her father's house thus ; to make the greatest of changes in
her life, thus ; all Lottie's sense of what was fit and seemly
was wounded beyond description. She turned aAvay, listening
to none of the questions which Avere showered upon her.
' What did she mean ? Where was she going ? When did
she intend to go ? What was she thinking of ? ' To all
these Lottie made no reply ; she did not even wait to hear
them, but swept away with something of the conscious state-
liness of the injured, which it is so hard for youth to deny
itself. Heaven knows her heart was full enough ; yet there
was in Lottie's deportment, as she swept out of the room,
perhaps a touch of the injiu-ed heroine, a suggestion of a
tragedy queen.
440 ■U'lTHIN THE rr.ECINCTS.
She went into her own room, where she found consolation
very speedily in such preparations ibr her departure as she
could make. She took out her white muslin dress, the simple
garment which was so associated witli thoughts of Rollo, and
spent an hour of painful yet pleasant consideration over it,
wondering how it could be made to serve for Saturday. Such
a marriage made the toilette of a bride impossible ; but Lottie
could not bear the thought of standing by her lover's side,
and pledging him her faith, in her poor little brown frock
which she had worn all the winter past. She thought that,
carefully pinned up under her cloak, she might wear this, her
only white gown, to be a little like a bride. It had been
washed, but it had not suffered much. The folds might be a
little stiffer and less flowing than before they had undergone
the indignity of starch ; but still they were fresh and white,
and Lottie did not think it would be noticed that the dress
was not new. Perhaps it was more appropriate that in her
poverty and desolation she should go to him in the gown she
had worn, not in one made new and lovely, as if there were
people who cared. ' Nobody cares,' she said to herself, but
without the usual depression which these words convey.
She filled up the bodice of her little dress, which had been
made open at the throat for evening use, and made it fit close.
She put her pearl locket upon a bit of white ribbon. Doing
this consoled her for the pangs she had borne. All the money
she had of her own was one sovereign, which she had kept
from the time of her mother's death as a last supreme resource
in case of emergency ; surely she might use it now. Taking
this precious coin from the little old purse in which it was
put away, in the deepest corner of an old Indian box, purse
and box and coin all coming from her mother, Lottie went
out to make a few purchases. She was forlorn, but her heart
was light. She went down to the great shop not far from the
Abbey gates, of which St. Michael's was proud, and bought
some tulle and white ribbons. Poor child ! her heart yearned
for a little sprig of orange blossom, but she did not venture
to ask for anything that would betray her. It seemed to
Lottie that she met everybody in the place as she went home
with her little parcel in her hand. She met Mr. Ashford,
for one, who was greatly surprised that she did not stop to
speak to him about Law, and who was, indeed, to tell the
truth, somewhat disappointed and chagrined that his liberality
-'till fkiday.' 441
to his pupil had as yet mot with no response except from that
pupil himself. The Minor Canon looked at her wistfully;
but Lottie, being lull of her own thoughts, did nothing but
smile in reply to his bow. Then she met Captain Temple,
who, less shy, came to her side eagerly, complaining and
upbraiding her that she had deserted him.
' I never see you,' said the old man, ' and my wife says
the same, who takes so much interest in you. We hope, my
dear,' he said, kind yet half vexed with her, ' that all is going
better — going well now ? '
' Indeed it is not. Captain Temple,' Lottie said, tears
coming suddenly to her eyes. She could not but wonder
what he would think of her if he knew — if he would disap-
prove of her; and this sudden thought brought a look of
anxiety and sudden emotion into her face.
• My poor child ! ' cried the old Chevalier. The ready
moisture sprang to his eyes also. ' Lottie,' he said, ' my wile
takes a great interest in you ; she would be very fond of you
if she knew you better. Come to us, my dear, and we will
take care of you.' He said it with the fervour of uncertainty,
for he was not sure, after all, how far he could calculate on
his wife, and this gave a tremulous heat to his proposition.
But Lottie shook her head and smiled, though the tears
were in her eyes. Oh, if she only dared to tell him what
was the deliverance which Avas so near ! He Avent Avith her
to her door, repeating to her this oifer of service.
' You might be like our oayu child,' he said. ' My Avife
cannot talk of it — but she Avould be very fond of you, my
dear, when she kncAV you. If things go on badly, you Avill
come to us? — say you Avill come to us, Lottie.'
And Avhile these Avords Avere in her ears, old Mrs. Dal-
rymple came out to her door, to ask if Lottie Avould not come
in, if she Avould come to tea — if she would stay Avith them for
a day or tAvo.
' It is only next door, to be sure ; but it Avould be a
change,' the old lady said. The ladies in the Lodges had
forgiven her for her foolish pride, and lor the notice the great
people had taken of her, and for all the signs of discontent
that Lottie had shoAvn on her first coming to the Abbey.
NoAV that the girl Avas in trouble they Avere all good to her,
compassionate of her forlorn condition, and making common
cause Avith her against the infliction of the stepmother, Avho
442 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
was a]j insult to everyone of them. Thei"e was not one
Chevalier's wife who was not personally insulted, outraged in
her most tender feelings, by the intrusion of Polly, and this
quickened their sympathies to the poor girl, Avho was the
most cruelly injured of all.
"When Mrs. O'Shaughnessy saw the little group at her
neighbotir's door, she too came out. ' It's her own fault, my
dear lady, if she ever eats a meal there,' said Mrs. O'Shaugh-
nessy ; 'me and the Major, Ave are both as fond of her as if
she was our own.'
Lottie stood amongst them and cried softly, taking care
that her tears did not drop upon the little parcel with the
tulle, which was connected with still dearer hopes.
' I don't deserve that you should all be so good to me,'
she said. And indeed it was true; for Lottie had been A'-ery
haughty in her time to the kind people who forgave her in
her trouble.
Thus it was that she shared the dinner of the good
O'Shaughnessy s, and only went home in the afternoon, after
Polly and the Captain had been seen to go out ; wlien Lottie
shut herself up in her room, and with much excitement began
the * confection ' for which she had bought the materials. It
is needless to say that with so little money as she had ever
had, Lottie had learnt, tant Men que mal, to make most of her
own articles of apparel. How she had sighed to have her
dresses come home all complete from the dressmaker's, like
Augusta Huntington's ! but as sighing did no good, Lottie
had fitted herself with her gowns, and trimmed her little straw
hats, and the occasional bonnet which she permitted herself
for going to church in, since ever she was able to use her
needle and her scissors. She had never, however, made
anything so ambitious as the little tulle bonnet which she
meant to be married in. She would have preferred a veil,
could anyone doubt? but with no better tiring-room than
the waiting-room at the railway, how was she to put herself
into a veil ? She had to give up that idea with a sigh. But,
her pale cheeks glowing with two roses, and her blue eyes
lighted up with the fires of invention, she sat all the afternoon,
wi+h her door locked, making that bonnet. If she but had a
little sprig of orange-blossom to mark what it meant ! but
here Lottie's courage failed her. That she could not venture
to buy.
'till fhidav. 443
In this -way the days glided on till Friday came. Lottie
packed up the things she cared for — the few books, the little
trifling possessions of no value, -which yet were dear to her to
be removed afterwards, and put up her little bonnet (bonnets
Avere Avorn very small, the fashion books said) in a tiny parcel
which she could carry in her hand. Thus all her preparations
were made. When she was not in her room making these
last arrangements, she was out of doors — in the Abbey or on
the Slopes — or with the friends who sought her so kindly, and
gave her such meals as she would accept, and Avould have
given her a great many more, overwhelmed her, indeed, with
eating and drinking if she would have consented. To some
of these Lottie allowed herself the privilege of saying that it
was only for a few days she should remain in her father's
house. She Avould not tell where she was going ; to friends —
yes, certainly to ii-iends ; but she would not say any more.
This gave great relief to the minds of the Chevaliers generally
except to Captain Temple, who did not like it. The announce-
ment even di-ew from him something like a reproach to his-
wife.
' If you had come forward— if you had gone to her when
she was in trouble,' he said, ' we might have had a child again
to comfort us.' The old Captain was sadly put out, and "did
nothing but roam about all the day restless and lamenting.
He went to the Signer's to hear Avhat Lottie thought would
be her last lesson, and thus bemoaned himself
' Going away ! ' the Signor said in great surprise ; and
Lottie sang so well that day that the musician felt the desertion
doubly. She sang fitfully but finely, saying to herself all the
time, ' To-morrow — to-morrow ! ' and taking her leave, as she
supposed, joyfully, regretfully of Art. That day Lottie thought
nothing whatever about Art. Her spirit was moved to its
very depths. To-morrow the man whom she loved was
coming to take her away from all that was petty, all that was
unlovely in her life. From the hardness of fate, from the
unkindness of her family, from the house that was desecrated,
from the existence which was not made sweet by any love — -
he was coming to deliver her. The air was all excitement,
all agitation, to Lottie. It was not so much that she Avas glad —
happiness Avas in it, and trouble, and regret, and agitation,
made up by all these together. It was life in its strongest
ptrain, tingling, throbbing, at the highest pressure. The earth
444 "wrriiiN the precincis.
was elastic under lier feet, the whole Avorld was full of this
which was about to happen ; and how she sang ! Those
lessons of hers were as a drama to the Signor, but he did not
understand this art. He had understood the struggle she
made to get hold of her powers on the day when liollo was
not there, and Lottie had made a proud, forlorn attempt to
devote herself to Sonc;, as Sons ; he had tmderstood the con-
fusion and bewildered discouragement of the day Avhen Mrs.
Daventry assisted at the lesson ; but this time the Signor
was puzzled. There was nothing to excite her, only Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy and Captain Temple, listeners who cared
■nothing for art, but only for Lottie : yet how she sang ! He
made her a little solemn compliment, almost for the first time.
' Miss Despard,' he said, ' you change from lesson to lesson
— it is always another voice I hear; but this is the one I
should like to retain ; this is the one that shows Avhat won-
derful progress we have made.'
Lottie smiled in a way which nearly won the Signer's
steady heart. A golden dazzlement of light got into her eyes,
as if the slanting afternoon sun was in them. She did not
speak, but she gave him her hand — a thing which was very rare
with Lottie. The Signor was flattered and touched ; but he
would not have been so flattered had he known that she was
saying to herself, ' It is the last time — it is the last ! '
Mr. Ashford met the party coming out, and walked with
them along the north side of the Abbey, and through the
■cloisters. He could not make out why Lottie said nothing to
him about her brother. To tell the triith, he wanted to have
something for his money, and it did not seem that he was
likely to get anything. He said to her at last, abruptly, ' I
hope you think Law is likely to do well. Miss Despard? '
' Law ? ' she said, looking up with wondering eyes.
He was so confounded by her look of bewilderment that
he did not say anything more.
Next day dawned bright and fair, as it ought. A fair,
<;lear, sunny winter's day — not a leaf, even of those few that
hung upon the ends of the boughs, stirring — not a cloud.
Earth in such a day seems hanging suspended in the bright
sphere, not certain yet whether she will turn back again to
the careless summer, or go through her winter spell of storm
■duty. Lottie had all her preparations made ; her dress ready
.to put ou in the morning; her little bonnet done up in a
-* TILL FHIDAV.' 4-15
parcel incredibly small, a veil looped about it ; and tlie great
cloak, a homely waterproof, Avhich v/as to cover her from head
to foot, and conceal her finery, hung out all ready. Everything
ready— nothing now to be done but to meet him on the
Slopes, and to hear how all had been settled, and arrange for
the final meeting on the wedding morning. Even her railway
fare, so many shillings, was put ready. She would not let
him pay even that for her until she belonged to him. She
Avent out with the dreamy sweetness of the approaching
climax in her eyes when the last i-ays of the sunset were
catching all the Abbey pinnacles. She scarcely saw the path
over which her light feet skimmed. The people who passed
her glided like the people in a di'eam ; the absorbing sweet
agitation of happiness and fear, and hope and content, was iu
all her veins ; her eyes were suffused with light as eyes get
suffused with tears — an indescribable elation and alarm, sweet
panic, yet calm, was in her breast. Mr. Ashford met her
going along, swift and light, and with that air of abstraction
from everything around her. She did not see him, nor
anyone; but she remembered after, that she had seen him,
and the very turn of the road where he made a half pause to
speak to her, which she had not taken any notice of In this
soft rapture Lottie went to the corner of the bench under the
elm-tree. It was too early, but she placed herself there ta
wait till he should come to her. This was the place where
he was certain to come. By-and-by she would hear his step,
skimming too, almost as light and quick as her own — or hear
him vaulting over the low wall from the Deanery — or perhaps,
to attract less notice, coming up the winding way from the
Slopes. Where she sat was within reach of all the three. It
was a little chilly now that the sun had gone down, but Lottie
did not feel it. She sat down with a smile of hajjpy antici-
pation on her face, hearing the Abbey bells in the clear frosty
air, and then the bursting forth of the organ and all the
strains of the music. These filled up her thoughts for the
time, and it was not till the larger volume of sound of the
voluntary put Lottie in mind of the length of time she had
waited, that she woke up to think of the possiliility that
something might have detained her lover. It Avas strange
that he should be so late. The light was waning, and the
sounds about were eerie; the wind that had lain so still all
day woke up, and wandered chilly among the bare shrubberies,
446 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
tossing off the late leaves. She shivered a little with the cold
and the waiting. Why did not he come ? the hour of stillness
was passing fast, the organ pealing, the light fading moment
by moment. Why was not Eollo here ?
At last there was a step. It was not light and quick like
his step; but something might have happened to make it
sound differently — something in the air, or something in him,
some gravity of movement befitting the importance of the
occasion. So anxiety beguiles itself, trying to believe what
it Avishes. The step came nearer, and Lottie roused herself,
a little alarmed, wondering if anything (she could not tell
what) could have happened to him — and looked round. A
figure — a man coming her way — her heart jumped into her
throat, then sank down, down, with a flutter of fright and
pain. It was not Eollo — but what then ? it might be only
some chance passer-by, not having anything to do with her
and him. Another moment, and she waited with an agonised
hope that he was passing along without taking any notice,
and that he had indeed nothing at all to do with her. But
the steady step came on — nearer, nearer. She raised her
head, she opened her eyes that had been veiled in such sweet
dreams, with a Avideness of fear and horror. What could he
have to do with her ? What had he come to tell her ? The
man came up to her straight, Avithout any hesitation. He
said, ' Are you Miss Despard, ma'am ? I Avas sent to give
you this from my lord.'
My lord — Avho was my lord ? She took it with a gasp
of terror. It Avas not Rollo that Avas my lord. The man, a
middle-aged, respectable servant, gave her a look of gi-ave
pity and went aAvay. Lottie sat still for a moment Avith the
letter in her hand, thinking with wild impatience that the
sound of those heavy departing steps would prevent her from
hearing Rollo's light ones Avhen he came. My lord — Avho was
my lord? Suddenly an idea seized upon her. The light
Avas almost gone. She tore the letter open, and read it by
the fliint chill shining of the skies, though it Avas almost too
dark to see.
THE i:XD OF THE DHEA^f. 447
CHAPTEE XLIir.
THE END OF THE DREAM.
Captain Temple vas an old soldier, Avhose habit it was to
get up very early in the morning. He said afterwards that
he had never got up so early as on that morning, feeling a
certain pride in it, as showing the magical power of sympathy
and tenderness. He woke before it was light. It had been
raining in the night, and the morning was veiled with showers;
when the light came at last, it was white and misty. He Avas
ready to go out before anyone was stirring. Not a soul, not
even the milkman, was astir in the Dean's Walk. The blinds
were still down over his neighbours' windows. The only one
drawn up, he noticed in passing, was Lottie's. Was she too
early, like himself? the question went through his mind as
he passed. Poor child ! her life was not a happy one. How
different, he could not help feeling, how different his own girl
would have been had she but been spared to them ! He
shook his white head, though he was all alone, wailing, almost
remonstrating, with Providence. Plow strange that the
blessing should be with those who did not know how to
prize it, while those who did were left desolate ! The Cap-
tain's step rang through the silent place. There was no one
about ; the Abbey stood up grey and still with the morning
mists softly breaking fi-om about it, and here and there,
behind and around, smoke rose from some homely roof,
betraying the first signs of waking life. Captain Temple
walked briskly to the Slopes ; it was his favom-ite walk. He
made one or two turns up and down all the length of the
level promenade, thinking about her — how often she had
come with him here : but lately she had avoided him. He
paused when he had made two or three turns, and leaned
over the low parapet wall, looking down upon the misty
landscape. The river ran swiftly at the foot of the hill,
showing in a pale gleam here and there. The bare branches
of the trees were all jewelled coldly with drops of rain. It
began to drizzle again as he stood gazing over the misty wet
champaign in the stillness of the early morning. He was the
only conscious tenant of this wide world ot earth and sky.
448 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
Smoke was rising from the houses in the town, and a faint stir
was beginning; but here on the hill there was no stir or
waking movement, save only his own.
What was that ? a sound — he turned round quickly — he
could not tell what it was ; was there someone about after all,
someone else as early as himself? But he could see nobody.
There was not a step nor a visible movement, but there was
a sense of a human presence, a feeling of somebody near him.
He turned round with an anxiety which he could not explain
to himself. Why should he be anxious ? but it pleased him
afterwards to remember that all his sensations this morninc
were strange, uncalled for, beyond his own control. He
peered anxiously about among the bushes and bare stems of
the trees. At last it seemed to him that he saw something in
the corner of the bench under the elm-tree. He turned that
way, now with his old heart beating, but altogether unprepared
for the piteous sight that met his eyes. She was so slim, so
slight, her dress so heavy and clinging with the rain, that a
careless passer-by might never have seen her. He hurried to
the place with a little cry. Her head drooped upon the rough
wooden back of the seat, her hands were wrapped in her cloak,
nothing visible of her but u face as white as death, and wet —
was it with rain or with tears ? Her eyes were closed, her
long dark eyelashes drooping over her cheek. But for her
frightful paleness she would have looked like a child who had
lost its way, and cried itself to sleep. ' Lottie ! ' cried the
old man ; ' Lottie ! ' But she made no response. She did
not even open her eyes. AVas she sleeping, or, good God
He put his hand on her shoulder. ' Lottie, Lottie, my dear
child ! ' he cried into her ear. When after a while a deep
sigli came from her breast, the old man could have wept for
joy. She was living then. He thought for a moment what
Avas to be done ; some help seemed indispensable to him ;
then rushed away down through the cloisters to the house of
Mr. Ashford, which was one of the nearest. The Minor
Canon was coming downstairs; he had something to do which
called him out early. He paused in some surprise at the
sight of his visitor, but Captain Temple stopped the question
on his lips. 'Will you come with me?' he cried; 'come
with me — I want you,' and caught him by the sleeve in his
eagerness. l\Ir. Ashford felt that there was that in the old
man's haggard face which would not bear questioning. Pie
THE END OF THE DUEAM. 419
followed liim, scarcely able in the fulness of his strength to
keep uji with the nervous steps of his guide. ' God knows if
she has been there all night,' the Captain said. ' I cannot
get her to move. And now the whole place will be astir. If
I could get her home before anybody knows ! They have
driven her out of her sweet senses,' he said, gasping for breath
as he hurried along. ' I came for you because you are her
friend, and I could trust you. Oh, why is a jewel like that
given to those who do not prize it, Mr. Ashibrd, and taken
from those that do ? Why is it ? why is it ? they have broken
her heart.' The Minor Canon asked no questions ; he felt
that he too knew by instinct what it was. The rain had come
on more heavily, small and soft, without any appearance of
storm, but penetrating and continuous. The Captain hurried
on to the corner where he had left her. Lottie had moved
her head ; she had been roused by his first appeal from the
stupor into which she had fallen ; her eyes were open, her
mind slowly coming, if not to itself, at least to some conscious-
ness of the external world and her place in it. The instinct that
so seldom abandons a woman, that of concealing her misery,
had begun to dawn in her — the first sign of returning life.
' Lottie, Lottie, my dear child, you must not sit here in
the rain. Come, my pet, come. We have come to fetch you.
Come to your mother, or at lea.st to one who will be like a
mother. Come, my poor dear, come home with me.' The
old man was almost subbing as he took into his her cold
hands.
Lottie did her best to respond. She attempted to smile,
she attempted to speak mechanically. ' Yes,' she said, \mder
her breath ; ' I will come — directly. It is — raining.' Her
voice was almost gone ; it was all they covdd do to make out
what she said.
' And here is a kind friend who will give you his .arm,
who Avill help you along,' said Captain Temple. He stopped
short — frightened by the change that came over her face ; an
awful look of hope, of wonder, woke in her eyes, which looked
prenaturally large, luminous, and drowsy. She stirred in
her seat, moving with a little moan of pain, and attempted to
turn round to look behind her.
' Who is it? ' she w^hispered. ' Who is it ? is it — you ? '
Who did she expect it to be? Mr. Ashford, greatly
moved, stepped forward quickly, and raised her from her seat.
G G
450 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
It was no time for politeness. He drew her arm within his,
not looking at her. ' Support her,' he said quickly to Captain
Temple, ' on the other side,' The Minor Canon never looked
at Lottie as he half carried her along that familiar way. He
did not dare to spy into her secret, but he guessed at it. The
hand which he drew through his arm held a letter. He knew
none of the steps which had led to this, but he thought he
knew what had happened. As for Captain Temple, he did
not do much of his share of the work ; he held her elbow
with his trembling hand, and looked pitifviUy into her face,
knowing nothing at all. ' My poor dear,' he said, ' you shall
not go back — you shall not be made miserable ; you are mine
now. I have found you, and I shall keep you, Lottie. It is
not like a stepmother that my INIary will be. My love, we
will say nothing about it, we will not blame anyone ; but
now you belong to me.' "What he said was as the babbling
of a child to Lottie, and to the other Avho divined her ; but
they let him talk, and the old man seemed to himself to
understand the position entirely, ' They have driven her out
of her senses,' he said to his wife ; ' so far as I can see she has
been out on the Slopes all night, sitting on that bench. She
will be ill, she is sure to be ill — she is drenched to the skin.
Think if it had been our own girl ! But I will never let her
go into the hands of those wretches again.'
No one of the principal actors in this strange incident ever
told the story, yet it was known all through the Abbey
precincts in a few hours — with additions — that Captain Des-
pard's new wife had driven her stepdaughter out of the house
by her ill-usage ; turned her to the door, some said ; and that
the poor girl, distracted and solitary, had spent the night on
the Slopes, in the cold, in the rain, and had been found there
by Captain Temple. ' When we were all in our comfortable
beds,' the good people cried Avith angry tears, and an indig-
nation beyond words. Captain Despard came in from matins
in a state of alarm indescribable, and besought his wife to
keep indoors, not to allow herself to be seen. No one in the
house had known of Lottie's absence dui-ing the night. She
was supposed to be ' sulky,' as Polly called it, and shut up iu
her own room. When she did not appear at breakfast,
indeed, there had been some surprise, and a slight conster-
nation, V)Ut even then no very lively alarm. ' She's gone off,
as she said she would,' Polly said, tossing her head; and the
TITE END OF THE DREAM. 451
Captain had, though with sonic remorse and compTinction, satis-
fied himself that it was only an escapade on Lottie's part, which
would be explained by the post, or which Law would know
about, or Mrs. O'Shaughncssy. Law had gone out early, beiuro
breakfast. It was natural to suppose he would know — or still
more likely that his sister had gone with him, on some foolish
walk, or other expedition. ' I don't mean to hurt your feelings,'
Polly cried, ' but I shouldn't break my heart, Harry, if they'd
gone for good, and left us the house to ourselves.' "When
Captain Despard came in from matins, however, the case was
very different ; he came in pale with shame and consternation,
and ready to blame his wife for everything. ' This is what
has come of your nagging and your impudence,' he said; and
Polly flew to arms, as was natural, and there was a hot and
dangerous encounter. The Captain went out, swearing and
fuming, recommending her if she prized her own safety not to
show herself out of doors. ' You will be mobbed,' he said;
* and you will well deserve it.'
' I'm going to put my hat on,' said Polly, ' and let them
all see what a coward you are, as won't stand up for ycmr
wife.' But when he had slammed the door emphatically after
him, Polly sat do-\vn and had a good cry, and did not put on
her hat. Oh, what a foolish thing it is, she repeated, to
man-y a man with grown-up children ! It was nature, and
not anything she had done, that was in fault.
Lottie made no resistance when she found herself in ^Irs.
Temple's care. To have her wet things taken off, to have a
lumdred cares lavished upon her, as she lay aching and
miserable in the bed that had been prepared for her, soothed
her at least, if they did nothing more. Chilled in every bit
of her body, chilled to her heart, the sensation of warmth,
when at last it stole over her, broke a little the stony front of
her wretchedness. She never knew how she had passed that
miserable night. The fabric of her happiness had fallen
down on every side, and crushed her. Her heart had been
so confident, her hopes so certain. She had not doubted, as
women so often do, or even thought it within the compass of
possibility that Hollo could fail her. How could she suppose
it? and, when it came, she was crushed to the ground. The
earth seemed to have opened under her feet : everything failed
her when that one thing in which all her faith was placed
failed. She had s:it through the darkness, not able to think,
oo 2
452 WITHIN THE PRECIKCT3.
conscious o£ nothing but misery, not aware how the time was
passing, taking no note of the coming of the night, or of the
bewildering chimes from the Abbey of hour after hour and
quarter after quarter. Quarter or hour, what did it matter to
her ? what did she know of the hurrying, flying time, or its
stupefying measures ? It began to rain, and she did not care.
She cared for nothing — not the cold, nor the dark, nor the
whispering of the night wind among the bare branches, the
mysterious noises of the night. The pillars of the earth, the
arch of the sweet sky. had fallen. There was nothing in all
the world but dismal failure and heart-break to Lottie. In
the long vigil, even the cause of this horrible downfall seemed
to fade out of her mind. The pain in her heart, the oppres-
sion of her brain, the failing of all things — hope, courage, faith
— was all she was conscious of RoUo — her thoughts avoided
his name, as a man who is wounded shrinks from any touch ;
and at last everything had fallen into one stupor of misery.
That it was the night which she was spending there, under the
dark sky, just light enough to show the darker branches wav-
ing over it, the rain falling from it, Lottie was unconscious.
She had nowhere to go, she had no wish to go anywhere;
shelter was indilFerent to her, and one place no more miserable
than another. When Captain Temple roused her, there came
vaguely to her mind a sense that her feelings must be hid, that
she must try to be as other people, not betraying her own
desolation ; and this was the feeling that again woke feebly in
her Avhen Mrs. Temple took her place by the bedside where
Lottie was lying. She tried to make some feeble excuse, an
excuse which in the desperation of her mind did not sound so
artificial as it was. ' I give you a great deal of trouble,' she
faltered.
' Oh, my dear,' said Mrs. Temple, with tears, ' do not say
so ; let me do what I can for you — only trust in me, trust in
me.'
Lottie could not trust in anyone. She tried to smile.
She was past all confidences, past all revelation of herself or
her trouble. And thus she lay for days, every limb aching
with ihe exposure, her breathing difficult, her breast throbbing,
her heart beating, her voice gone.
Downstairs there was many an anxious talk over her be-
tween the three most intimately concerned. The old Captain
held by his simple idea that she had been driven from home
THE END OF THE DREAM. 453
by her stepmother, that idea which all the Abbey had adopted.
The Minor Canon was not of that opinion. He came every
day to ask for the patient, and would sit and listen to all they
could tell him, and to the Captain's tirades against Polly. ' I
think there was something more than that,' he would say.
And I\Irs. Temple looked at him with a look of understanding.
' I think so too,' she said. Mrs. Temple had disengaged out
of Lottie's cold hand the letter Avhich she had been grasping
imawares. She had not been able to resist looking at it, tell-
ing herself that she ought to know what was the cause.
These two alone had any idea of it, and no one spoke to
Lottie, nor did she speak to anyone of the cause of her vigil.
She lay in a silent paradise of warmth and rest, cared for and
watched at every turn she made, as she had never been in
her life before. And by degrees the pain stole out of her
limbs, her cough was got imder, and the fever in her veins
subdued. Of two things only Lottie did not mend. Her
heart seemed dead in her bosom, and her voice was gone.
She could neither sing any more, nor be happy any more ; these
are things which neither doctor nor nurse can touch, but ibr
all the rest her natural health and strength soon triumphed.
Her brain, which had tottered for a moment, righted itself and
regained its force. She had no fever, though everybody ex-
pected it. She did not fall into ' a decline,' as Avas universally
thought. She got better, but she did not get happy, nor did
she recover her voice. When she was able to be brought
downstairs, the good people who had taken her up made a
little fete of her recovery. Mr. Ashford was asked to dinner,
and the room was filled with fioAvers, rare hothouse flowers, on
wdiich the old Captain spent a great deal more than he could
afford to spend. * To please the poor child, my dear,' he said,
apologetically ; and INIrs. Temple had not a word to say. She
winced still when in his sim])le way he would speak of 'our
own girl,' but in her heart she made a kind of religion of
Lottie, feeling sometimes, poor soul, as if she were thus heap-
ing coals of fire, whatever they may be, upon the head — though
it might be blasphemy to put it into words — of Him who had
bereaved her. He had taken her child from her, and she had
been angry, and perhaps had sinned in the bitterness of her
grief; but noAv here was a child who was His — for are not all
the helpless His? — whom she would not cast from her, whom
she would take to her bosom and cherish, to show Him (was
454 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
it ?) that she was more tender than even the Father of all.
' Thou hast taken mine from me, but I have not closed my
heart to thine,' was what, all unawares, the Avoman's heart said ;
for she was angry still, being a mother, and unable to see
why she should have been bereaved.
A few days after Lottie had begun to be brought down-
stairs (for this was dene without any will of hers), a visit was
paid to her which had no small effect upon her lile. She was
seated in the invalid's place near the fire, a little table by her
side Avith flowers on it, and a new book, and Punch, and the
illustrated papers, all the little innocent gdteries of which the
old Captain could think, the trifles which make the days of a
happy convalescent sweet, and which Lottie tried hard to look
as if she cared for ; and with Mrs. Temple near her, watching
her to see lest she should be too warm or too cold, lest she
should want anything, Avith the anxious care of a mother.
There Avas a prancing of horses outside the door, a tremendous
knock, a rustle of silk, and Avaf ting of perfume, and the door
was opened, and Mrs. Daventry announced. Augusta came
in Avith a sweep which filled Mrs. Temple's little drawing-
room. There did not seem room for its legitimate inmates in
that redunds.nt presence. Mrs. Temple ran to her patient,
thinking Lotlie Avas about to faint, but she recovered herself
enough to smile faintly at Augusta Avhen she spoke, Avhich
Avas as much as she did to an^'one. Augusta seated herself
opposite the pale convalescent, her train falling round her
in heavy masses — the one all wealth and commotion and
importance, the other so pale, so slight in her Aveakness, her
brown merino dress hanging loosely upon her. Mrs. Temple
Avas not made much account of by the fine lady, Avho made
her a slight salutation, half bow, half curtsey, and took no
further notice of ' the people of the house.'
' Well,' she said, ' how are you, and what has been the
matter ? There are the most extraordinary stories told about
you. I have come to find out Avhat is really the matter,
Lottie. Mamma Avishes to knoAV too. You kno\A you Avere
ahvays a kind of favourite Avith mamma.'
' I Avill tell you about her ilhiess,' said Mrs. Temple. ' She
is scarcely Avell enough yet to enter into details.'
' Oh,' said Augusta, gazing blankly upon the * person of
the house,' — then she returned to Lottie again. ' I don't Avant
you to enter into details ; but they say the most extraordinary
TIIK END OF THE DHEAM. 455
things; they say you were turned out of doors, and stayed all
night on the Slopes — that, of course, can't be true — but I wish
you would tell me what is true, that I may give the right
version of the story. Mamma is quite anxious to know.'
' Lottie, my dear, I will tell Mrs. Daventry,' said Mrs.
Temple, ' it is too much ibr you ; ' and she held her point and
recounted her little story with a primness which suited her
voice and manner. Many were the demonstrations of impa-
tience which the fine ladj' made, but it was not in her power
to struggle against Mrs. Temple's determination. She turned
to Lottie acjain as soon as the tale was told.
' Is that true ? Only a very bad cold, and influenza from
getting wet? Oh, we heard a great deal more than that; and
your voice — we heard you had quite lost your voice. I
promised the Signor to inquire. He is quite anxious, he
always thought so much of your voice. He is an odd man,'
said August^T, giving a blow in passing, ' he thinks so differ-
ently from other people about many things. I promised to
find out for him all about it. Have you really, really lost
your voice, as everybody says ? '
It was curious that Lottie, who had never been concerned
about her voice, who had never cared anything about it, who
had not wanted to be a singer at all, should feel, even in the
midst of the greater and deeper unhappiness that possessed her,
a distinct sting of pain as she heard this question. Iler pale-
ness was flushed with a sudden painful colour. She looked
at Mrs. Temple wistfully again.
' You can hear that she is hoarse,' said Mrs. Temple ; ' a
very common consequence of a cold. She has lost her voice
for the moment, but we hope to find it again.'
' I tliink she must be dumb altogether, as she never answers
me,' sjiid Augusta, fretfully. Then she tried another subject,
with a triumphant certainty of success. * I don't know if you
have heard of our trouble,' she said, looking at her black
dress. ' You remember, Lottie, my cousin, Mr. Eidsdale ?
Oh, yes ; you knew him a little, I think.'
Once more Lottie's pale face flushed with painfid over-
whelming colour. She looked up with alarmed and troubled
eyes.
* Oh, I see you remember him ; he was such a flirt, he was
always making himself agreeable to women. It did not
matter who they were,' said Augusta, fixing her eyes on her
456 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
victim's face, ' or what class of people, so long as they were
at all nice looking, or could sing, or draw, or anything. I re-
member I sent him out to try whether he could not hear you
sing the very day I Avas married. He was another of the
people who believed in you, Lottie. He did not hear you
then, so he made mamma ask you, you remember. He had
something to do with a new opera company, and he was
always on the look-out for a new voice.'
Once more Lottie turned her eyes upon Mrs. Temple, eyes
full of anguish and wonder. "Who else could she turn to ? —
not to the cruel executioner who sat opposite to her, with a
lurking smile about her heartless mouth. How cruel a woman
can be with a fair face, and no signs of a savage in her !
Augusta saw that her arrow had struck home, and was en-
couraged to do more.
' Oh, yes; he was in a great state about* your voice. He
said it would make his fortune and yours too. He was always
ridiculously sanguine. You know how he used to flatter you,
Lottie, and go to all your lessons. Oh, you must not tell me
that you don't remember, for I could see you liked it. Well,'
said Augusta, who did not lose a single change of colour, no
quiver of her victim's lips, or flutter of her bosom, ' that sort
of thing is all over now. Oh, I daresay he Avill continue to
take a great interest as an amateur ; but his position is now
entirely changed. My poor cousin Ridsdale, Eollo's eldest
brother, was killed in the hunting-field about a fortnight ago.
Such a shock for us all ! but it has made a great change for
Eollo. He is Lord Ridsdale now, and my imcle Courtland's
heir. His servant came last Friday week to fetch some things
he had left at the Deanery — for he had gone away for the day
only, not knowing what had happened. Poor fellow; and
yet, of course, though he Avas truly grieved and all that, it is
great good fortune for him. We are not likely now^ Augusta
added with a faint smile, ' to see much of him here.'
Lottie did not say a word. She sat, no longer changing
colour, perfectly pale, with the great blue eyes that had so
expanded and dilated during her illness, fixed upon the vacant
air. To hear him named was still something, and filled her
with a sick excitement, an anguish of interest and agitation.
After the long silence, after the cutting of all ties, after his
cruel desertion of her, after the blow Avhich had all but killed
her, to hear of him had been something. Pain — yet a pain
THE EXD OF THE DREAM. 457
she was more eager to undergo than to meet any pleasure.
But Lottie had not calcidated upon the cruel, treacherous, yet
careless, blow which I'ell upon her now, iipon her quivering
wounds. To hear her voice, was that Avhatitwas? not to see
her because he loved her, but to hear her singing. Till now
she had at least had her past. He was false, and had forsaken
her, she knew, but once he had loved her ; the Ivollo wdio
gazed up in the moonlight at her window had still been hers,
though another RoUo had betrayed her trust and broken her
heart. But now ! the blood ebbed away from her face, and
seemed to fail from her heart ; the beating of it grew con-
fused and muffled in her ears. She gazed with her great eyes,
all strained and pained with gazing, at nothing. To hear her
sing, not seeking her, but only running after a new voice !
She sat with her hands clasped upon her lap in a kind of
piteous appeal, and sometimes would look at the one and then
the other, asking them — was it true, could it be true ?
' I must go,' said Augusta, having fired her shot, ' and I
am glad to have such a good account of you. Only a bad
cold and a hoarseness, such as are quite common. RIamma
will be pleased to hear, and so will the Signer. 1 can't tell
him anything about your voice, because you have not let me
hear it, Lottie. Oh, quite prudent — much the best thing not
to use it at all ; though with an old friend, to be sure — you
look rather ill, I am bound to say.'
Lottie sat still in the same attitude after this cruel visitor
Avas gone, all her thoughts going back upon thiit time, which
after all Avas only a few months, yet which seemed her life.
She had given him up, or rather she had accepted his abandon-
ment of her, Aviiliout a struggle, without a hope ; it had been
to her as a doom out of heaven. She had not even blamed
him. It had killed her, she thought. She had not resisted,
but it had killed her. Now, however, she could not submit.
In her heart she fought wildly against this last, most cruel
blow. lie w^as not hers, he Avas cut off from her, by his OAvn
murderous hand ; but to give up the lover Avho had loved her
before he kncAV her, Avho had Avatched under her AvindoAV and
Aviled her heart aAvay, that she could not do. She fought
against it passionately in her soul. The allernoon Avent on
Avithout a .'^ound, nothing but the ashes softly iiUling from the
fire, the soft movement of Mrs. Temple's arm as she Avorked ;
but the silence tingled all the time Avith the echo of Augusta'a
458 WITHIN THE PEECINCTS.
wore!!-!, and with the hot conflict of recollections in her own
heart, opposing and denying them. IMrs. Temple worked
quietly by and watched, divining something of the struggle,
thiingh she did not know what it was. At last, all at once iu
the stillness, the girl broke lorth passionately : * Oh, no, no,'
she cried, * not that ! I will not believe it. Not that ; it is
not true.'
' What is not true, dear ? tell me,' her companion said,
laying down her work, and coming forward with tender hands
outstietched, and pity in her eyes.
'You heard her,' Lottie said, 'you heard her. That it
was to hear me singing — that it was all for my voice. No,
no, not that ! It could not be — that was not true. You could
not believe that -was true.'
And Lottie looked at her piteously, clasping her hands,
entreating her with those pathetic eyes for a little comfort.
* Not that, not that,' she said. ' My singing, was it likely ?
Oh, you cannot think that I ' she cried.
INIrs. Temple did all she could to soothe her. ' My poor
child, it is all over — over and ended — what does it matter
now ? '
' It matters all the world to me,' Lottie cried. Kind as
her new guardian was, she could not understand that even
when her happiness and her hopes were all crushed, it was a
bitterness more exquisite, a sting the girl could not bear to
believe that her foimdations had been sand, that she had been
deluded from the beginning, that the love she trusted in had
never been. This sting was so keen and sharp that it woke
her from the apathy of despair that was creeping over her.
She was roused to struggle, to a passion of resistance and
denial. ' How can anyone but I know how it Avas? It all
came from that ; without that I should never have thought —
we should never have met. It was the beginning. How can
anyone know biit me ? ' she cried, contending as against some
adversary. When the first strain of this conflict was over, she
turned, faltering, to her kind guardian. ' I had a letter,' she
said ; ' it was the letter. I cannot find it.' She gave her a
look of entreaty which went to Mrs. Temple's heart.
' I have got your letter, Lottie. I have it in my desk, put
away. No one has seen it. Let me put it into the fire.'
' Ah, no ! perhaps there may be something in it different
irom what I thought.'
THE END OF THE DREAM. ' 459
She held out her hands supplicating, and Mrs. Temple went
to her desk and took out an envelope. Within was something
all stained and blurred. The rain had half washed the cruel
words away. Once for all, as Eollo's last act and deed, and
suicidal exit from this history, the letter shall be copied here.
Imagine how Lottie had been sitting, all happiness and soft
agitation and excitement, Avaiting for him when this curt
t-'pistle came : —
* Dear Lottie, —
' An exti'aordinary change has happened in my life —
not my doing, but that of Providence. It gives me new
duties, and a new existence altogether. What we have been
thinking of cannot be. It is impossible in every way. For
me to do what I promised to you ^vas, when we parted, a sacri-
fice which I was willing to make, but now is an impossibility.
I am afraid you will feel this very much — and don't think
I don't feel it ; but it is an impossibility. I have things to do
and a life to lead that makes it impossible. I hope soon
someone will be raised up for you Avheu you Avant it most, to
give you the help and assistance I Avoidd so gladly have given.
Could I but knoAV that you assented to this, that you saAV the
reason for my conduct, I should be as happy as I noAV can ever
be ; and I hope that you will do so when you can look at it
calmly. FareAvell, dear Lottie, think of me Avith as little
anger as you can, for it is not I, but Providence. Your voice
Avill soon make you independent ; it is only a momentary dis-
appointment, I know, and I cannot help it. To do Avhat we
settled to do is noAv an impossibility — an impossibility. Dear
Lottie, fareAvell ! 'R. E.'
Underneath, Forgive me Avas scraAvled hastily, as if by an
aiterthought.
In the calm Avarm room, in the dull afternoon, under the
eyes of her tender nurse, Lottie read over again this letter,
which she had read Avith incredulous AA'onder, Avith stupefying
misery, by the dim light of the evening under the black Avaving
branches of the leafless trees. She gave a cry of anguish, of
horror, of indignation and shame, and Avith trembling hands
folded it up, and put it Avithin its cover, and thrust it back
into Mrs. Temple's keeping. ' Oh, take it, take it,' she cried
Avildly ; 'keep it, it lias killed me. Perhaps — perhaps! the
other is true too.'
4G0 "VyiTHIN THE PRECINCTS.
CHAPTER XLIV.
APRES ?
Law had been living a busy life at the time of this crisis and
climax of his sister's existence. He had spent day after day
in London, lost in that dangerous and unaccustomed delight of
spending money, which is only tasted in its full flavour by
those who are little accustomed to have any money to spend.
Law was tempted by a hundred things which would have been
no temptation at all to more experienced travellers — miracles
of convenience and cheapness, calculated to smooth the path
of the emigrant, but which were apt, on being bought, to turn
out both worthless and expensive — and many a day the young
fellow came home penitent and troubled, though he started
every morning with an ever -renewed confidence in his own
wisdom. Lottie's sudden illness had checked these prepara-
tions in mid-career. He had lost the ship in which he meant
to have made his voyage, and though he bore the delay with
Christian resignation, it was hard to keep from thinking some-
times that Lottie could not have chosen a worse moment for
being ill — a little later, or a little earlier, neither would have
mattered half so much — but at the very moment when he was
about to sail ! However, he allowed impartially that it was
not his sister's fault, and did not deny her his sympathy.
Law, however, had never been satisfied about the cause of her
illness. He did not know why she should have sat out on the
Slopes all night. Polly — he refused the idea that it was Polly.
INIrs. Despard was bad enough, but not so bad as that ; nor
did Lottie care enough for the intruder to allow herself to be
driven out in this way. But Law kept this conviction to
himself, and outwardly accepted the story, not even asking
any explanation from his sister. Whatever was the real
reason, it was no doubt the same cause which kept her from
listening to him when he had tried to tell her of the new step
in his own career, and the unexpected liberality of the Minor
Canon. 'If it had but been he ! ' Law said to himself — for
indeed he, who knew the value of money, never entertained
any doubt as to Mr. Ashford's meaning in befriending him ;
he was a great deal more clear about this than Mr. Ashford
himself.
APRES? 4G1
lie lost his passage by the ship with which he had origin-
ally intended to go. It Avas a great disappointment, but what
could he do ? He could not start off for the Antipodes when
his sister might be dying. And as for his own affairs, they
had not come to any satisfactory settlement. Instead of say-
ing yes or no to his question to her, Emma, when he had seen
her, had done everything a girl could do to make him change his
intention. To make him change his intention ! — the very idea
of this filled him with fierce scorn. It was quite simple that
she should make up her mind to leave everything she cared
for, for love of him ; but that he should change his purpose
for love of her, was an idea so absurd that Law laughed at the
simplicity of it. As well expect the Abbey tower to turn
round with the wind as the weathercock did ; but yet Law
did not object to stroll down to the River Lane in the even-
ings, when he had nothing else to do, sometimes finding ad-
mission to the workroom when the mother was out of the way,
demanding to know what was Emma's decision, and smiling
at her entreaties. She cried, clasping her hands with much
natural eloqiience, while she tried to persuade him ; but Law
laughed.
' Are you coming with me ? ' he said — he gave no answer
to the other suggestion — and by this time he had fully made
up his mind that she did not mean to come, and was not very
sorry. He had done his duty by her — he had not been false,
nor separated himself from old friends when prosperity came ;
no one could say that of him. But still he was not sorry to
make his start alone — to go out to the new world unencum-
bered. Nevertheless, though they both knew this was how
it would end, it still amused Law in his unoccupied evenings
to do his little love-making at the corner of the Eiver Lane,
by the light of the dull lamp, and it pleased Emma to be made
love to. They availed themselves of this diversion of the
moment, though it often led to trouble, and sometimes to tears ;
and Emma for her part suffered many scoldings in conse-
qiTence. The game, it is to be svipposed, was worth the candle,
though it was nothing but a game after all.
On the day after Mrs. Daventry's visit, Lottie sent for her
brother. He found her no longer a languid invalid, but wnth
a fire of fervid energy in her eyes.
' Law,' she said, ' I want you to tell me what you are going
to do. You told me once, and I did not pay any attention
462 \nTniN the niEcmcTS.
— I had other — other things in my mind. Tell me now,
Law.'
Then he told her all that had hnppened, and all he had
been doing. ' It was your sense, Lottie, after all,' he said.
'You were always the one that had the sense. Who would
have thought Avhen I went to old Ashfbrd to be coached that
he would come forward like this, and set me \\p for life? Nor
lie wouldn't have done that much either,' Law added, with a
laugh, ' but for you.'
' Law,' cried Lottie, with that fire in her eyes, ' this was
what we wanted all the time, though we did not know it. It
was always an office I was thinking of — and that I would be
your housekeeper — your servant if we were too p or to keep
a servant; but this is far better. Now we are free — we
have only each other in the Avorld, When must we go ? '
' We ! ' cried Law, completely taken aback. He looked
at her with dismay. ' You don't mean you are coming ? You
don't suppose I — can take you.'
' Yes,' she cried, ' yes,' with strange vehemence. ' Were
we not always to be together ? I never thought otherwise —
that was always what I meant — until '
* Ah,' said Law, ' that is just it — until ! When you're
very young,' he continued, with great seriousness, ' you think
like that — yes, you thinlvlike that. A sister come? natural —
you've always been used to her ; but then, Lottie, you know
as well as I do that don't last.'
' Oh, yes — it lasts,' cried Lottie : ' other things come and
go. You suppose you want something more — and then
trouble comes, and you remember that there is nobody so
near. Who could be so near? I know all you like and
what is best for you, and we have always been together.
Law, I have had things to make me unhappy — and I have no
home, no place to live in.'
* I thought,' said Law, severely, ' that they were very kind
to you here.'
' Kind ! it is more than that,' cried Lottie, her hot eyes
moistening. ' They are like — I do not know Avhat they are
like — like nothing but themselves ; but I do net belong to
them. What right have I to be here? and oh, Law, you don't
know . To walk about here again — to live, where one
has almost died — to see the same things — the place — where it
all happened '
APHES? 463
Lottie Avas stopped by the gasp of weeping that came into
her throat. She ended with a Ioav cry of passionate pain, ' I
must go somewhere. I cannot stay here. We will go to-
gether, and work together ; and some time, perhaps — some
time — we shall not be unhappy, Law.'
' I am not unhappy now,' said the young man. * I don't
know why you should be so dismal. Many a fellow would
give his ears to be in my place. But you — that's quite a
different thing. A man can go to many a place where he
can't drag his sister after him. Besides, you've got no outfit,'
cried Law, delighted to find so simple a reason, ' and no
money to get one. Old Ashford has been awfully kind ; but
I don't think it would be nice to draw him for an outfit for
you. It wouldn't be kind,' said Law, with a grin, 'it Avould
be like the engineer fellow in Shakespeare — burst with his
own boiler. You know that would never do.'
' A woman does not need an outfit, as a man does,' said
Lottie ; ' a woman can put up with anything. If you go
away, what is to become of me ? When you are young,
whatever you may have had to make you unhappy, you can-
not die when you please. That would be the easiest way of
all — but it is not possible ; you cannot die when you please.'
' Die — who wants to die ? ' said Law. ' Don't you know
it's wicked to talk so ? Why, there's your singing. You'll be
able to make a great deal more money than I ever shall ; and
o£ course you may come over starring to Australia when
you're a great singer ; but it Avould be ruin to you now to go
there. Don't be carried away by it because I'm lucky just
now, because it's my turn,' he said ; ' everybody wants to
hold on by a fellow when he's in luck — but it is really you
who are the lucky one of the family.'
' My voice is gone,' said Lottie, ' my home is gone. I
have nothing in the world but you. All I used to have a
little hope in is over. There arc only two of us in the world,
brother and sister. What can I do but go with you ? I
have nobody but you.'
' Oh, that's bosh,' said Law, getting up from his seat in im-
patience. ' I don't believe a word they say about your voice.
You'll see it'll soon come back if you give it a chance ; and
as for having nobody but me, I never knew a girl that had so
many friends — there's these old Temples, and heaps of people ;
and it seems to me you may marry whoever you like all
464 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
round. A girl has no rifjht to turn up her nose at that. Be-
sides, what made old Asliford so kind to me? You don't find
men doing that sort of thing for nothing in this Avorld. I
always think it's kindest to speak oiit plain,' said Law, red-
dening, however, with a sense of cruelty, ' not to take you in
with pretending. Look here, Lottie. I can't take you with
me. I have got no more than I shall want for myself, and I
may have to knock about a great deal there before I get any-
thing. And to tell the truth,' said Law, reddening still more,
' if I was to take a woman with me, it would be more natural
to take — someone else. A fellow expects to marry, to make
himself comfortable when he gets out there. Now you can't
do that if you have a sister always dragging after you. I've
told you this before, Lottie — you know I have. I don't Avant
to hurt your feelings Avhen you've been ill — but what can a
fellow do ? To say what you mean once for all, that is the
best for both you and me.'
Law made his exit abruptly when he had given forth this
confession. He could say what was necessary boldly enough,
but he did not like to face his sister's disappointment. It was
a comfort to him to meet Mr. Ashford at the door.
' Lottie is upstairs,' he said. ' She wants me to take her
with me, but I have told her I can't take her with me. I
wish you would say a word to her.'
Law rushed aAvay with a secret chuckle when he had sent
to his sister a new suitor to console her. If one lover proves
unsatisfactory, what can be better than to replace him by
another ? Law felt himself bound in gratitude and honour to
do all that he could for Mr. Ashford, who had been so kind
to him ; and was it not evidently the best thing — far the best
thing for Lottie too ?
The Minor Canon went upstairs with a little quickening of
his pulse. He had been a great deal about Captain Temple's
little house since the morning when he had brought Lottie
there, and her name and the thought of her had been in his
mind constantly. He had not defended himself against this
preoccupation, for Avould it not have been churlish to put the
poor girl out of his mind when she was so desolate, and had
no other place belonging to her ? Eather he had thrown open
all his doors and taken in her j)oor pale image, and made a
throne for her, deserted, helpless, abandoned as she was. A
generous soul cannot take care of itself when a friend is in
APUES? 4G5
trouble. Mr. Ashford, Avho had been on the edge of the pre-
cipice, half consciously, for some time, holding himself back
as he could, thinking as little about her as he could, now let
himself go. He felt as the Quixotes of humanity are apt to
feel, that nothing he could give her should be withheld now.
If it did not do her any good, still it would be something — it
was all he could do. He let himself go. He thought of her
morning and night, cherishing her name in his heart. Poor
Lottie — life and love had alike been traitors to her. ' Though
all men forsake thee, yet will not I,' he said, as once was said
rashly to a greater than man. What could he ever be to her,
wrung as her heart was by another ? but that did not matter.
If it was any compensation to her, she should have his heart
to do Avhat she liked with. This was the sentiment in the
mind of the Minor Canon, who ought, you will say, to have
known better, but who never had been practical, as the reader
knows. He went upstairs with his heart beating. How
gladly he Avould have said a hundred words to her, and
offered her al! he had, to make up for the loss of that which
she could not have. But what his generosity would have
thrown at her feet, his delicacy forbade him to offer. Lottie,
in her disappointment and desertion (which he only divined,
yet was certain of) was sacred to him. Mrs. Temple was
absent about her household concerns, and there Avas nobody
in the drawing-room upstairs except Lottie, who in her ex-
citement and despair did not hear his step, nor think that
anyone might be coming. She was walking about the room,
with her hands clasped and strained against her breast, her
weak steps full of feverish energy, her eyes glowing with a
fire of despair. ' What shall I do ? what shall I do ? ' she
Avas moaning in the anguish of her heart.
When Ernest Ashiord opened the door her back was
turned to him, so that he heard this moan, and saw the
passionate misery of her struggle, before she knew that he was
there. When she saw him a momentary gleam of anger came
over her face ; then she put force upon herself, and dropped
her hands by her side like a culprit, and tried to receive him
as she ought. As she ought — for was not he her brother's
benefactor, whom all this time she had been neglecting, not
thanking him as he had a right to be thanked ? The change
from that anguish and despair which she liad been indulging
when alone, to the sudden softening of courtesy and com-
H II
466 wixniN THE PRECixcrs.
punctlon and gratitude which, after a pathetic momentary
interval of struggling with herself, came over her face, was
one of those sudden variations which had transported Rollo in
the beginning of their acquaintance by its power of expres-
sion. But this change, which would have pleased the ot))er,
went to the heart of the Minor Canon, to whom Lottie had
never appeared in the light of an actress or singer, but only as
herself.
' Mr. Ashford,' she said faintly. ' I wanted to see you —
to thank you '
She was trembling, and he came up to her tenderly — but
with a tenderness that never betrayed its own character — grave
and calm, for all that his heart was beating — and took her
hand and arm into his, and led her to her chair. ' You must
not thank me for anything,' he said.
' For Law '
' No ; not for Law. If it would give you any ease or
any comfort, you should have everything I have. That is not
saying much. You should have all I can do or think,' he
said, with a thrill in his voice, which was all that betrayed his
emotion. ' The misery of human things is that all I can do is
not what you want, Lottie — and that what you want is out of
my power.'
He asked no permission to call her by her name ; he was
not aware he did it — nor was she.
' I want nothing,' she said, with a passionate cry. ' Oh,
do not think I am so miserable and Aveak. I want nothing.
Only, if Law could take me with him — take me away — to a
new place — to a new life.'
He sat doAvu beside her, and softly pressed the hand which
he held in his own. Yes, this was the misery of human
things, as he said — he did not repeat the words, but they were
in his face. That Avhich she wanted was not for her, nor was
his desire for him ; other gifts might be thrown at their feet,
and lie there unheeded, but not that for which they pined and
were ready to die.
' Do you think it must not be ? ' she said. Lottie was
willing to make him the judge of her fate — to allow him to
decide for her how it was to be. Yes, but only in that way
in which he was powerless. He smiled, with a sense of this
irony which is more tragic than any solemn verdict of late.
,'I do not think it could be/ he said, ' except with perfect
APRKS? 467
consent and harmony ; and Law — does not wish it. He is
like the rest of us. He does not care for what he can have,
though another man might give his liie for it. It is the way
of the world.'
' I am used to it,' said Lottie, bowing her head ; ' you need
not say it is the way of the world to break it to me, Mr. Ash-
ford. Oh, how well I ought to know ! I am used to being
rejected. Papa, and Law, and '
She put her hand over her hot eyes, but she did not mean
to drop into self-pity. ' Nobody cares to have me,' she said after
a moment, with the quiver of a smile on her lips. ' I must
make up my mind to it — and when you are young you
cannot die whenever you please. I must do something for
myself.'
' That is it,' said the Minor Canon, bitterly — ' always the
same ; between those you love and those that love you there
is a great gulf ; therefore you must do something for yourself .'
She looked at him wondering, with sad eyes. He was
angry, but not with her — with life and fate ; and Lottie did
not blush as she divined his secret. It was too serious for that.
It was not her fault or his fault ; neither of .them had done it
or could mend it. Had she but known ! had he but known !
Now there was nothing to be done but to unite what little
wisdom they had over the emergency, and decide what she was
to do — for herself. Her father had no place for her in his
house. Law would not have her with him ; her lover had
forsaken her ; and to those who would have had her, who
would have cherished her, there was no response in Lottie's
heart. Yet here she stood with her problem of existence in
her hands, to be solved somehow. She looked piteously at the
man who loved her, but was her friend above all, silently
asking that counsel of which she stood so much in need. What
was slie to do ?
Just then the door opened, and Mrs. Temple came in with
Dr. Enderb}'', who had been kind to Lottie, as they all were,
and who regulated everybody's health within the Precincts,
i'loin Lady Caroline downward. The good doctor, who had
daughters of his own, looked with kind eyes upon the girl, who
was so much less happy than they. He took her slender wrist
into his hand, and looked into her luminous over-clear eyes,
wet with involuntary tears.
' She is looking a great deal better. She will soon be
HU 2
468 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
quite herself,' he said cheerfully ; but winked his own eyelids-
to throw off something, which was involuntary too.
' Yes, yes,' said Captain Temple, who had come in after
him. ' She Avill soon be quite herself ; but you must give
her her orders to stay with us, doctor. We want to be paid
for nursing her — and now she will be able to run about on all
our errands, and save us a great deal of trouble, and keep us
happy Avith her pretty voice and her singing. Did you ever
hear her sing, doctor ? The Signor is very anxious about her.
We must begin our lessons again, my pretty Lottie, as soon as
ever the doctor gives leave.'
Dr. Enderby looked very grave. ' There is no hurry
about that,' he said, ' let her have a little more time. The
Signor must be content to wait.'
Now Lottie had said, and they all had said, that her voice
was gone ; but when the doctor's face grew so grave, a cold
chill struck to their hearts. She gave him a startled look of
alarmed inquiry, she who had suddenly realised, now that
all dreams were over, that question of existence which is the
primitive qiiestion in this world. Before happiness, before
love, before everything that makes life lovely, this mere
ignoble foundation of a living, must come. When one is
young, as Lottie said, one cannot die at one's own pleasure —
and suddenly, just as she had got to realise that necessity,
was it possible that this other loss Avas really coming too ?
She looked at him with anxious eyes, but he would not look
at her, to give her any satisfaction ; then she laid her hand
softly on his arm.
' Doctor, she said, ' tell me true — tell me the worst there
is to tell. Shall I never have my voice again ? is it gone,
gone ? '
' We must not ask such searching questions,' said the
doctor, with a smile. ' We don't know anything about never''
in our profession. We know to-day, and perhaps to-morrow
— something about them — but no more.'
He tried to smile, feeling her gaze upon him, and made
light of her question. But Lottie was not to be evaded. All
the little colour there was ebbed out of her face.
' Shall I never sing again ? ' she said. * No — that is not
what I mean ; shall I never be able to sing as I did once? Is
it over? Oh, doctor, tell me the truth, is that over too ?'
They were all surrounding him with anxious faces. The
CONCLUSION. 4G9
doctor got up hurriedly and told them he had an appointment.
' Do not try to sing,' he said, ' ray dear,' patting her on tho
shoulder. ' It will be better for you, for a long time, if you
■do not even try ; ' and before anyone could speak again he had
escaped, and was hurrying away.
When he was gone, Lottie sat still, half stupefied, yet
quivering with pain and the horror of a new discovery. She
could not speak at first. She looked roimd upon them with
trembling lips, and great tears in her eyes. Then all at once
she slid down upon her knees at ]\Irs. Temple's feet.
' Now all is gone,' she said, ' all is gone — not even tliat is
left. Take me for your servant instead of the one that is
going away. I can work — I am not afraid to work. I know
all the work of a house. Let me be your servant instead of
the one who is going aAvay.'
' Oh, Lottie, hush, hush ! are you not my child ? ' said
Mrs. Temple, with a great outcry of weeping, clasping her
shoulders and drawing the upturned face to her breast. But
Lottie insisted gently and kept her position. In this thing at
least she' was not to be balked.
' Your servant,' she said, ' instead of the one that is going
away. I am an honest girl, though they all cast me olF. I
cannot sing but I can work — your servant, or else I cannot be
your child.'
CHAPTER XLV.
CONCLUSrON.
If this history had proposed to settle and bring to a dramatic
conclusion even one single human life, the writer would falter
here, feeling her task all unf ulillled ; for what have we been
able to do more than to bring our poor Lottie at the end ot all
things to a kind of dead-lock of all the possibilities of life?
Such stoppages in the course of human affairs are, however, at
least as common as a distinct climax or catastrophe. For one girl
or boy whose life lies all lair before them after the first effort,
how many are there who have to leave the chapter incomplete,
and, turning their backs upon it, to try a second beginning,
perhaps with less satisfaction, and certainly with a somewhat
470 ■WITHIN THE rRECIXCTS.
disturbed and broken hope ! Lottie Despnrd had arrived at
this point. Her love had not ended as happy loves end. It
had been cut short by a cruel hand ; her fabric of happiness
had fallen to the ground ; her visionary shelter, the house of
her dreams, had crumbled about her, leaving nothing but bare
walls and broken rafters. Her misery and dismay, the con-
sternation of her young soul when, instead of that fair and
pleasant future which was to be her resting-place, she found
around her a miserable ruin, we have scarcely attempted to
say. What Avords can tell such a convulsion and rending of
earth and sky ? She had believed in her lover, and in her
love as something above the weakness of ordinary humanity.
She had believed herself at last to have found in him the ideal
after which she had sighed all her life. His generous ardour
to help her whenever he found her in want of help, the
enthusiasm of a love which she believed had been given at
first sight, like the love the poets tell of, had filled Lottie's
heart with all the sweetness of a perfect faith. Impossible to
say how she had trusted in him, with what pure and perfect
delight and approbation her soul had given itself up to him,
glad beyond all expression not only to find him hers, but to
have found him at all, the one man known to her for whom no
excuse had to be made. The discovery that he Avas a traitor
killed her morally — at least it seemed so to the poor girl
when, all crushed and bleeding from a hundred Avounds, she
was taken to the house of her friends. But CA-en that Avas
scarcely a more horrible bloAV than the stroke administered
delicately by Augusta Avhile still the injured soul had not
staunched its own bleeding or recoA'ered from the first mortal
overthrow. The earth that had been so solid opened round
her in yaAvning mouths of hell, leaving no ground to stand
upon. There Avas nothing that Avas not changed. She had
not only lost her future, Avhich Avas all happiness, and in Avhich
she had believed like a child ; but she had lost her past. She
had been deceived ; or, Avorse still, she had deceived herself,
seeking her own overthroAv. The knoAvledge that it had not
been love that brought Eollo under her Avindow first, that it
was altogether another sentiment, business, regard for his OAvn
interests — seemed to throAv upon herself the blame of all that
came after. Soul and heart, the girl Avrithed under the con-
sciousness of having thus anticipated and brought on her fate.
So vain, so foolish, so easily deceived, Avho Avas in fault but
CONCLUSION. 471
herself? Those thoughts gave her a false strength, or feverish
impassioned powei- for a time. It was her own doing. She
had been the deceiver of herself.
But who could deliver her from the dying pangs of love ii.
her heart, those longings which are unqvienchable, those pro-
testations of nature against loss, those visions of excuses tliat
might still be made, and suggestions of impossible explanation
which in her mind she knew to be impossible even while her
fancy framed them ? Sometimes Lottie would find herself
dreaming unawares that someone else, not Rollo, had written
that cruel letter ; that it was not by his will he had left her to
bear the brunt of her disappointment imder the elm-tree; that
it was a forgery, and he detained by some act of cruel treachery
and deceit. Sometimes a flood of passionate longing and yearn-
ing would sweep over her — a longing only to see him, to hear
his voice, to ask why, why he could have been so cruel.
Love does not die in a moment, nor does it come to a violent
end when the object is proved unworthy, as some people
think. With Lottie it was a lingering and painful conclusion,
full of memories, full of relentings; the ground that liad been
gained by days of painful self-suppression being lost by one
.sudden burst of remembrance, the sight of something that
brought up before her one of the scenes that were past.
While this j^rocess was going on wistful looks were directed
to Lottie's lonely path by more than one spectator. The
hoiisehold of the Signer was deeply moved by the hapless fate
of the young lady for Avhom young Purcell sighed with un-
availing faithfulness. He could not be made to see that it
Avas unavailing, and the Signor, blinded by his partiality for
his pupil, did not or would not see it ; and, as was natural,
Mrs, Purcell could not understand the possibility of any girl
being indifferent to John's devotion. She thought Lottie's
troubles would indeed be at an end, and her future happiness
secured, if her eyes were but opened to his excellence. So
strong was this feeling in the mind of the family that the
Signor himself took the matter in hand, and sallied forth with
the anxious sympathy of all the household to put the case
before Captain Temple, who was now recognised as Lottie's
guardian. ' In every country but England,' the Signor .«aid,
' the friends arrange such niatters. Surely it is much more
judicious than the" other way. There is some guarantee at
least that it is not mere youthful folly. Now here is a young
472 WITHIN THE precincts.
lady who is in very unfortunate circumstances, who has been
obliged to leave her father's house '
' I beg your pardon, Signor,' said the Captain, trying hard
to keep his temper, ' but I do not think my house is a very
bad exchange for Captain Despard's.'
' Nobody who knows Captain Temple can have any doubt
of that,' the Signor said with a wave of his hand, ' but what
can her situation be in your house ? You are not her relation.
She has no claim, she has no right, nothing to depend upon ;
and if anything Avere to happen to you '
' To be sure,' said Captain Temple, with profound gravity,
not untinctured with offence, ' there is much to be Siiid on
that point. We are mortal like everybody else.'
Explanations were not the Signor's strong point ; he was
wanting in tact everybody knew. * I am making a mess of it,'
he said, ' as I always do. Captain Temple, you are a man of
sense, you know that marriage is something more than a
matter of sentiment. John Purcell is a very rising musician,
there is nothing in our profession he may not hope for ; he
loves Miss Despard, and he could give her a home. Will you
not recommend her to consider his suit, and be favourable to
him ? His origin perhaps is an objection — biit he is a very
good fellow, and he could provide for her.'
Captain Temple kept his temper ; he was always very
proud o£ this afterwards. He bowed the Signor out, then
came fuming upstairs to his wife. ' Young Purcell ! ' he
cried, ' the housekeeper's son ! as if all that was wanted was
somebody to provide for her ; but when a man has that taint
of foreign notions,' said the old Captain gravely, ' nothing will
wear it out.'
Mrs. Temple did not respond as her husband would have
wished. Indeed this was very often the case; she had not his
quick impulses nor his ready speech. Slie said with a sigh,
' I almost think the Si<nior is riixht. I wish we could do what
he says. I know a man who is very fond of her, who would
be very suitable, who would be sure to make her happy. I
think if I could marry her to him I would take the responsi-
bility; but she will not see it in the same light.'
'Who is it? who is it?' Captnin Temple said with lively
curiosity. And when Mr. Ashford's name was mentioned to
him, after some protestations of incredulity, he could find
nothing to say but a fretful ' Do you want to be rid of Lottie ? '
CONCLUSION. 473
Tie for his part did not want to be rid of her. Slic wa.s
deliixhtfiil to tlie old man. She walked with him and sat
with liini, and though she liad not sulHciently recovered to
t;\lk much to him, yet she listened to him while he talked,
which did almost as well. The old Chevalier was more happy
than he had been since his own child married and went away
iirom him. Why should Lottie be married and carried away
irom him too, for no better reason than that a man could pro-
vide for her ? This indeed was the weak point in Captain
Temple's armour. He could not provide for his adopted
daughter; but he was angry when this was suggested to him.
He had got a new interest, a new pleasure in life, and he did
not like the idea of dying and losing it. "Why should not he
live lor years and keep the shelter of a father's roof over this
girl, who was like his own ?
As for the Minor Canon, it had only been when he took
the girl home fi-om her vigil on the Slopes that he allowed
himself fully to confess the state of his feelings towards her.
When he had drawn her hand within his arm and felt her
light weight upon him, holding up, by close clasping of his
own, the soft arm Avhich he held, the floodgates had opened.
He knew very well by instinct and by observation that Lottie
loved, not him, but another man. He felt very sure that
what had happened had little to do with her stepmother but a
great deal to do with her lover ; and yet at that very moment,
the most discouraging and hopeless, those gates opened and
the stream flowed forth, and he no longer attempted any dis-
guise either with himself or with Mrs. Temple, who saw
through and through him. Law, whom nobody supposed to
have any discrimination, had seen through and through him
long ago. Law felt that it was not at all likely that any man
■would sacrifice so much money and trouble on his account ;
and indeed from the beginning of their acquaintjince he had
read in ' old Ashford's ' eye an expression of weakness of
which the astute youth was very willing to take advantage.
When, however, Mr. Ashford himself gained this point of
making no further resistance, and attempting no further con-
cealment, the acknowledgment to himself of the new senti-
ment, little hopeful as it was, had brought him a sense of
happiness and freedom. Love in his heart was sweet, even
though it had no return. It made life other than it had ever
been. It opened possibilities which to the middle-aged Minor
474 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
Canon had all been closed before. Handel may be a consola-
tion or even a delight ; and pupils, though neither consolatory
nor delightful, at least keep a man from the sense that his life
is useless ; but neither of these things make up the sum of
human requirements, nor do they help to reveal the fin mot of
that mortal enigma Avhich is more hard to solve than all the
knots of philosophy. It seemed to Mr. Ashford when he gave
up all resistance, and let this flood of tenderness for one
creature take possession of his heart, that a sudden illumina-
tion had been given to him, a light that cleared up many
difficult matters, and made the whole world more clear.
With this lantern in his hand he thought he might even
go back to tread the darker ways of the Avorld with more
fortitude and calm. The miseries of the poor seemed to him
more bearable, the burdens of humanity less overwhelming.
Why ? but he could not have told Avhy. Perhaps because lite
itself was more worth having, more beautiful, more divine
with love in it ; a poor man, though he was starving, could not
be so poor with that to keep him alive. He remembered in
his early experiences, when he had fled from the horrible
mystery of want and pain, to have seen that other presence
which then he took no note of, in the poorest places — gleam-
ing in the eyes of a woman, in a man's rough face, which
knew no other enlightenment. This, then, was what it was.
In the sweetness of the heavenly discoveiy perhaps he Avent
too far, and felt in it the interpretation and compensation ol
all. Naturally, a man who has found a new happiness does
exalt it above the dimensions of any human possession. It
made the Minor Canon feel his own life too sheltered and
peaceful, it made of him a man among other men. It seemed
to him now that he wanted to go and help his brothers who
were suffering, Avhose suffering had appalled him, from whom
he had fled in excess of pity.
But he did not say one Avord of his love to Lottie, except those
vague words which have been recorded. What was the use ?
She knew it as he knew it ; and what could it matter ? After
the first impulse of speech, which was for her sake rather than
liis — to comfort her wounded pride, her sense of humiliation,
if nothing else, by the knowledge that she was priceless to
another if rejected by one — no desire to speak was in his mind.
He surrounded her with every care he Avas permitted to give,
with a thousand unexpressed tendernesses, with a kind of ideal
COKCLUSIOX. 475
■worship, such as -was most likely to soothe her Avouncls and to
please her, at least, with a sense that she was beloved. In
this way the winter went slowly on. Law did not sail till the
early spring, being detained by the Minor Canon as hoAvoiild,
if he could, have detained a rav of sunshine that Avarmed
her. And thus Lottie was surrounded by all the fairest
semblances of life.
The fairest semblances ! How often they collect about
those who can derive no advantace from them ! A good man
loved her, but Lottie could not accept his love ; the kindest
domestic shelter was given to her, but she had no right to it
— she Avas not the daughter of these kind people, and they
would not make her their servant as she had asked them to
do. Musing in her own mind over all that lay about her, this
seemed the only true standing ground that she could hope for.
Now that she Avanted a Avay of living, a real occupation, her
A^oice had failed her and she could not sing ; noAv that she had
the doors of marriage opened before her, her heart Avas too
sick even to contemplate that possibility ; now that she had a
home Avhere she Avas beloved, it Avas not her home but the
house of a stranger. To all this she had no right. If they
Avould let her be their servant, that Avould be true ; if Mr.
Ashford Avould see that she Avas not Avortli loving, that Avould
be true ; if she could take up the trade she had despised, in
that there Avould be an honest refuge. All these things Avere
out of her reach. She said nothing about the thoughts in her
heart, but they burned Avithin her; and nobody imderstood
them, except perhaps ]\Ir. Ashford, to Avhom she ncA'cr con-
fided them. LaAv thought her \'ery Avell off indeed, and
declared frankly that he Avould leave England Avith an easy
mind: 'You are one that Avill always iall on your feet,' ho
said, Avith perfect satisfaction. Captain Despard even, Avho had
at first resented the noAv arranjrement of affi^irs, came at last
in his finest manner and made very pretty speeches to Ca])tain
Temple and his Avife. ' If, as I understand, my daughter's
society is a real pleasure to you,' he said, ' I am always glad
Avhen I or mine can be of use to my neighbours, and certainly,
my dear Madam, she shall stay. Indeed, in the present state
of my domestic circumstances,' he added; Avith a Avave of his
hand, not perceiving Captain Temple's angry eagerness to
speak, Avhich his Avife subdued Avith a supplicating gestiu-e, ' I
will not conceal from you that it is an ease to my mind to
476 WITHIN THE TRECINCTS.
know that Lottie is among the friends of her own choice. My
wife and she,' Captain Despard said, with a little shrug of his
shoulders — ' we all know what ladies are, and that occasionally
unpleasantnesses will occur — my wife and she have not got oa
together.' Thus Lottie was left by those who belonged to
her. And when she retired to the room that Avas her own in
the new home — which was so like the little room in the old,
but so much more dainty, with everything in it that the old
people could think of to make her comfortable, and all the
little decorations which a mother invents for her child, Lottie
Avould stand in the midst of these evidences of love and kind-
ness, and ask herself what she could do — she had never been
so well off in her life, what could she do ? She had ' no claim '
upon the Temples, as the Signor said, ' no right ' to their kind-
ness. The Captain's niece, who lived in St. Michael's, looked
at the interloper, as the nearest relative of a foolish old couple
who were wasting their means upon a stranger might be
excused for looking. What Avas she doing but living on their
charity? What could she do? Oh, that she had now the
voice which she had cared so little for when she had it ! Hoav
strange, how strange it all seemed to her now ! She had, she
said to herself, a trade, an honest trade in her hands, and she
had not cared for it, had struggled against its exercise, had
not wished to qualify herself for its use ; and now it was lost
to her. This was the only thing that was Lottie's fault ; the
other strange paradoxes about her had come without any
doing of hers. But the result of all was that, with love and
kindness on every side, slie had no place that belonged to her,
cHo right to anything. After the kind people who Avere so good
to her had gone to their rest, the girl would sit and think over
this problem. What Avas she to do ? To be obliged to think
of this did her good ; it took her mind aAvay from the Avounds
of her heart, it brought in ncAV objects — ncAV thoughts. She
-could not dwell for ever, a.s a disengaged mind might have
done, amid the ruined temples and palaces of her love; she
could not sink to the ground, and conclude, as in happier cir-
cumstances a broken-hearted girl might have been tempted to
■do, that all was over. On the contrary, life not being over,
nor any end procurable by means of hers, an entire Avorld
■of new difficulties and troubles Avas brought in Avhich Lottie
had to meet, and, as she might, find a solution for.
On the day before LaAv's departure, which had been so
CONCLUSION. 477
often delayed, she went back to her father's house, under her
brother's guardianship, to take away the few little possessions-
■which remained there. Law had been a very faithful guardian
of Lottie's little belonging?. There was nothing that Polly
would have liked better tlian to enter and rummage throuffh
her stepdaughter's things, searching for secrets through all
the little drawers and boxes which Lottie had taken a girlish
pleasure in keeping in good order. But Law had stood up
like a dragon for his sister's property ; and Captain Despard,
who sometimes put himself on Lottie's side, by a certain
esprit de famille against the wife, who, after all, was an alien
and not one of them, supported Law. Thus the men of her
family, though they had not hesitated to treat her carelessly
and even harshly themselves, yet made a certain stand against
the interference of any other. It Avas a day in early April
when Lottie reluctantly went into her father's house on this
errand. Polly was out ; the house was vacant and quiet as
when it had been her own, and it is not to be described with
what a yearning the girl looked at the shabby furniture, the
old piano, the faded rooms in which she had spent many a
troubled and many a dull day, and beat her wings against the
bars of her cage, and wished for a hundred things which were
never to be hers. The reader knows how far Lottie had been
from being happy : but yet she thought she had been happy^
and that nothing better could have been desired than to be the
household Providence, and ' take care,' as she called it, of her
father and brother. All that was over. She could not bear
to go into the little drawing-room, where he had visited her,
where she had lived in such a world of dreams. Her heart
beat as she went up the old stairs. She was far better off
with the Temples, who could not pet or serve her enough ; yet
with what a yearning she came into the house which had once
been hers, but in Avhich now there was no place for her ! In
her own room, thanks to Law's care, she found everything as
she had left it ; and it is not to be told Avhat anguish filled
Lottie's breast as she looked at her little white dress, all care-
fully prepared for the event which was never to happen, and
the little box with the bonnet which she had made in such
sweet agitation and tumult cf heart. And there was the
pearl locket upon its white ribbon, her sole ornament. She
gathered these things together and carried them, not letting
even Law touch them, to her new home. She could not speak
478 -WITIIIN THE PRECINCTS.
as she went up and shut herself in her room. A little fire
was burning there, a luxury unknown to Lottie in the days
when she was her own mistress, and no one cared how chilly
she might be. Then with old Lear's ' climbing sorrow ' in her
throat, she undid the little bit of maidenly finery for which
she had so much wanted a sprig of orange blossom. It was
a nothing, a little knot of tulle and ribbon — a piece of vanity
not worthy a thought ; so any moralist would have said who
had seen Lottie stand speechless, tearless, a great sob in her
throat, with the poor little bonnet in her hand. A bonnet,
there is nothing tragic in that. She put it upon her fire and
watched the light stuff flame and fall into sudden ashes. It
was the affair of a moment ; but those hopes, those prospects
of which it had been the token, her life itself, with all that
was beautiful in it, seemed ended too.
Then she sat down for the hundredth time and confronted
the waste of darkness that was her life. What Avas she to do ?
Perhaps it was the final ending of her dream, symbolised by
the destruction of that bit of tulle and ribbon, which moved
her. For the first time her dreamy self-questions took a
different tone. She asked herself, not what am I to do ? but
something more definite. Law was going away the next day,
the only being except her father to whom she had any right,
on whom she had any claim — going away in comfort, in high
hope, as much as she could have desired for him. By whose
doing ? She had given up the care of Law, selfishly absorbed
in her own hopes ; and Avho was it who had taken her place
and done the thing which Lottie had only wished and longed
to do ? She seemed to see him standing before her, with
tenderness beyond words in his eyes. Always her good angel :
how often he had interposed to help her ! — from that early
time at the Deanery when she had sung false in her agitation,
and he had covered the error and beguiled her into the divine
song Avhich at that very moment she could hear thrilling all
the air, pealing from tlie Abbey. Was it because this happened
to be the afternoon anthem that she thought of that simple
beginning of the Minor Canon's benefits ? Never since had
he failed her; though of all the people upon whom Lottie had
no claim, he it was on whom she had the least claim. He had
saved Law fironi his aimless idleness, and it was he who had
awakenea herself out of the miserable dream that had almost
cost her her life. How could she repay him for all he had
done for her ? In one way, cne only way. She shuddered,
CONCLUSION. 479
then stilled herself, and faced the thought with all the courage
she had left. Marry him ! If he would have her, if he
wanted her, why should not she marry him ? She trembled
as the words came into her mind. It was not she that said
them ; something seemed to say them in her mind, without
any will of hers. So good a man, so kind. Did it matter so
much whether she liked it, whether she did not like it, so long
as it pleased him ? Perhaps this was not the right way in
which such a calculation ought to be made, but Lottie did not
think of that. At all times it had been easier for her to think
of others than of herself. Only once had she pleased herself,
and no good had come of it. Her heart began to beat with
a her'jic impulse. She was not worth his having, she whom
everyone had cast off; but if he thought so ? She shuddered,
yet her heart rose high in her bosom. She would do her best,
she would be a good wife, tliat Avould be within her power.
She would serve him humbly, that he might forgive her for not
loving him. She rose up to her feet unconsciously as this great
resolution came upon her mind.
' Lottie,' said Law at her door, ' the service is over, and
the Signor is practising. Come over to the Abbey with me.
I'd like to wander about the old place a little the last night I
am here. Come, it'll be something to think of,' said Law, more
moved than he liked to show, ' when we're thousands of miles
separate over the sea.'
Lottie did not wait to be asked again. She hurried to him,
glad to be thus delivered from the thoughts that were getting
too much for her. Long, long months had passed since the
brother and sister had cone to church together, their close
vicinity to the Abbey and its frequent services had broken up
the old childish Sunday habits. And it was not going to
church in the ordinary way, but only roaming through to the
silent benutiful place all deserted, with the organ pealing
through its silence. Law's heart was touched, though he was
too successliil and prosperous now to be easily moved. He
strayed ab( ut the majestic stillness of the nave with tears in
his eyes, thinking — this time to-morrow ! This time to-
morrow he would probably be prosaically ill or prosaically
cotiitortahle, and thinking little of what he left. But for the
mom<^iit it seemed to Law tliat when he once was gone, his
heart would turn like that of any poet, to the sweet friends to
whom that day he had said iare^vell.
The Abbey was altogether still except for the music. No
480 WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.
one was about ; the last ray of the westerly sun had got in
among the canopy work over the stalls, and tangled itself there.
Underneath the shadows of the evening were creeping
dimly, and through the great vault the organ pealed. What
bursts of wonderful sound, what glories in the highest, what
quiverings of praise unspeakable ! Lottie raised her face un-
awares to the gallery from which that music came. How her
life had gone along with it, shaping itself to that high accom-
paniment ! It had run through everything, delight and misery
alike, good and evil. Her heart was moved already, and
trembling under the touch of new impulses, resolutions,
emotions. She stood still unawares, with her face turned
that way, a new light coming upon it ; once more the music
got into her soul. With her head raised, her arms falling by
her side, her heart going upwards in an ecstasy of sudden
feeling, she stood spellbound. She did not hear — how should
she ? — a whisper in the organ-loft, a noiseless change of music,
nor see the anxious faces looking out upon her from among the
fretwork of the carved screen. The torrent of sound changed ;
it breathed into a celestial softness of sorrow and hope ; tears
dropped liquid like a falling of rain; a counter stream of
melody burst forth. Lottie did not knoAV what she was doing,
the spell upon her Avas broken. ' I know that my Kedeemer
liveth : ' she lifted up her voice and sang.
In the organ loft there was a group which clustered
together, scarcely venturing to breathe. The Signer was the
one who had most command of himself. ' I always knew it
would come back,' he said in sharp staccato syllables, as he
played on. Young Purcell, who loved her, sat down in the
shadow and laughed and cried, blubbering not with dignity.
The Minor Canon, who did not once take his eyes from her,
waiting the moment that she might falter or want succour,
Avatched, looking over the carved rail with face lighted up like
her OAvn.
Thus was Lottie restored to Art ; was it to Love too ?
^
THE END.
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