HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. LIBRARY " A ray of sunlight had penetrated through the window, and had made a pathway of brightness across the dusky chapel to the spot where Irene stood." Page 49. BY EMMA MARSHALL, AUTHOR OF " THE OLD GATEWAY ; " " VIOLET DOUGLAS " CHRIST ABEL KINGSCOTE," ETC., ETC. OMum." THIRD THOUSAND. NEW YORK : E. P. BUTTON & CO., 713, BROADWAY. WITH WHOM I TREAD THE VALLEYS, AND CLIMB THE MOUNTAINS OF LIFE; IN LOVING MEMORY OF THE PAST, AND IN HOPE FOR THE FUTURE, I DEDICATE THIS STORY. Exeter, December, 1871. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE i. FORTUNE'S WHEEL 1 II. OLD THINGS AND NEW . . 20 in. HILDYARD'S ALMSHOUSES . . .43 iv. IRENE 64 V. GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY . . .87 VI. IN THE CHAPEL 112 VII. AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS . . . 137 VIII. LIGHT AND SHADE 161 ix. "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS" . . . 189 X. SIR JASPER ONCE MORE . . . .216 XI. GREAT NEWS FOR RODHAM . . . 240 XII. FLOWERS OF LOVE AND PEACE . . 266 XIII. WORK AND REST ..... 287 xiv. "DE PROFUNDIS" . 311 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. CHAPTER I. FOETUNE'S WHEEL. " Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown. With that wild wheel we go not up or down Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands r Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands ; For man is man, and master of his fate. Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud : Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate." TENNYSON. THE mists of early morning were lifted from the giant- Alps of the Vallais, and the sun, just risen above the line of the eastern horizon, kindled with new-born beauty every feature of a view, of which few can be found more lovely and more sublime. From the garden in front oi the " Trois Couronnes," at Vevay, an English traveller looked out upon the mountains and the blue lake of Ge- neva, as he paced the terrace-walk, his knapsack on his shoulder and his well-worn alpenstock in his hand. He was unencumbered with luggage, and as several groups oi ladies clustered round piles of boxes and enormous rolls 2 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. of rugs and umbrellas, he gave them a passing look of pity especially when one excited matron followed the porteur froi the hotel who bore her burdens before her, exclaiming, " Am I too late ? Can you tell me if the steamer to Geneva has passed 1 " 11 No," said Philip Dennistoun, in quiet, deliberate tones which contrasted forcibly with the eager, shrill voice of the lady " we have at least a quarter of an hour to wait." " Oh, thanks ! How provoking that I should have hurried ! It is most exhausting at this early hour. Now, my dear girls," addressing her three daughters, " are you ready 1 " " Of course we are, mamma ; we are all ready too soon ; but you always worry so." Philip Dennistoun moved away and resumed his lei- surely walk up and down the terrace. The next moment a loud halloo ! made him turn his head in the direction of the hotel. " Dennistoun, what on earth are you so early for ? There is no hurry. Come in and have a last word." " Come out and have it," said Philip. The speaker vanished from the window, and soon appeared in a somewhat hurried toilette upon the scene of action. " Keep off from the Hen and Chickens," he said, with a significant nod towards the group of ladies. " I am ter- ribly afraid of those people ; they have bothered so the last three days ; it's a mercy this telegram has called them home. But I say, old fellow, you have had no tele- gram, and I can't imagine why you don't come on with me to Zermatt." " I have had my time on the mountains, and a very FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 3 good time too," was the answer. " If you had wanted my company, Sandford, you should have made better plans." " Plans ! I never have a plan. I go where the spirit moves me here or there, it don't matter." " Not to a man whose fortune is ready made ; but your case and mine are different." "And how are the briefs getting on, Philip ? Are you leading counsel yet 1" " Not exactly : but I've had a fair picking since last year ; the tide turned then. I got well out of the Tom- linson case." " That's right ; and now mind you look us up at Christ- mas. Why have you fought so shy of us of late ? " " I might ask the same question : you seem to forget the way to 8, Codrington-place, Kensington." " No, I don't, nor that dear little sister of yours either. I am afraid of her mother, you see ; but we will contrive to meet oftener. There, I hear the hen cackling ; depend upon it the steamer is in sight. I wonder you choose that antiquated mode of transit now locomotion is so much quicker." " I always like a farewell steam down the lake, if I have not time to walk." " Well, good-bye, old fellow. Three days of your com- pany are better than none. They are making for the boat now, and I will depart." The two friends parted, with a cordial shake of the hands ; and as George Sandford retreated into the hotel, Philip Dennistoun went on board the little steamer, which made wreaths of snowy foam in the sapphire water, as she paused for a few minutes to give other tardy pas- sengers a chance of catching her. There was some little delay, and the lady and her three B 2 4 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. daughters, the old gentleman and his wife and servant, the two gaunt, determined spinsters, with their Murray tightly grasped in their big, doe-skin-gloved fingers, and the poor forlorn little governess, who shrank timidly from her fellow-travellers in a remote corner of the vessel, had more than time to settle themselves. At last the wheel was turned, and La Belle Cygne was leaving the small jetty, from which the passengers had stepped upon her deck. Then an halloo, louder than the first, made every one start "What can that feUow Sandford want 1" Philip ejacu- lated, half wrathfully. Then, in answer to the shout of " Dennistoun !" he called out, " What now 1" The captain, imagining that the gentleman's frantic gestures were intended for him, gave the word " Tenez ! " and La Belle Cygne lay-to once more. " Did you look at the ' Times ' last night ] " roared George Sandford, as Philip leaned over the side of the little vessel to come within earshot of his noisy friend. " Yes." " The advertisement sheet ] " "No." "Then look here; "and, regardless of consequences, George rolled up the paper and threw it on board, hitting, as he did so, the large brown hat with which one of the determined-looking maiden ladies had hid her face from the rays of the sun and from too curious observation. Philip picked it up as it fell, and apologised courteously for the accident. The lady looked unutterable things, and grimly remarked to her companion that she supposed they should be detained another half-hour to suit this gentleman's convenience. But Philip scarcely heard, or heeded if he heard. Amidst the noise of the paddle-wheels FORTUNE S WHEEL. O and the gurgling of tlie water, he caught George Sandford's parting words, " Old Dennistoun, of Rockdeane, is " The rest was lost. Philip quietly resumed his seat, unfolded the crumpled paper, glanced down the announce- ments on the first column, and read, "On September 14, at Rockdeane Park, Sir Jasper Dennistoun, Bart., aged 81." For a few moments Philip's mind refused to acknow- ledge the importance of that announcement to himself. It had come so unexpectedly ; for, though Sir Jasper was an old man as age is counted by years he was con- sidered hale and strong. Philip knew that his father had been the next heir, and that, as he was dead, he stood in his place, the head of a family which was so old that few could rival it on the pages of the peerage heir to the stately mansion the stern grandeur of which he had heard described, though he had never seen it, possessor, too, of the princely fortune, which had accumu- lated through two generations of Dennistouns, who had lived in seclusion and solitude, and had dispensed scarcely a tithe of an income derived from one of the finest rent rolls in England. But not one of the anxious eyes fixed on Philip Dennistoun, as La Belle Cygne cleft the waters of Lake Leman, pausing here and there at Lausanne, Merges, or Nyon for passengers, guessed that the paper now thrust under the strap of his knapsack, contained any news which particularly affected him. He leaned over the vessel, looking a farewell to the snow mountains familiar to his eyes from long acquaintance, in many an autumn excursion. Calm and grand they stood, in the pure clear air of as lovely a September day as ever dawned upon them, wearing their crown of spotless beauty unaltered and undi aimed, affected by none of the changes & HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. which swept over the world below them. High above them all, in the passionless perfection which from afar strikes us with love, which is mixed with awe, and which on a nearer approach gives us a half defined longing for something warmer and more tender, for which our human hearts are ever wont to yearn. Philip Dennistoun's life for the last eight years had been a somewhat uphill path ; it had been a struggle for success in the profession he had chosen, and there had been the usual amount of discouragement and disappoint- ments, of checks and hindrances. There was, however, in his nature a love of work and effort ; he liked to climb and to depend upon his own exertions. Just as to his strongly made frame physical exertion was a positive enjoyment, so was real tough brain work a true pleasure to his mind. How often had he turned homewards after an expedition like this, at the close of which we find him, braced for the winter's labour, invigorated and strengthened, anxious perhaps, and it might be doubtful, but always ready to meet and over- come difficulties. How then in a few hours the whole aspect of life had changed for him ! It was as if he had been suddenly lifted to one of his favourite points amid the rocks and glaciers, and had found himself transported in a moment with no toilsome ascent to the Col de Collon or Les Grands Mulcts. It would have been doubtful satisfaction in the one case, and it was scarcely hearty satisfaction in the other. But as he thought, the horizon grew wider ; there would be a field before him for energy and usefulness, and he might climb with even surer steps, as Sir Philip Itennistoun of Rockdeane, than as Philip Dennistoun, beginning to be known in the circuit as a man who would FORTUNE S WHEEL. 7 find himself a Q.C. at thirty-five, possibly a judge before he had counted another ten years. Philip Dennistoun was awoke from his dream of the past and the future by the arrival of the steamer at Geneva. He had been entirely unmindful of the watchful eyes of the old lady and her daughters, whose sharp ears had caught his friend's announcement : " Old Dennistoun of Rockdeane, is ." It was easy to supply the word and to connect the name Dennistoun with the letters P. J. D. on the little black travelling apparatus which Sir Philip bore so lightly on his shoulder, as he prepared to leave La Belle Cygne. " Mamma," said one of the daughters of the party irreverently called by George Sandford the " Hen and Chickens," " I feel certain that man is some one of distinc- tion. I should not wonder if it turns out that that old Dennistoun is Sir Jasper, and that this is his heir." " Nonsense, Margaret," interposed one of the sisters ; "as if a man could look like that, if he had come into a place like Rockdeane." " Quite absurd," exclaimed another, while the mother, who had counted all her boxes and parcels till she was utterly bewildered, could only entreat her daughters not to talk so loud, and to be sure that the little bag with the straw bottom was not overlooked in the transit to the railway station. Philip cared nothing about the troop of ladies or their infinite number of boxes ; he strode away, his knapsack on his shoulder, his alpenstock in his hand, seemingly unmindful of the needs or anxieties of his fellow travellers. But it was nob altogether so. The little timid governess, who was going back to a second-rate school at Brighton after the holidays, to resume her weary task of instructing stubborn English tongues in the pronunciation of German and 8 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. somewhat Helvetian French, remembered for many a day the chivalrous courtesy of the Englishman, whose hand was ready to help her when she ascended the steps of the pier, and who, throughout the long journey in a second-class railway carriage to Paris, lost no opportunity of showing some care for her welfare and comfort. " He is going second class, Margaret," one of the three sisters exclaimed triumphantly, when Philip disappeared from the crowd on the platform, and was seen by Margaret's sisters to enter a carriage on which was painted " Seconde." " I told you he could not be anyone." " I take it, if he had gone troisieme it would have settled the question more decidedly in my favour," was the reply ; " you have such vulgar ideas about things, Mary." " Thanks for your kind opinion of me," was the sar- castic reply ; and then the heavily laden train lumbered out of the station, and soon Geneva, and its blue lake and snow-crowned mountains, were left far behind. A loud ring at the bell startled the inhabitants of 8, Codrington-place, Kensington, the next evening. " It must be Philip, Mamma," exclaimed a young girl, dancing to the door of the pretty little drawing-room where she and her mother were sitting. "It must be Philip ! " There was not much time left for doubt or for question, as the hall door was opened, and a breath of keen fresh air rushed in. Rosie was caught by her brother's strong arm, and, springing up to bring her face on a level with, his, heard only, " Don't strangle me ! " " Is it really you, Philip 1 " said Mrs. Dennistoun, rising from a luxurious chair by the fire, and laying aside FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 9 a roll of many-coloured worsted work, in which she had been engrossed when the bell rung. " We are very glad to see you." hilip touched Mrs. Dennistoun's cheek with his lips, and pressed her hand warmly. " Where is Jasper 1 " he asked. " Gone to bed with a bad headache. They have been playing a match to-day at Lord's, and he has been watching it, and he got over-heated. Now, Philip, what will you have tea, or coffee, or anything more substantial 1 Ring the bell, Rosie, or go and tell Wright to put everything we have into the dining-room." " Oh, you dear, old Philip, isn't it nice to have you ! " and again the little lady sprang to her brother's neck, and, in spite of remonstrance, got as many kisses as she wanted. "I met a friend of yours, Rosie," he said, as Rosie went off to give Wright her orders ; " George Sandford spent three days with me in Switzerland. He is just the same dreamy, idle fellow as ever, but jolly enough in spite of it." Then, as Rosie shut the door, after giving her head a significant toss, Philip turned to Mrs. Dennistoun. " I have not told you my news," he said. Mrs. Dennistoun started. "Has that brought you home earlier, Philip 1 Who is the lady ] " " There is no lady in the case, mother ; it is only that old Sir Jasper Dennistoun is dead ; and I am, I suppose, Sir Philip Dennistoun of Rockdeane." " Philip ! " Mrs. Dennistoun could not get out another word. " Philip ! " " Yes, the death was in the ' Times ' several days ago. Are there no letters for me 1 " 10 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. "Yes, in your study, where you always desire they should be put." " I dare say I shall find some official announcement of the event from the family lawyer," Philip said, turning to the door. " Is there a light in the study 1 " " No ; but wait. I will come with you, and light the gas." Mrs. Dennistoun took up a box of matches, and pre- ceded Philip up the staircase to the room over the back drawing-room, which was designated Philip's study, and it was soon brilliantly illuminated. Mrs. Dennistoun watched Philip's face as he turned over the pile of letters which awaited him. There was silence for a few minutes, while Mrs. Dennistoun busied herself by setting light to the fire already laid in the grate, settling the collection of stones and crystals and bits of Swiss carving on the chimney-piece, and scarcely able to conceal her impatience. She knew her stepson too well to question him, and he had seated himself by his writing-table as quietly as he did everything else, singling out the letter with the Rodham postmark, opening it, and reading it in a deliberate fashion peculiar to himself. " Well, Philip 1 " Mrs. Dennistoun ventured to inquire at last. " The poor old man was found in a fit of apoplexy let me see," said Philip, looking at the date " last Saturday, and never recovered consciousness, but died the next evening. Strange to say, the old lawyer and confidential friend of his, Mr. Balfour, also died sud- denly a few days ago the only friend he had in the world, poor desolate old man. Here, you may read the letter." FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 11 Mrs. Dennistoun eagerly grasped it, as Philip held it to her, and scanned the contents more quickly than her son had done. " What an enormous fortune has accumu- lated ! " she exclaimed. " Five hundred thousand pounds ! It is almost incredible. And such a fine place, too. I have often heard your father describe it. Really, Philip, it is hard to believe you are master of this. Who is this man who signs the letter ? " " A lawyer, who is to succeed Mr. Balfour in the business, I suppose. Let me look at his name again. ' Forster Williamson.' You see he says at the beginning that he had, only a year before Mr. Balfour's death, en- tered into partnership with him, and had been introduced, in his legal capacity, to the late Sir Jasper Dennistoun." " So he does," said Mrs. Dennistoun, looking over his shoulder. " Rosie ! " as Rosie's light step was heard coming up the stair. " I am come to call you to supper. What are you doing here, Mamma ? " And, as Rosie entered the room, there was seen behind her a white form enveloped in a cricket shirt, tied round his neck by the sleeves, and his feet thrust into slippers. "Hallo!" he exclaimed, "What's the row? Phil come home, is it ? Well, old Phil? " " There is great news, Rosie," said Mrs. Dennistoun ; " isn't there, Philip 1 " " Yes, Jasper, my boy," said Philip, putting his arm round the slight figure which came up to him. " It seems I am Sir Philip Dennistoun, and " " Then I am your heir," said the boy, quickly. " How awfully jolly ! I say, old Phil, this is splendid." " My heir," said Philip, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice ', "so that is your first thought, is it ? " 12 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " Oh, Philip ! " exclaimed Rosie, " I am so glad for you. You won't have to poke about in those dull chambers any more, or go on circuit. We shall always have you, and we shall all live together in that grand old place, Rockdeane. And you will have plenty of parties and fun, won't you, Philip ? " Philip only said, " I daresay now I want my supper ; and Jasper, my boy, I should advise you to go to bed." " I am all right now," the boy said ; " I shall dress and come down, and drink your health." But his mother interposed : " No, my dear child, decidedly not, you must go to bed ; as it is, I expect you will get cold." " Get heat, you mean, mother. I have been blazing like a furnace all day." " Yes, and delicate boys like you require great care," were his mother's words as she swept along, bearing the unwilling Jasper before her to his room. Philip and Rosie went down together, the girl cling- ing to his arm. " The old story, I suppose 1 " Philip said, looking back on the retreating figure. " Yes, mother spoils him, and he thinks there is no one like his worshipful self. What would he be in your place now ! Just imagine it ! " " I feel it difficult to imagine myself, Rosie, so I must leave poor Jasper alone. It is an odd sensation, this embarras de richesse." Mrs. Dennistoun now appeared, and seated herself at the table, where a well-appointed meal was spread for the traveller. Mrs. Dennistoun was tall and slim ; she moved and spoke with the air and bearing of a gentle- woman a gentlewoman, however, who was fully im- FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 13 pressed with the sense of her own merit and position, and who had just that little touch about her which must be called pretentious, though the word is one that is neither pleasant to ear or eye. Mrs. Dennistoun felt the added dignity of her position, as she sat before Philip that night ministering to his wants, and enjoying the thought of all the wide-spread popularity, as his stepmother, which lay before her. Then what advantages would now be Jasper's and Rosie's. Jasper, who was a day boy at the Ken- sington Grammar School, would now be sent to Eton or Harrow. Rosie, whose debut had scarcely been made at a little private dance in the neighbourhood a few weeks ago, would now be admired and known in the neighbour- hood of Rockdeane as Sir Philip Dennistoun's sister. " I must start early to-morrow again," Philip said, as he followed his mother and sister into the drawing-room, when he had finished his supper. " To-morrow ! " Rosie exclaimed. " Of coui-se, my dear," her mother interposed : " Philip must attend his poor uncle's funeral ; your father would have done so." " I shall be just in time," Philip said. " To-day is Friday, and the funeral is to be on Monday, Mr. William- son says." There was a pause, and it was broken by Mrs. Dennis- toun. " What are your plans, Philip I mean about this house?" " I have scarcely had time to make any definite plans yet ; but I shall give up this house, of course, and my chambers, and take up my residence at Rockdeane." Rosie, who was seated on a stool at her brother's feet, looked up into his face, and said. "When are we to come*" 14 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " My dear Rosie, it may not suit Philip that we should live with him any longer ; you forget that." Rosie's bright face clouded ; but a reassuring pull of one of her fair curls satisfied her. She caught hold of the hand which had so transgressed, and gave it a little pinch. " Philip couldn't do without us, mother; you forget that. But I shall go to bed now, and leave you to talk it out ; for I shall be up early in the morning to see Sir Philip has his breakfast, before he starts. What time, Sir Philip?" " Sharp at six, Lady Rosalie. It's a pity you can't have a handle too, isn't it ? but it may come all in good time." Rosie responded, " Of course it may ;" and, with a goodnight kiss, departed, her brother's eyes following her. " She looks well," he said, when Mrs. Dennistoun and he were alone. " Yes, dear child, she is always merry and bright. I wish I could say the same of my poor Jasper ; he is so soon overdone and knocked up, and gets one of those dreadful sick headaches constantly." Philip did not answer, and after a pause Mrs. Dennis- toun went on: " He is very different to what you were at his age, Philip ; when I first knew you, you were always well." " Yes, I am as tough as leather, and as strong as a horse. I think the best prescription to attain that desir- able condition is one given me the other day by old Mr. Norris, ' Never to coddle, and never to worry.' As he is ninety-two, and says he has ruled his life thereby, he is worthy of belief." Mrs. Dennistoun shook her head. " Constitu- FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 15 tions differ so widely," she said ; " Jasper has no stamina." Mrs. Dennistoun was not a foolish woman, but she had her weak points ; and the very weakest of these was her injudicious treatment of her boy Jasper a boy who was ordinary in person and intellectual power ; a boy whose self-conceit and selfishness were patent to all but to his mother ; and who, had it not been for the wholesome influence which Philip exercised, would have been hopelessly and irretrievably ruined. As it was, he was as priggish and disagi-eeable as a boy of fourteen can contrive to be ; and was as great a contrast to his elder brother as it was possible to conceive. But even the discussion of Jasper's bad health could not divert Mrs. Dennistoun's mind from the great ques- tion of that evening : she returned to it after a pause, " Will it really suit you, Philip, that I and my children should live at Rockdeane ? I have no desire to press myself unduly tTpon yoxi ; and " Philip was standing now with his back to the chimney- piece, and looking down upon his stepmother. As she spoke, he saw that her fingers were nervously playing with the coloured wools in her basket, and that she was weigh- ing the possibility of the answer being given against her. " I should be very sorry, if I thought that this fortune of mine should separate us," he answered at length. " If my father had lived as would to God he had ! you would have been mistress of Rockdeane ; and it would have been Rosie and Jasper's natural home why should it be different now ? " " You are always kind and good, Philip," Mrs. Dennistoun replied ; while he continued " We have been very happy in this snug little 16 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. house ; may we only be half as happy at Rockdeane ! I could have wished that my father had come into this before me. He would have made my path easier, and a name and a position inherited from him must needs have been more valuable. His was a grievous loss to us." It was so unusual for Philip to speak of his father, and Mrs. Dennistoun had been so accustomed to lament her husband's death in the very prime of his manhood for her own and her children's sake more than for Philip's that she was almost startled by the earnestness with which he spoke. " He left us the best friend in you, Philip," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. " He trusted in you to take care of your brother and sister, and well you have fulfilled his wishes." Then Philip was silent again ; at last he said, " My father knew nothing of his uncle, this old Sir Jasper. I wonder what his history was ? " " He was a peculiar, eccentric man," Mrs. Dennistoun said. " Once, just before Jasper's birth, I remember your father went to Rockdeane. He was on his way from Scotland. He told me of the visit and of the old house, which stands on a rocky cliff" two miles out of Rodham. I recollect perfectly his account of the dreary desolation in which the old man lived in a corner pf the house, seeing no one, and separated almost entirely from his fellow- creatures. Only the doctor and the lawyer ever had any communication with him." " He was never married, was he ? " " No, I think he was a bachelor ; but your father sel- dom mentioned him. I really do not think he ever dwelt on the thought of his succeeding to Rockdeane. He FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 17 used sometimes in his last illness to say that it was a comfort to him to know you would be able to do all that was necessary for us some day. Once, I remember, he added, 'Unless Sir Jasper should marry, as many old men have done.' Your grandfather, you know, married when very young, and he was scarcely of age when your father was born." " I have heard that, and that Sir Jasper always cut him for that piece of indiscretion. You must not let your Jasper be as indiscreet, for fear I should follow the old man's example. Now, I think, with an uninteresting day's journey before me, I had better go to bed. Good night. I will write to you from Rockdeane." Then he was gone, and his stepmother was left alone. She was always on perfectly easy terms with Philip, but he was seldom confidential as he had been to-night, and he did not often mention his father, who had died when he was absent on one of his autumn rambles. He had travelled home in hot haste, but too late to see him ; and that it had been so, was one of the saddest memories of Philip's life. In all his dealings with Mrs. Dennistoun, Philip had always been, as she said, kind and considerate. The portion which he inherited from his father had been but small ; for, if Sir Jasper had been saving and miserly, his brother had been lavish and extravagant, nor was his son economical in his expenditure. He was generous and unselfish, and at his death there was little left but his wife's marriage settlement, and Philip's small fortune as his eldest son. He had married twice the first time for love the sweet and gentle girl, who was Philip's mother ; the next time for love also, in which some amount of chivalrous desire to protect the daughter of an old friend, and place her in a position of comfort as G 18 HEIGHTS A]ST> VALLEYS. his wife, certainly mingled She had repaid his care for her by affection, and their married life had been happy. Philip had just been called to the bar when his father died, and Mrs. Dennistoun, at his desire, left the roomy country rectory-house for the pretty villa at Kensington, and there Philip lived when it suited him, his means being united with his stepmother's to make it a comfortable home for his young brother and sister. At first it had been anything but easy to maintain the position he had taken up, but latterly his briefs had been plentiful, and he was known as one of the rising men on the Western Circuit As Mrs. Dennistoun gathered her work to- gether, and placed books and papers, and Rosie's numerous belongings, in order, before leaving the drawing-room for the night, visions of the future floated before her. As mistress of Rockdeane, how many of her aspirations would be fulfilled. A position which many would envy was ^ow hers ; the best society of the neighbourhood at her command for Rosie, her boy taking his place amongst the sons of the nobility and gentry in and near Rodham. A goodly staff of servants, carriages, and horses; no diffi- culties as to dress, or the appointments of the house and table. All these considerations were anything but un- important to Mrs. Dennistoun, and had presented them- selves to her mind in all the most minute details before she lay down to rest that night. Her reign might not be long at Rockdeane, for Philip might marry, although, according to all appearances, it did not seem very probable. But, short or long, Mrs. Dennistoun felt that she was up to the requirements of her position, and that Philip should never have cause to regret that she was the mistress of his house. " Bright days were coming at last for them all," she FORTUNE'S WHEEL. 19 said to herself, as she heard the cab-wheels roll away the next morning, and Rosie, as fresh as a flower in tha early light, came into her room to tell her, "That Philip was gone, and had taken a great heap of letters and papers to get through on his journey." CHAPTER II. OLD THINGS AND NEW. " TAKE them, Grave, and let them lie Folded upon thy narrow shelves, As garment by the soul laid by And precious only to ourselves. " Take them, O great Eternity ; Our little life is but a gust That bends the branches of thy Tree, And hurls the branches in the Dust." H. W. LONGFELLOW. THE sun was setting behind the dark-browed mountains of the Lake District when Sir Philip Dennistoun found himself nearing his northern home. He had telegraphed to his lawyer that he would be at Rodham by the 5.10 train, and, punctual to its time, the express was signalled at the station, and Mr. Williamson stood upon the plat- form to receive the new master of Rockdeane. " Sir Philip Dennistoun, I think," Mr. Williamson said, as Philip stepped out of the carriage, his small portmanteau in his hand, and a satchel strapped across his shoulder. " Mr. Williamson," Philip responded, holding out his hand, " you are clever to make me out so quickly." And, as he spoke, he looked into the frank, honest face of Sir OLD THINGS AND NEW. 21 Jasper's man of business with pleasure. And, indeed, Philip had to look up at it, for Mr. Williamson was many inches above him in height, and was of an entirely different type to that which is universally recognised as the lawyer. Philip had had much experience of attorneys and solicitors in all their shades of difference, and all their degrees of excellence, but this man was apparently of another race. "I have your carriage here, Sir Philip," he said. " You will not expect to see a London brougham, or a pair of prancing steeds. With some difficulty I have beaten up a recruit, in the shape of the old gardener's son, to drive ; the coachman at Rockdeane died some months ago, and has never been replaced." " There was small need for it ; as Sir Jasper, I suppose, never left the house," was Philip's reply. He could scarcely resist a smile when he followed Mr. Williamson to the antique chariot, with its high wheels and great round body, painted yellow, with the Dennistoun arms emblazoned on the cracked panel. On a high box, from which hung a dingy hammer-cloth, the gardener's son was mounted, presiding over two very badly matched horses it would be a mockery to call them a pair. The only thing in which they rivalled each other was in their plump condition, having eaten their heads off in the deserted Rockdeane stables for some years past. " The taller of the two horses was the only carriage horse left," Mr. Williamson observed. " The mare is by right the bailiff's property, and is more accustomed to take him over the estate than to be harnessed to* carriage ; but I do not think Mr. Smith has made many equestrian excursions of late. In fact, you will find 22 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Rockdeane very much like the Palace of the Sleeping Beauty ; the whole place is more than half asleep." " Is that true of Eodham too ? " Sir Philip asked, as he looked out of the window at the streets through which they passed. " Well, no ; there is some trade in Rodham. It is not a rising place, but it keeps its ground, and does not decline. There is the Cathedral to your right," he said, " and we passed the Deanery on our left as we drove out of the station. There is a large society, independently of the Cathedral circle, some few pleasant people, and the neighbourhood is good. But I am a new comer myself, as I told you, I succeeded Mr. Balfour after only one year's partnership." " Yes ; and I suppose you saw very little of Sir Jasper " "I saw him three times, that was all. I fancy some presage of his possible sudden end made Mr. Balfour urge the old man to see me ; but he had not been com- municative to me. Of course, since Sir Jasper's death, I have been reading the legal documents, but they are not many. The will itself is but a few lines ; just to the effect that the heir to the baronetcy was to succeed to the estate and moneys, without reservation." " Are there no legacies ? " " None of any importance j a few hundred pounds to his servants and the Rodham Hospital, and one of ten thousand pounds to a person in New Zealand, to whom, I see by the books, remittances have been made from time to time." As the cumbrous old chariot moved slowly along, drawn by the waddling steeds, and took the road to OLD THINGS AND NEW. 23 Rockdeane, the twilight was deepening. The crimson of the sunset sky had faded, and a light veil of grey cloud, which had been hovering eastward, now spread itself over the heavens, and came with a chill damp breath across the country. Nothing could be more gloomy or depressing than the aspect of the long beech avenue, as the carriage turned in between two huge iron gates, and rolled clumsily along the ill-kept drive. A gradual ascent of three-quarters of a mile brought the carriage to a sudden turn in the road ; and then, still above them, the old home of the Denuistouns came in sight, with its antique gables and mullioned windows, built of dark stone, which would need a bright warm sun to cheer into anything like brightness, and now, in the dark of the grey autumn evening, looked forbidding and gloomy enough. " The ground breaks off abruptly there on the north-west side," Mr. Williamson said, " and dips down to a stream which is often swelled in winter, and then deserves the name of a river. The precipice is covered with short brushwood and dwarf trees, and it is here very picturesque when seen from the opposite bank ; the old house, or castle one might call it, sitting like a sentinel on its rocky height. The house has been very little changed in its outward aspect since the time of the Stuarts ; and I believe Dennistouns have been at Rockdeane since the days of old border warfare." Philip had heard all this before ; but he was glad that Mr. Williamson should talk : his voice was sonorous and hearty, and relieved the weird sense of strangeness and isolation which crept over him. " Here we are," Mr. Williamson said, as the carriage pulled up with a jerk, and the ungainly coachmaii clambered down to rins: the bell. But his hand was 24 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. scarcely on it, when the great oak doors studded with heavy nails, over which the eagle of the family arms presided, opened in the midst, and a grey-haired butler, who, like the horses, had evidently known how to take care of himself, bowed as he stood ready to receive the new master of Rockdeane. In the spacious hall, out of which a wide oak staircase led up into the darkness of unexplored regions, a flickering oil lamp showed the figiires of the few servants who had been retained at Rockdeane. The housekeeper was a rigid stiff woman, who had succeeded her aunt in the position she held in Sir Jasper's establishment. She headed the group of maids, five in number, and Philip bowed in answer to their curtseys, and hoped they were all well. " Mr. Smith is laid up with gout, or he would have been here, he begged me to mention, Sir," the butler said, as he preceded Sir Philip to the room where dinner was prepared. The housekeeper, Mrs. Mason, followed, and wished to know if Sir Philip would dine now, or see his own room first. " I have prepared the great west room for your reception, Sir Philip, it is in the opposite wing to to Sir Jasper's." " Thank you," said Sir Philip, " it will do very well. You will stay and dine with me, Mr. Williamson," he added eagerly, for the hushed voices and stealthy tread of every one about him, and the stillness of the house of death, oppressed him. " Thank you, I will stay," Mr. Williamson replied ; " but you must allow me to leave you early in the evening, as I have an appointment in Rodham." "And while the dinner is served," said Sir Philip, ' I will ask Mrs. Mason to show me my room." OLD THINGS AND NEW. 25 Mrs. Mason made a stiff curtsey, and led the way back through the passage to the great hall once more, where one of the maids was waiting with a candle, and preceded her new master up the wide staircase, never changing her slow deliberate manner, and pausing at the head of the stairs to say, in a low suppressed voice, " Sir Jasper's room is there, Sir Philip, would you wish to see him 1 The coffin is not closed, by Mr. "Williamson's order, till your arrival." " Not to night, thank you," and Philip turned quickly away from the corridor towards which Mrs. Mason pointed, while the housekeeper went down one in the opposite direction, where Sir Philip at last found his room. It was like every part of the house, hung with pictures. A large old-fashioned bed, with heavy dusky curtains, stood at one end of it ; the rest was dreary desolation, and a window, very much too small for the size of the room, looked down upon the wooded and precipitous cliff of which Mr. Williamson had spoken. Philip walked to the window, and tried to make out the features of the land- scape ; but the gathering night and the grey-clouded sky made it impossible for him to do more than trace the outline of the opposite bank of the stream, which was heard gurgling and rushing over its rocky bed. When Mrs. Mason was gone, Sir Philip made a hasty toilette, and was leaving the room when a portrait over the wide old chimneypiece arrested his attention. The eyes looked down on him with a curious grave wonder from beneath a brow half hidden by a Spanish hat and feather, and from under which abundant hair rolled in heavy locks upon the shoulders of the cavalier of Charles's time. Sir Philip held the candle to the picture, and as the flame flickered and danced upon the features, it was easy to believe that the man was breathing the breath of life. 26 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Some lettering in one corner, evidently of more recent date than the picture itself, attracted Sir Philip, and he deciphered these words : " Sir Philip Dennistoun, Knight. He ended a noble life by a glorious death while fighting for his king and his country, on the field of Edgehill, A.D. 1642. Gloria tibi Domine." "That is a grand character to leave behind you, Sir Philip," he said, half aloud and half to himself. " What more could those who loved you best desire ? I bear your name, let me bear it well" And even as he spoke, the grave earnest eyes seemed to meet his, and to answer his look of admiration with one of encouragement and kindli- ness. Then Sir Philip made his way along the dark corridor down the wide staircase, at the foot of which stood old Forrest, the butler, waiting to usher him in to dinner. Mr. Williamson's bright honest face at the table was really very welcome, and the dinner was eaten with the sauce of much pleasant conversation. Old Forrest produced excellent wine, and when he removed the cloth and left the shining black mahogany table uncovered, he put down by Sir Philip a bottle of port, saying in his small squeaking voice, "This has been forty years in the cellar, Sir Philip." " Sir Jasper cared for the good things of life then it seems," Philip said, when he and Mr. Williamson were left alone. " Yes, all the wine I hear is of the class of this port ; but no one ever tasted it by invitation, except the Doctor and Mr. Balfour. I would not undertake to say that our friend, who has just left the room, has not tested its excellence, though perhaps uninvited." Philip smiled ; " Neither should I. Mr. Forrest looks as if he had had an easy time of it here." OLD THINGS AND NEW. 27 " Yes, the servants can have had little to do. I believe Sir Jasper lived altogether in this room ; all the things are lying about as he left them not a week ago. They found him here insensible, carried him to his room above, and there he died, as you know, a few hours afterwards. There is something very pathetic in living and dying alone, it would seem unmourned and unloved. But I must say good night, now ; I must be in Rodham by nine o'clock. I will be here early on Mon- day morning, and the funeral must start about eleven. You know the Dennistouns have a mortuary chapel connected with an almshouse in Rodham generations of them lie there. But it is a long walk into the city, and I must really be off." Philip accompanied his guest to the hall door, and saw him walk quickly away, and then he turned back again to the quiet and silent house, and took his seat before the fire, which was blazing in the old-fashioned grate of the Library. It was, as Mr. Williamson said, pathetic to live and die alone, apparently unloved and unlamented, as Sir Jasper had done. It is difficult when the aged die, to realize that the days of youth and strength were once theirs, and that the life now closed once lay before them in all the bright radiance of early morning. Difficult to identify the desolate old man, who dies as Sir Jasper had done, with no tender hand to close his eyes, and gather up every relic of him as precious, with the child who was the treasure of a fond mother, or the pride of a happy father ; with the boy full of tricks, and fun, and merri- ment ; with the youth setting forth on the journey of life, with resolute and impetuous step. And yet the old man, sleeping his last long sleep in the room above that 28 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. where Philip sat alone that evening, had passed through all these stages, and had gone down to the grave full of years. There was his empty chair by the fire, the small writing-table drawn beside it, the old-fashioned candle- lamp, with its green perforated shade upon it. Philip turned over the books which lay there, and was surprised to see that they indicated taste and cultivation old standard books, which are dying out of the remembrance of the great reading public of these days, when magazines glut the world with periodical and spasmodic bursts of prose, poetry, and science. There was a well-worn and very old copy of Wordsworth. On the yellow fly-leaf was written, " Jasper Dennistoun his mother's gift." There was an ancient prayer-book, too, on the table ; it lay uppermost, and a mark was in it. Philip opened it, and his eye fell on the 51st Psalm. One of the verses was marked with trembling irregular strokes " Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight." " Poor old man," Philip sighed ; " perhaps he was reading that when he sat here for the last time before he was struck down. All his secrets and all his sins, all his hopes and fears, are buried with him, as they say no one knew him, and no one loved him." Forrest coming into the room with some good coffee disturbed his reverie, and then, after answering some of the letters which he had bi'ought in his satchel, and which Rosie had seen him hastily gather from his study table in the morning, Philip found his way through the dim corridors once more, and was soon sleeping the sound unbroken sleep of early manhood ; while the noisy stream murmured beneath, as it rushed onwards to meet the river below Rodham, and Sir Philip Dennistoun, Knight seemed to look calmly do\\m upon the sleeper, with his OLD THINGS AND NEW. 29 grave, serious eyes, as one whose warfare was accom- plished, and whose victory was won. The Doctor arrived early on the quiet Sunday morning, which dawned fair and bright over the woods of Rock- deane, to pay his respects to Sir Philip Dennistoun. Every day for many years had Dr. Simpson found his way up that long, irregular drive. Every day for many and many a year had he been, with the exception of Mr. Balfour, the only visitor at Rockdeane, and he now entered the house with the air of a man who was perfectly at home there. Dr. Simpson was a small, spare man, with a sharp, pointed nose, hungry, eager eyes, and thin lips. He was scarcely the leading doctor in Rodham. There were younger men, of a more modern school, who were gradually supplanting him. Nevertheless, Dr. Simpson had a well-established practice, and one such patient as the late Sir Jasper had been, secured him a competence. For, if the old man had grudged expense in keeping up any appearance suited to his rank at Rock- deane, he had been lavish in his fees to his doctor, often thrusting a cheque into his hand, which made it well worth the little man's while to perform that daily journey of his along the beech avenue. Dr. Simpson was quite in earnest when he descanted on his sorrow for the loss which he had sustained ; he knew very well it was a loss which he should never replace. But he had not been five minutes in Philip's society before he discerned that it would serve no purpose to make any pretension to him. His short, concise answers, and his straight, keen glance, made the little doctor shrink into rather smaller proportions than usual. He magnified his attentions to Sir Jasper to the utmost, and, with many high-sounding medical expre,*- 30 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. sions and phrases which smacked of Latin, Dr. Simpson described the condition in which he found poor old Sir Jasper when summoned to his assistance. " I think it right, Sir Philip, to enter into these details to you, as the representative of my late patient, and, I may say, very dear friend ; you will excuse my doing so, I am sure. It is also my duty to ask you to visit the body with me, unless it is too much for your overtaxed feelings, Sir Philip." " Certainly," said Philip, " I will do so, if you desire ; " and he moved at once to leave the room. " I can but deplore," said Dr. Simpson, with his hand on the door, " that death has snatched away one who could have given you so many more details of the departed than I can legal details, I mean. Mr. Balfour was in his confidence, and every little circumstance of his life was known to him as his legal adviser ; whereas, I greatly fear, the young man who stands in Mr. Balfour's place is veiy incompetent, from youth and inexperience, to conduct the affairs of such a vast inheritance." " I have had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Williamson," said Philip shortly, " and I like him very much ; he seems a good honest fellow, and has a clear head for business I should think ; now, Dr. Simpson." And then the two went together to look upon the dead. Apart from all personal feeling, there is ever something of awe and undefined sadness which cornea over us in the presence of death. The Great Here- after seems then to be everything, the present nothing. A nd in this chamber, where the dead man lay, the stillness was unbroken and complete. Here was no murmur of tender words from breaking hearts ; no tears and bursting sobs to disturb it ; here were no signs of tender care ; no OLD THINGS AND NEW. 31 flowers to brighten the gloom, with which living hands are wont to shadow forth the hope of life and youth beyond the grave the hope of a resurrection, and a glorious immortality. It was so easy to see that even the servants in that house did not cling to their master with any affection. On the chimney piece was the medicine-bottle, with his name on the label, which he had last used; his great gold watch hanging to a hook on a black stand, the hands still. Evidently there was no one who cared to gather up every relic as precious nay, even to put out of sight the little things which spoke so forcibly of the suddenness with which the silver cord was loosed. Philip looked upon the still face before him, with kindly feelings of compassion, that none nearer than himself by the ties of kindred or love should stand there, and be summoned to see all that was mortal of Sir Jasper laid in his last resling-place. He turned away froDi the room subdued and thoughtful, and was relieved, when the garrulous doctor pleaded the pressure of pro- fessional engagements, and departed, with many obsequious protestations of respect and affection for the successor of his late most dear friend. As Sir Philip saw him step into his carriage, and roll away, he looked round the wide hall, and in a recess by one window his eye caught the ancient oak stand for hats and umbrellas, which was surmounted by a carved eagle, with its claw upon a coronet, which was the family crest. " Mrs. Mason," he said hastily to the housekeeper, who approached him with her usual cat-like tread, " I think those things should be removed. I do not like to see them there now." " Oh, you mean, Sir, the late Sir Jasper's hats and gloves ; to be sure, I will put them away. Sir Jasper 82 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. had not been into Rodham for years, but he sometimes took an airing on the Cliff-terrace, when the day was sunny." And Mrs. Mason snatched from the pegs the poor battered old hats, of a shape which betrayed their age ; and as she did so, a pair of doeskin gloves fell from the crown of one of them. She stooped to pick them up, saying " I beg your pardon, Sir, I am sure ; it did not strike me that these little matters would be, of course, unplea- sant to you to see. They are very old and shabby, I know," she went on in a half apologetic tone, " but as I said before, Sir Jasper never went beyond the grounds, and was not at all particular about his clothes, either hats or coats." Philip turned away impatiently. " It was nothing of that kind I meant," he began ; and then, finding all ex- planation would be lost upon Mrs. Mason, he took his hat from under the wide-spread wings of the dusty old eagle, and went out into the quiet still air. It was one of those autumn days when a mysterious hush seems to have come down upon the earth. As Philip stood upon the Cliff- terrace, there was not a sound to break the quiet, except the voice of the stream, as it hurried on its course ; and even that was as a lullaby, and was subdued and gentle. The terrace was nine feet in width, and the old grey walls of the house overshadowed it. Beyond were wood and moor, and wide expanse stretching away towards the mountains in one direction, and in another, ending in one of those scars or precipitous ridges, which break up the wolds of Yorkshire and Cumberland in so many places. The cliff on which Rockdeane was built was of the same type of rocky eminence, and with the stream below, and the side of the scar so steep, Rockdeane must OLD THINGS AND NEW. 33 have been found a safe refuge in olden times. The south side of the house was more modern, and was built in faqades of various styles of architecture, in irregular but picturesque fashion, according to the taste and date of different owners of Rockdeane. The front of the house formed a straight and unbroken line, and the windows looked on a sweep of sloping grass to the turn of the avenue, and above the top of the elm-trees. The Cathedral could be seen with the roofs of Rodham clustering round it, and far away, in clear weather, a blue line of light showed where St. George's Channel washed the coast, and separated Cumberland from Ireland. The streets of Rodham were quiet and deserted when Sir Philip walked through them that morning. The chimes for service had ceased before he had left the avenue, and the service was more than half over when he entered the nave of the Cathedral. The west front of Rodham is low, and not remarkable for beauty ; but the great pillars which support a lofty roof give the idea of strength and endurance as the nave is entered. Services are held in the nave on Sunday afternoons, and rows of chairs fill it, which is a great loss to the eye which loves to see the violet shadows come and go through the coloured windows upon the stone pavement. But glorious combinations of tenderest pink and radiant yel- low and purple still creep over the wreathed capitals, and light up with living beauty some carved face looking eastward for the dawn. The choir was singing as Sir Philip sat near the closed door which separated the nave from the inner court of the temple. A verger, who was slowly pacing up and down from transept to transept, approached Philip, and told him he could enter the choir by going round by the south transept. Half D 34 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. mechanically, Philip turned to follow the man, and soon found himself in the chancel, where the Dean had just begun to say the Lord's Prayer from the communion-table. Philip knelt with the rest ; and, when the service was concluded, settled himself for meditation while the ser- mon was preached by the Canon in residence, who ascended the pulpit under the fostering protection of the same verger who had shown Sir Philip his seat. Philip made no effort to listen to the sermon ; it was delivered in a low, monotonous tone, which failed to arrest his attention. He looked about, first at the graceful pillars and airy and pointed arches of the Lady-chapel, seen through the open reredos, then at the beautiful east win- dow, intensely bright in colours, as the clear blue of the early autumn sky shone through its many- coloured pic- tures of saints and martyrs. Then his eye fell upon the reclining figures of kuights and bishops, on the time-worn monuments which lay gazing upward with their chiselled faces, with hands meekly folded on their breasts, as they had lain for centuries. From things inanimate Philip turned to things animate ; he was in a crowd, unknown. Every countenance was strange to him ; and yet very soon as by a magic touch all these faces would become familiar as the faces of people among whom his life was to be spent. He was unnoticed in the congregation ; those who sat in the stalls, those who thronged the benches, and those who were tightly hemmed into pews, which were like pens for sheep, and closed with doors, and in some instances locked doors, did not single him out for an especial observance. Bishop, dean, canons, chanceMor, all their families of wives and daughters, would have looked curiously on Sir Philip Dennistoun, of Rockdeane, had they known he was present ; but they did not know OLD THINGS AND NEW. 35 it, and so he passed out in the throng unnoticed, as the sermon over, and the benediction given, the congregation dispersed in the nave. He was sauntering across the Cathedral-green again, undecided which turn to take, when a cheerful voice pronounced his name : " Sir Philip, will you come home with me to luncheon," said Mr. Williamson ; " or rather to our children's dinner. We all dine early together on Sunday." " Thanks ; I shall be very glad to accept your invita- tion," said Philip, cordially. "I believe I had some vague idea of calling at your house, and was ruminating over your address when you spoke to me." " Ecclestone-square is where I live, my office is in Broadgate. Have you been to service at the Cathedral ] I did not see you." " I was in a seat in the chancel," Philip said ; " I arrived late, and did not get into Rodham till nearly twelve." " Oh, I see," said Mr. Williamson, " My wife and my sister-in-law are staying for the Holy Communion, so I have time to turn through the Close with you. It is not a very grand Cathedral externally, but the longer you know it the more it grows upon you ; the tracery of the windows is so remarkably fine, and there are many other beauties which escape the eye on first acquaintance. The palace is not in Rodham, but two or three miles east of the town, in the opposite direction to Rockdeane." Thus pointing out several buildings and churches as they went along, Mr, Williamson turned at last into a square of private houses with gardens in front, and, taking a latch-key from his pocket, said, " Here we are. As the door closed behind them, there was a rush of D 2 36 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. small feet upon the staircase, and a child of six years old took a flying leap into her father's arms. " Papa, Randal has been so horrid ! " Then, catching sight of a stranger, the little lady buried her face on her father's shoulder, and stopped suddenly. "Hush, Hilda! What will Sir Philip Dennistoun think of such a wild elf? What have been Randal's sins this morning ? " "Nothing, papa," shouted a voice from the flight above. " I only tell her she is a silly, stupid thing to be afraid of auntie, and she is ; she knows that. " Auntie said we were not to play railways on Sundays with the chairs, and I will mind what auntie said." " Come, come, Hilda, let me show Sir Philip the way to the drawing-room," Mr. Williamson said, putting down the little girl, and saying to Philip, " You see what a man with children has to put up with, especially when they have colds, and are kept at home on Sundays." Sir Philip smiled, and inwardly congratulated himself that he had no such taxes upon his forbearance. " I have a young brother of thirteen," he said, smiling, " the age of that boy, I imagine," pointing to the offending Randal, who now appeared upon the scene, and, pulling Hilda's golden locks, unabashed by the presence of the stranger, said, " I am not quite ten, and she is six." " Not ten ! " exclaimed Philip ; " Jasper must be more of a dwarf than I thought him. When he comes to Rockdeane, you must come and make friends with him." " Rockdeane. Oh ! I have often been nutting in the copses there. That will be jolly." " Here is my eldest child," said Mr. Williamson, as OLD THINGS AND NEW. 37 Sir Philip followed his host into the drawing-room ; and, going up to a sofa, the fether said, in a very different voice to that in which he had spoken to his other children, " Cuthbert, my boy, this is Sir Philip Dennistoun." A pair of dark earnest eyes were raised to Sir Philip's face, and a little voice, with the pathetic ring in it which is only heard when the speaker suffers, and has suffered from infancy, said, with a scarcely perceptible nod, "I know, father. Aunt Irene said he was come." And then Cuthbert held out a small, thin hand to Philip, saying, " How do you do ? " Philip looked down upon the child, as he lay upon his small invalid couch, and thought he had never seen a face which interested him more. He was always kind to children when they came in his way, which was not often ; but he never thought much about them, except that they were small and weak, and therefore must claim from him protection if needed, and chivalrous consideration always. " And who is Aunt Irene ? " he asked, as Cuthbert's earnest eyes were still fixed upon him ; " who is Aunt Irene, and what does she know about me 1 " " Not much," was the answer ; " only father told us all, Sir Philip was coming to Rockdeane ; and we wondered, mother and I, what you were like ; and Aunt Irene met you yesterday in the carriage with papa ; and she said" "Hush, hush, Cuthbert," said his father. And then he turned to Philip, and added, " You must pardon this little man's freedom ; he does not know what shyness means ; and perhaps we encourage him to talk too much. As he is always lying there, we amuse him in every possible way." A faint colour came into Cuthbert's pale face as he 38 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. caught what his father was saying, and his eyes were directed anxiously to the door. " Ah ! here are my wife and sister," said Mr. William- son. " Sir Philip Dennistoun, Mary." Mrs. Williamson advanced to shake hands warmly with her guest. "I don't like her so well as her husband," was Sir Philip's first thought ; and the second, " How like the lame child is to the sister." " Irene, I must introduce you to Sir Philip," Mr. Williamson continued. " He is come to join us at dinner, Mary, you have kept us waiting some time." "I am really very sorry," said Mrs. Williamson, a pretty, fair woman, who was dressed fashionably, and had a touch of empressement in her manner, to Sir Philip, which had caused the comparison between her and her nusband to be unfavourable to her. " Really, Forster, if you had told iue Sir Philip would take luncheon with us to-day I should not have stayed to the full service at the Cathedral. You must forgive me, Sir Philip ; I had no idea we were likely to have the pleasure of seeing you here." All this time Irene who was kneeling by Cuthbert's little sofa, the child talking to her eagerly in a low voice had not spoken ; but when Mrs. Williamson had said she should not have stayed to the service at church if she had known who their guest would be, she had looked at her sister with an expression \\ hich could not be mistaken it was one of grave rebuka " Come, Irene," Mrs. Williamson said, in a tone which implied that she had understood the glance; "do not waste any more time, but come at once." And she rustled out of the room, half closing the door, on OLD THINGS AND NEW. 39 the other side of which was presently heard a scarcely repressed tumult. " I will. What a shame ! " and then whispered maternal entreaties and commands. It ended in Hilda rushing in, and throwing herself upon her father. " Papa, mayn't I come down to Sunday dinner ? Mamma says I mustn't, because he is here." Irene, who had very little change to make in her dress, and had laid aside her bonnet, drew the child away from her father, and said, " Hush, Hilda ! You must do what mamma tells you." " Let me plead for her," said Philip, thinking that the voice was the sweetest and most musical he had ever heard. " Let me plead, I should be sorry indeed to be the cause of Hilda's banishment. Shall we go down stairs, Hilda, and ask your mother to let us eat our Sunday dinner together." " May I, Auntie ? " the child asked, looking wistfully at Irene. But, without waiting for the answer, Sir Philip raised little Hilda in his arms ; and, discovering by a smile on her father's face that he was by no means unwilling that his little girl should be gratified, he entered the dining-room with Hilda's face buried on his shoulder, and her golden hair falling over it like a shower. " Hilda ! " was her mother's greeting, " I am shocked. Irene, how could you allow it 1 Now, Sir Philip, will you sit next me 1 " And Mrs. Williamson surveyed the table, to which she had given several finishing touches, with some anxiety, but more satisfaction. Hilda was deposited in her high chair, and Irene sat between her and Randal. Philip kept up a pleasant conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Williamson, in which ha 40 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. wished Irene would join, but she devoted herself apparently to the two children, and did not speak. Before dinner was really over, Miss Clifford looked at her sister, and quietly left the room. " May I go with auntie to Hildyard's Almshouse to-day, mamma ? " "No, Randal, certainly not, you know you have a cold," said his mother. Then she continued, to Sir Philip, " My sister is a great friend of the old warden of Hild- yard's Almshouses, and she looks after the poor old people, reads to them when they are ill, and all that." " Yes, Irene is a curate to half the clergymen in Rodham," said Mr. Williamson ; " she is here, there, and everywhere amongst the poor. By-the-bye, Sir Philip, Hildyard's Chapel belongs to the Dennistouns it is there that Sir Jasper is to be buried to-morrow. Some of the Dennistouns married into the Hildyard family two or three hundred years ago, and it fell into their hands, with the charity which provides thirty-five old people with house and home under the will of a Dame Janet Hildyard, who died in 1537. There is a chapel, a warden, and a warden's house, all in the most antique style. The chapel is very old, and needs restoration ; but there are some fine windows in it, and it is interesting in its way." " I feel as if I were turning over the pages of a book," said Philip ; " every minute I hear of something new in which I am concerned." " Yes," said Mrs. Williamson, " it must be so odd to you, and yet very pleasant too," she added, with a laugh. " Every one in Rodham will be paying court to you, and will be anxious to know you how different to people like us ; when w* came here, two years ago, we were OLD THINGS AND NEW. 41 nobodies ; and the Cathedral people are so stiff and exclusive." "Nonsense, Mary," said her husband ; " I cannot endure social fictions like that. It is a free country, and we may all choose our own friends, and we are none of us boTind to visit this person or the other, if we don't wish to do so. Randal, if you teaze Hilda again, I will send you out of the room." " Ah ! it is all very well," said his wife, not heeding the paternal rebuke, which finished off her husband's sentence ; " but Sir Philip will agree with me before he has lived a year at Roekdeane, that Rodham society is very stupid, and that people here give themselves the most absurd airs the Tillets for instance Forster, and the Hiltons." Sir Philip saw a frown on Mr. "Williamson's face, and hastened to say, "If this household is a specimen of Rodham society, Mrs. "Williamson, I am quite content. Now I think I must turn my steps towards Rockdeane again, where I shall hope often to see you, and introduce you to my mother and sister." " Oh ! won't you come into the drawing-room, Sir Philip ? I am not going to church again." " N o, thanks," Philip said ; and then he took a courteous leave of Mrs. Williamson, his host accompanying him to the door. "When it had closed upon him, Mrs. Williamson was loud in his praise. " What an acquisition he will be, Forster. I wonder if his mother and sister, of whom he talks, will be like him." " Most probably, very different ; women's heads are sooner turned with an accession of fortune than men's. I would not set my hopes on Mrs. and Miss Dennistoun, 42 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. if I were you, Mary, neither would I mention names in that indiscreet fashion to a man who is a perfect stranger. What business was it of yours to trot out the weak points of canons, and Tillets, and Hiltons to him ? " " How cross you are," said Mrs. Williamson, the colour rising to her face ; " you invariably find fault with me, but I don't mind. I mean to be great friends with the Dennistouns, and I shall let you please yourself" " I am Sir Philip's man of business," was the answer, " and his friend too, I hope ; " and as the children and their mother went upstairs, Mr. Williamson retreated to his study, the door of which he shut in the decided manner which made Hilda say, as she ran up to her brother's sofa, " Papa is gone into the study, and nobody must go there on no account." " Is Sir Philip gone, mamma?" Cuthbert asked. " Yes," said his mother, " I am sorry to say he is." " I am sorry too," said Cuthbert, " I liked him, and so did auntie. Now, mother, do read ; " and in Cuthbert's favoui'ite Sunday story of " The Tent on the Plain," Mrs. Williamson forgot Sir Philip Dennistoun. CHAPTER III. HILDYAED'S ALMSHOUSES. " Miserere, Domine ! " THE gate of Hildyard's Almshouses led out of a quiet, narrow street at the east end of the city of Rodham. Over the gateway the spread eagle of the Dennistouna presided, whilst their arms were cut in a shield, round which the motto was carved in old characters, "%to Cerium." As Irene passed under the shadow of the gateway on this bright September afternoon, she was nearly run over by the brisk little warden, who just pulled himself up in 'time as he was turning out of the door of his house, which was opposite the chapel. " Ah, little lady," he said ; " so you are come to cheer up the old people, as usual. There are several very ailing to-day, and they will be glad enough to see you. St. Magdalen's bell warns me to make haste, or I shall be late. Go in and see Mrs. Bolton if you have five minutes to spare. You know we have a funeral here to-morrow, the men were at work last night opening the vault ; it is forty years since Lady Dennistoun was buried. There have been three wardens here since then." 44 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Mr. Bolton was a little man, very agile in limb and very quick in speech. He had no dignity, and trotted and ambled off as if he were on wires. Irene had scarcely time even to respond to what he said ; and then she turned to cross the quadrangle to a cottage at the further end, where a sick and garrulous old woman lay, very near the last great change, which we call Death. Irene visited several houses, and performed her little, womanly mission of comfort and sympathy, reading for a few minutes, but mostly sitting quietly by the beds of the sick, and repeating little fragments of hymns and verses from the Bible, as they could bear it. There are diver- sities of gifts, and these gifts differ in degree, but I am inclined to think that a gentle, melodious voice, which comes to us as an expression of the soul of the speaker, is the very highest attraction that a woman can possess. There was not an old pensioner in Hildyard's Almshouses that did not own the power which Irene's voice possessed to soothe and comfort the sick, the troubled, and the sad ; and none felt its influence more than the wife of the warden, who seldom left the precincts of that quiet retreat, and who had led, till the last eighteen months, a dull, lonely life. Mrs. Bolton had buried every hope, as far as earth was concerned, in the grave of an only son, who had wrung her own and her husband's heart with bitter grief, and had died in a distant country alone, and far from those who had loved him so welL It was when she was bowed to the earth with this sorrow that Irene Clifford had first known her. It was about the time her own mother died, and she had come to live in her brother-in-law's house at Rodham. She had sought out Mrs. Bolton as one who had known her mother in her youth, and, step HILDYARD'S ALMSIIOUSES. 45 by step, had won her way into the hearts of the warden and his wife. " Well, dear," was her greeting, " you are welcome. How is little Cuthbert ? " " He has been stronger the last few days, thanks ; and how are you ? " Irene said, bending over her old friend, and kissing her forehead. " Pretty well, dear ; it is one of my sad days. My poor boy's birthday. Boy, I call him ; he would have been forty now ; and it seems so impossible forty-one years ! There is no time or counting of days and weeks and years in heaven ! I always like to think of that." "Yes," said Irene, "it is a timeless shore !" " I should have liked to have seen him again just once only once," and the old lady sighed. " A mother's love cannot change. But oh, Irene, it is so hard to real- ize these are the same !" And the poor mother took from her pocket a little red leather case and in an envelope. The case contained the miniature of a laughing, rosy child ; the envelope the photograph of a large, coarse- featured man, with full lips, and bold, bad eyes. " I should never look at this," said Irene, taking the envelope from the trembling hand. " Put it away, dear Mrs. Bolton, and forget it. The little child is wholly lost in this." Irene stopped ; but Mrs. Bolton con- tinued, " This was mine, too my son, my son ! Oh, Irene, you can't fathom such grief, my dear ! " " I know it ; but God can and does sound it to its very depths, and He can comfort." " Sing to me, then, darling, some hymn that Cuthbert likes, for he and I always agree in taste as to your songs and hymns." 46 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Irene went to the little cottage piano and sang, " Brief Life is here our Portion;" then, "Paradise, O Paradise !" The latter was one of little Cuthbert's special favourites ; many a weary night had been shortened and whiled away by Irene's voice, as she sang, low and soft, of the country where loyal hearts and true stand ever in the light. As the last notes died away, a ring at the bell was heard, and Mrs. Bolton had scarcely more than time to say, " Who can it be ? " when her little maid opened the sitting-room door, and said : " A gentleman, please, ma'am, wants to get into the chapel, and Mrs. Gillett is out, and he can't have the key." " He can have the warden's key. But who is it ? Ask his name. Or will you go and speak to him, Irene ? Susan is so stupid." " I will go, certainly," said Irene, seeing her old friend looked flurried and anxious. And she quickly passed Susan, and, in the narrow passage, confronted Sir Philip Dennistoun. " I beg your pardon for troubling you," he said. " I was directed to the warden's house for the key, as the man who takes charge of the chapel is not to be found." " I will bring the key," Irene said, " if you will wait one moment." " Sir Philip Dennistoun is it Sir Philip?" Mrs. Bolton said, when Irene returned. " How unfortunate that James should be out ; will you go with Sir Philip and unlock the door, and show him the chapel 1 " " Yes, if you like, Mrs. Bolton ; I have seen him before to-day, and will act as guide to him if you wish it." " Thanks, darling. I know James will be so vexed, HILDYARD'S ALMSHOUSES. 47 and so afraid proper attention was not paid him. You will see to it, Irene." Irene smiled. " Oh, yes, trust to me ; " and then, as quietly and gently as she did everything, she returned to Sir Philip, the key in her hand, and said "Mrs. Bolton wishes me to show you the chapel, Sir Philip j she is very sorry Mr. Bolton is not at home." Philip murmured something about being unwilling to trouble her, and then they crossed the square together, Irene a little in advance. At the chapel door Philip paused, and, looking back over the quadrangle, he said " What a quaint old place this is the abode of age. One could not fancy any one young here." " No. one is ever young in Hildyard's Almshouses. A succession of old people live here never younger than sixty, many far beyond the threescore years." He was going to say that the small figure before him, in the plain black silk dress and white bonnet, with the heavy keys in her little hand, one of which she was now fitting into the lock, looked as if she were too young and too fair to be in Hildyard's Almshouses, but somehow the words died on his lips. Irene was, he instinctively felt, a woman to whom it was impossible to pay com- pliments. She held the door for him to pass, and they stood in a small vestibule, which was separated from the body of the chapel by a lofty, pointed arch. The whole building was not much more than one hundred feet long, but its details were in exact and symmetrical proportion. The chancel was ascended by two or three steps from the aisle, and thoitgh whitewash and paint had done their worst, no one could enter the chapel without being struck by its archi- 48 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. tectural beauty. Pointed windows, with trefoil tracery, filled with dusky coloured glass, admitted but a dim light, and the stone which was raised on the north side, just below the chancel steps, made a dark, gloomy patch on the floor, which had been recently paved with flaring white stones, as the old men and women had stumbled and fallen again and again in the deep crevices which the cracked and broken flooring had left. "The bones of many of my ancestors lie here, I suppose," Philip said. " Ah ! I did not expect to find him ; " and Sir Philip read from an old marble tablet, that the body of Sir Philip Dennistoun had been brought from the bloody field of Edgehill, and was buried beneath on September 1st, 1642. Then there was a space, and another inscription : " His loving wife, Editha, entered joyfully into her rest with him, 8th February, 1643, after giving birth to their son." The words were in old characters, and hard to de- cipher. As Sir Philip ended, Irene said, " That monument opposite records the virtues of their son, Sir Jasper; " and Philip glanced at a long Latin inscription, which he did not attempt to read through. It was closely cut in a small slab over the heads of Sir Jasper and his wife, the Lady Janet, who were kneeling with folded hands, two daughters and three sons behind them, in that stiff position which suggests a chronic backache to contemplate. The vault, which was only partially covered, was just below, and for a few moments Philip forgot he was not alone, and stood looking down in it, many thoughts piissing through his mind. HILDYARD'S ALMSHOUSES. 49 Irene -waited patiently. She was standing under Sir Philip's tablet, surmounted with its sheathed sword and cross, and her thoughts naturally turned from the dead Sir Philip to the living one before her. She was quick to make up her mind about him, and to register in her heart that he was not an unworthy successor of the gallant knight, about whose memory lingered stories of valour, and chivalry, and goodness, which needed not to be set forth in magniloquent and pompous Latin upon his tombstone. Irene felt sure, as she watched Sir Philip, that his arm would also be strong for the protection of the weak, and that he, too, would wax valiant in fight for a righteous cause. His was a well-knit, manly frame, and his head was set on his shoulders with that air of conscious nobility which lies so far apart from pride or arrogance, while an idea of strength was given by his firm mouth, and straight, wide brow. Then, as she was looking at him, he turned suddenly, and began to apologize for keeping her so long; while his eye, which was accustomed ever to linger with the keen delight of an artist on any picture that was fair and pleasant, lingered with admiration on the one now before him. A ray of western sunlight had penetrated through the window in the vestibule, and had made a pathway of brightness across the dusky chapel to the spot where Irene stood. It illuminated the words on Sir Philip's monument, and then touched the small head below it, till it shone with a living glory, lighting the pale, serene face, so that it seemed to Sir Philip that the aureole of a saint had surrounded her. She looked so like one of Carlo Dolci's pictures of a St. Catharine or St. Agnes, the dark I 50 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. sombre background behind, and her white bonnet and brown hair concentrating the light. "I do not know that there is anything else to show you," she said, as Sir Philip moved to the door. " If the chapel were restored it would be beautiful, but the present Warden is quite content, and thinks whitewash and paint cleanly and wholesome." "Sir Jasper never came here, I suppose," Philip said, as the key was once more fitted into the door, and turned on the other side. " I think not ; but I have only known the chapel for two years." " Good bye. Thank you very much for taking the trouble to show me the chapel," he said. Then he lingered a moment ; and, as Irene bowed, and turned towards Mr. Bolton's house, he passed under the old gateway again, and into the qiiiet street. He brushed against the good old Warden, before he had gone twenty yards, returning full trot from St. Magdalen's Church. Great was that good little man's dismay when he reached home, and heard fromhiswife that Sir Philip had been there, and that Irene had been acting as his guide to the chapel. " Most vexatious. Not, little lady, that I doubt your desire of doing the best in my place ; but I ought to have been on the spot ; or, rather, Sir Philip ought to have told me he was coming, and I would have appointed a proper time. However, I shall see him to-morrow. I am to return to Rockdeane after the funeral, so Dr. Simpson says the first time I have entered the house for, let me see, fifteen years. And what is the new Baronet like, my dear 1 Describe him." " That would be a waste of words, Mr. Bolton, as you HILDYARD'S ALMSHOUSES. 51 will see him to-morrow ; besides, don't you know the point of sight differs in different people 1 " " And always will ; but, my dear, the point of sight would be much the same with any one who looked at you now. You have a colour to-day, and look charming. Always petite, but nevertheless charming ! " " Good-bye, dear Mrs. Bolton," Irene said, bending over her old friend, and kissing her again and again. " And please remind Mr. Bolton to go in and see old Mattie early to-morrow if he does not go this evening, for I do not think Mattie will be here many days." " Oh, yes, my dear, she will," said the Warden. He never believed death was near the old people, possibly because they were always, for the most part, feeble and ailing ; and he was accustomed to see them go on, adding year after year to the tale, which, at the longest, is so soon told. "Old Gillett ought to have been at home this after- noon with his wife if she is so ill, and not gadding about. He was not at church. But I think old Mattie has a long time to live yet. There are plenty of aspirants for their house, I can tell you, however; for of course I shall remove Joe Gillett to one of the single tenements Good-bye, little lady good-bye." But Irene had not yet done with Hildyard's Alms- houses. Old Joe Gillett, the recusant sexton of the chapel, stumbled up to her, as she left the Warden's house. " Beg your pardon, Miss, but my ould woman is taking on so that I was out when the gentleman coom. O' course I did na dream of guests on Sabbath afternoon, let alone his honour, Sir Philip, for I hear it was he, and no one E 2 52 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. elsa He pounded at the door, but my ould woman she was 'twixt sleeping and waking, and o' course she could not rise herself to get the key. Wish you'd plase to come in and say a word to her, for yer voice is always calming, and she be wandering, she be." "I thought her very ill, Joe, when I was with her. You should have told me you were going out. I would have sat with your wife. Now I am hurried, for I have been detained, you know." " Yes, bless yer. But if gentry will coom 'o a Sab- bath " Irene preceded Joe into the cottage, and found old Mattie sitting up in bed, with a troubled, far-away look in her eyes. Irene drew near, and stroked the withered hand which lay helpless outside the counterpane, and tried to soothe her by gentle words ; but Mattie talked fast and incoherently. She was wandering in the days of her youth, over the moors beyond Rockdeane. Irene listened, and tried to catch a connected phrase, but she heard Sir Jasper's name again and again, and then Mattie called " Susie ! Susie ! " who was wilful and headstrong, and " would go her own gait." Then Sir Philip's name was on her lips. She had seen him, she said, and she wanted him to listen to her. She had something to tell him. But, no, she would never tell him ; why should she ? Susie would have her way. " She'll be falling over the edge of the scar. I know she will There, she is gone gone lost ! " And old Mattie held Irene's hand tight, and with the other seemed to be trying to save something from falling. " She was not like this when I saw her an hour ago. You must have some one to sit up with her to-night, Joe. 1 will ask Mrs. Sampson to come." HILB YARD'S ALMSHOUSES. 53 " She'll quiet down again. I expect it was the gentle- man a pounding at the door that upset her. There, there, Mattie, ould woman, Joe is with thee." " Aye, aye ! but he's a deal younger than me quite a young man ; and he never knew Susie, my rose, my flower. There's old Sir Jasper a-coming to be buried." "Hush, Mattie, hush ! Listen to your favourite hymn. You will soon see Jesus now, Mattie." The words and the voice of the speaker acted like a charm ; and before Irene had finished the last verse of " Jerusalem, the Golden," old Mattie was dozing like a tired child, a smile upon her lips, as visions of the golden city mingled with the dreams of her youth the big purple moor bathed in sunshine, and overarched by a sky of deepest blue, into which the larks rose, singing loud and clear in the vault of heaven. "Joe, who is Susie, that Mattie calls so often 1 " Irene said, as the old man went with her to the door. " I never heard her speak of any Susie before." " Weel, yer see I'm her second husband, I be, and a sight younger; but she had a daughter called Susan, so I've heard ; but Mattie was always close. She used to say, 'Ask me nae questions, and I'll tell 'ee nae lees.'" " She is going home now, Joe." " I don't know there's the Warden ; he said she'd be all right again soon. Maybe he's a good judge." Irene bid the old man good-bye, and marvelled at the phlegmatic, cool way in which Joe refused to acknowledge his wife's state. " But she must have a nurse," Irene said to herself; and she tripped up the court again to Mrs. Sampson's cottage, and called her from her Sunday tea of cresses and 54 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. shrimps, which she was sharing with a neighbour, to beg her to go to old Mattie Gillett as soon as possible, " for I feel sure she is dying," Irene added. Mrs. Sampson was the inmate of the Almshouses who acted as nurse. She curtsied to Miss Clifford, and said she would attend to Mrs. Gillett, and adding, as she smoothed her apron, and threw the wide green strings of her best cap over her portly shoulders, " that it would be the strangest thing if Mattie's grave was opened just when Sir Jasper's was." " Why should it be strange 1 "What can they have to do with each other?" Irene thought, as she walked quietly homewards. " Perhaps Mattie was an old servant of Sir Jasper's. I will ask Mr. Bolton if he knows, to-morrow." When Irene rang the bell, Kandal opened the door. " Auntie, you are very late ; we are all at teal" " Yes, Randal, I know I am; tell mamma, I won't be a minute." And Irene ran upstairs, pausing in the dra wing- room, to see what Cuthbert was doing. Cuthbert's tea was laid out on a little invalid table, which was screwed to his couch. " Auntie, come here." " I must go down to tea, Cuthbert, it is so late." " Didn't you like Sir Philip ? I did ; he looked so straight and upright. And oh, auntie " down went the voice into a choked whisper " oh, auntie, as he stood up there, I felt what I always must be." " Haven't we settled long ago, Cuthbert, that it doesn't matter what our bodies are ? If only our souls be big, and grand, and true, and noble, what does it signify ? " " Ah, auntie, but it must be nice to have a body like HILDYARD'S ALMSHOUSES. 55 Sir Philip's. Think of all he can do ; and I shall never, never do anything." " Yes, you will, my darling ; God has work for you, as well as for the Sir Philips of the world." " It's hard to see what it can be," said Cuthbert rue- fully. " But they are calling again; do go, mother is " Cuthbert stopped, and Irene departed. " There is only cold tea for you, Irene," was her sister's remark as she sat down to the table, " and no toast." " Yes, there is," said Randal ; " I've put it on auntie's plate, and buttered it for you. Hilda is so greedy, she would have eaten it, if I hadn't stopped her." " Hush, Randal " as little Hilda began to pout " don't make mischief ; but thank you for thinking of me." " Irene, where have you been ? " asked her sister. " Forster is gone. You are generally at home by five o'clock ; you seemed in a great hurry to leave the table at dinner, which, as a stranger was present, I thought was scarcely polite." " I don't think Sir Philip Dennistoun would miss me," said Irene, smiling ; " but he certainly must be answer- able for my late appearance at tea, for I had to show him the chapel at the almshouses." " Show him the chapel ! " exclaimed Mrs. Williamson, her eyes sparkling with interest. " How extraordinary ! Do tell me what he said, and how did it happen ? Where was Mr. Bolton ? And I thought the old man who cleans the chapel had a key ? " " So he has ; but he was taking a Sunday afternoon stroll when Sir Philip arrived; and then one of the neighbours directed him to the Warden's house for the 56 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. key. Mr. Bolton was at St. Magdalen's, and I was with his wife. As she is incapable, I had to perform the office of guide ; that is all." "All ! Really, I think it is odd you should take it so calmly. What did Sir Philip say " "Not much." " And you said less, I don't doubt ; you are so incom- prehensible, Irene ; and though it has not much to do with the subject, I do wish you would wear colours again. I felt to-day Sir Philip would hardly think we were sisters. Why should you be in black [and I in colours ? A girl of your age cannot always wear mourning." " I should not think of changing my dress for for our mother, under two years," Irene said ; " but my mourning is now so unobtrusive that I think no one could notice it." " Well, you will find yourself mistaken, Irene ; it was only on Thursday that Margaret Thornycroffc asked me how long mamma had been dead, and when I said, 'Two years on All Saints'-day,' she said " " I never think twice about what such people as Mar- garet Thornycroft say," Irene answered. " So don't trouble yourself to repeat it." It was not often that the colour flushed in her cheek, or fire kindled in those dark serene eyes ; but her sister's next words recalled her to her wonted self. " You needn't get angry about it, Irene. People who know us, understand you. Only I do hope, by the time the Dennistouns come, you will have changed your style of dress." " I am sure mother would say I was very silly to vex myself about such a trifle as whether Margaret Thorny- HILDYARDS ALMSHOUSES. 57 croft chose to comment on my black gown or not. Are you going to church this evening 1 " " Yes, Forster is coming -with me to All Saints'. You can stay with the children, I suppose T' " Yes ; come, Randal, let us go up to Cuthbert, and Hilda too," and then she ran upstairs so quickly that even Randal could scarcely keep pace with her. While the two children went to the nursery to wash their hands and faces, Irene returned to Cuthbert, and sitting down on a low stool by his couch, leaned her head on his shoulder. " Tired, auntie 1 " asked the boy. " No, Cuthbert, I will read directly or talk, which you like best ; let us be quiet for two minutes." ' ' Yes," said the child j and then there was silence in the room, while the church bells began to chime for evening prayer from the towers and steeples ; and through the open window came the cool crisp September breeze, sighing a little as it touched the shrubs and trees in Eccleston Square, reminding the fading leaves that the glory of the year was passed, and that the time of decay and change drew near. " Are you thinking of grannie, auntie 1 " was the boy's question presently. " Yes, Cuthbert, she is seldom absent from my thoughts." " Mother loved her, too, very much, did not she ? " " Oh ! yes, very very much, but grannie was myall; and mamma has so many to love and so many who love her." " So have you," said the boy quickly, " lots and lots ; and then you've got me, auntie ; you are such a help to me." Irene smiled and kissed him, and then rousing herself, as she heard the sound of coming feet, she went to meet little Hilda ; and, taking her on her knee, began the 58 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. children's Sunday evening by telling her the stories that never sounded so interesting as when auntie's voice related them. Of all the stern decrees of that relentless goddess, fashion, who rules us in our times of joy and in our times of grief, with such a potent sway, none, I think, are so pitiful as the sombre, heavy display of a funeral. Sir Jasper Dennistoun's, of Rockdeane, had been put into the hand of one of the leading tradesmen of Rodham, and he had done his best and worst. Nodding plumes ; encumbered horses, who stepped warily and slowly under the weight of velvet and fringe; senseless mutes, arrayed in grim order in their ugly garments ; mourners ah ! what a mockery does the word sound mourners, in enormous scarfs of crape or silk, the material regulated according to the degree of relationship, hideous trailing tails from their hats, whence all vestige of pristine form is taken. All these things were the features of Sir Jasper's funeral cortege, as it swept down the avenue, and emerged into the Rodham road, passing through streets, where hundreds paused in their day's occupation to wonder and admire, till it stopped at the old gateway of Hildyard's Almshouses, and the Warden came out to meet the heavy coffin the sublime words of life upon his lips, whereby the Church would fain raise tearful eyes to things far above, and beyond all this miserable show and foolish pomp. Even as I write this, I feel the day for ail this wretched pageantry is passing away. The number of such funerals as Sir Jasper's is steadily on the decrease, and we shall, ere long, see them vanish from amongst us altogether. Brighter symbols of a holy and blessed future shall take the place of these ponderous HILDYARD S ALMSHOUSES. O'J tokens of earth and earth's vanities. Simple and plain will be the arrangements of a Christian funeral, and the ghosts of enormous expenses shall not force themselves to mind, like guests unbidden, even in the time of our bitterest woe, and add, as in many cases, another drop to cups already overflowing with anxiety and distress. " I hope you were satisfied with the arrangements to-day, my dear Sir Philip," Dr. Simpson asked blandly, as he and the Warden and Mr. Williamson sat together over the remnants of a midday cold repast. " We put it into the hands of Thornbury and Jones, did we not Mr. Williamson ? feeling sure justice would be done to the memory of our late dear friend. I sup- pose you noticed the carriages of many of the leading gentry followed as a mark of respect ? " " Yes, I saw five or six private carriages," said Philip ; "but I suppose none of the owners were personally acquainted with Sir Jasper 1 " " No, perhaps not ; but the name ot Dennistoun carries its weight in the county. The Earl of Lynmore's carriage was first, then Lord Osborne's, Sir Wilton St. John's, and Sir Henry Birkshaw's. Sir Henry is High Sheriff for the current year." How bored Philip got as the little Doctor went on in a similar strain. It was quite a relief when Mr. Williamson said he would read the will ; and, ringing the bell, Sir Philip told Forrest that he wished all the servants to assemble in the library, that they might hear that their old master had not been unmindful of their years of service. " I am sorry the bailiff, Mr. Smith, continues too ill to be present to-day," Dr. Simpson said; "but he is really in a precarious state." 60 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. When the servants were assembled, Mr. Williamson was about to begin to read, when Sir Philip stopped him : " May I say a few words first ? " Then the young Baronet addressed the servants in a frank, genial manner, that won all their hearts. Even Mrs. Mason's small, light eyes were for once caught looking full in the face of the speaker, while the other maids w^re moved in some unexplained way to tears, which they could not repress. When it was over, and the household had dispersed, Sir Philip turned to Dr. Simpson : " Mr. Williamson does not know who the person named in the will, in Canter- bury, New Zealand, is ; can you enlighten us as to Susanna Cleveland? " " I do so regret I do deplore, that Mr. Balfour left no instructions, no information on this point I imagine you have made every proper search, Mr. Williamson 1 " " I find no paper which explains who Susanna Cleve- land is, except the receipts and acknowledgments for the yearly remittance. Perhaps, in looking over the private letters, some light may be thrown upon her identity." " If not, I do not know that it is of any importance," said Sir Philip ; " it always seems to me treachery to pry into the secrets of the dead." " Unless they in any way affect the interests of the living," said the Warden. " That is hardly probable in this case," was Philip's reply. "Most likely Susanna Cleveland belongs to the dead past, which must bury its dead." " Most likely, indeed," said the Doctor ; " and I think Sir Philip exercises sound discretion in his determination. I presume you will remain at Rockdeane some days, Sir Philip ?" HILDYARD'S ALMSHOUSES. 61 "I must return to London before the end of the week," Philip answered. "I have some arrangements to make there." " Ah, yes, the "Western Circuit will lose its brightest ornament," said the Doctor. Philip shrugged his shoulders, and, turning to the Warden, began to talk about Hildyard's Chapel and the Almshouses, asking many questions as to the endowments and the services. " Oh, there is one service a week enough for the old folks, I assure you alternate morning and afternoon, every Sunday. I could not serve St. Magdalen's without a curate, you see, unless such an arrangement was made." " Did the present arrangement begin with you ] " Sir Philip asked. " Dear me, no ; but who would wish to work a man to death at my time of life ? I could not stand any addition to my day's routine, and those poor old souls, with one foot in the grave, are always thinking they want to see the parson, though I do them small good. One died this morning old Mattie Gillett ; she was a great age." One by one the guests departed, and Sir Philip was left alone alone the possessor of Rockdeane. A strange feeling of loneliness oppressed him, and he set out for a walk over the moor, which stretched away for some miles in the opposite direction to Rodham. The pure autumn air, so crisp and fresh as the sun moved to the west, exhilarated and refreshed him. To him exercise was always as medicine to heal any sickness of mind. Like all really swift walkers, he always seemed to a looker-on to be only getting over the ground at a leisurely pace, and, as in everything he did so there was in this, never any evidence of haste. The level of the moor was broken. 62 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. by little mounds formed by the boulders of granite, which were covered by turf and heather. About a mile beyond Rockdeane there was a knoll a little higher than the rest, marked by a rough stone, which had probably borne the cold and heat of centuries on its rugged surface. At this point Philip paused, and a glorious panorama stretched before him, glowing in the afternoon light, and extending in every direction for many miles. Like many other hale and active Englishmen, who have a taste for travel and exploring the secrets of mountains and glaciers, Philip Dennistoun knew comparatively little of his own country. To those whose professions confine them to any particular beat, as his did. entire change seemed necessary. Change of language, dress, and habits, give a zest to travel, and this in some measure accounts for the numbers of athletic pedestrians who, year by year, resort with delight to the Alps of Switzerland and the Lakes of Italy, and never think of the enjoyment which is attainable for them in the purple fastnesses and moun- tains of their fatherland. Now, as Philip's eye rested on the outline of the Lake Mountains, and saw the proud heads of Skiddaw and Helvellyn clearly defined against the sky a sky so in- tensely blue above, and taking the daffodil colour of sunset in the west, blended with the tenderest crimson he felt those dark encircling hills to be as friends, and they brought to his soul a message of stedfastness and strength, as from the City which hath foundations. The Spirit of God speaks to us with many voices. Our spirits, clouded by the dark shadows of the world, " deafened by earth's din," too often respond but feebly to revelations, and which would be so full and grand could we but stretch out with faithful hearts to grasp HILDYARD'S ALMSHOUSES. 63 them. But there are moments in the lives of most men and women when, in the visible glory of created things, we feel the invisible glory of the Creator ; nay, more, in the beauty of what is an earthly paradise, we feel the love which has made sure for us a heavenly inheritance, incorruptible, tmdefiled, which fadeth not away. Philip Dennistoun never said fine things of himself or of his feelings. Those who knew him best could not have told what particular shade of opinion he held, in what is called religion. But his was not the unstable soul, carried about with eveiy wind of doctrine, or the feeble soul, taking its colour, chameleon-like, from the object that is nearest at the moment. Eather was it like the rock, which in sunshine and shadow, storm and calm, stands unmoved and firm. His nature had its roughnesses and inequalities ; his very aspiration after great things might, without self- discipline, merge into ambition. But as I write of him I know that, in the voyage over life's sea, he will not make shipwreck, but I know he will come forth like gold from the crucible pure, and refined by the fire. "When he rests from the conflict, and sheaths his sword in victory, it will be said of him, as of his ancestor, Sir Philip Dennistoun, Knight, and of one greater than him, " He has fought a good fight." CHAPTER IV. IRENE. " You love, remaining peacefully, To hear the murmur of the strife, But enter not the toil of life ; Your spirit is the calmed sea Laid by the tumult of the fight ; You are the evening star, always Remaining betwixt dark and bright " AUXTIE, let me go down just a little way, and get those big blackberries." " Let me see if it is safe, Randal," and Irene Clifford went to the edge of the steep bank overlooking the stream which flowed tinder Rockdeane, and looked down. " Oh, yes ! it is safe enough ; there are steps. Look, Auntie, quite a little path just to that first ledge ; do you see ? " " I see, Randal, but it is very steep, and, moreover, it is getting late. We have three miles to walk home, and the days are short now." They were on the opposite side of the stream to Rock- deane, having walked through lanes and fields to the small hamlet, which was composed of the cottages and imall farms of the Rockdume tenants, all small and IRENE. 65 insignificant, the largest occupied by Mr. Smith, the steward, whose illness had prevented his being present at Sir Jasper's funeral. The bank on this side of the stream was much lower than the one, on the very brink of which the walls of Rockdeane rose grave and stern ; but, though scarcely more than a hundred feet in height, it was precipitous ; and what Randal called steps were in reality only ledges of stone, leading on to a small plateau, from which the face of the rock dipped sheer down to the stream for some fifty or sixty feet. Randal paused, he had already begun to descend, but Irene's decided order brought him back. Nevertheless, he did not like to be beaten, and began to murmur something to the effect that " all girls were cowards, big and little. Hilda was a little one, and Aunt Irene was " " A big one. Very likely true, Randal ; but there is a wide step between being courageous and being foolhardy." " I told Cuthbert I would bring him some fine black- berries a lot growing all on one stalk. These are such little bits of things." And as he spoke he gave the basket a contemptuous rattle, which sent some of the blackberries flying in different directions. Irene had reseated herself on the stump of a fallen tree for a few minutes' rest, and was looking across to the dark walls of Rockdeane, over which one gleam of western sun was lying like a band of gold. " There he goes ! " broke from Randal ; and the next moment he was off through the brambles and long grass, chasing a brown rabbit to its hole. As the boy disappeared in the brushwood, Irene rose, and followed him through the tangled maze of ferns, and brake, and heather. "Take care, Randal," she called; "we are very near the edge, here. Randal ! " F 66 HEIGHTS AND VALLETS. But Randal did not answer. Presently she heard a shout, " Auntie, it's all right ; I've got them ! " And on looking down the bank, just above the place where she had stood five minutes before, she saw the boy's head, and she caught sight of his outstretched arm trying to reach the cluster of blackberries, which were waving over the last ledge of granite above the narrow plateau I have described. " Come back instantly, Randal," Irene said, as quietly as she could. " Randal ! " And as the name left her lips, she saw the little arm again near the prize, while the boy's head slipped out of sight> and she heard his voice lower down. " Auntie, I have lost my footing ! Can you come 1 * Then again, with a ring of terror in the loud, young voice, "Auntie, I am trying to hold on. Do come ! " Irene's small, light figure, had soon descended within sight of the boy; but, to her horror, she saw he was literally swinging in the air, clutching with one hand a branch of maple, which grew in the clefts of the rock, while with the other he was trying to grasp the rough points of stone from which his feet had slipped when he lost his balance in his effort to reach the branch of brambles on which the tempting clusters of blackberries hung. Irene saw at a glance her position. She must catch the boy's arm, by stooping towards him, and try to retain her own footing on the very slippery ledge just above him. If that were lost, they must both fall over the brink of the narrow plateau on to the rocky bed of the river, sixty feet below. 11 Keep still, Randal," she said, " quite still, till I tell you to move." IRENE. G7 It all seemed to her dream-like and unreal a moment of danger to the boy and to herself, scarcely recognised as it passed. But her presence of mind did not forsake her. Quiet and gentle natures have mostly this self-command in times of need. Steadying herself with one hand with the upper branch of the same maple to which the child hung, she bent forward, and caught the hand which was clinging desperately to the irregular fragment of stone above him. " Auntie, I can't hold long, take care I don't pull you down." Irene slipped into a sitting position, and fearing to tell the child to relinquish his hold of the maple, she grasped his arm firmly, and paused to consider what it was best to do next. If he suddenly let go the support of the maple branch, they might both be displaced by the shock, and Irene doubted her power of pulling Randal up to her own perilous position. " I have got your arm firmly, Randal," she said; "you are safer now ; let us wait a minute, perhaps help may come." It was but a moment, but it seemed an hour ; the stream bubbled and murmured below, the birds sang in the Rockdeane trees, the rooks cawed, some cattle lowed in the distance ; but no help came. On the calm still air was faintly borne the sound of the Cathedral chimes at Rodham. They sounded three times it was a quarter to five. " They will be getting anxious about us. I have come too far with the boy," she thought, " and he has a cold too. Mary will think I am not to ba trusted." " Auntie," Randal spoke now, " my arm aches dreadfully, can't you pull me up ? " The child's face was partly turned to her, and she saw it was very pale. He was getting faint with the strain upon him. 68 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " One minute more, Randal, dear. I feel as if help would come. I am afraid I cannot pull you up, if I try." " "We shall both go over," was her thought, but she did not put it into words. For another moment Irene paused, and there came to her a sense of strength and protection, vivid, real, and unquestioned, such as only souls, who live near their Lord day by day, can know. " He will, in times of need and peril, not suffer thy feet to be moved. He that keepeth thee will not sleep." " Auntie," the voice was very feeble and weak, " Auntie, it was all my fault, tell mother so." " Randal," she spoke sharply, to rouse the child, " I have your arm safe ; when you leave hold of the branch, try to swing your feet up to the ledge on which I am, and leave the rest to me. Now, dear ! " But as she spoke, another voice sounded " Stop, one moment ! " and then there was a sound of the breathing of a man who had exhausted himself with rapid exercise, and Philip Dennistoun's head appeared amongst the brush- wood to the left, thrusting the thick boughs aside with his strong arm, and swinging himself at last lightly on the ledge where Irene sat. " I have you safe, my boy," he said ; and, stooping for- ward, he steadied himself with the stem of the tree, and with the other, took Randal gently from his perilous position, and laid him on the broken ground just above Irene's head. It had been nothing to an Alpine climber to find his way down the rocky scar on the other side, cross the narrow stream, and ascend by a circuitous route to the spot where Randal had slipped. " He will be all right directly," he said to Irene. 'I will carry him to the top, and return for you." A few giant strides took him there, and brought him back IRENE- 69 again. " Come," he said, " you are as pale as the boy. I saw it all from the terrace. I saw him slip, and found my way here. I would not call or shout to yoxi, for fear I should unnerve you." Irene's face was very pale, and she sank down on the heather, by Randal's side, without a word. " Oh ! Auntie," and then poor Randal's courage deserted him, and, forgetting the dignity of his nine years, the tears burst forth. Irene put her arm round him, and laid his head on her shoulder. " Auntie, I thought we were going over, I thought " "We were in great danger, Randal ; but God had His eye on us, and kept us safe ; we must be very thankful." " Yes," and Randal's sobs grew quicker. Oh ! that he should be caught crying like a baby by a man, and that man Sir Philip too ! to whom he had talked so grandly on Sunday of all he could do. " Does your arm hurt you now 1 " " Yes, but I don't mind that. How could you come to us so quickly 1 " he asked of Philip. " I saw you over there, when I ran after the rabbit." " Yes, and it was a lucky thing I saw you, my boy. Those dandy red stockings of yours caught my eye amongst the bushes. I thought you might be some moor bird, at first, with very black feathers and very scarlet legs." " We must go home now, Randal," said Irene ; " let us try to walk as fast as we can. Your mother will be so anxious ; we have a long way to walk." She rose as she spoke ; but Sir Philip interposed. " I am sure you cannot walk to Rodham after hanging in mid- air in that way. I believe my steward, Mr. Smith, has a conveyance of some sort, and if you will come with 70 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. me to his house, which I take it is that white one under the trees, I will endeavour to get it for you." Irene hesitated ; and then a glance at Randal's white face and quivering lips decided her. " Thank you, perhaps it will be best," she said, and then added : " It is very odd, I think, that all this time I have never thanked you for your help ; but I do thank you very much, and so will Randal's mother." " It was the simplest thing in the world," he said, " for me to come over to your rescue. I had been ex- ploring the moor, and I had only that moment turned out on the terrace, when the boy's legs attracted me. I saw the whole thing, and saw your courage and marvel- lous calmness. As I looked up at you in your perilous position, I felt it was a question how long you could hold out. There seemed no possible foothold for the boy a brave little fellow, too, or he would not have held on as he did and not a cry nor a scream from either of you!" " I don't think great danger ever finds cries or screams to express it. All realities strike us dumb, and all depths are still and noiseless." " It is not so with all women." And as he saw her lip curl almost imperceptibly, he added : "Nor with all men either." " I am not offended at the distinction you implied," Irene said ; " you need not have added the saving clause. I know very well there is a great deal of truth in the credit we women get for shallowness and want of strength." " There are great and notable exceptions," he answered, " as I have seen to-day. Here we are, at Mr. Smith's door. Come, my boy, I hope you will soon be at home now." IRENE. 71 Sir Philip's knock at the door was answered by a neat maid- servant, who said Mr. Smith was very ill, and Mrs. Smith was particularly engaged. " I should be very glad if 1 could see Mrs. Smith for two minutes. Take her this card, and say I will wait." Sir Philip handed his card from hp.s pocket-book, on which was printed, " Philip Dennistoun, Elm Court, Temple ;" and the little maid disappeared with it up the staircase, which came sloping down inconveniently near the front door. She soon returned : " Please to walk in, Sir. Missis will be down directly," she said; "please to walk in here;" and the maid opened the door of a sitting-room, which looked out on the strip of garden, and had that unaired and stuffy atmosphere about it which told the tale of windows her- metically sealed and an unused best parlour. Three or four chairs stood round a table where bead-mats, a photo- graph-book, and a stand of wax flowers, reigned supreme and unmolested. A sofa covered with a gay chintz, and a cheffionier with glass doors, completed the furniture of the room. Irene sat down, and drew Randal towards her. " Oh, my arm, Auntie ! " " It is sprained, I am afraid. Does it hurt much." " Well, yes; and I feel so so dizzy ! " " Lay him on the sofa, : ' said Philip ; " the child is overwrought ;" and, suiting the action to the word, Philip lifted Randal on the sofa, with its spotless chintz and netted coverings, regardless of dirty boots, regardless of what Mrs. Smith would say when she came. At last the door opened with a majestic swing, and a very stout personage appeared, who seemed inconveniently large in that small room. Her stiff silk gown rattled and 72 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. rustled, and her smart cap had been evidently put on in great haste. " I am sure, Mr. Dennistoun, if you are a relative ox the new Baronet's, I am proud to see you ; and is this your lady and your little gentleman 1 Dear, dear ! the poor child is ill ; or, what is it 1 " " Mrs. Smith," said Philip, anxious to correct a mis- take which, if ludicrous, was somewhat embarrassing ; " I must introduce myself as your near neighbour at Rock- deane. I am sorry Mr. Smith is so ill. I have come to ask a favour " " Lor bless me ! Are you Sir Philip ? I beg thou- sands of pardons, and your lady's ; but then I heard you wern't married. It is your sister, of course. I am that stupid and daft, shut up with Smith as I am, week after week, that I hope you'll excuse me, Sir Philip. Your card mistook me : I mean, I mistook your card ; and thought Elm Court was your family place ; and " In spite of himself, a smile broke over Philip's face ; but oh, the impossibility of stopping a woman's tongue like Mrs. Smith's ! " This little boy, Mrs. Smith, has had a fall, and has sprained his arm. I met him and Miss Clifford acci- dentally. They have a long walk to Rodham, and I want to know if I can have any conveyance Mr. Smith's pony and gig, perhaps I suppose he uses one ? " " He did use one before he was laid up, Sir Philip ; but it's a ramshackle old four-wheel, and the grey mare is that fat and lazy, you have to whip her well to make her move. She was borrowed the other day by lawyer Williamson to put to the chariot when he went to meet the new master ; but there, I should not say borrowed, for all here is yours, Sir. The thing is, the men are gone, and I IRENE. 73 don't believe there is one about the place, and who is to get the trap out of the coach-house and put Misty into it ? Poor Smith called her Misty. Some poetical idea it was about the grey mists, or such stuff. I am sorry I ain't in black, as, of course, I ought to be on this day ; but, never out of Smith's room, what's the use of dressing ? And he is that cross-grained, poor fellow, it is enough to craze one." As she spoke, a loud knocking, evidently with a stick, was made on the floor of the room above. " That's he : now hark to him," as the thumps were reiterated. " I must go, if you'll please to excuse it." And as Mrs. Smith was heard labouring up the narrow stairs with heavy feet, Sir Philip said : " I will take the opportunity, and look after this four-wheel myself, and see if I can prevail on Misty to rise to the emergency." Mrs. Smith was the first to return, followed by the rosy maid with wine and cake, of which she pressed her guests to partake. " Smith was roaring like a caged bull," his wife said, "wanting to know who it was talking to me down- stairs ; and when he heard it was Sir Philip Well there ! " and Mrs. Smith's gestures alone ex- pressed her feelings as to what her husband had said " He wants to see the new baronet, but he can't. He isn't fit to be seen, and it would take me an hour to put him tidy. He screeches so if you do but put a finger on his leg." " What has he done to his leg ? " asked Randal, who had revived under the influence of Mrs. Smith's sweet wine and exceHent cake. 74 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " He hasn't done anything to it, my dear ; it's the gout ; and if it ain't in his leg it's in Ms arm ; and it will kill him when it gets to a vitally part." " A what ? " Randal questioned, but Irene inter- posed " It is a most trying complaint, and so hard to bear, I know. It is very kind of you, Mrs. Smith, to let us rest" And then she told the story of the afternoon to her good-natured hostess, who kept reproaching herself on the mistake she had made as to Sir Philip's identity. "And so awkward for you, Missie, for I see you are quite young too young for the Baronet though stranger things have happened. What's that Smith says about ' shadows cast afore ? ' I don't know the words ; but he's very fond of his books, and knows heaps of 'em through and through. Well, I never, here's Sir Philip at the gate, and the shandry as we call it if he has not put Misty in himself; and who's to drive 1" Irene wondered ; but she had not much more time for speculation, for Sir Philip came in the next moment with an ancient whip with a horn handle in his hand, and declared that he was ready to start for Rodham. It was all done as if there was nothing unusual in it ; and it was not till they had bid Mrs. Smith good-bye ; not till Irene and Randal were safely in the back seat of the shandry, and Philip had cracked the whip over Misty* s broad back with such effect that she actually tried some- thing like a trot ; not till the little maid had withdrawn from the gate, saying to Mrs. Smith, "I never did, ma'am, you should have seen how handy the gentleman was harnessing and putting to," that Philip gave way to the absurdity of his position, and broke into one of his rare IRENE. 75 fits of honest laughter. It was infectious ; and Irene laughed too, and poor Randal made a feeble effort to join in the chorus. " Well, Miss Clifford, here we are fairly off for Rod- ham. I hope you give me credit for my diversified powers ; but, getting the horse to the water is one thing, and making him drink quite another. Now then, Misty, wake up, and stir your old legs a little faster than this." As, at last, the four-wheel shandry turned into the high road to Rodham, a carriage, with a pair of prancing horses, full of people, passed. A lady in it turned and looked back at Irene, waved her hand, a smile of sur- prise and recognition passing over her face. " Whose carriage is that," Philip asked ; " some Rod- ham celebrities ] " "It is the Bishop's carriage. The young lady was Lady Eugenia Le Marchant, an orphan niece of Lady Catharine Weston's, and she lives with them at Bishop's Court." " It was a very pretty face. I wonder what she thought of you, Miss Clifford, in this distinguished equi- page." " I dare say she did not think about me at all," was the answer. " Do you know the young lady 1 " " Yes ; I have seen her before. I can hardly be said to know her," Irene answered ; " but I have met her once or twice." " Upon my word here is another carriage, as full as the last. We are in good company. Who are these ? " " That is the Tilletts' carriage. They are the principal bankers in Rodham." 76 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. "You don't know them?" Sir Philip said, as the carriage rolled past, and Mrs. Tillett put up her eye-glass and looked with a supercilious smile, which was not one of recognition, however. " The Tilletts ! " Sir Philip said ; " ah ! I remember the name amongst the list of people whom your sister enumerated yesterday. " Yes, Mary gets rubbed the wrong way by the Tilletts of the world, I can't think why." " They don't rub you the wrong way then ? " "No." He turned to look at the quiet serene face in the twi- light, and he wondered what did rub her the wrong way, or ruffle her ; and yet it was not a tame unmeaning face at all. It only looked like her name Peace ! " If I care about people, if I love them, and they slight me, or, as Mary expresses it, snub me, I mind it it hurts me ; but if I don't care about them, they have no power to do so." "I see;" and Misty was allowed to drop into a lazy swing, as Sir Philip leaned back in the front seat, and talked. " Another carriage a quiet, respectable brougham this time. Who are these ? " " Canon and Mrs. Home," Irene answered. " I dare- say there has been an afternoon party at some country house in this direction ; " and Irene had to bow her head, and respond to Mrs. Home's energetic greeting. " Well, they none of them know who I am," said Sir Philip. " Perhaps they will think you have fallen into bad hands. I can just imagine my little sister Eosie's face, if she could see me now. She has built such grand castles about Rockdeane and its glories, it would be a terrible coming down from her rose-coloured height to IRENE. 77 the grey reality of this time-worn shandry, the old whip with its horn handle, and Misty's sober paces, and my trotting myself out before half Rodham in so ignoble a fashion, too ! I hope you and Rosie will be friends," he said, presently. " She will want a companion here ; and Jasper, poor Jasper, may learn, I hope, a lesson in courage from that little fellow who is forgetting his troubles in sleep, I see." " Yes, poor Randal, he has a lion's heart ; but he is very wilful and headstrong so unlike Cuthbert." " Is that the lame boy I saw on Sunday ? " " Yes ; " and her voice betrayed that there were depths of tenderness in her heart when she spoke of Cuthbert. " Yes, no one can know what Cuthbert is. Saintly in his patience, heroic in his courage, a soul that might have done and dared all for the right, had he but the bodily power and strength." " He is your especial favourite, I see." " I love all my sister's children ; but I do more than love Cuthbert I reverence him." Philip was silent. The twilight was deepening, and, as they neared Rodham, the Cathedral towers and the castle battlements stood up, dim and mysterious, in the gathering shadows. The town itself was veiled with a light, transparent mist, out of which the principal objects rose, ghost-like and solemn. Above, the sky was of a tender blue, where the stars were just faintly twinkling, and a new moon hung suspended like a curved thread of silver. Presently, Philip spoke. "There is something very old-world-like and quaint in Rodham, I should think. I suppose it answers to the hackneyed descriptions of all 78 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Cathedral towns. After my busy, migratory life, I feel as if I should find this boundary set to my habitation irksome. I can't live without something to do, and I can believe that Rodham is just the place to look coldly on all new schemes and plans ; to repulse any effort I might make, and tell me to content myself with a quiet country gentle- man's life at Rockdeane, which would not suit me at all. However, we shall see. I do hope," he again repeated, "that Rosie and you will grow to know each other and like each other. She is about your age, I imagine eighteen." Irene smiled. " I am twenty-four many years older ; and I don't think ." She paused. " You don't think you would like her 1 " " No ; though of course I can't tell till I see her ; but I was thinking it was not very probable she would like me." " She will prefer the Miss Tilletts, and so on I can't remember any more Rodham names ; I shall learn them soon enough. If I know Rosie, she won't." Irene made no answer. Randal was sleeping heavily on her shoulder, and her arm was very tired with holding him in his position. Sir Philip had apparently resigned himself to Misty 's sluggish pace, and showed no inclina- tion to hurry her. So they dragged slowly through the streets ot Rodham, passed the Cathedral, and turned towards Eccleston Square. "Our drive is nearly at an end now, Miss Clifford," Sir Philip said. " Next time I am charioteer I hope it will be behind a better steed than poor old Misty, and that you will have a more luxurious seat. You must be very tired, holding that heavy child." IRENE. 79 " Yes, I am very tired," she answered, simply ; and, as they stopped before the door of No. 9, she exclaimed, " There is Forster." Mr. Williamson was just putting the key into the latch, when, hearing the wheels stop, he looked round. " You, Irene, and Randal, and Sir Philip ! " " Even so, Mr. Williamson. The Fates have decreed that I should find your son hanging to a maple tree, in niid-air, and restore him to terra firma." " Yes, and he has sprained his arm, Forster. Take care how you lift him down," said Irene. " Sir Philip saved his life." Mr. Williamson was carrying the boy up the steps to the house, and Irene was standing on the pavement, Sir Philip by her side, the reins in one hand ; the other he held out to Irene. "Good-bye," she said. "Thank you so very much for all you have done." " I hope I shall live to do more for you yet," was the answer, and, in another moment, Sir Philip had reseated himself, and Misty received so sharp a cut with the whip that she shook herself inquiringly, and waddled out of the square rather more quickly than she had come into it, Irene followed her brother slowly upstairs to the drawing-room ; she knew that she should meet there a great storm of questions and reproofs, and a great many exclamations of surprise and wonder. Randal was on his mother's knee now, and she was asking him about his arm, and where it hurt him, and how it happened ; while Cuthbert lay on his couch, his large eyes dilated with eager interest, and fixed upon his brother. " Really, Irene, how excessively wrong it is of you to take these madly long walks. You must do everything in 80 HEIGHTS A2O> VALLEYS. extremes ; you either poke about in all the dirty lanes and alleys, and run a fearful risk of exposing my children to infection, or you go immense walks, and come home late, and I endure agonies of suspense, and then you bring my boy at last with a broken arm," " Come, come, Mary, there are no bones broken," said Mr. Williamson. "And Aunt Irene couldn't help it, mother," Randal put in. " I ran after the rabbit, and then I went to get the blackberries, and " " That is all very well, Randal ; it is only a fresh instance of what I knew before, that mothers only are to be trusted with their children, and " Irene had sat down by Cuthbert's side, and now, as the little thin hand was laid on hers, she took courage, and said, " Mary, will you let me tell you all that has happened. I am sorry we are so late, and that you have been anxious ; but we have been delayed by this accident, and, though we drove home, it was at a very slow pace." " Yes, and what a curious old gig you were in. I could hardly believe my own eyes, when I saw it at the door ; but tell us all about it, Irene." Irene told in a few words the history of Randal's fall, and how she had to hold him in a perilous position till Sir Philip appeared ; then of Mr. Smith and the four-wheel carriage, to which Sir Philip had harnessed Misty, and the slow drive home. " Really, how very peculiar. I hope you met no one you knew." " I am afraid we met a great many people," said Irene, with an amused smile at the recollection of the grand carriages which had rolled past their humble conveyance. IRENE. 8 1 " Who 1 " asked her sister anxiously j " for though they knew you, they would not know Sir Philip, and what must they have thought 1 Who did you meet ? " "We saw the Bishopstowe carriage, Mary, and the Tilletts', and Canon Home's." " How dreadfully unfortunate ; and did you bow to any of the people ? " " Lady Eugenia bowed to me, and so did Mrs. Home ; the Tilletts only looked at us, and seemed so much gratified, that I am quite glad they should have the pleasure." "The Tilletts of all people the others are bad enough only they might think none the worse of you for being in such a carriage ; but those intolerable stuck- up Tilletts ! Well, Irene, I hope you have had a lesson ! Now, my dear Randy, you must come to the nursery, and let me see the extent of your injury, and if it will be necessary to send for Mr. Bradford." " Nonsense, Mary, I don't think the boy is much amiss ; pray don't be sending for a doctor without need, we have too many of his visits already," said her husband. Cuthbert's small fingers tightened their grasp of Irene's, and she understood what he meant. " But they must want their tea, Mary," Mr. William- son called after her, as she left the room with Randal. " They have not had anything but blackberries since dinner at one o'clock." " Oh, yes, we have," said Irene ; "Mrs. Smith, the bailiff's wife, supplied us with wine and cake ; such good cake, Cuthbert." " Was it ? I am glad of that ; and, Auntie, do you really mean that Randal wanted to get the blackberries for me ? " G 82 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " Yes, Cuthbert, that was in his mind ; but he ought not to have gone down the path. I distinctly told him he must not go." "Poor Randal, he only forgot; I am certain, if I could go everywhere, take long scampers, and gather blackberries, I should find it very hard not to forget. I shut my eyes, and tried to see it all, when you were telling mother just now. It was grand of Sir Philip to come and save Randal, but it was much, much grander of you to hold him so long. I know Sir Philip thinks so, I hope I shall see him again soon ; I like him very much, don't you ? Go to tea now, Auntie, I hear mother calling you ; never mind, if what she says seems cross, for you know it has been a long time to wait, and it got dark, and Hilda went to bed, and of course we couldn't help wondering where you could be." " Of course not, dear. Yes, Mary, I am coming ; " and with a kiss pressed upon the pale forehead of her little nephew, Irene ran downstairs. u Where is Randal ? " Gone to bed, of course. Nurse thinks his arm is seriously hurt, and I shall send for Mr. Bradford to-morrow." Mrs. Williamson was pouring out a cup of very weak cold tea, as she spoke, and was evidently much aggrieved. " She has some right to be," Irene said to herself, and then aloud, " I am really very sorry, Mary, that I went so far this afternoon with Randal, and that you have been anxious." " Have been ! I am anxious ; with my eldest child A hopeless invalid, it is very hard to think that Eandal may never have the use of his arm again, ai** H through the most flagrant " IRENE. 83 " Disobedience " was on Irene's lips, but she forbore. After a minute's pause, Mrs. Williamson continued, "And what did Sir Philip say? Did you find him easy to get on with ] It was a very awkward position for you to put yourself in, driving home with a perfect stranger, or at least a man you never saw till yesterday." " I did not find it awkward ; it was a great deal more awkward to be hanging over the steep rock, holding Kandal's arm." " You are very silly, Irene ; you never will talk like a reasonable person. I don't believe you feel in the slightest degree how embarrassing it will be when Lady Eugenia asks you who you were driving with in that dreadful old vehicle ; really, when I saw it turn into the square, I could scarcely help laughing, miserably anxious as I was. And the Tilletts, too, to see you ! By-the-bye, old Mrs. Thornycroft, Mr. Tillett's aunt, aud those three plain daughters, were here this afternoon, she was very full of Sir Philip Dennistoun. They were in the same steamer with him on the Lake of Geneva, when the news of Sir Jasper's death was made known to him by the ' Times.' They have been a tour, as usual, and would not have come back so soon, Mrs. Thornycroft said, only her husband telegraphed that he was very ill, and they must return immediately. They implied that the old man was not so ill as he represented himself to be. They came here simply to find out all that could be found out about Sir Philip Dennistoun. Margaret Thornycroft talked like an idiot about him, and said she had been so struck with Sir Philip's appearance; it is quite easy to see what she will drive at. I know it will be perfectly disgust G 2 81 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. ing, the set Rodham people -will make on Sir Philip. I think I must go to Randal, now. Forster is gone to dine at Dr. Simpson's ; he asked him to-day, when they returned from the funeral together. Old Dr. Simpson, is terribly sly. I do hope Forster will be cautious. " I should think Forster is to be trusted," said Irene quietly ; and then she followed her sister upstairs, and went to her own room ; a small room at the top of the house, with two narrow windows, and no great attraction about it. But Irene liked the elevation. She liked to be nearer the sky, and above the square removed from the noise of the town. She was very tired ; and it was not till she lay down upon her bed that she knew how tired, nor how great the strain had been upon her, for the boy /nd she had been face to face with death. She knew a fall of sixty feet on the large boulders, which checked the course of the stream immediately below, and over which Sir Philip had stepped so lightly and so rapidly when he came to their rescue, would have been mutilation if not death. Then came the thought, that no one had given any thanks for her preservation ; that none in that house had even thought of her especial deliverance ; all in- terest having centred in the boy ; and, except from Cuth- bert, she had received no tender word of inquiry or sym- pathy. Once, she had been everything to a mother, between whom and herself had existed a tie, half-sisterly, half-maternal, which only very few women can understand. It is a tie which is not frequent ; but when it exists, is stronger than death ; and when severed, leaves the sur- vivor very desolate. Mary had married early, and she and her husband had settled in a town in one of the IRENE. 85 Midland counties, far from the home, in a Devonshire village, where Irene and her mother had been happy for years. Mr. Balfour, the agent and man of business of Sir Jasper Dennistoun, was a relation of Forster Williamson. He had a high opinion of his abilities and integrity, and two years before the time of which I write, the offer of a partnership had been made and accepted ; and the Wil- liamsons removed to Rodham. Almost immediately afterwards, Mrs. Clifford caught a cold, which ended in congestion of the lungs, and she sank in a few days. Irene was left alone in the world, and her brother-in- law's offer of a home in his house seemed one she ought not to refuse. Cuthbert, the lame boy, had been an especial favourite of his grandmother's, and he had often spent months with her and his aunt Irene at Orchard Leigh, before his hip disease had so completely laid him prostrate. To minister to him, and brighten his suffering young life, seemed to Irene an aim in the first days of her mourn- ing ; and she went to Rodham to fulfil her mission, and forget herself and her sorrow in service that great panacea for wounded hearts, if they would but try to take it. And she was peaceful and content. Within her lay a deep spring of love, which was never dry. Hers was a faithful unquestioning soul, and it looked through her clear stedfast eyes far beyond earthly vexations and perplexities. Of women like Irene it is hard to write ; they are not generally very caressing and effusive in their manner. Sometimes even abrupt and reserved, they do not take a prominent place amongst the " popular people " of their own particular circle. We think we have known them 86 HEIGHTS AND VALLEVS. for years, and we find we never knew them at all Then some sudden flash of tenderness, some great act of devotion and self-sacrifice, some burst of sympathy in sorrow, some gleam of brightness which dazzles us with its lustre, and they stand revealed before us. Alas, alas ! sometimes, in the bitterness of our soul, we hear but the rustle of the wings, as " the angel of the house " passes from our sighi for evcr ; CHAPTER V. GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. " So I left the place, and weary, Fainting, yet with hope sustainedj Toiled through pathways long and dreary, Till the mountain-top was gained. Lo ! the height that I had taken, As so shining from below Was a desolate, forsaken Region of perpetual snow." A. A. PROCTER. IN the course of a few months the aspect of Rockdeane was changed. If its outward walls still frowned above the babbling stream, and rose dark and grim amidst the universal greenness of spring, within there was a bright- ness and freshness which charmed the eyes of the many guests who flocked thither to pay their respects to Sir Philip and Mrs. Dennistoun, now that they were settled in their new home. Mrs. Dennistoun had received her stepson's orders to superintend the decoration and beautifying of this old home of his ancestors with a glad heart. There was only one stipulation made, which Mrs. Dennistoun tried in vain to overrule. The tradesmen employed were to be Rodham tradesmen. Everything 88 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. was to be ordered and procured through them, and there was to be no departure from this rule. But Mrs. Dennis- toun had confidence in her own taste, and managed to make the Rodham tradesmen subservient to her will. Undoubtedly the interior arrangements of Rockdeane were a grand success, and no one turned away from a visit there without acknowledging it And now, in the early summer succeeding Sir Philip's accession to the title, the new order of things was established, and Rosie flitted hither and thither about the old house in all the joyous- ness of her youth, and Mrs. Dennistoun stepped into her handsome carriage and drove into Rodham with the ease of a person to whom such a luxury had been habitual, and was not lately acquired. Jasper had his own pony, and everything which be- fitted his position. His name had been put down for Eton, and he was to take his place in a master's house there in September. Sir Philip, himself, had also fitted into the niche appointed him with wonderful facility. A true-hearted gentleman is never in any danger of elation from a change in his worldly position. If, instead of count - ing a few hundreds as his yearly income, he counts thousands, he bears it with the grace and refined dignity which would have characterized him had the reverse of the picture been his. He is the same in his manners to others when he sits on a stool in a dingy office in a threadbare coat, as he is in a lordly mansion, raised high in the social scale by what we call the accident of rank and fortune. Such a man is made of too fine a stuff to give himself airs in the one case, or to be meanspirited and cringing in the other. In Mrs. Dennistoun there was perceptible a little GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. 89 touch of elation which she could not always conceal. It was seen in little condescensions and patronizing manners to the townspeople of Rodham, and a little too much empressement towards the county families amongst whom she came to take her place with her son and daughter; but in Philip's presence she was very careful that there should be no display of these small weak- nesses, for her stepson's indignation was always moved by them, and he came down upon Jasper with a pitiless severity when he heard him indulging in big talk to any boys with whom he associated. It was a lovely afternoon in May when some visitors were assembled on the terrace at Rockdeane. A piece of ground had been turfed and prepared for croquet in the front of the house, and Jasper was setting up the hoops for Rosie, who had proposed a game with the juve- nile part of the said visitors, who had arrived without invitation, but had been warmly pressed by Mrs. Dennis- toun to stay to tea,. The party consisted of the Bishop's wife, and her niece, Lady Eugenia Le Marchant, and Mrs. Tillett, the banker's wife, her two daughters and her son, a boy about Jasper's age. Most of the county families were in London at this time of the year ; but the Tilletts did not aspire to the dignity of a house in Town, and the quiet and gentle Lady Catharine Weston preferred her own lovely home in the summer to the gaieties of the great Metropolis ; and as her niece had not been very strong, and the doctors had desired that she might be kept from all over- excitement, and late hours should be avoided, there was no necessity for her aunt to break through her habit this year, and give up the pleasure of her flowers in their full 90 HEIGHTS AXD VALLEYS. prime, and the delights of the country which she so thoroughly enjoyed. " I am so glad that we were at home," Mrs. Dennis- toun was saying. " Rosie and I had to get through some shopping this morning, and we felt disinclined to move this afternoon ; the Bishop is in London, I think." " Yes ; he wanted to be in the House to-night for the debate ; but he will be at home again by Sunday." " What a lovely girl your niece is," Mrs. Dennistoun said. " Yes, poor child ! she is very pretty," was the reply ; "but I wish I could see a little more of the spring and elasticity of youth about her. I always think the sorrows of her family, in the midst of which she was born, have left their traces upon her. My poor brother died from the effects of an accident just before Eugenia was born, and her only sister soon after. Her mother was broken- hearted if any woman ever was and she did not live long ; and then the child came to us. My husband kindly allowed me to receive her, and she is like our own." "I am sure she must be," said Mrs. Dennistoun; " and she is a sweet, attractive creature." "Yes, indeed," chimed in Mrs. Tillett ; "my girls are devoted to her. May and she have so much in common. Your daughter is pretty, Mrs. Dennistoun, and so bright and merry." The three elder ladies were pacing the terrace now, and at the corner, whence there was a view of the drive, Mrs. Dennistoun paused. "There are more visitors, for here is another car- riage." Mrs. Tillett, who was short-sighted, put her glass to her eye. GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. 91 "It is only a fly. Some of the Rodham people, I think, Mrs. Dennistoun. I suppose you are besieged with them." " Oh ! I am very happy to receive their visits, I am sure," was the answer. "It is meant civilly. Rosie!" her mother called, " do you know where Philip is ? Here are some more people arriving. Do go and see if he is in his study." " Yes, mamma," Rosie answered ; " but just wait till I have finished this turn." In another minute a servant appeared, one of the footmen, who now assisted old Forrest in his labours. " Mrs. Williamson and Miss Clifford are in the drawing- room, Ma'am," the man said, approaching his mistress. A shadow passed over Mrs. Dennistoun's face, but she went on with what she was saying at the moment to Lady Catharine. Within, the thought was passing "How tiresome and awkward. Of course, the Williamsons do not know Lady Catharine, most likely not Mrs. Tillett either." Then, aloud, she said, " You must excuse me for a few minutes. I must go into the drawing-room. Will you sit here, or " . But Mrs. Dennistoun had not time to finish her sentence, for from the window, which had been opened from the small drawing-room on to the terrace, four figures were seen advancing Sir Philip, with two ladies and a boy. Mrs. Williamson was a little disconcerted by the sight of Mrs. Tillett, but recovered herself; and, feeling she was under good escort, came on with a smile towards Mrs. Dennistoun. Mrs. Tillett became immediately engrossed in a discussion about a geranium which grew in one of the ornamental vases which now stood at regular intervals at the edge of the terrace, while Rosie came running up from the 92 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. croquet-ground to greet Irene, who was rather behind, with Randal. " You are just in time for our game," she said. " Philip, will you play too ? Then we shall have such much better sides." "My dear Rosie," her mother interposed, "Miss Clifford may not like to detain her carriage for a long game of croquet. How do you do, Miss Clifford ? " was supplemented ; and then, " What a fine little fellow ; is that your nephew ? " " Of course, mamma, it is Randal," Rosie again interposed. " Philip brought him up here to play with Jasper not long ago. I don't know where Jasper is now, but he is gone off with Frederick Tillett. Do come, Philip." " My dear Rosie ! " her mother interrupted, " you are so impetuous. One would think the fate of the world depended on this game of croquet. Will you not sit down, Miss Clifford ? " " Miss Clifford will play croquet, I hope," Philip said, turning from Lady Catharine and Mrs. Tillett, with whom he had been exchanging a few pleasant words. "We will leave Mrs. Williamson with you, and betake ourselves to the croquet. As to you, Randal, you must go and look after Jasper and the other boy. You will most likely find them in the region of the stable-yard. Jasper is sure to be exhibiting Zoe to his friend. Run round the house, to the left there, and you will see the stables. You went with me the last time you were here ; you know the way." The boy scampered off, and his mother, who had been invited by Lady Catharine to take a vacant chair by her, was well satisfied. She saw that Mrs. Dennistoun had been defeated, and she could endure Mrs. Tillett s scarcely GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. 93 well-bred scrutiny and silence while Lady Catharine was so friendly and pleasant. "Now, Miss Clifford," Sir Philip said, "we go down these steps to the croquet ground." But Irene paused. " Are you going to stay, Mary ? " " Oh, yes ! as Mrs. Dennistoun kindly proposes it. We have dismissed the fly, you know, and intend to walk home." " You need not do that," said Lady Catharine. " I shall be happy to take you into Rodham, if you will allow me to do so." "Thank you so very much," was Mrs. Williamson's pleased reply ; and Irene turned away with Sir Philip without another word. There was some consultation as to the sides at croquet, and on which Sir Philip should be enlisted. Mary and Helen Tillett both disclaimed any skill in the game, and Lady Eugenia said she could only act under direction, and hoped her side would not depend on her. " Miss Clifford, you have not expressed any opinion as to your powers. Are you a feeble or a ' strong hand ' ? " "I used to play very well, I believe," said Irene; " but I have not had much practice this year." " Neither have I," said Philip ; " but, like you, I am not at all disposed to take such a low view of my own powers ; so, without further discussion, I propose that you take one side and I the other, and let these young ladies choose between us." "Most decidedly not," said Rosie, laughing; "it is you and Irene who must choose us." It was curious to notice how, in the general clatter and confusion of tongues, Irene took her mallet, and 94 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. quietly said, "Miss Dennistoun and Miss Tillett, -will you play oil my side 1 " Thus Sir Philip was left with Lady Eugenia and the younger Miss Tillett, an arrangement which was evi- dently anything but agreeable to her sister. Helen was, however, so well contented, that the game began vigor- ously, and was carried through with much spirit, ending in one of those close contests which are always the charm of a game of croquet. Irene and Rosie were both good players, and their side came off conquerors, just as a servant came down the flight of steps from the terrace to announce that Mrs. Dennistoun wished to know whether Sir Philip would have tea brought down to the ground or whether he would come up to the terrace. "We will come up, I think." And, seeing that Lady Eugenia looked tired, he gave her his arm, and said, " I am afraid you ought to have had some refreshment before." " Oh, no," she answered, and looked up at him with a smile. Lady Eugenia was very fair, and her eyes were of the softest grey, fringed with dark lashes. Her figure was tall, and she stooped a little, which added to the general air of delicacy which seemed to cling to her. By Rosie's bright and radiant girlhood her beauty was somewhat faint, and she had a languid air about her which might either arise from indolence or ill-health. But she was attractive with an attraction of her own gentle and sensitive, but by no means wanting in in- tellectual power. She had read a great deal more than most girls of her age, and thought over what she had read. It was not the first time that she and Philip had met ; and it was not the first time that he had found her con- GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. 95 versation pleasant, when, after partaking of the frag- rant tea served on the prettiest of afternoon tea-sets, and supplemented with some beautiful grapes, he strolled with her into the newly-built greenhouse, which had been stocked with lovely geraniums, and which promised in time to be one of the most brilliant conservatories in the neighbourhood. " I cannot think how you have managed to get every- thing so pretty here in so short a time," Lady Eugenia was saying. " It is like coming to a castle in a fairy tale, transformed by a magician's wand." "I can take no credit for the arrangements," Sir Philip said ; " Mrs. Dennistoun has done everything for me ; and Rosie, I have no doubt, has had her word in the matter of ornament. Sometimes I am a little afraid that old Rockdeane has been too much brightened to suit its ancient character." "I suppose you will stand for the county if this vacancy occurs, which seems probable, if Mr. Senhurst resigns from ill-health ? " " I have not thought much about it," Philip answei'ed ; " I have had so much to do in winding up my old life and starting the new. There is a great deal to be done amongst the tenantry, and I want to build them a church, and restore Hildyard's Alms Chape 1 " " Just like the pattern hero in Miss Yonge's stories." The young voice had a tone in it which was not pleasant half satirical, and almost contemptuous, as she went on : "I would rather get a seat in Parliament, if I were you, than devote my energies to beautifying a musty chapel for old men and women, which does well enough as it is. I should do such great things if I were in your place : everything seems within your reach." Her en- 96 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. thusiasm had changed the expression of her face, and her manner was no longer languid and dreamy. " You would be ambitious," Philip responded. " You are ambitious, as it is." "I don't know," she said, relapsing into her usually quiet and gentle manner ; "I don't know that I am. I like that little person whom the Tillett faction are trying to snub so unsuccessfully. It is delicious to see how she defeats them at every turn. Irene Clifford is not that her name ? By-the-bye, do you remember when we passed you with her and a little boy in an antique vehicle last autumn ? " " Yes," said Philip, shortly ; "I remember it very well" He did remember it ; but a great gulf seemed to be set between that time and this. In the few months of transition between Rockdeane and the London home,! Philip had often been at the Williamsons'. Hilda and Cuthbert did not look upon him as a stranger, and gradually he and Irene had slipped into the easy familiar intercourse of friends. Then, since the establishment at Eockdeane had been formed, and Sir Philip was abso- lutely settled there as its master, a change had come. Just one of those imperceptible changes which we fail to trace to their source, which we cannot put into words, but which exist, nevertheless. As Sir Philip and Lady Eugenia wandered away on this particular afternoon, Irene's eyes followed them. Eosie had to divide her attentions to her with the Miss Tilletts, and every one knows that the management of such a position requires some tact. May and Helen Tillett talked about things and people of which they felt sure Irene knew nothing, and Rosie, GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. 97 who liked Irene as her brother had prophesied she would like her, felt the ill-bred manners of her guests, without knowing exactly how to counteract them. She only- hoped that the Tilletts would go before Mrs. William- son did, and thus let her have Irene to herself for a little while. At last the girls wandered back to the terrace again, and Lady Catharine looked at her watch. " We have a long drive home, and I think we ought to be starting. When will you come out to Bishop's Court, Mrs. Dennistoun ? " " I shall be delighted to come. I don't think we have any engagements this week," was the reply. " Will you come to-morrow, as the weather is so fine, and bring your son and daughter with you ? Ah ! here are Sir Philip and Genie at last. Come, my dear, we must order the carriage ; and we are to take you, Mrs. Williamson, and your little boy, and Miss Clifford." " Where are the boys ] " Rosie said. " I wonder they did not return to tea." " I told Forrest to take care of them," Mrs. Dennistoun said ; " they went to have a little cricket practice in the west park. Forrest was to let them have some lemonade and cake in the summer-house, if they liked it better than tea. Ah ! here is Randal." " Well, Randal, what is the matter 1 " Rosie exclaimed. Randal's cheeks were very red, and he came slowly onwards to the place where Irene stood. " Have you had your tea ? " " I have had nothing," said Randal shortly ; " and I don't want anything." " Hush, Randal," interposed his mother ; " don't speak in that way." H 98 HEIGHTS A3TD VALLEYS. " Not had any tea ! " exclaimed Mrs. Dennistoun ; " how could that be 1 " " They did not ask me," said Eandal again ; " I did not play with them either, and I did not want to." " Oh ! if you are a naughty boy," said his mother, " I cannot speak to you ; I am quite shocked." The announcement of Lady Catharine's carriage was quite a relief, and Eosie walked with Irene and Randal round the house to the entrance- door. " I am sorry I have seen so little of you this afternoon," Rosie was saying ; "do come and spend a day with me soon. To-morrow, I heard mamma say, she would go to Bishop's Court ; but on Saturday, will you come 1 A real long day I mean, not a fictitious one, beginning with afternoon tea ; although this afternoon has been long enough, if it did not begin till four o'clock," Rosie added ; " and I am sure it must have been dreadfully dull for you. Philip is so engrossed with Lady Eugenia ; and I have had to be engrossed, whether I liked it or not, with the Tilletts. You don't know them." " They don't know me," said Irene with a low mu- sical laugh. " Have you never heard that Mrs. Tillett professes to know no one in Rodham, except the Cathedral clergy, and her husband's aunt, old Mrs. Thornycroft." " What nonsense ; when bankers could not make their money without the town, and they are indebted to all the shopkeepers in the place for carrying their savings to them." " That does not matter ; the Tilletts have a country house, or a house out of Rodham, and so have the Robinsons and the Blacks, and that matters a great deal." GLIMPSES OP RODHAM SOCIETY. 99 " "Well, you will come on Saturday 1 " were Rosie's last words ; and then Irene took her seat opposite her sister, in the Bishop's carriage, while Randal sat between her and Lady Eugenia, with whom Sir Philip seemed to have a great many parting words to exchange. "Do you like Lady Eugenia better than you used to do, Philip?-" Rosie asked, as they rejoined the Tilletts. " Like her, yes ; I admire her too ! Moreover, she is rather easier to talk to than most young ladies." " So it seems," said Rosie playfully ; " well, I suppose there must be a Lady Dennistoun some day, and if a Christian name comes in euphoniously it may as well be Eugenia as any other." " Don't distract your little brain about that, Rosie ; leave the subject to older heads to settle. But how long are these eternal illetts going to stay ? " " Percy is gone to call the boys. Jasper and Frederick Jillett have been playing cricket in the west park." " I wish I had known that ; I would have gone to look them up." " I beg your pardon, Sir," said the old butler, approaching Sir Philip, as Rosie went in to the drawing- room ; " but I feel it is my duty to speak to you con- cerning the young gentlemen." " What young gentlemen, Forrest ] '' " Mr. Jasper, Sir, and Mr. Tillett. They have behaved scandalous, Sir, and unbecoming their position, to Master Williamson, this afternoon." " What do you mean 1 " asked Philip, again. " Well, Sir Philip, it ain't to be supposed that Percy or James would be over nice in their language ; but Percy came to me, and, says he, that young gentleman is having 100 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. a time of it down there, Mr. Forrest, Lawyer Williamson's son I mean, and as fine a boy of nine as you may see. They would not so much as speak to him, and when he tried to join the game, they called him names. I'd be ashamed to hear from the lowest of the low such bad words, Sir Philip. The poor little fellow held up as brave as a lion ; but when he took a glass of lemonade, Master Tillett pinched his arm not for fun you know but in a nasty sneering way, and when he turned to leave them, they shouted after him that he was a sneak, and had better go and tell his mammy." " Call Percy here," Sir Philip said, in a voice so stern that old Forrest felt he had roused the lion in his master. Percy substantiated what Forrest had said ; and the story was even worse. Then, as the two boys were seen coming across the park to give a tardy answer to the summons sent for them again and again, from the cricket field, Philip shouted, " Jasper." Jasper turned ; " Hallo ! what's the row 1 " Then his brother repeated the call, " Jasper." Jasper turned, and shrugged his shoulder at his companion, and came to a dead halt. "Will you come here, sir," Philip repeated, "and bring your friend with you." Both boys now came, seeing Philip was in earnest ; and though Jasper muttered, "Bother it," and Frederick Tillett whispered, " What does he want ] " they followed Philip across the wide hall to the study ; the same where old Sir Jasper had sat for so many years, where the huge old black cabinet containing his papers and letters still stood, and where Philip had thought over the probable details of that lonely life on the first night of his arrival in Rockdeaue. GLIMPSES OP RODHAM SOCIETY. 101 "Jasper," Sir Philip said, facing the boys when he entered the room, " shut the door. I have heard from Forrest and another of my servants that you have thought fit to disgrace me this afternoon by the way you have treated a boy who was a guest of mine, and to whom you owed courtesy " " Little sneak ! " Jasper managed to put in ; "he de- serves to be thrashed." " I beg your pardon," said Sir Philip ; " I think your deserts, and your friend's also, rather lie in that direction. The manly little fellow made no complaint ; but I hear that your conduct was so disgraceful, and the language you used so detestable, that even one of the servants re- monstrated with you. I brought you here before your friend to say this, that he also might know how hard I find it to overlook an offence like this. With Mr. Fre- derick Tillett I have no concern, except to beg that, if he honours me with his presence here again, he will be- have as a gentleman should. "With you, Jasper, I am concerned, and intimately concerned, too. You bear my name, and I do not intend you to disgrace it if I can help it. You must go to your own room for the rest of to-day, and to-morrow you will, if you please, walk down into Rodham, and apologise to Randal Williamson for your conduct. If your friend has any feeling of a gentleman about him, he will do the same." "Little snob ! I am sure I shan't," said Frederick Tillett ; " who cares about the Williamsons ? My father and mother don't visit them." " I am not asking you to enlighten me as to your father and mother's visiting list, sir, nor do I wish to continue this conversation with you. Jasper, will you obey me at once, and go to your room 1 " 102 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Jasper was pale with anger ; but, from long expe- rience, he knew Philip meant what he said. He turned sullenly away, and Sir Philip strode out of the room. " My dear boy, how long you have kept us waiting ! " was Mrs. Tillett's greeting to her son. " Mrs. Dennistoun must be quite tired of us." "And where is Jasper? What have you done with Jasper?" Mrs. Dennistoun asked, anxiously. " He has had a row with Sir Philip, I believe," was the answer. " I am going to drive you home, mamma." " No, my dear boy, certainly not," was the maternal reply ; b\it it only fell upon the wind. Master Frederick mounted the box, and left the inside of the carriage to his mother and sisters, while he snatched the reins from the coachman, and drove off at a swift pace. "What was all the fuss about, with Sir Philip and Jasper Dennistoun 1 " asked Mrs. Tillett, when she had resigned herself to her son's self-willed determination. " I hope you had nothing to do with it." " Oh, no ; only some shindy about that little snob, young Williamson." "Oh, was that all? But the Dennistouns make a great deal of them ; they are new yet in the neighbour- hood, and will find out that it does not do to ask people to meet who do not visit each other. It is excessively awkward." " Mrs. Dennistoun did not ask us to meet the Wil- liamsons nor Lady Catharine either, mamma," said May Tillett ; " she could not help our all fixing on the same afternoon to go out to Rockdeane." " No," said Helen ; " and really, mamma, Lady Ca- tharine seems very fond of the Williamsons, too." " Oh, you know, officially the Bishop is obliged to GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. 103 know Mr. Williamson ; he transacts some of the law business of the diocese, as Mr. Balfour did before him." "I have heard," said Helen Tillett again, "that little Miss Clifford had hopes at one time of being Lady Den- nistoun ; so Margaret Thorny croft said." " These hopes were sufficiently crushed to-day, I should think," said her sister. "Not that I believe Sir Philip really means anything by his attentions to Lady Eugenia." Mrs. Tillett, who was lying back in her carriage, and smiling with the air of conscious superiority as it rolled past the foot-passengers in the High-street on its way to her country residence, said emphatically, " 'No, I do not think he does. Sir Philip is not a man to marry at all ; he is no longer young ; considerably over thirty, I should think; but the Peerage will soon enlighten us about his age. Freddie, my dear boy, do give the reins into Thomas's hands ; we shall very likely meet your father when we turn into the Rose Mount road." And, moved to obedience by the thought of what his father might say or do, if he saw him driving that pair of handsome spirited bays, Master Frederick Tillett con- sented to let Thomas resume their management, as the pointed gables of the country-house of which Mrs. Tillett was so proud came in sight. The Bishop's carriage stopped before the Williamsons' house in Eccleston Square about seven o'clock. Mrs. Williamson was in good spirits, and tripped lightly upstairs to the drawing-room, saying, " We have had such a delightful afternoon at Rock- deane. Well, dear Cuthbert, how are you ; and where is Hilda 1" " Hilda is gone out with father. It was such a fine evening, nurse said she might. We had our tea at six 104 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. o'clock. Papa thought you would not be home until late. But did you walk all the way, Auntie, are you tired ?" Irene had seated herself by Cuthbert's couch, and laid her head against his pillow. She had taken off her hat ; and a certain weariness about her struck the child. He was ever quick to discern a'shadow of a cloud in Irene. " Did you walk all the way home, Auntie 1 " " No, dear ; Lady Catharine Weston brought us in her carriage." " Oh ! what fun for Eandal. Where is he 1 Did he drive on the box ? " " Certainly not," said his mother ; " that was not at all likely. But it has really been a great treat for us all ; and I can't imagine what has made you so dull and silent, Irene." "I have not been at all dull," said Irene. "The country on a day like this is quite enough pleasure in itself to me." " Well, you have been very silent then. If you were annoyed at Sir Philip devoting himself to Lady Eugenia, you know it is your own fault ; I warned you again and again that he would get tired of your cold manner." Irene's usually serene, untroubled eyes, flashed as she looked up at her sister. " Mary, I cannot think what you mean, and I beg you will not speak to me like that again ; nor can I under- stand why " She stopped. Her tone was an angry one ; and Irene acknowledged to herself that by showing the irritation she was injuring her own cause. "You do understand me perfectly," her sister con- tinued ; "you know what I mean ; and I repeat, I think you have been very provoking, and very foolish too." GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. 105 Cuthberfc's large eyes so like his aunt's were raised pleadingly to his mother, but Irene's were cast down now ; and when as her sister left the room she looked at Cuthbert, they were dim with tears. " I am getting so silly, Cuthbert," she said ; " and worse, naughty, too." "No, never that," said the child, eagerly. "But, Auntie, I don't think you are well. You ought to have my port wine, and jellies, and things, and get up your strength, as Dr. Simpson says." Irene kissed the little thin caressing hand she held in hers, and said, " Shall you and I go to Orchard Leigh together this summer 1 I want to go and see all the dear old places again and grandmamma's grave. If your papa and mamma go to Switzerland, I think it would be so nice if you and I, and nurse and Randal, and Hilda could go to Devonshire." " Oh, beautiful ! Jollier than anything ; only I am so lame, and I should be such a trouble to get about at the station ; and it is a long, long way." " Well, it is only a dream of mine," said Irene ; " we must ask Papa, and we must see if we can afford it. Here they come." And Mr. Williamson appeared at the door with Hilda, who was full of delight at the honour of a walk alone with her father, and who looked like a little fairy in her pretty white hat with its wreath of daisies, and her short white frock with its blue sash. " Well ; you came back in grand style from Rockdeane, I hear," was Mr. Williamson's exclamation. " But Randal seems in low spirits. I found him munching bread and butter in the dining-room, and I can't get a word out of him." 106 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " He missed his tea, somehow," Irene said. " Some- thing went wrong with him and Jasper I think ; and that very objectionable boy, Frederick Tillett, was there." " Those poor Tilletts," said Mr. Williamson, laughing ; " they get no mercy in this house ! How was it Randal was starved in that land of plenty, at Rockdeane ? " "I think I will go and look after him," said Irene, "if you will stay here ; and I can take Hilda to nurse." Hilda resisted ; but a second " Come, Hilda," from Irene, made her obedient at once. When Irene got to the nursery, she found Randal there. He was leaning over the bars of the window, and kicking his " knickerbockered legs " against the window seat. " Randal, why did you get no tea at Rockdeane ? " " There was lemonade, and wine, and cake, and what do you call it claret cup, which Jasper ordered, not tea at all !" " Well, you might have had some, of whatever it was ; and yet you say you are hungry." " So I am," said Randal, shortly. " I'll never go to Rockdeane again, I know. I hate that Jasper. Oh, I wish I was as old as I am big, and wouldn't I pitch into him ! " " Why, Randal, what can he have said ? " " Horrid boy ! But I am not a sneak and a snob, as he says I arn ; and I shan't tell tales, Auntie " and the handsome, honest face turned full on Irene. " I beliere Jasper Dennistoun and that other boy are as bad as they can be ; and Sir Philip never cares." " I am sure he would care, if he knew anything was wrong." " He does know ; for Percy and James, the footmen, said GLIMPSES OP RODHAM SOCIETY. 107 they would tell him, for the words were so there, I shall be telling you all if I go on, so I will shut up ; only, Auntie, I am sure Sir Philip is not so nice as he xised to be. Don't you remember how often he came here before they all lived at Eockdeane ; and how we went walks with him ; and how he let me ride his horse one day ; and that afternoon an age ago when he saved me from falling into the river. He is not one bit like the same man." Irene did not answer at once. Something in her heart choed the boy's words, " He is not one bit the same." Perhaps she was not the same, either. The foolish, not to say sinful, bantering of silly tongues had done its work. Her sister had repeated to her the gossip which reached her and pleased her, that Irene was Sir Philip's attraction in Mr. Williamson's house ; that it was said in Rodham that he paid her great attention, and that, if she chose, she might soon be Lady Dennis- toun. Then Mary's delight was so unbounded at the bare idea, that she was more than ever anxious to pay Sir Philip court; and she kept a sharp look-out upon Irene, that she should dress becomingly, and always be free from any of her engagements with the poor when Sir Philip was likely to come. At first, after a long season of barrenness in her life after many months passed without an exchange of thought and feeling with those with whom she lived, Irene had given herself up to enjoy, in her single-hearted, earnest way, Sir Philip's friendship. All his stories of Alpine feats and Alpine life in his many autumn wanderings, were eagerly listened to. All his rough but bold sketches in numerous little oblong books were 108 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. entered into and appreciated. Humorous portraits of fellow- travellers in all kinds of odd positions, interiors of chalets, decks of steamboats, were all represented in a bold, masterly manner ; and many a pleasant hour had thus passed, which had lightened little Cuthbert's burden of pain and helplessness as he turned over page after page of these little sketch-books, which showed that Philip's vein of the ludicrous was at least as strong as his appreciation of the grand and th.3 beautiful. But this pleasant condition of things could not last. One afternoon, after many hints and foolish jests had made Irene sufficiently uncomfortable, she was watching Cuth- bert's enjoyment of one of Sir Philip's sketch-books, as she sat by him at work, when the door opened, and Margaret Thornycroft and her sister were announced. Irene rose to greet them, and, as she did so, another of the sketch-books fell from her lap. It was one which instinctively she felt Margaret must not see ; for there were several clever little groups, which were too decided portraits to be mistaken, and under which had been written, " Hen and Chickens," in Philip's peculiar hand- writing, which leaned from right to left, and when once seen could not be forgotten. The book opened as it fell ; and a bold mountain scene, touched with colour, lay uppermost. " Oh ! what is that ? How lovely. I am sure it is Zermatt. Do let me look. Is that your sketch ? " "No," said Irene, finding it in vain to attempt to parry the question ; and she held the book for Margaret to see. "That is Sir Philip Dennistoun's writing, I am certain," exclaimed her sister, trying to turn over another leaf. GLIMPSES OF RODHAM SOCIETY. 109 " Of course it is," Margaret said; "let me look through the book, please." But Irene closed it, and tied the strings which fastened it. "I dare say Sir Philip will show you some of his sketches himself one day ; he has a great many larger and more finished ones than these. These are what he calls his scribbles, and I think I had better not exhibit them." The two Miss Thornycrofts looked at each other. " Oh, really, how very intimate you must be ; but I shall meet Sir Philip to-night at a dinner party at my cousin's, Edward Tillett's, and I shall ask him to favour me with a sight of his sketch-books. I shall tell him you seem to think you have an especial right to the book perhaps you have 1 " "Sir Philip kindly lent them to us for Cuthbert's amusement, and " " Oh," said Margaret, with a disagreeable laugh, " I did not know a child would care for sketches of mountains and glaciers." " There are a great many other things besides moun- tains there are pictures of people," Cuthbert began, " and funny verses, and " A serious look from his aunt stopped Cuthbert from saying any more ; and for that time the danger was over, and the conversation took another turn. But from that afternoon Irene's unconstrained inter- course with Sir Philip ceased. Was it not possible that these silly rumours had reached Sir Philip's ear also 1 Nay ; might it not be also possible that he thought, with the rest of the Rodham world, that she had entered into her sister's schemes, and that she 110 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. was not unwilling to let it be as that foolish world de- creed ? If ever her spirit was ruffled, and her indignation roused, it was now. Burning colour came into her face at the very thought ; and it was only after a strong battle with herself that she determined to do her best to stop such gossip for the future, and to let Sir Philip see that she, at least, was not concerned in it. But, like countless other women, Irene had by this very effort learned more of her own heart than she had known before. Like many another woman, she found that she was turning her face away from a dream of sweetness and pleasantness to a very stern and hard reality. But Irene's soul was strong to suffer and to endure ; and, when once her mind was made up, there was no drawing back. Sir Philip saw the change, but was very far from reading its cause. What he had thought of her in the old chapel of the Hildyards, when the September sunshine made a glory round her head, as it brightened the tablet erected by Dame Editha Dennistoun to the memory of her husband, so he would ever feel ; she was something unlike and apart from the Tilletts, and the Thornycrofts, and the Le Marchants of the world ; a woman who bore about with her the atmosphere of a higher and a nobler life, whose aims and hopes were not centred on the gaieties and follies of the little circle in which she moved ; whose soul rose above the petty jealousies and envies and rivalries of others of her sex and age. Sir Philip felt that, with all his aspirations after greatness and nobility, with all his high standard of right to which he reached forward, he had not so firmly grasped what Irene held fast the Faith which endures, as seeing Him who is invisible, and that in His Light she saw light, and in His Strength she was strong. GLIMPSES OP RODHAM SOCIETY. Ill By an insensible influence, lie had felt drawn by her towards the same goal. Kindred sympathies and kindred tastes seemed to bring him nearer to Irene every time he saw her, and then a change came the change I have described, and Sir Philip drifted away, as a man will sometimes drift, turning regretful glances backwards perhaps, but fancying that the brook of separation grew wider every day ; he ceased, or imagined he ceased, even to wish to bridge it over, and turned his thoughts to another point of interest on the opposite bank of the CHAPTER VI. IN THE CHAPEL. " They bring thee feelings towards the once beloved, Unmixed with aught that earth had shed to taint them, And charms pourtrayed more bright than here they proved, E'en when love's self might paint them." The Gifts of the Dead.LoKD KINLOCK. JASPER DENKISTOUN knew it was useless to contest the point of submission with his brother ; and the next morning found him pulling up his pony at the door of Mr. Williamson's house, in Eccleston Square, and Sir Philip, who was mounted on a small black horse, took the rein from his hand, saying " I will hold the pony ; you had better go in alone." Jasper hesitated. It was humiliating to have to confess he was afraid to face a little boy of nine years old he, the heir of Rockdeane he, the Eton fellow in prospective, who was in all ways so superior to the son of his brother's man of business. Jasper still lingered, his hand on the bell ; when, fortunately for him, the door opened, and Randal and Irene came out together. Jasper, who had been drawing a picture in his own mind of the horror of being ushered into a room with the whole family assembled, to make his apology before IN THE CHAPEL. 113 many witnesses, hailed this sudden appearance of Randal's as a relief. He blurted out forthwith, in a very undignified way, the prescribed formula of, " I came to apologize to you for what happened yesterday ; and I hope you will forget what was said, and shake hands with me." " All right," said Randal ; a rosy flush coining to his handsome face, contrasting it more than ever with Jasper's pale and colourless cheeks. "It is all over now ; and I am sure I will shake hands with you ; " and Randal's strong muscular fingers gave Jasper's limp delicate ones a hearty shake. Meanwhile, Sir Philip had dismounted ; and Mrs. Williamson was attracted to the door to see what was going on. " I have a note for you from my sister," Philip said, addressing Irene; "she wants to make a little alteration in the plan she proposed yesterday, I believe. Now, while you write an answer, I will take Randal a ride ; and return for Jasper. Would you like it, my boy, and will you trust him to me, Mrs. Williamson ? " " Oh ! yes ; with you I am sure he will be safe. Only a very quiet ride, please, Sir Philip ; just round the Castle Green, or up the Rose Mount road ; not through the streets." " I will take care of him. Now then, Randal ; lend him your whip, Jasper." Jasper complied ; and added, " You must shorten the stirrups, Philip ; he is not so tall as I am." " There is not much difference," said Philip ; "neither you nor I are such giants as Randal seems likely to be." I 114 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. "Take care, Randal," his mother called out, as the child looked at her for admiration ; " be very steady." "Yes, Mamma; good-bye, Auntie." Irene smiled, and kissed her hand, as Sir Philip rode slowly away with the boy. " Let me see the note, Irene," her sister said ; " what is the plan Miss Dennistoun proposes ? " And Mrs. Williamson looked over Irene's shoulder at the open note. " Yes ! of course, she can come to luncheon on Sunday, and, of course, you will go to Rockdeane ; it will be so nice for you. You must go, Irene." " I don't know," Irene said, doubtfully. " What nonsense, Irene ; come in and write directly, and say, we shall be delighted to see Miss Dennistoun, and that you will go. You are the oddest girl." " You seem very anxious to get rid of me for a week," Irene said. " Won't you come in ? " she added, turning to Jasper ; but Jasper said to himself, " That would be very slow ; " and, resuming his grandest air now Sir Philip was gone, he said " he would go to a shop in Castle Street, where he wanted something, and return in a few minutes." Irene turned into the dining-room, with her note, for a moment, and then ran upstairs. It was her habit to tell Cuthbert everything ; and she had Rosie's note in her hand. " What is all the talking about downstairs ? Did I not hear Sir Philip Dennistoun 's voice ? " " Yes. dear ; he brought Jasper to apologize for some- thing which happened at Rockdeane yesterday ; and now Sir Philip has taken Randal a ride on Jasper's pony." IN THE CHAPEL. 115 " He never comes up to see me now," said Cuthbert, fretfully. " He might have come to-day." "He could not, darling. There were the horses to take care of, as he had no groom with them. But, look here, Cuthbert ; I told you I was to go on Saturday, and spend the day with Miss Dennistoun. Now she wants me to go after service on Sunday, and stay for a week ; but I don't think I want to go ; it will be so long to leave you ; and " "Oh ! never mind me, Auntie," the child said, with a great effort ; " it will do you lots of good. Didn't I tell you, yesterday, you wanted things to make you strong ; and you love the country, and you can be nice and quiet there, and have time to write your new story, and have ever so much to read to me when you come back." " Well ; I will go for a few days. As to my story, Cuthbert, it is nearly finished ; and if I get the money I expect for it, you and I can go to Orchard Leigh in August, and have the quiet little house there I have set my mind upon." " Oh, that will be splendid ! But make haste and write the note, Auntie." Irene went to the table, and wrote her answer only a few lines in her clear, decided hand. Her sister, who was getting anxious about the delay, came into the room just as the note was finished. " That is a very cold acceptance, Irene, of such a kind invitation ; and say more about our being glad to see Miss Dennistoun ; and I think, also, you might end with something a little stronger than ' Yours sincerely.' ' Irene laughed. She did not of ten laugh; but when she did, it was always a sound that every one wanted to hear again. " Oh ! Mary ; as if anything could be stronger. If we i 2 116 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. are sincerely what we profess to be to people, what can be better ] I never indulge in 'verys' and 'mosts,' and / I abhor strokes of the pen to emphasize an adjective." "I think, Irene, "said Mrs. Williamson, really annoyed now, " that, if you do not take care, you will become very eccentric, and like an old maid. I contend that Rosie Dennistoun's is a very nice and kind note, and your reply is very ungracious." " I cannot agree with you about the reply, though I do entirely agree with you about the invitation. But I hear the horses' feet, and I must address my envelope. Please take it down to Sir Philip, Mary." "Don't you intend to take it yourself? You had much better." " I am not afraid to trust it to you, if you don't mind the trouble." " Auntie," Cuthbert said, as his mother hastened from the drawing-room ; " would you mind helping me to the window to look at Randal 1 " " Won't it be too much for you ? " " No ; please let me," said the boy, eagerly, trying to get his crutch from behind the couch; "do let me." Irene hastened to comply ; and, with her arm sup- porting one side, and his crutch on the other, Cuthbert reached the centre of the three drawing-room windows. It was open ; and he said, " Let me go on the balcony, Auntie ; I can't see." The large window easily allowed both to pass out, and Cuthbert had his desire. Randal had not yet dismounted ; and sat with pride upon the graceful pony, stroking the arched neck, and telling his mother he had had the j oiliest ride. "He has a famous seat, too," Sir Philip said; "we IN THE CHAPEL. 117 must repeat the ride soon, old fellow. And here comes Jasper, lounging up the Square ; pray where have you been 1 " " Oh ! looking about in Castle Street for a light billiard cue. Rosie wants one." " I told her I would see to that. Now, then, we must go on ; as I have to ride round by the Moor, and we shall not have' too much time." In another minute Randal had jumped off Zoe, and Jasper took his place. Sir Philip put Irene's note into his pocket ; and, lifting his hat, bid Mrs. Williamson good-bye. Leaning over the balcony, Irene and Cuthbert watched the two brothers, unseen, as they believed ; but, from one of those curious and sudden impulses which we all of us have felt attract us to look at those, who unobserved are looking at us, Sir Philip glanced up at the house as he rode away. Something inexpressibly pathetic there was in the expression of the lame boy's face a wistful craving for the energy and activity which he might never know. Something, too, touching and beautiful in the tender support which Irene gave him her arm around him, his head on a level with her shoulder, against which she pressed her cheek. The likeness between the two faces, which Sir Philip had noticed on the first day he had seen Irene and Cuthbert together, struck him now more forcibly than ever it had done before. He bowed, and smiled ; but there was no smile on either of those watching faces. In the eyes of both there was a strange wistful yearning, which Sir Philip could not forget. He looked back as his horse turned out of the Square, and the two figures still remained immovable. He knew not why, but they seemed to be photographed on his mind ; and he and Jasper rode silently towards Rockdeane. 118 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. A hot tear dropping on the hand "which was round Cuthbert, made Irene start from her reverie. " Come in now, dear." - " Oh, Auntie ! Never, never, never to ride like Randal ! Never to be strong, and like a boy ! Auntie," he added, passionately, " do you know what it is to say never about anything ? " "Yes, Cuthbert, I think I do," she said, in a low tone, as she helped him to his couch, laid him tenderly down, and took her place by him. "But, Cuthbert, never can only make our hearts ache about this world ; there is no sadness in ' never ' when we think of the other world. It is a joyful sound there never to sin, never to suffer, never to feel anything but love." " Ah, yes," the child sighed ; " but now is so real and true, and then seems so dreamlike and far off." " I know it, my darling, I know it ; but the then and the now are only parts of God's great whole all one thing. This life is the same life we shall lead in Heaven ; only there we shall be free from sin and these mortal bodies, NEVER to be bound again." Poor little Cuthbert he is not the only one who has found it hard to lose the pressure and the sadness of now in the freedom and the joy of then ; for our flesh is weak, and will assert itself. The land that is very far off looks faint and dim ; we cannot hear the voice of the King, nor discern His beauty. Only through paths of much suffering and much weariness, ever and anon the shadows here do present themselves as shadows, and the sub- stance stands revealed, as the faithful eye catches a glimpse of the battlements of the City which hath foun- dations, and knows that there, all sorrow and sighing shall fiee away for ever. IN THE CHAPEL. 119 Rosie Dennistoun came on Sunday; and, after luncheon, asked Irene if she might go with her to the Almshouse Chapel instead of the Cathedral. " I should be delighted to go to the Cathedral with you, Miss Dennistoun, and I often take the children there in the afternoon," Mrs. Williamson said : "but " "I thought you would stay and read to Cuthbert, Mary," Irene interposed ; " I think he expects it." " Oh ! Please do not put out any arrangements for me," Rosie said. " If I may take Randal and Hilda with me to the Almshouse Chapel, I should like it very much. It is the Sunday for afternoon service there, is it not ? " " Yes," Irene answered ; " but I am not going to the service. I have several old people to see who cannot get out ; and Mrs. Bolton sent me a message this morning that she wanted to speak to me." " Pray, Irene, do not let that fretful old lady engross you too much. Let her wait till to-morrow. Mrs. Bolton is a veritable Mrs. Gummidge, Miss Dennistoun, and Irene acts the part of the patient Pegotty." Rosie laughed, but Irene only said : " The children will be very good, I know, if you will take them. It is time we went to dress." Mrs. Williamson gave the word of command at last ; and Randal and Hilda rushed upstairs to get ready. Mr. Williamson was not at home ; and his wife and Rosie were left at the luncheon-table together. This time every necessary preparation had been made for the Sunday guest, and no table could be more tastefully appointed than Mrs. Williamson's. " Irene is so odd," her sister said, when Irene had lefb the room. " She has the calmest way of ignoring what I 120 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. say. There is not the least necessity for her to go to those old women this afternoon. I really feel scrupulous at the idea of your being troubled with Bandal and Hilda." " Oh, I shall like to have them ; they ai*e such nice, bright, little things. Hilda is a perfect beauty." "I am a good deal tied with my poor lame boy," Mrs. Williamson continued ; her eyes sparkling with pleasure at the compliment to her children ; " and, as nurse will be out this afternoon, I believe he would be melancholy if I left him." " Oh ! I would not have you leave him for the world on my account. He is a very sweet-looking child. Is he older than Eandal ? " "Oh, yes; Randal is scarcely ten, and poor dear Cuthbert is nearly thirteen. He is our eldest child." By this time Irene and the children returned; and Rosie, saying to Irene, " I hope my bonnet is straight ; I felt too idle to go and inspect myself in the glass, and must trust to you," turned to bid Mrs. Williamson good-bye. " But you will come back to tea, I hope 1 " " I think not ; thanks. Mamma said she would call for me after the Cathedral service; and, as it is Sunday, we dine earlier, and must get home in good time. I suppose you have made your little preparations, Miss Clifford 1" " Oh, yes ; they are not very extensive ; and now, please, we must start, or you will be late for the service." Irene left Randal and Hilda to escort Rosie to the seat they usually occupied in the Chapel, and went her usual rounds amongst the poor people. Mattie Gillett's cottage had new tenants a hale, old IN THE CHAPEL. 121 man and his wife, who were toddling off to the Chapel as Irene passed the door. Old Joe had removed into a smaller house, and was now engaged in pulling the rope in the little vestibule, which set a rusty cracked bell in motion at irregular intervals in spasmodic jerks. Irene found several sick and infirm, to whom she read parts of the service, and then she went to the Warden's house. There her welcome was always a loving one ; but to-day, as the gentle old lady stretched out her arms to her, she burst into teal's. " My dear, my dear child," she faltered ; "I had such a trying package from New Zealand yesterday. It is about that I want to tell you. All my poor boy's letters and papers, and some of his clothes there is not much beside j but oh ! Irene, it has been so like the opening of the wound afresh, to see some of the relics of happier days. His partner seems a kind, well disposed man ; though, as you know, he suffered much from my poor John's fault. He it was who sent us the first tidings and particulars of his death, and it is in answer to my letter that he has sent off this package. After the expenses of the funeral were paid there was no money left, but I am so thankful to have these things. Get that desk, Irene, please it is one I gave him ; here is the key, and I should like to show you something in it." Irene expected to see another photograph of Mrs. Bol- ton's son ; and almost dreaded to be obliged again to look at that disagreeable and repulsive face. But when she had put the desk on the small table by Mrs. Bolton's side, and she began to turn over all the papers with her 122 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. thin trembling fingers ; it was a small pocket-book that she opened. " Look , dear; this is a sort of irregular diary my poor boy kept during the last year of his life, the year during which we had no tidings of him. You know his father would not answer his last application for money ; and he was angry, and wrote to me no more." A convulsive sob seemed to thrill through the frame of the mother, who mourned for her only child as mothers will mourn not in proportion to their attractions in the eyes of others ; no, nor even in proportion to their good- ness, and dutiful behaviour towards themselves, but simply with the mourning of Rachel of old, whose chil- dren were not, and whose soul refused comfort. " I did not show James this diary," Mrs. Bolton con- tinued ; " what he says may mean nothing, but I think it is a little curious." Mrs. Bolton pointed with her finger to a page of the pocket-book, and said, " Read it, dear." " Recovered to-day fifty pounds of the debt from Mrs. Cleveland, of New Cross farm. I made over some land to her son before his death, and he never paid me. The boy, her grandson, seems to be made of better stuff ; and now that he is old enough to judge for himself, has insisted on having some of his father's debts paid. N.B. There is a rumour in Canterbury, that old Mrs. Cleveland is in reality the wife of an English gentleman, and that she came out here with her son nearly five-and- forty years ago. It is certain she had a handsome allowance paid regularly to her from some source in England." Then came another entry, a few days later : Itf THE CHAPEL. 123 " The boy, who calls himself Jasper Cleveland, has been here with another remittance. He is a puny scrap of a fellow, and lives in the greatest retirement with his old grandmother. I have only seen her once. She looks as if she had a temper ; fierce black eyes, that glare at one unpleasantly ; but there is something rather superior about the old girl." Irene paused ; wondering much why Mrs. Bolton wished her to read this, and what there was in it which could possibly affect her. " There is some more on the other side of the page ; turn over, Irene." Irene did so, and she read " This last detestable speculation will ruin me, if I don't get some help soon. I have been out to old Mrs. Cleveland, to try and suck a little out of her. I would not face her again; but she let out that her grandson would be somebody grand one day, and said I should be glad to humble myself to him. A queer idea has got into my head, that this boy has something to do with old Sir Jasper Dennistoun, of Rockdeane, for I saw him sign his name, 'Jasper D. Cleveland.' I'll ask my mother if she has any clue to it, next time I write." Irene stopped, but Mrs. Bolton scarcely noticed it ; after all, the mystery about Jasper Cleveland was second in interest to those last words, " next time I write." " He never wrote again," she murmured. " His father refused the money, and he never wrote again." Irene did not speak for some time ; then she quietly closed the book, and replaced it in the desk. " I think if I were yo u, Mrs. Bolton, I should not say anything about this," she said. " After all, it is 124 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. mere conjecture; the letter D may stand for another name, and Jasper is not such a very uncommon one. If there is I mean, if this young man has anything to do with Sir Jasper Dennistoun, one day it will be known." " Then you think you would not mention this to Sir Philip?" " Oh, no, no," Irene said eagerly " nor to Mr. Bolton." For she knew the little Warden was a sieve ; and that the possibility of this boy in Canterbury, New Zealand, having some connexion with the Dennistouns, of Rock- deane, would soon be discussed in Rodham, if he were let into the secret. " Very well, my dear; it is perhaps better to be silent. I felt as if it would be a relief to tell some one ; and, besides, I tell you everything, my kind, dear little sympa- thiser. Then I thought, as you had known more of the Dennistouns than most people here and Mr. William- son is the family lawyer it woiild interest you par- ticularly. But I daresay there is nothing in it, and it is better to be silent." While Mrs. Bolton was speaking, Irene was replacing the desk in the corner from which she had taken it ; and it took her some time to arrange the books and papers which had been piled upon it. When, at length, she returned to her seat by Mrs. Bolton's sofa, her face was very grave, almost sad. The old lady laid her hand caressingly in Irene's, and said " Read to me now, my dear ; and sing some hymns afterwards." Very soon Irene's sweet voice was reading the Lessons and the Psalms, and then the Collects for the Evening Service. IN THE CHAPEL. 125 Mrs. Bolton was always strengthened and refreshed by this little ministry of love, in which Irene never failed week by week ; and she had just finished, when the Warden's voice was heard, and he soon bustled into the room, followed by Eosie Dennistoun and the children. " Here, my dear," he said ; " I have brought you a visitor, Miss Dennistoun. She has been to pur little service in the chapel, and is very much pleased with it. Can you not order some tea, my dear ? " " Thank you very much," said Eosie ; " but we cannot stay very long, for we expect my mother to call for us in Eccleston Square on her way from church. I am going to carry off Irene to Eockdeane for a week." " A week ! " Mrs. Bolton exclaimed. " Then, shall I not see you next Sunday ? " " Oh, yes," Irene said ; "and before then. I shall be home again on Wednesday." "Indeed, you will not," said Eosie. "When I get you at Eockdeane, I shall keep you ." "Well, I have no doubt it will do her good," said Mrs. Bolton ; " only there are a great many old folks who scarcely know how to get on without her in Eodham." " But they must learn to do so, my dear," said the little Warden, who had gone to the cheffoniere and taken out a tin of biscuits, which he offered to Eandal and Hilda ; "they must learn. Now, little people, help yourselves. Well, if you are in haste, I will walk with you young ladies as far as Eccleston Square. I like a breath of air and a little exercise after service ; and I have promised to read prayers for my friend Jackson, this evening." 126 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. After a little more talk with Mrs. Bolton, Rosie said good-bye, and the whole party left the room together. Mrs. Bolton lay down on her pillow exhausted, for any unwonted stir and bustle was too much for her. She closed her eyes ; and her thoughts went back into the past. Her son's letters and papers seemed to have opened many memories which had apparently been shut for ever. She went over the days when her husband was first Warden of the Almshouses and Vicar of St. Magdalene, and of their coming to Rodham, when her boy was young, and went to and fro to the Grammar School every day, with his book-satchel over his shoulder, and his face bright and unclouded by sin. Over the many changes of these six and twenty years her thoughts travelled, and the number of old pensioners whom she had seen pass away, and carried out under the archway to their last resting-place in St. Magdalene's Churchyard. The oldest had been the last. Mattie Gillett had died in September, and, through the long winter which had succeeded, no one else had followed her. Several now lay feebly breathing out their lives, and would never " get up May Hill," the Nurse of the Almshouses said; but Matties had been the last funeral, a few days after Sir Jasper Dennistoun's. With thoughts of old Mattie Gillett came a curious feeling, that the name which her son had mentioned in his Diary was connected with her ; that she had seen it somewhere, or heard of it, as in some way associated with her how, she could not recal. That some story, vague and indistinct, floated amongst the old people about Joe Gillett's wife she knew ; but, imprisoned to her couch for IN THE CHAPEL. 127 so many years, she had seen very little of them, and had not, in her more active days, been in the habit of visiting the various cottages often. Till she had known Irene, Mrs. Bolton had led that self-contained life which is too common with invalids, and her sympathies and interests had centred very much in, her own anxieties and troubles. Now, if she had had the bodily power, she would have used it for others, she thought ; and, as it was, the old people amongst whom she lived became more individual to her, and many little comforts, which before had not been thought of, were now dispensed from the Warden's house by Irene's hand. Sunday evening passed quickly at Rockdeane, and Rosie resigned herself to a dreamy repose with a book in a comfortable chair. Jasper went out into the grounds ; and Irene, seated in one of the deep mullioned windows, looked out upon the view before her. Sir Philip had opened a pretty peep of the Cathedral between the trees, and both it and the old Castle could now be seen from the front of the house. Mrs. Dennistoun kept up a little conversation with Sir Philip about their visit to Bishop's Court, but that too soon ceased ; and then there were no sounds but the evensong of the birds, and the soft murmur of the stream, as they were borne in through the open windows on the wings of the soft May breeze, which scarcely moved the branches of the trees as it whispered through them. A Sunday-like repose seemed to brood over all things ; and Irene had almost forgotten where she was, when Sir Philip's voice, close to her, startled her. " Would you like to go round the house 1 " he asked. " I have collected all the old pictures in the gallery which connects the two wings. There is not much to see, 128 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. perhaps ; but I have found a little Chapel, which had fallen into disuse, and I have had a small harmonium put) there for the present, till I can get an organ fitted into the proper place. Will you come and try it 1 " Irene rose to comply ; and, as they passed through the drawing-room, the sound of their footsteps was scarcely heard on the soft pile carpets. Sir Philip smiled as he passed Rosie's chair. The book had fallen from her hand, and she was fast asleep ; her mother was writing at a little table, and was so engrossed that she did not look up. Sir Philip led the way across the hall to a low, pointed door in a remote corner, which he opened by turning one of those heavy iron handles which require a strong hand to lift. Although Sir Philip was not very tall, being scarcely above the average height, he was obliged to bend his head a little as he passed into the small dark passage, at the end of which was another door very like the first, and leading into the small, perpendicular chapel, which, until now, had been unused for years. " Evidently," he said, " this was the domestic Chapel in old days. When I came here it was filled with rubbish, and that window blocked up. I have had it scraped and cleaned ; and here you see is the credence table, out of which we cleared a nest of robins last winter. I have had these chairs put in, and in time I shall replace the Communion table ; the three steps here indicate plainly where it stood. One day, when I can find courage, I mean to have morning and evening prayer here ; but it is rather difficult to begin a new order of things." " It is the old order, is it not ? " said Irene, in her low sweet voice. IN THE CHAPEL. 129 " Yes," he said ; "perhaps you are right. Our friends Dame Editha and Sir Philip, I have no doubt, said their daily prayers here." "I am sure they did," Irene said, earnestly, "and when those tidings came from Edge-hill, I can fancy that she came here in her trouble." "Will you try the harmonium," he said, opening it; " and sing something 1 Here are some books ; " and he put up upon the desk some sacred music and hymns. Irene had just struck a few chords, when Rosie came through the little narrow door, smiling, and saying, " I thought I should find you here. Mamma is coming too, she wants to hear Irene sing. Philip says you sing beautifully," she added. "Let us all sing together," Irene said; "that is so much pleasanter with hymns." " Oh ! Philip says I get out of tune ; and he has a very fastidious ear, though I can't say his own voice is like a Sims Reeves'." "You pert child," said Philip; "how disrespectful you are to your elders and superiors." Irene was turning over the leaves of the hymn-book ; and could not join in the light talk in the chapel, which to her was full of memories of the past, and of the many prayers and praises which had ascended from there in the days of long ago. " Come, do begin," Rosie said ; and very soon Irene's melodious voice was ringing through the little chapel, in full, rich cadence. Hymn after hymn she sang ; and Mrs. Dennistoun sat spell-bound, while those servants who were at home gathered in the hall to listen ; and even Jasper came with the rest. At last, when " Abide with me ; fast falls the K 130 HEIGHTS AXD VALLEYS. eventide," had been sung, with unwonted sweetness and earnestness, Irene rose. " I have gone on too long, I am afraid," she said ; " but I am so accustomed to sing every evening to Cuthbert, that I forgot how long I had kept you." " It is quite charming," Mrs. Dennistoun began, in tones that jarred on Sir Philip's ear. " I suppose you sing a great deal in Rodham society, Miss Clifford ? " " No ! indeed I do not ; I go very little into Rodham society," Irene answered ; and Sir Philip's shrug of the shoulders was not lost upon her. He held the door for them as they went out of the chapel ; and, as Irene passed him, he said, " Thank you ! " in a way that brought the colour to her face. " That is how you sing to Cuthbert, I know ; and not to Rodham society." She understood him at once ; but she answered quietly, " I tried to think of the words I sang, and of Him to whom I sang them, just now. Somehow, they were very full of meaning in that chapel." Again Mrs. Dennistoun broke in : " Come, Miss Clifford, it will be too dark to go through the gallery ; " and, as she paused for Irene to come up with her, she began to descant on the improvements and alterations she had suggested or had already carried out. The ancestors of the Dennistouns were very much like the ancestors of other families, for there is a wonderful similarity in the appearance of people of the same date in history. There were portraits of ladies in their ruffs and hoops, their stiff head-dresses and coloured top-knots of gentlemen in their elaborate coats, with ruffles at the wrists, and deep lace collars, plumed hats, and flowing locks all marking the age of the Cavaliers. IN THE CHAPEL. 131 Evidently, there had been no Puritans amongst the Dennistouns. "This is Sir Philip, who fell at Edge-hill," Mrs. Dennistoun said. " There are several portraits of him one in Philip's room, which you shall see one day. There is an inscription on that picture which tells his story. It is a fine face. Lady Eugenia Le Marchant thinks it so very like the present Philip." " Is Lady Editha here 1 " Irene asked. " Oh, yes ! a plain little woman quite unlike what you would have expected Sir Philip's wife to be. She hangs next him, that is she ! " " She looks very young," Irene said ; "almost a child ; and she is not dressed like the other ladies." " N"o ; she had Puritan blood in her veins. Had she not, Philip?" " Yes ; her father was an officer in the rebel army," said Philip ; "a country gentleman in these parts. His name was Buckland. Editha, however, if somewhat of a Puritan in her dress, was a Royalist at heart, or she would scarcely have married Sir Philip. I like her," he continued ; " I do something more I admire her. The more you look into that face, the more it responds to you." Lady Editha was represented in this portrait as very young ; and, at first sight, amidst the languishing beauties surrounding her, you might have called her plain. But Sir Philip was right when he said that the longer you looked at her the more her face seemed to answer to your gaze. There were no falling curls on a white, rounded shoulder, no low bodice, and no built-up erec- tion of powdered coiffure above the square, wide brow. The brown hair was gathered back, and just shaded the outline of the neck, as the head was turned slightly on one K 2 132 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. side. The features were regular, and the mouth especially grave and sweet in expression ; the eyes were wistful and tender, with a far-away look in them, which seemed to be almost conscious of coming trouble. The dress was cut square, with a white muslin kerchief filling it in, and the sleeves were short to the elbow, with plaited ruffles hanging from them. The colour of the dress was pale dove ; and the only relief was a rose which she wore at her girdle, and on which the artist had evidently expended much care ; and the petals were yet crim- son, for time had scarcely dimmed their brightness. Lady Editha's small hands were folded upon her lap, and the whole attitude was at once one of patience and repose. " I really think," said Rosie, " that Dame Editha is like yoxi, Irene only it is not paying you a compliment. Look, this portrait next to her is her son, Sir Jasper, and that hard-looking woman is his wife. But it is getting too dark to see the pictures well. Let us wait till to- morrow to go over the house. I hate it in the dark and twilight ; it is always so ' ghosty,' as Mrs. Smith says. She is the bailiff's wife. I must take you to pay her a visit, Irene ; she is worth seeing." "I did see her one day last autumn," Irene thought ; but, as Sir Philip was near them, it seemed impossible for her to say so. Eosie soon found another subject to talk about, and Mrs. Smith was forgotten. When they returned to the drawing-room the tea had been brought in ; and the rest of the evening was a good deal occupied with a discussion between Jasper and his mother about an expedition he wanted to make the next day with Frederick Tillett, to fish on Derwentwater. At last Philip was appealed to, and gave his opinion IN THE CHAPEL. 133 in the negative chiefly on the ground that Frederick Tillett was not a good companion for Jasper, and that he did not wish him to be too intimate with him. Mrs. Dennistoitn's reasons for objecting were different : she des- canted on the dangers of boating ; the terror she should be in all day that something would happen ; the fear of rain ; of Jasper's catching cold ; and many other alarms of the same kind. Then she proposed, if he went, that a servant should go with him ; at which Jasper rebelled, saying, " he was not a baby or a milksop ;" and a great deal of unseemly wrangling followed between mother and son, which Philip bore in silence, till at last the powers of endurance seemed gone, and Jasper was ordered sternly to bed. After his departure a constrained silence fell upon the rest of the party, which Rosie finding she could not dispel, proposed to Irene that they should say " Good night," and follow Jasper's example. When the two girls were alone together, Rosie settled herself in an easy chair, in Irene's room, and said they could have a nice talk. Irene was content to listen as Rosie went over all her little experiences for her benefit. Hers was a fresh, bright enjoyment in her new life, which it was pleasant to see. It was simply the pleasure of a girl, and had nothing in it of pretension or foolish elation. Philip was her hero ; and Irene smiled at her description of him as the elder brother and mainstay of them all. " He snubs me sometimes," she said ; " but I can take it from him ; he is so really great that I can understand how littlenesses and weaknesses irritate him. I am only afraid that Jasper, as he grows older, will be the great trial to us all. Mamma cannot contradict him ; and if she attempts to do so there is a scene such as you 134 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. saw this evening. He will fight for his own way, and argue the point ; and he is so weak, and so easily led. If it were not for Philip I cannot think what he would be. Perhaps Eton will do him good ; but it all depends on the boys he associates with. That ill-bred boy, Frederick Tillett, can make him do anything. All that horrid rudeness to your little nephew the other day was his fault Those are the kind of things which make Philip so angry. We were at Bishop's Court yester- day," Rosie went on, after a pause. " You saw Lady Eugenia Le Marchant here the other day ; what did you think of her?" " I thought her pretty, and graceful ; but rather too languid in her manner." " Yes ; that all goes off when she is interested in any- thing. She gets so animated, and different. She was talking to Philip about his standing for this division of the county, yesterday ; and she got quite excited ; and seemed so anxious he should try, and be successful. It is not, somehow, like Philip to be attracted by Lady Eugenia. But there is nothing but inconsis- tency in people, and Philip is like the rest of the world. The provoking part of it is that mamma evi- dently wishes it to comes to pass, and makes it too obvious." What the "it" was Irene did not inquire. Rosie chatted on for some time longer, and then left her to her- self. It was a relief to be alone ; a relief to go to the window, and see the star-lit sky and the great masses of the trees, and to hear the little river hurrying over the rocks below. Irene knelt by the open casement for a long time, just as she had knelt hundreds of times in her own little room at Orchard Leigh, in Devonshire, round IN THE CHAPEL. 135 which the roses clustered, and beneath which the great sea, towards which the little babbling brook now sounding in her ear was rushing, lay vast and calm and beautiful Life then and now, how different it was ! Her girlish dreams had been dreamed, and she had seen many crumble into dust. But the inner peace was the same now as then. Changes and decay could not touch it. What though the one great tie which bound her to life with so strong and firm a hold, was severed ? What though her mother 1 , who had shared every care and every joy for so many years, was gone ? What though she missed her thoughtful, though never demonstrative love in little as in great things; the one unfailing source of joy remained, sometimes less realized, sometimes more, but still it was always there. In all her trials and in all her failures, there wo\ild come to her soiil the remembrance that He to whom she had given herself was the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever ! It was possible to live with Irene for many days and many weeks, and from her lips would never, perhaps, fall words which conveyed what I have written here ; but nevertheless few could be with her for an hour, with- out acknowledging there was something in her, which lifted her above the cares and tumults of this busy, troublesome world, and made an atmosphere about her which beautified her whole life. As I write this, I would not let anyone think that I wish to represent Irene as free from faults, or from the weaknesses which all women share in common. Just at this moment in her history, when her face is turned up to the sky, from whence the stars are looking down on her with eyes of love, she is confessing that she has been weak ; and that now, with the weight of twenty-four years upon her head, she has 136 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. been, dreaming a dream, for which, at sixteen, she would not have found an excuse. And she did not spare herself; but when she lay down to rest, it was in perfect peace, though it might be in the valley of humi- liation, and not on the mountain-top of triumph and victory. CHAPTER VII. AN OLD FKIEND APPEARS. ** Oh, world unknown, how charming is thy view ! Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new ! Ah, world experienced, what of thee is told ! How few thy pleasures, and those few how old." CKABBE. ROSIE and Irene were out early the next morning, for what Rosie called " a real scrambling walk." " We will go over the moor, and come round by the hamlet, and see the curiosities of the neighbourhood, and end with Mrs. Smith, who I hope will give us elder-flower wine and ginger- cakes." Rosie was making this plan, when Jasper trotted out on his pony, past the two girls. " Where are you going, Jasper ? " Rosie called, as he took the way down the avenue, while they were turning up towards the moor ; "Jasper, where are you going?" " Just in the opposite direction to you, Miss Rosie ; so make your mind easy." And the boy put the pony into a quick canter, and was soon out of sight. " I hope he is not going to find Frederick Tillett, and start for Derwentwater," Rosie said, looking back at the hastily retreating figure. 138 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " He surely would not be so disobedient," Irene said, "after what passed with his mother last even- ing?" " I would not trust him," was Rosie's answer ; " there is never any dependence to be placed on Jasper. "We can get through the plantations up here," she continued ; " have you ever been this way before ? " " Yes, several times ; it is a long walk from Rodham, but I have accomplished it once or twice." " Such a lovely air is always blowing here," Rosie said ; as they came out upon the open country. " We will make for that stone on the little knoll, and there we will sit down. I have got my sketch-book in my pocket, and I may be moved to draw." When they reached the spot Rosie indicated, a black object, just under the shadow of the rough stone, made Rosie exclaim, " Some one is here before us ; who can it be 1 How tiresome ; we shall not be able to sit down there ; and that big stone just keeps off the sun pleasantly." As she spoke, the black object moved, and Sir Philip drew himself up from the soft heather and moss, and looked towards them. " It is Philip ; but some one is with him who can it be ? I can't imagine ; for no one was in the house this morning at breakfast." Her curiosity was soon gratified ; for, at the sound of Sir Philip's " Halloo," another figure started to his feet, and advancing towards them with his hat in his hand, greeted Rosie with a sort of shy pleasure, to which she responded. "An old friend has turned up, at last, Rosie; he always does turn up at the most unexpected places. Mr. Sand- AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS. 139 ford, Miss Clifford," Sir Philip said ; " a fellow-pedestrian of mine in Switzerland and Savoy." " Yes," Mr. Sandford said, turning his knapsack across his shoulder, and replacing his big straw hat upon his thick curling hair, " Philip is always to be found on the highest ground an old weakness of his, Miss Dennis- toun, to get as near the sky as he can." " I don't know that I have ever tried a balloon yet," Philip remonstrated, as they all seated themselves on the heather. " Yes," continued Mr. Sandford ; "I was directed to this stone as the highest point in the neighbourhood by a broad Cumberland farmer, and told that I should get the finest view of llodham and out beyond of the mountains, and a strip of channel to the north ; not to mention Rock- deane below me, and the Scar a quarter of a mile to the right. I have proved it all true ; and added to it a view of Sir Philip, lying at his full length on this soft cushion, and just as little surprised to see me as if we had met yesterday." " My dear fellow, you always do crop up in every con- ceivable place ; why not here as well as anywhere else ? So like you never to give me a line, when I have sent you three invitations to Rockdeane in due form, to which you have never replied." " I feel shy, you see ; and it always takes off the edge of enjoyment when one thinks too much of it before- hand. Besides, you are such a great man now ; and how could I tell if you really meant what you said 1 " " Humph !" said Philip ; " I really mean what I say now ; which is, that you are to stay here now you are come." "Well ; I daresay I shall make no objection. To tell the truth, I have left more garments under the shadow of 140 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. the Mitre, at Rodham, than I have in this little bag. I left them there on Friday ; and then took a walk towards Heathtown, where I slept last night, and got round here again to-day a pretty little stretch of thirty miles over a fine country. I think I will pursue my way to Rodham now ; and, having found my worldly possessions, will look you up at luncheon." " Very well ; but we may as well make a devour by the edge of the Scar, which we can cross at the upper end, and get into the hamlet of Rockdeane ; that is what you were going to do, were you not, Rosie ? " " Yes ; I am going round by Mrs. Smith's, that Irene may see her; and I want her to see the house also from the opposite side of the stream. But let us rest here a little while ; it is so nice." Every one seemed of Rosie's mind ; and only a little fragmentary talk passed between the four as they sat in the full enjoyment of the summer day. The wild bees flew past ; and, while butterflies danced in airy couples above the thyme and heather, Rosie's pencil made a few lines on the blank page of her sketch-book ; but she felt dreamy and indisposed for much exertion. George Sandford watched her from under the wide brim of his hat, and it was not difficult to interpret the expression of his face ; while Irene twisted heath and grass into all kinds of fantastic shapes, and Philip lay almost full-length a little apart from the others not asleep, as Rosie said, but lost in thought. A spell seemed to lie upon the whole party, which none wished to be the first to break. At last, Philip roused himself, and said : " If you and I are to get to Rodham before luncheon, Sandford, we must push on now." AN OLD FKIEND APPEARS. 141 He stood up as he spoke, and began to take long strides over the low grass and heather. George Sandford lingered ; evidently he wished Irene to be the next to follow ; but it was Eosie, who, with a few springs, reached her brother's side, and Irene was left with George Sandford. Philip walked on, and the others were some way behind. " Have you known them long ? " Irene's companion asked, at last. " You mean Sir Philip and his sister 1 " Irene said quickly. " Yes; of course, I do," was the answer. " No ; I have only known the Dennistouns since last autumn ; my brother-in-law," she added, " is Sir Philip's lawyer." " I have known him for years," was the rejoinder ; " I saw him last on the Lake of Geneva, and was the first to tell him of old Sir Jasper's death. I intended, as much as I ever intend anything, to come here sooner; but somehow, I went on to Italy for the winter, and since then I have been wasting my time in Corsica. I am a bird of passage you see." " Have you no settled home ? " Irene asked. " Well, yes ; the home is settled, only I never am. t I have the misfortune to be the heir to a little place and a few acres in Somersetshire. I am an only son, another misfortune ; and I have never had any need to earn my bread." "Misfortune the third," said Irene, laughing. " Yes ; I believe you," was the answer. " The greatest of all. I saw a great deal of Philip at one time, as he got my old father well out of some ridiculous action as to a right of way. He is a fine fellow ; always first somehow, 142 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. always doing something well, and never a bit set up by it. Now here he is lord of all this," giving his hand a rapid swing through the air "and I don't believe it, or anything else, will spoil him. The only thing is, he is always looking for something above him some point he wants to reach ; and now, bless me, there seems nothing left for him to attain he has got all. I like a little local gossip, and mine host at the inn at Heathtown regaled me with some last night. He said the new Baronet was very popular, and he was going to stand for the county, and marry some one with a name a yard long Lady Theodoria, or Euphemia Le Marchant, who had a fortune to add to Sir Philip's." Irene could not help being amused with her com- panion, whom she discovered, at once, to be one of those people, who, on a broad foundation of common sense, play off a variety of eccentricities for the edification of their neighbours. " Mine host of the Red Lion, Heathtown, also told me some stories of the country side, about old Sir Jasper ; how, in his youth " .... he checked himself suddenly ; " but I daresay it is not worth repeating these fictions. I wish Philip would not stalk on ahead in that fashion, and take his sister in his wake ; and where is he gone now 1 " For Sir Philip's and Rosie's figures were lost in the gorse and brake, as they took a path seldom trod, which wound down to a foot-bridge at the bottom of the ravine, where, crossing the river, another path led up the opposite bank. Irene brushed away the brake, which was almost as tall as she was, and she and Mr. Sandford followed in the track of Sir Philip and Rosie. At last, at the little AN OLD FRIEND APPEAES. 143 bridge, there was a halt made by those in advance, and then Sir Philip and George Sandford exchanged places. The great gleam of satisfaction which struck across George Sandford's face, was evidently amusing to Sir Philip. " Poor fellow ! " he ejaculated ; " I am afraid it is like the moth singing its wings at the candle ; " and then he 3nd Irene pursued their way, gradually falling into Conversation, which was scarcely less restrained than in days past. After half-an-hour's walking on the edge of the bank, they came to a little opening in the coppice, which Irene at once recognised as the place where Randal had disappeared in search of the blackberries on that September day. Sir Philip came to a pause ; and turning full upon her, said : " It is just below here that you and Randal hung suspended in mid-air last autumn. I have never forgotten your presence of mind and calmness then." Irene did not answer ; and then presently said, in an indifferent tone, " I hope I may never need presence of mind more than I did then ; after all, it was nothing, only to keep still." " But if help had not come, you could not have held out much longer," Philip was about to say ; and then stopped himself. If Irene did not wish to remember that that help was his he would not be the one to remind her of it. That any one so gentle and quiet in manner should have such powers of resistance in her, surprised him. He always felt now, that he could come to a certain point with her, and no farther. Anything personal was at once put aside while on all topics of general interest, she could talk as easily as ever. With Lady Eugenia, he told himself, it was different. She led 144 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. the conversation almost always to matters which concerned him or herself. He had not known her long ; but he was in full pos- session of what she considered the trials of her life her weak health, and the little sympathy which she ex- perienced from her uncle and aunt, whom she was pleased to look upon as very common-place and prosaic individuals, who could not understand the aspirations of a woman like herself. Then she had a subtle way of extracting like confidences from him ; and to schemes and plans for the future, which pointed to any increase of influence and position, she listened with deep interest. There were moments when Lady Eugenia's careless, irreverent allusion to things which he held sacred would jar upon Sir Philip's feelings, and there were moments when he showed this, and she would carefully avoid any repetition for the time. But, however guarded we may be, the real self will peep out at unsuspected corners, and cannot always be hid. Eugenia Le Marchant was, I fear, a woman of which there are an increasing number in these nineteenth centuiy days. She could descant on any popular subject, and give her opinion upon it ; and she believed herself in earnest about the improvement of her own intellectual calibre, and that of other women also. But it was the building up of a fabric without a foundation. At any moment, under the pressure of trial or sorrow, of sick- ness, or of death, the whole might fall, and the ruin of the house be great. The gifts and graces of an intellectual and refined woman are, beyond all doubt, of great value ; but, if she would use them for the good of her day and generation, tl'^ must be something deeper still, which no mere AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS. 145 mental cultivation can reach. There must be the surrender of self to Him, whose love is the only worthy object of an immortal soul the only thing which can satisfy its longings, and teach it its really high vocation a voca- tion which saintly women of old times, aye, and of modern times, too, have followed ; and, whether with or without ' all knowledge and all tongues,' have found blessed for this world, and how much more for the next ! At the door of Mr. Smith's house, Sir Philip and Mr. Sandford left the two girls, and pursued their way to Rodham at the rapid, even pace with which great walkers always get over the ground. Mrs. Smith kept her visitors waiting, as usual, in the little parlour, which looked precisely as it had done months before, while she changed her cap and gown. " Smith was neither better nor worse," she said, in answer to Rosie's inquiries ; " he was rasped and put out by Sir Philip getting an under-bailiff ; but, lor, it was quite natural. It was not as if he had taken off any of Smith's salary ; he was much too open-handed for that. But there," said the good woman, " his tantrums are dreadful, poor soul. It's pain that does it, and he is that helpless now, he is like an infant ; but one never knows what a man may bring himself or his wife to you young ladies, remember that." The redundant roses in Mrs. Smith's best cap nodded over the elder flower wine as she spoke, which, as Rosie had prophesied, made its appearance, together with the thin ginger cakes, which were scarcely tangible in the mouth wafers, in fact, which Huntley and Palmer could hardly rival. To Rosie's surprise, Mrs. Smith addressed Irene as an old acquaintance, and inquired after Randal, and then. L 146 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. laughed long and loud at the mistake she had made in addressing her as Sir Philip's wife. "Lor, how confused they both looked," she said to Rosie ; "and I never to know the new Baronet. But I know him now, well enough ; and I can tell you, Miss Clifford, it will be a lucky woman whoever is my lady at last. Perhaps she may never come, though I did hear the other day she was to be the lady belonging to the Bishop's family ; but I can't mind her name it was such a long one. You know who I mean." "Lady Eugenia Le Marchant," Rosie said; "I sup- pose you are thinking of her ; but, indeed, Mrs. Smith, I am by no means sure that my brother has thought of her in the way you mean." At this moment a loud thumping overhead, repeated, and, indeed, almost continuous, was heard. "That's Smith at it. You know, Miss Dennistoun, how he goes on. He is sitting up to-day in his arm- chair. A pretty fuss we have had to get him there ; and now, I dare say, he wants to go back to bed. Just excuse me a minute, young ladies ; " and the good woman departed to her exigeant lord and master. " Isn't she fun 1 " Rosie asked, as Mrs. Smith left the room ; "but how was it she had seen you before, Irene ? You never told me ; and what was the joke about you and Philip 1 Did he bring you here 1 " The colour came to Irene's face, and she said : " Randal and I were walking along the bank of the river one day last autumn, and he lost his balance in reaching over a bit of rock to gather some blackberries. I caught his arm, and held him up. Sir Philip saw us from the Terrace at Rockdeane, and came to our rescue. After- wards, Randal, who had sprained his arm, was glad to lie AN OLD FIUEND APPEARS. 147 down in this room -while Sir Philip got a carriage a gig, I suppose I ought to call it to take us home. That is all." " How strange that you never told me about it before, Irene ; but I remember Philip once said you had the greatest amount of self possession and presence of mind he ever saw. That was in the days when he used to tell me so much about you. Now he never " Rosie stopped. "There is no need to tell you about me now, is there 1 " Irene answered, gently. "You know me for yourself." " I don't think I do," Rosie said ; " I would know you and love you so much, if you would let me." " You are always so kind," said Irene ; " and you must not think I don't feel it, for I do. It is not my way to say much ; but you may depend upon me, dear, as a friend, if you ever need one." The tone was caressing and tender ; and little Rosie, in her quick, impulsive way, threw her arms round Irene, and kissed her, saying, " I like you to love me you are so good." And then she went on, almost in the same breath, " Do you like Philip's friend, Mr. Sandford ? " " Yes ; I think he is very original and amusing ; but he seems very erratic in his tendencies." "So different to old Philip; and yet they are great allies. Mamma does not like him ; and I know we shall have a little snubbing, scene to-day, when he appears at luncheon, after the manner of the Tilletts, and such folk." "Those unlucky Tilletts," said Irene, laughing. "I hear them quoted on all hands." At this moment Mrs. Smith returned, L 2 148 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " Did you ever hear such nonsense ? " she said. " If that trying man doesn't want to see you young ladies ; but, as I tell him, he isn't fit to be seen ; and " " Oh, no ! " said Rosie, with an almost perceptible shudder ; " I am sure we had better not go upstairs, thank you. Indeed, I think we must go home now, Irene, or we shall be late for luncheon." "Well, there," said Mrs. Smith, instantly, after the fashion of wives, wishing to gratify her husband, when another seemed to contradict him, " he has a dullish time of it, no doubt ; and I have got the room tidy, and he is in his best flowered dressing-gown, and " But Rosie was resolute; and her beseeching look at Irene was so amusing, that she restrained the inclination she felt to go and see the poor old man, and try to cheer and soften him ; and, bidding Mrs. Smith good-bye, left the house with Rosie. " You don't mean to say you could have gone up to see that horrid old man ? " Rosie asked, as they walked away. " Why not 1 " said Irene. " If I were in old Mr. Smith's place, I dare say I should be glad of the variety of a new face ; and, besides, there is no telling what a little kindness and sympathy might do for him." " I knew you were longing to go and talk ' goody ' to him," said Rosie, " just as you do to the old Almshouse people ; but you should hear what Philip says of Mr. Smith. He says it' is a perfect penance to go near him. He does nothing biit abuse his wife ; and, one day, when Philip was there, he threw a book at her for he has the use of one arm, though not of his legs." Irene looked grave ; and Rosie said, quickly, '' You didn't like my saying, ' talk goody,' did you 1 n AX OLD FRIEND APPEARS. 149 " You seem to interpret my face so well that I need not answer," was the reply. " You have guessed what I felt twice this morning." " Don't be vexed with me," Rosie said, in her child- like way. " I know perfectly well that I am not half as good as you are. And, oh, dear ! I rather dread what is coming. Mamma is sure to be disagreeable about Mr. Sandford. I should not wonder if she pretends she has forgotten who he is ! " Irene's voice was very grave now, as she said, " Do not speak in that way of your mother, Rosie ! " " Oh ! I don't mean anything, you know. Mamma and I understand each other ; and I am always proud of her. As mistress of Rockdeane she is perfect, except when she turns the cold shoulder on people, as she will to-day you will see. Well ; I don't think he will take it to heart." Luncheon was more than half over when the dining- room door opened, and Sir Philip came in. "Here is my friend Sandford," he said, introducing the tall, awkward figure, in the rough grey suit, advancing with his enormous straw hat in his hand to greet Mrs. Dennistoun. " I have picked him up on the Moor, and we have been down into Rodham to rescue his luggage from the Mitre ; and we have come up the hill in a cab, from the same venerable and time-honoured establish- ment, worthy its name, which is suggestive of all the uneasy heads that ever wore an episcopal crown." "Rosie," said Mrs. Dennistoun, stiffly, "do you re- member Mr. Sandford 1 Miss Clifford Mr. Sandford." The colour came into Rosie 's face, as she said, "I have seen Mr. Sandford before this morning, mamma we met him on the Moor." 150 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Indeed," said Mrs. Dennistoun, drily. "How very late Jasper is," she went on ; "he must have gone for a very long ride. You know nothing of him, I suppose, Philip ? " "I am afraid I do," said Philip. "Mr. Tillett told me that Jasper and his son were gone for a day's fishing." " Oh, Philip !" said Mrs. Dennistoun, "how dreadfully anxious I shall be." "And I shall be something more than anxious," said Philip. " He must know that such an act of disobedience shall not be repeated. Now, Eosie," he went on, changing his tone, " what do you say to an expedition to Der went water to-morrow 1 A quiet family pic-nic, you know." " I think it will be delightful," said Eosie. "I have never had a proper day on Derwentwater yet." All this time Mr. Sandford had been doing justice to the varied viands before him. He was apparently quite indifferent to Mrs. Dennistoun's cold reception, and kept up a conversation with Eosie, which was evidently interesting to both. "We will start early," Philip said, "and take our luncheon with us. We can dine when we return, at seven or eight, as the case may be. I must consult the railway book." " Is not the weather too hot, Philip ? " Mrs. Dennis- toun interposed. " I should be afraid of Eosie and Jasper exerting themselves too much in the heat." " I think Eosie will not succumb," said Philip quietly. " Jasper will not have the chance ; as he has gone to-day in direct opposition to your wishes and mine, he must stay at home to-morrow." AN OLD FEIEND APPEARS. 151 Philip's determined manner admitted of no remon- strance ; and Mrs. Dennistoun rose, and left the room, with Rosie and Irene. " Well," George Sandford said, when Philip and he were alone together ; "I have entered into temptation, and it is no use trying to resist it. You know what I mean." " Perhaps I do," sai,d Philip ; " but don't take holy words in vain, there's a good fellow." " Pshaw ! " said his friend ; " I wish you would not come down upon me like that. But seriously, Philip ; unless you wish to make an end of me altogether, you must say go, or stay. I can't be near her without making a fool of myself. I can't talk fine talk about it ; but this I know, if you will let me try and win your sister, you shall never repent it." " No," said Philip, " I don't think I should ; but her mother must be consulted and how about Rosie herself? " " Ah ! that is the hitch ; I am not sure, but I suppose I hope. I am getting tired of my wandering-jew sort of life, and I think I could do very well now in the old place at home. With her, I could live in peace at Stow, and turn into the worthy, easy-going country squire. Of course I should want a fling once a-year ; and she but it is great rubbish talking like this, as if I were sure. Only, Philip, if you let me stay here, you must take the consequences." " Very well," said Sir Philip ; " ours has been a long friendship, Sandford, and you know me pretty well by this time ; I could wish nothing better for Rosie than what you offer her. One thing let me say ; your want of reverence sometimes jars upon me. Any chaff or banter 152 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. you please; only, not about the unseen and the sacred. Give me your hand, old fellow. " George Sandford locked Philip's fingers in such a vice, that he could scarcely help crying out for mercy ; and so the compact was sealed. " How long does your friend propose staying here ? " asked Mrs. Dennistoun, the next day, in a pause, before the whole party started for Derwentwater, while the girls were dressing, and the hampers were being stowed away by the footmen on the box of the waggonette. Mrs. Dennistoun was ready herself; and this question was put to her stepson in a moment of irritation ; for he had refused to condone Jasper's offence of yesterday, by allowing him to join the party to-day. " He will be utterly ruined/' Sir Philip had said, " if he is allowed to go on in this wilful fashion ; if it is bad at thirteen, what will it a few years hence ? " Thus there was in Mrs. Dennistoun 's voice a tone of querulous dissatisfaction, as she went on " Of course, Philip, all your friends are welcomed by me at Rock- deane. There can be no doubt that it is my duty to wel- come them ; but I don't feel quite satisfied about this Mr. Sandford. I really fear he has some absurd idea of proposing to Rosie. He may be all that is clever and original, and you may like him as a travelling com- panion, and so on; but, of course, Rosie must now look a great deal higher than of course, such a thing is out of the question. " There was an amused twinkle in Philip's eye, which did not escape Mrs. Dennistoun ; and she went on more sharply " If you are in Mr. Sandford's confidence, Philip, I think you ought at once to tell him that I cannot con- AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS. 153 sent to that any idea of an engagement between him and Rosie could not possibly meet my approval. Philip, do you hear ? " Philip had been turning over the pages of the " Pall Mall " in his usually quiet fashion, while Mrs. Dennis- toun was speaking. He put it down now; and said, with a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth, " I think Sandford had better plead his own cause with you ; he is as honest a fellow as ever breathed ; and I have the highest opinion of his principles. I know what his feelings are for Rosie ; but I am in ignorance about hers for him. She would fall into very good hands, if she fell into Sandford's ; and you know, as far as worldly matters go, he is in a veiy good posi- tion. His father and mother are old people ; he is the only son; and there is an income of 1,500?. a-year, which goes with Stow." " 1,500 a-year!" said Mrs. Dennistoun, with a con- temptuous ring in her voice ; " and Stow is merely one of those old farmhouses, with gable roofs and wide staircases, which pass for gentlemen's houses in Somersetshire. Besides, the old man actually does farm, does he not ? " " I daresay : but he sent his son to the University, and, if he had been so disposed, he might have made his way in any profession. And really a year ago, you and I, and Jasper and Rosie, would have thought half 1,500?. a-year riches for us all." " You are so fond of going over the past ; you forget that you were always the heir of Rockdeane. However, I heartily wish I had not consented to this expedi- tion ; poor Jasper, condemned to solitary imprisonment, too!" " Come, mamma, come, Philip, we are all ready," said 154 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Rosie ; " we shall be late for the train we shall, indeed. What are you talking about ] " "Don't be so impatient, Rosalie" (her name in full was ominous) ; " get into the carriage. I have a word to say to Mrs. Mason." " Mamma," exclaimed Rosie, in an agony, " you will make us late ; pray, come." But Mrs. Dennistoim did not hurry ; and rang the bell of the morning-room, where the conversation with Philip had taken place, and summoned Mrs. Mason to a consultation. " Come, Rosie," said Philip, pitying his sister's dis- tress ; " we will go and settle ourselves. It is a comfort^ the waggonette will hold us all. Now, then ; " and he handed Irene and Rosie to vis-ct-vis places, then waited for Mrs. Dennistoun with George Sandford. At last she appeared, and they were fairly off, and just in time for the train. And then very soon they had left the old city of Rodham far behind, and were amidst the mountains, with Derwentwater stretched out like a vast blue mirror before them. Sir Philip hired a boat ; and he and George Sandford rowed about the lake and landed on Lord's Island, where the baskets were unpacked by the servants and Sir Philip, and the cold repast eaten, which did credit to Mrs. Mason's skill. The day passed, as such days do pass ; to two, at least, of the party it was always marked with a red letter in their calendar. Irene, perhaps, found her task the most difficult, for Mrs. Dennistoun was inaccessible to any effort she made at small talk, and was restless and uneasy when she saw her daughter talking to Mr. Sandford ; making attempts to recall Rosie when she was wandering AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS. 155 away to look for ferns, and continually saying that it was getting time to think of returning to the boat. At last Irene gave it up, and went to enjoy solitude in a little romantic cleft, between the masses of rock, where a busy stream laughed arid chattered at her feet, hidden, by the long ferns and mosses which grew on its banks, and were bright with the living green which their neigh- bourhood to the streamlet gave them. Through the trees Irene could catch the outline of Helvellyn ; and on the lake, not very far from her, could be seen St. Her- bert's Island, where the loving spirit of the hermit was taken to heaven in answer to his prayer, at the same moment when St. Cuthbert, too, the friend who was as his own soul, was also borne thither. " Legend though it be, it is a story full of beauty," Irene thought; " life with those we love is sweet; but what must be the sweetness of death with them. At the same moment to pierce 'the veil, and know as we are known?" " Isn't there a legend about that island yonder ? " Sir Philip asked, as if following the train of her thoughts. Irene had not heard his footstep, and turned quickly. But she answered, " Yes ; there are the ruins of a hermitage there, where St. Herbert lived St. Cuthbert's friend, you know." " I don't know ; tell me." She repeated the story in a few words, but in her own simple way. " You were thinking of those old men when I came and disturbed you ? " Philip asked. " Yes ; I like the story, and I have often told it to Cuthbert. It possesses an interest for him, as the name 156 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. is his. He wishes to take me with him, he says, when his time comes ; poor little man ! " u You are his Herbert, then," said Sir Philip, with a smile. But Irene did not smile. " Yes ; I suppose I am. My name, too, is Herbert ; it was my mother's maiden name, and I bear it from that reason." " Well," said Sir Philip, earnestly ; " poor little Cuthbert will, I doubt not, go very early to his rest ; but there will be many, I should think, to pray a contrary prayer to his many who could not spare you." " I don't think so. I was everything to one who is gone from me ; but since then it has been different." There was always a fascination for Sir Philip in lis- tening to Irene ; her conversation was so unconventional ; and if he had put it into words, he would have said it rested him. " Why should it 1 " he asked ; " why should it be dif- ferent?" " Death has separated us my mother and me and I could often have pr-ayed St. Herbert's prayer. But it is all for the best though that is such a hackneyed thing to say. Still, there is a loneliness sometimes just that miss of certain sympathy and certain interest in joys and sorrows which is not to be felt with every one or with many " Mothers and daughters, in my experience of life, are not often so much to each other." " No," Irene said, with a sad smile ; " I don't think they are." And here another footstep made her turn her head ; and the footman, Percy, came to say that he was sent to AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS. 157 look for Sir Philip, by Mrs. Dennistoun's order, and that she was afraid it was getting late. Irene rose at once, her hands full of ferns and blue-bells, which still lingered amongst the roots of trees, and Philip followed at a leisurely pace. Mrs. Dennistoun was standing by the lake at the spot where the boat had been moored, and was evidently much disconcerted at the continued absence of Mr. Sand- ford and Rosie, and greeted Irene with " Really, Miss Clifford, unless you wish to spend the night at Keswick, I wish you would make haste. Philip, have you any idea where your sister is gone 1 Oh, here she is. Now, pray, let us get off as quickly as possible. t thought, Rosie, you understood that we intended leaving this island at four o'clock. We have to get across the lake, and then drive to the station at Keswick." " I am very sorry I am late, mamma," Rosie said, in a tone which might have disarmed any displeasure. And Philip came to the rescue with, " Never mind, Rosie ; Sandford and I can pull at a tolerable rate. Take the rudder, child." But Rosie was dreamy and confused, and sent the boat off in such a zigzag fashion, that Mrs. Dennistoun screamed ; and her brother said " Miss Clifford, will you take her place ?" And then, in an incredibly short time, they were all in the carriage again, driving from Rodham to Rockdeane. Everyone was silent and preoccupied ; and it might be called the calm before the storm. That night, when Irene had been some time in her room, Rosie's tap was heard, and she came in, with her hair on her shoul- ders, and threw herself into Irene's arms, sobbing with all the passionate grief of eighteen. 158 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " i have been to mamma, to tell her, Irene," she began. "To tell her what?" " Oh, you must know ! You must guess ! And she is so dreadful about it ; and she says that when he comes to her to-morrow to ask her consent, she will never, never give it. That, if I like to marry him without, I may ; and that, perhaps, Philip may like to give me away, and all that ; and oh, heaps of nonsense about Sir Philip Dennistoun's sister, and all the unheard-of people I might marry ; and calling him a gentleman farmer he who might have taken a double first at Oxford, and did come out first in classics and a year ago, Irene, it would have been thought a grand thing for me. Oh, Irene, tell me what I ought to do." It was the old, old story. Too vehement and marked an opposition had set the force of the current strong in the opposite direction. " I wish I could get at Philip," she went on ; " he is sure to be wise and kind. I can trust Philip ; wouldn't you, Irene 1" " Yes ; and all may yet go well," Irene said, tenderly. " Sit down, poor child; you will make yourself ill." "I feel ill," said poor Rosie. "My head has been aching all day, and I have got a horrid pricking in my throat. Oh, Irene, I have been so happy ! why should I be made miserable by mamma 1 and all because a man a thousand times too good for me, loves me ; and has loved me, he says, for years ever since I was thirteen. Only think of that." A smile almost her own sunny smile broke over Rosie's tear-stained face as Irene made her lie back in her comfortable chair, and bathed her forehead with Eau de Cologne. AN OLD FRIEXD APPEARS. 159 "What would you do," Rosie asked, presently, "if you were in my place ? You couldn't unlove anyone because you were told." " No," Irene said, " I could not unlove. I should love on the same ; but I could never have married anyone against my mother's will." " I suppose you have had plenty of opportunities of being married, though you are twenty-four and are engaged to no one ? " "Yes, I might have married," Irene answered ; "but I don't know that I ever really loved any one in the sense you mean ; certainly no one who has loved me ! " " How funny," said Rosie. " Oh, my head aches so dreadfully." " You had better go to bed, Rosie. Let me come to your room, and help you ; shall II" " Oh, I should like it, only that tiresome Evans is hang- ing about there. My hair has not been brushed yet, and I shall so hate her seeing how red my eyes are. I will go and send her away, and then will you come ? " "Very well," said Irene ; "I will come if you wish." " Come in ten minutes," Rosie said, as she left the room ; " and be quiet, because I don't want mamma to hear us." When Irene went to Rosie, she found her in a fresh burst of crying, which was so violent as to be almost hysterical. A few gentle, firm words were effectual, however, and the poor child lay down in her bed, saying, " I'll try to be quiet. Please say my prayers for me ; and then would you sleep with me 1 " Irene did as she was asked, and afterwards lay down by Rosie ; but she tossed and turned from side to side all night. The only thing that quieted her was to hold 160 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Irene's hand in hers. As morning dawned, she fell into a troubled uneasy sleep; and at eight o'clock, when Evans appeared with a cup of tea, according to custom, she started up in terror, and said she had had such horrid dreams. Irene was not at all satisfied with her flushed face and general appearance; and when she sipped the tea, she said her throat was so sore she could not swallow it. Then she made an effort to get up and dress; and Irene left her to Evans' care, and went to her own room to prepare for breakfast. She had not been there more than five minutes, when Evans came to the door, and said, " Miss Dennistoun is very faint ; will you come back, Miss Clifford?" Irene obeyed ; and found that Evans had summoned Mrs. Dennistoun, who had ordered Rosie to return to her bed ; and was, when Irene went into the room, sit- ting at the table, with the pen in her hand, writing a note to ask Dr. Simpson to come to Rockdeane. CHAPTER VIII. LIGHT AND SHADE. " GOD'S fashion is another ; day by day And year by year He tarrieth ; little need The Lord should hasten ; whom He loves the most He seeks not oftenest, nor wooes him long ; But by denial quickens his desire, And in forgetting best remembers him ; Till that man's heart grows humble, and reaches out To the least glimmer of the feet of God, Grass on the mountain tops, or the early note Of wild birds in the hush before the day, Wherever sweetly in the ends of the earth, Are fragments of a peace that knows not man." F. W. H. MYERS, from "ST. JOHN." DK. SIMPSON came with all speed to Rockdeane to answer Mrs. Dennistoun's summons. He prescribed for Kosie ; was rather hazy and vague in his opinion of her ; and gently hinted that an infantile disease might be impend- ing. "What do you apprehend, Dr. Simpson ?" asked Mrs. Dennistoun. " Kosie and Jasper have both had measles." " Yes ; well, we must not look forward too anxiously. These feverish symptoms may be the result of exposure in the hot sun, yesterday, which is unusually hot for the time of year." H 162 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. "I have no doubt that imprudent pic-nic to Derwent- water, in the heat of the day, is the cause of Rosie 's illness, Philip !" Mrs. Dennistoun said, as she went to the library to communicate the result of Dr. Simpson's visit. . " Really ! " said Sir Philip ; " does the old Esculapius say as much ? If you have got him to give you a direct answer to a question you have been very clever ; but I hope there is not much amiss with the poor child." " She is very feverish and excited. This most foolish fancy she has taken about Mr. Sandford is really most trying. She is too young to think of marriage, and she has seen nothing of the world; moreover I do not wish to encourage Mr. Sandford." " Have you told him so ? " Philip asked. " I have not had the opportunity ; I wish you would prepare him for my determination. It will make it so much easier for me." " He seems to have made his own cause good with Rosie," Philip said ; " and really, though I agree with you about her youth being an objection ; and also concede that she has seen little or nothing of the world ; still, I do not think Sandford is the man to repulse without sufficient reason." " Well ; at any rate, you are going away with him to-day, "said Mrs. Dennistoun, " for a walking expedition, and if you bring him back " " I must know your mind decidedly before I do bring him back," said Sir Philip, in that resolute tone of his ; " there must be no playing fast and loose with a man like him " " You are a warm firm friend, Philip, every one knows. Well ; we will see how Rosie gets on. J have left Miss LIGHT AND SHADE. 1C3 Clifford with her. She seems to have taken a great fancy to her ; it is quite extraordinary. But first, Philip, will you just go over the names with me for the dinner on the 2nd, that you wish to give 1 I sent out some of the invitations yesterday, before we started ; but I think it better to ask you about them. There are the Williamsons, you would not wish them to meet the Bishop and Lady Catharine ; and then there are the Lamberts, I don't think the Tilletts would like to meet them. We have not seen them at a single dinner ; certainly at none of the Canon's houses, nor " " They are very nice people, nevertheless," said Sif Philip, quietly ; " it will be all the greater novelty for them to be met here." " But, dear Philip, I think as we are new in the neighbourhood we must be careful not to make mistakes, social mistakes, which may hurt people's feelings, or give offence. Dinners are so different to garden parties, or, indeed, to any large party. Then there is Mr. Frere j he is only the incumbent of a small church." " I wish the list to stand as I wrote it out," said Philip ; and again Mrs. Dennistoun felt there was no appeal. "It is perfectly ridiculous to run in narrow grooves in these matters. I will never do it, if I can help it ; but if Eosie is going to be ill, the dinner party will vanish into thin air, and this meeting of incongruous elements must be postponed, sine die." " Oh ! I hope not, indeed," was Mrs. Dennistoun 's reply, as she left the room. After luncheon, Sir Philip and George Sandford started on their walking expedition, intending to be absent for two or three days. Mrs. Dennistoun had first to encounter what she dreaded, the open avowal of M 2 164 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Mr. Sandford's love for Rosie. She was less vehement in her opposition than she had been with Roaie herself ; and indeed temporized, and talked so much about dear Sir Philip's wishes, that the good fellow shouldered his knapsack with a light heart, though Rosie's illness, and not being able to see her again, was a great blank. But he thankfully accepted Sir Philip's comfort, " Never mind, old fellow, you must come back again on Saturday ; and Rosie will be all right then." But Rosie was not all right on Saturday. Sir Philip had left no directions for his letters to be sent on to him ; indeed, for two days, it was delightful to him to be free to wander with his friend, over hill and dale, as of old, amongst glaciers and snow mountains. It was pleasant to forget the new life for a short time ; and he and his com- panion were sorry to set their faces homewards on Saturday morning. Sir Philip had had no communication with Rockdeane since he left it ; and when he and George Sandford drove up to the door in a cab, about two o'clock, and passed under the outspread wings of the old eagle, there was a stillness in the house, which reminded him of the evening when he had first crossed the threshold. Old Forrest appeared, when he heard the arrival, and said to Sir Philip, with a grave face : " Miss Dennistoun is veiy ill, Sir Philip ; it is scarlet fever." " Where is Mrs. Dennistoun ? " Sir Philip asked. " Well, sir, Mrs. Dennistoun is very much alarmed about Mr. Jasper, and she has taken him away this morning to Keswick." " And who is with Miss Dennistoun ? " He had scarcely asked the question, when a small figure, he knew well, came lightly down the wide staircase. Pausing half way, Irene said : LIGHT AND SHADE. 165 " Are you afraid to speak to me ? Perhaps, we had better talk at this distance." " Come into the drawing-room, please," was Philip's answer. "Afraid!" he repeated; "what should I be afraid of?" " Scarlet fever is very infectious," Irene said ; " but I take all reasonable precautions." Then, catching sight of Mr. Sandford's anxious distressed face, she turned to him, and said, " Rosie is very ill, but not dangerously ill ; she will soon be better, I trust." " Thank you," said George Sandford, warmly, as if her assurance were an immense relief; "and who is taking care of her, if Mrs. Dennistoun is gone ? " " I am," said Irene, simply. " We have a nurse from the Nursing Institute at Rodham ; but I am always with Rosie." " It ought not to have been allowed ; it ought not to have been thought of for an instant," said Sir Philip, eagerly. " Have you ever had the scarlet fever 1 " " Oh ! no ; but that has nothing to do with it. I am very glad to stay with Rosie, especially " She stopped ; and George Sandford continued to pace up and down the hall. Then Sir Philip said, leading the way to the drawing-room, " Let me hear all about it, please." He shut the door, gave her a chair, and repeated, " Let me know all about it. How is it you are left here 1 " He looked so stern, and almost angry, that Irene hastened to answer : " One very good reason is, that my sister, Mrs. "Williamson, is afraid to have me back into her house, lest I should carry infection to the chil- dren. I was going home yesterday morning, when Dr. Simpson first pronounced Rosie's illness to be scarlet fever. But Forster came, in answer to my note, to say 1G6 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. that Mary was too terribly frightened to see me. It would be a serious matter to take it to Cuthbert, certainly." " Yes ; there is some reason in this," said Sir Philip ; but how is it you did not go with Mrs. Dennistoun and Jasper?" " I have not seen them since the night before last ; as I had been with Rosie throughout, Mrs. Dennistoun was naturally afraid of me." " Unnaturally," Philip murmured between his set teeth. " I had a very kind note from her," Irene said; " you must make every allowance for the fear of infection ; and Jasper is, of course, Mrs. Dennistoun 's first thought. He is a very delicate boy ; and indeed I think Mrs. Dennistoun was much to be sympathized with. Dread of infection must be so difficult to fight against." " You do not speak from experience, evidently," Sir Philip said. " No ; I could not feel afraid when a thing came to me as this did. It is quite different if we run into danger wilfully. I think I had better go back to Rosie now. Mrs. Mason has been so kind as to send up all I want to Rosie' s little sitting-room. So I may not see you again ; good-bye." Before Sir Philip could reply, she was gone ; only paus- ing in the hall to say, as she passed George Sandford, who was lying back full-length in one of the wide old-fashioned chairs, " I think and hope all will go well with Rosie ; perhaps you and Sir Philip had better set off on another walking tour ; " and then with a smile, her rare sweet smile, she went lightly up the staircase, and vanished, just as Sir Philip rejoined his friend. LIGHT AND SHADE. 167 " She is the angel of this house now, and no mis- take," said George Sandford. " What is to be the next move?" " Indeed, I don't know ; it is an awkward position." " I almost think, Philip, we had better take her advice," said George Sandford, "and set out on the tramp again. I hardly think I should like to go beyond reach, till I know how your sister is. That is, if you are not quite tired of me." " I must look at my letters first," said Sir Philip, "for I believe I have a dinner coming off at the Bishop's to-night. I have a vague idea that it is so j but I must consult my book first. Anyhow, Sandford, you can stay, the house is big enough ; and, if we keep in the left wing, I don't think any harm can come of it." " I think I should get restless, Philip ; I would rather walk it off. Hallo ! here is an arrival." " Mrs. Dennistoun returned, perhaps ; but I hardly think so either. It is another Rodham cab from the station;" for the hall door stood wide open, and, as the cab stopped, a shrill treble voice was heard " Sir Philip ! " " What on earth brings you here, Mrs. Henderson," was Philip's greeting, as the steps were let down, and a brisk little lady, with a handkerchief held to her mouth, which instantly conveyed the mixed aroma of camphor and disinfectants generally, descended nimbly from the cab, handed half-a-crown to the footman, and bid him pay the fare, on which she had agreed, and see that her boxes were taken upstairs. " What brings you here ? " 'Why, your stepmother's order, of course. She has never positively fixed a time for a visit j but this morning I received a letter, intreating me, with a great many pretty 168 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. expressions of love, and so forth which I take for what they are worth to come off here at once ; to play pro- priety, as I understand it, to two young ladies left alone in Rockdeane, with two young gentlemen, it seems, which is not the thing, you see. But when mothers have only sons to consider, why, only daughters and their friends sink into insignificance. I know your mother, well, Sir Philip ; and, as I rather wanted to see this place, I came off" from Worcester by the ten o'clock train, to stay and make myself at home as long as I am wanted. Rosie has a nurse and a devoted friend with her, I hear ; and I shall only look in now and then." Mrs. Mason had by this time arrived on the scene of action ; and Mrs. Henderson's volubility received a momentary check. Sir Philip, who had been chafing under the scarcely repressed mirth of the servants, as they stood awaiting his orders, was really relieved to see the housekeeper. " Mrs. Mason," he said, " this lady is Mrs. Dennis- toun's aunt. She has kindly come to superintend the nursing." " Nonsense, Sir Philip; I am come simply to play duenna. I want a bedroom not too near the fever, please ; and, perhaps, I may beg the favour of dinner or lun- theon. What a huge place this is. More like a castle than a house ; and that ferocious old stone eagle over the door quite appalled me as I drove up. I see there is another over that stand nothing but eagles. Now, shall I follow you 1 " she continued to Mrs. Mason, whose thick black silk stood out in grand contrast to the thin, grey al- paca dress of the little spinster, who moved as if on wires, and had all the fluttering, restless movement of a bird. " You do not introduce me to your friend, Sir Philip," LIGHT AND SHADE. 169 said Mrs. Henderson, as she passed George Sandford ; "but I think I have seen him at Codrington Villas. Ah ! that was before we passed under spread-eagles when we entered our house ! " "What a ridiculous old person," exclaimed Sir Philip, when Mrs. Henderson was out of hearing. " Of all women in the world, I think Mrs. Dennistoun is the one for expedients. The bare idea of rushing off at a tangent from the scarlet-fever, and sending for this antique aunt of hers, to make believe she was to share the burden left on Miss Clifford's shoulders ! But, I must go now, and look after my letters ; I shall find an accumulation, I am afraid. I forgot luncheon, Sandford, let us go into the dining-room first, and discuss ours, before that little old lady appears upon the scene." But George Sandford was not hungry ; and, ill at ease, he swallowed a glass of sherry, and then rose, apparently having made up his mind. " Well, I am off, Philip," he said ; " I shall be in the way here ; I will look in again in a day or two, and hear how things are going on. But I feel as if I must walk ; like the man with the cork leg eh 1 " " Come, cheer up, old fellow," said Sir Philip ; " the Rose will come out freshly again, after this. I have no fears about her ; and I will settle matters for you as soon as possible. I don't think we shall have much more difficulty with Mrs. Dennistoun." " Thank you ; I hope you are right. I shall only take this," said George, shouldering his knapsack. "I will leave my traps here as a hostage ; and now I am off. Perhaps you think I am afraid of the scarlet-fever, too," he said, as he was walking away. " It looks rather like 170 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. it ; but, on the contrary, I think the best thing I could do would be to catch it." " Hardly," said Philip ; " but, if you feel any symptoms approaching, you can come back, you know, and we will instal Mrs. Henderson as your head nurse." George Sandford gave a significant shrug of his shoul- ders ; and Sir Philip retired to his study. There was, as he expected, a large pile of letters. One from Mrs. Dennistoun lay on the top. It was full of superlative adjectives, and those emphatic strokes of the pen against which Irene had inveighed to her sister. She had really been greatly distressed, and could not make up her mind what to do with Jasper. She had nowhere to send him ; for he repudiated the idea of going to Worcester, to her aunt, Sophia Henderson. So she had thought it best to take him away. Miss Clifford had promised to send her a bulletin of her darling Rosie twice a day ; for, if letters were passed through disin- fectants, it was safe. Mrs. Dennistoun begged Philip not to expose himself to infection ; and reminded him of his engagement to dine and sleep at Bishop's Court that evening. She had herself written to put off the dinner for the 2nd, and several other engagements which were falling due. Sir Philip could scarcely repress an exclamation of impatience as he read this letter. It bore upon it the impress of the writer, as, perhaps, most letters do. Next came a thick cream-coloured envelope, with a pretty cypher, with scent about it just enough to be agreeable, but not intrusive. The writing was bold and decided, and was Lady Eugenia Le Marchant's. She began by saying that the resignation of the Member for LIGHT AND SHADE. 171 the Eastern Division of the County was now decided. Of course Sir Philip would come forward, and would most probably have no opposition. Would he bring with him the volume of Browning's poems, which he had promised ; for she hoped he had not forgotten that the Bishop and Lady Catharine were looking to him for help in entertaining a party of dull country squires on Saturday evening all to be won to his side if there should be an opposition. It was, on the whole, a pleasant note to read, and pleasant writing to deci- pher so large and clear ; and he turned it over several times, and read and re-read it, with a smile hovering about his mouth. Then he applied himself to the other letters. Several of them bore upon the same subject the resignation of Mr. Seahurst, and the desire that was felt by many of the leading representatives of the more Liberal in- terest of the neighbourhood that Sir Philip would lose no time in coming forward ; and Sir Wilton St. John had written from his house in London, expressing his willing- ness to nominate him, if he desired it. Something in Sir Philip responded to this idea of taking his seat in the House. He felt within him the power of thought ; and the more useful, though, perhaps, scarcely greater power of expressing his thoughts well. There was in him nothing of the wild, impetuous fever of many youthful spirits of the day, who, in the cry for some- thing new, forget or ignore that, in some instances, the old is better. Nor was Sir Philip Dennistoun in the first excitement of early manhood. He had arrived at the maturity of four and thirty years ; and there was never in him any undue haste, or fiery zeal, though he had un- failing energy, and an indomitable will, when the need arose. 172 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. It has been well said that we are often surprised by a failure in those we know, at the very point where we thought them so strong. Looking back into the far past, it has been ever thus. Since the days when the brave, courageous prophet, who had defied the god Baal in the face of all his fierce followers, and had stood calm in the midst of the surging crowd resolute and firm ; who had not been afraid to lift his voice, and proclaim the wrath of God, to that unscrupulous king, who held all human life cheap, when it lay in the way of his selfish- ness or ambition ; and yet, in the very hour of victory, Elijah could go to the God of Hosts with the half querulous, faint-hearted cry " It is enough, Lord ; take away my life ; for I am not better than my fathers ! " From that prophet onward, the instances are numberless ; of the bold, lion-hearted Peter failing as a coward in the hour of trial ; of St. John, the loving and beloved, betrayed into vehemence and intolerance. In sacred and profane history it has been so, and in everyday life we are met with the same thing. Sir Philip Dennistoun, who seemed unlikely to be swayed by the opposition or flattery of others, was undoubtedly much pleased by the interest which Lady Eugenia Le Marchant showed in his future. He almost confessed it to himself, that an evening at Bishop's Court was full of attraction ; and yet, as he left Rockdeane and walked down into Rodham, having left orders for his carriage and servant to call for him at Ecclestone Square, he could not re- press a regretful feeling as he thought of his bright little sister on her sick-bed, and the sweet gentle presence of Irene ministering to her with no selfish fear or thought of herself, or the probability of her taking the infection from Rosie. LIGHT AND SHADE. 173 Mr. Williamson was alone in his study when Sir Philip arrived. He had several matters of business about which he wanted to consult him ; and then he gave him the letter which more directly bore upon the question of the election for the eastern division of the county. " I shall let them nominate me," he said. " Do you think there will be much opposition or, indeed, any ? Sir Wilton St. John seems to imply that I shall merely have to walk over the ground." " Most probably it will turn out so," Mr. Williamson said ; " and I think you are the man to blow the trumpet in the House with no uncertain sound." " Wait till you hear that I have the chance. Well ; I must put this in your hands. I am going to dine at Bishop's Court to-night, and I daresay I shall hear plenty of politics talked there. And now to turn to matters domestic. This is very unfortunate about my poor little sister, people are as afraid of scarlet fever as if it were the plague." " Yes, I am very sorry about Irene ; but Mary was panic-struck, and I did not like to press the point. How- ever, Irene's letter sets me at rest, inasmuch as she seems to feel herself useful to Miss Dennistoun. She is useful wherever she is ; really, her loss in our house is felt every- where especially by poor Cuthbert." " I should like to go upstairs and see him. I suppose there can be no possible danger in my doing so. I have not seen Rosie ; and Miss Clifford kept at a very respect- ful distance from me. I would not go into Rosie's room purposely ; you are not afraid," he said, as Mr. Wil- liamson seemed to hesitate. "No, not in the least ; nor do I suppose my wife could 174 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. think there was any risk, if you are so good as to wish to see poor Cuthbert. I was only going to tell you that the mail is in ; and I have had no acknowledgment from New Zea- land for that legacy of 10,000, which I transmitted in October. I have been looking over Mr. Balfour's books, and I see the allowance which was made, regularly en- tered. Look, here is one entry ;" and Mr. Williamson took from his desk a book, and, passing his finger down the page, stopped now and then, and read : " Transmission of 250 to S. D. C. ;" then, "Acknowledgment of 250 by S. D. C., as by receipt " " Well ; evidently S. D. C. is not so grateful for the legacy as she should be or he should be. I suppose you have no clue to this mystery, Williamson ? " " No ; it has evidently been carefully guarded. But I confess I think it is a little odd that the sum of 10,000 a considerable sum should not be acknowledged." " Perhaps S. D. C. expected more," said Sir Philip, lightly ; " or, perhaps, she is gone where she wants no more pounds, shillings, and pence." " In that case, I think the banker at Canterbury would have made some sign. But we must leave the dead past to bury its dead." A message coming for Mr. Williamson that he was wanted at his office, he had to leave Sir Philip, who found his way into the drawing-room. Cuthbert was lying quiet and unoccupied on his sofa, and turned his eyes wearily to the door, as Sir Philip opened it. " Well, my boy," he said, cheerfully, " so you are all alone." " Mother and Randal and Hilda are out," Cuthbert said. " I am so glad to see you, Sir Philip ! It is such an enormous time since you were here. Do you know LIGHT AND SHADE. 175 what Auntie is going to do 1 Mother would not let her come home and, oh ! I do want her so and I am so afraid she should catch the scarlet fever." " Your aunt is very well," Sir Philip answered, as the eyes, so like Irene's, were turned full upon him. " She is taking care of my sister ; but I do not think she will get the scarlet fever, for she is not in the least bit afraid of it ; and that has so much to do with it." " Yes," said the boy ; " but Auntie couldn't be afraid. She wrote me a little note," he went on, taking a crum- pled piece of paper from under the pillow, which had evidently been saturated by disinfectants, for the writing had a blurred and blotted look. "She is sorry not to be with me, but glad to be with Rosie Miss Dennistoun, I mean and she says she has a lovely little room to sit in, and that she can get on withher story." " Her what 1 " asked Sir Philip. " Oh, don't you know ? Auntie writes lovely stories ; and the money she gets for this one, was to have taken her and me to Orchard Leigh the village where Grannie and she lived down in Devonshire ; and papa and mother were going abroad to Switzerland, I think - to see the snow-mountains that you used to tell us so many things about, and show us all those beautiful pic- tures you painted. You never come here now, and talk about them." "My dear boy," said Sir Philip, evasively, "I have to talk about things which are not half so pleasant : but I will tell you a story now, if you like." " Oh, thank you ! About the day when it was getting so dark on the mountains, and you could scarcely see the little notches you cut out of the wall of ice for your feet ; and you went back because there was a boy who was 176 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. frightened, and you tied him to your rope ? That was the story Auntie liked best." Sir Philip told it ; and, to Cuthbert's delight, took a pencil and some paper cut of his little drawing-case, and illustrated the story as he went on. All too soon the wheels of the carriage were heard, and Sir Philip had to go. Somehow it was worth a great deal to Philip, when the child looked up at him, and said, " Thank you for coming to see me. Auntie says help is sure to come when we are at our worst ; and I was very nearly crying like a baby when you came in ; and now I feel quite jolly. Sir Philip's meeting on the stairs with Mrs. "Williamson rather took off from the pleasure which Cuthbert's grati- tude had given him. " Run tip, Randal and Hilda ; don't stop a moment. Oh, Sir Philip ! I am always so charmed to see you. But have you been near Rockdeane ? I am so terribly atraid of scarlet fever ! " " I don't think there can be any ground for your fears. I was not in the house more than two or three hours ; and I only saw Miss Clifford for ten minutes." " Oh ! then, I am quite relieved. I can't help it, Sir Philip ; I am a perfect coward about infection, I know ; Irene often puts me into the most horrid fright when she goes into those dreadfully low parts of the town. I was really sorry not to have her home ; but what could I do with these children ? And I hear Mrs. Dennistoun is so alarmed that she has gone to Keswick with your brother." " Yes ; and an aunt of hers has come to take the head of the establishment in her absence. I am going to dine and sleep at Bishop's Court, I think the carnage is LIGHT AND SHADE. 177 waiting," said Sir Philip. " I will look in to-morrow, on my return." " Oh ! that will be very nice," said poor Mrs. William- son, whose fear of offending Sir Philip had been going through a sharp struggle with her dread of scarlet fever. But ought you to return to Eockdeane yourself ? Do be careful." " There is a tradition that I had this dreaded scarlet fever in the days of my youth," said Sir Philip ; " so I am invulnerable, I should think. Good-bye." He was in his carriage the next moment, and driving out to Bishop's Court ; his mind full of many things, past, present, and to come ; but, through all these, there was a presence, which would not be wholly put aside, taking the form of the little, quiet, self-possessed woman who had paused half way down the wide, antique stair- case at Rockdeane that morning, and had asked, " Are you afraid to speak to me 1 " There is no doubt that simple, truthful souls carry with them an influence in the most trivial things, which is felt and acknowledged more by the refreshment of their presence in this false, unreal, hollow world, than by any actual and defined impression which they leave upon us. Lady Eugenia Le Marchant was in her brightest and most attractive mood to-night. The Bishop and his wife looked at her, and wondered if she could ever be the languid, indolent girl, with whose real and fancied illnesses and ailments they were often so oppressed. Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks tinged with colour, and her conversation bright and clever. Lady Catharine Weston, in the simplicity of her heart, remarked to one of her friends that Eugenia had been a great deal stronger N 178 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. lately ; and that she was able to do many things which, a year ago, would have knocked her up. " I suspect, my dear Lady Catharine," said the good lady, in reply, " your niece only wanted an object in life an interest, I mean." Then Lady Catharine rose on the defensive. " Eugenia has never wanted interests," she said ; " she has a very intellectual and refined mind. I have often felt that her companions here have not been such as she ought to have. Old people, like the Bishop and myself, must be very much behind her. Education for women was not thought so much of in my young days." " No, nor in mine," was the reply ; " but I do think young people were taught to have more consideration for others, and more respect to their elders and superiors in age. It may be all very well to read Dante in the original, and all those sort of books ; but there are more import- ant things, in my judgment, which ought to go before all these. I am an old-fashioned person, my dear Lady Catharine ; and I understand by the higher education of women something very different to all I hear talked of now-a-days. Lady Eugenia seems to have found some one now who is suited to her," the old lady went on, glancing in the direction of Sir Philip Dennistoun, who was lean- ing against the mullion of the bay-window, while Lady Eugenia sat in a low chair, and was talking eagerly, as she looked up at him, and he was responding with a smile, which was full of pleasure and interest " Is that to come off, Lady Catharine 1 " asked another lady, who, in spite of titles and lands, and an enormous idea of her own importance, was a long way from being a gentlewoman. " It looks like it, I must say ; and I LIGHT AND SHADE. 179 suppose you would approve it. There is nothing like a little interest of that sort for young ladies who are in the doctor's hands for nerves ; " and a disagreeable laugh ended the sentence. Lady Catharine Weston, though rather flurried and put out by her guest's plain speaking, had plenty of real, simple dignity at her command. "I don't think it is ever right," she said, "Lady Brestyr, to make a jest of these things. Eugenia is much stronger; and the Bishop and I are very thankful to notice it. Now, will you come into the conservatory, I have such a beautiful new Begonia, which the gardener brought in to-day. I should like you to see it." The two ladies exchanged significant glances, and followed their hostess. As they passed the window, Lady Catharine paused to say, " Do not sit too long by the open window, Genie ; it is getting damp. For a heavy dew falls after these hot days of early summer," she added, to her companions. " We must not transgress," said Sir Philip, as Lady Catharine passed on. " Will you move, or shall I close the window?" " Oh, neither; thanks. Aunt Catharine is always full of little crotchets about damp and dew, and such like. But, tell me, have you had any talk with that old man with the gray moustache old Colonel Hutchinson he would be so important as an ally. Do make up to him, and be civil, and sweet if you can. Get him upon the Crimea ; and tell him you have heard of his exploits at Alma. You see I want to put you up to a little elec- tioneering. Then there is that rough-headed, red-faced man, who sat opposite you at dinner, Mr. Westerby. I made Uncle Richard invite him to night, for he is certain N 2 180 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. to be a warm supporter. Of course you must stroke him the right way, too. Let me see tell him you have heard of the extraordinary success he had on the Moor last August, and of the number of grouse he bagged. You must, really, get round him ; for this man they are talking of bringing forward in the old high and dry Conservative interest, is a relation of his. He is to sleep here to-night, so you must watch your opportunity." " I am afraid I shall not be so an fait at electioneering as you would wish." " Oh, but you must try," she said. " I would not have you defeated for anything. When we come to London next year I have made up my mind to hear your speech on the new Reform Bill. You will have to take a house in London, of course, and bring out your sister." " My poor little sister," Sir Philip raid j " she is en- during all the miseries of scarlet fever, just now. I have only been in Rockdeane for a short time, and I have not seen her to-day, so I cannot bear about infection with me, or I should not have come here." " Of course not," said Lady Eugenia ; " besides, I have had the scarlet fever, and don't mean to catch it from you. Only keep your own counsel ; don't tell the dear old people ; they might turn nervous. I do hope your sister will soon get well. She is so pretty, and so simple and sweet ; I admire her, extremely. Quite a Rose without thorns. I also have taken a fancy to that quiet little Miss Clifford, your lawyer's niece." " Sister-in-law," Sir Philip corrected. " Oh, yes ; sister-in-law. She has a face which always reminds me of some of the saints or madonnas one sees in the foreign galleries ; she is not at all like every-day people ; and her manners are perfect I have seen her LIGHT AND SHADE. 181 several times "when those pretentious Rodham bankers and people have been ignoring her, and talking big and grand at her not to her. At a garden party, last sum- mer, at the Homes', before you came, and when we thought old Sir Jasper was the only possible resident at Rockdeane, I saw a most delightful scene : Mrs. Tillett was hanging over me, and talking of all the grand people she could think of, while Miss Clifford sat by ; how she had dined here, and her daughters had been to luncheon there ; and how Sir Wilton St. John's daughter was coming to stay with them, for she and Helen were such great friends ; and how these little garden reunions were very nice for the townspeople the Homes were so good in asking every one. I could not resist it ; the wicked fit seized me, and I turned to Miss Clifford, and said, ' How kind of the Homes to' ask you and me !' She saw the joke ; and such a smile broke over her face, as she answered, ' Very ; but I do not know many people here, and I am rather tired of it.' You should have seen Mrs. Tillett gather up her dignity as she murmured something about dear Helen, and departed." So Lady Eugenia talked on ; and Sir Philip lent him- self to the fascination of her voice and bright sparkling manners. There was a want of rest about her, it was true ; and there was the want which is always the greatest when it is felt in a woman. But he went to his room that night thinking over much she had said : her in- terest in him and his success ; her evident powers of adaptation ; and her keen sense of humour. He was more than ever set upon victory at the election, if it should come to a contest, and the relation of the "rough-headed, red-faced man " should go to the Poll. 182 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Meanwhile, the same bright May evening dragged on rather slowly at Rockdeane. Rosie was restless and feverish, her throat was very sore, and unaccustomed to illness she really believed herself to be worse than she actually was. Irene made the sick-room bright with flowers, and showed herself in all her gentle ministry > the perfection of a nurse. The Rodham nurse had gone to lie down, that she might be with the invalid at night ; and Mrs. Henderson contented herself with putting her head in at the door once or twice, and saying. "All going on well, I hope V Mrs. Mason took care that Miss Clifford had the best of little repasts sent up to Rosie's sitting-room ; but Mrs. Henderson evidently determined to make the most of her position at Rockdeane, so she dined in state by herself in the dining-room, and expressed to Mrs. Mason her desire to keep up the accustomed habits of the family ; thus Irene saw very little of her. The next day she sat by the pleasant window, writing and reading when Rosie did not want her ; and enjoyed the sweet calm and repose of the country, with all the zest which such natures whose daily life is necessarily passed in a town, and to whom street sights and sounds are a perpetual jar, can alone understand. " It is Sunday," Rosie said; "won't you go to church? You can have a carriage, you know." " No ; I shall pass my Sunday here," Irene said. " I should not like to leave you for so long ; and, moreover, I might send some one into a fit of hys- terics if they recognised me as sitting next them at the Cathedral." "The poor old Almshouse people will have to do without LIGHT AND SHADE. 183 you to-day, then, and Mrs. Bolton, too. Oh ! dear, it seems more like a year than a week since last Sunday ; so much has happened to me. I quite expect Philip will stay on at Bishop's Court, now he is there; and I wonder if Mr. Sandford will come back. I wonder if he oares so very much about me." " I am sure he does," Irene said. " I have had a note from him to-day, written from some little village near Grassmere ; and begging me to tell him how you go on." " And have you answered ? Pray, put the letter through that pink stuff, first," she added eagerly. " Oh, yes, I am not likely to forget precautions ; but try to be still, dear, and I will read to you." " Irene," Rosie said; " do let me look at the letter his letter." Irene could not refuse ; but poor Rosie's eyes were too weak to read it, and she had to return it to Irene, and said, " Do read it to me. I must be very ill, for I can't see ; the words all run about." "The letter is very short, dear; only a few words;" and Irene read the request that she would post a bulletin to the address he had given. " Here is your mother's, too," she continued ; " shall I read that ?" " It is too long," Rosie murmured wearily. " Poor mamma ! but it hurts me to talk, Irene. I do think I am very ill. Oh, I hope I am not going to die. Would you be frightened if you were like me 1 " " No, Rosie, I think not ; and I hope God has a long life of work for Him for you to do here before He takes you. Now, I shall read ; and you must not talk any more, but have some lemonade, and try to go to sleep." Rosie obeyed ; but presently turned her head suddenly, 184 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. " Irene, do you think my hair will all come out 1 it will be so horrid, and make me like a woolley-headed doll" Irene could not help laughing ; the pathetic and the ludicrous followed so closely upon each other. But poor Rosie could not join in it. Indeed, it was many days before either she or Irene laughed again. Her fever ran very high ; and for three nights she was delirious. Then, on the fourth day, a fresh accession of trouble came. Jasper -sickened with the fever; and his mother, dread- ing the inconvenience of lodgings, and the want of proper attention, brought him home; telegraphing her arrival a few hours previously. It was wonderful how naturally Irene became the general superintendent of the whole nursing staff. Some- thing in her presence seemed to soothe all the sufferers : and the wilful, headstrong boy, his mother's especial care, would submit to no authority but Irene's. A servant also caught the fever : and the west wing of Rockdeane became a hospital. Sir Philip did not return from Bishop's Court till the end of the week, and then was obliged to submit to a strict quarantine. Mrs. Dennistoun went hither and thither, with cotton wool, saturated with camphor, held to her mouth and nose ; and sent for Dr. Simpson, and the surgeon who acted under his orders, at every conceivable hour of the day or night. A t the close of the eighth day Rosie began to mend ; but Jasper had many bad symptoms, and the doctors looked grave. Irene felt the most sincere sympathy with his mother, whose idol he was; and the less self-control she testified, the greater that sympathy became. It was after a trying time spent in Jasper's room, when she alone had availed to persuade him to allow his throat to be LIGHT AND SHADE. 185 cauterized, and had sat with him afterwards till he fell asleep, that Irene put on her hat, and went out into the grounds. June had come in cold and wet ; and the bright May sunshine seemed to have hidden itself behind dark clouds and a leaden sky. Enveloped in her waterproof, Irene did not heed the misty rain ; and walked briskly herself tip and down the terrace. The strain upon her had been very great for the last few days, and she felt tired and worn out. She had never seen Sir Philip since they had parted in the dining-room ten days before ; and she only knew from Mrs. Dennistoun that he had returned to Rockdeane. But now, when he came up to her, and said, " I am glad to have met you, at last," she started back. " I think you had much better not speak to me ; please do not. I have been with Jasper a long time ; his throat is very bad and ." How or why it was, she never knew, but suddenly the overtaxed strength broke down, and Irene struggled in vain with her tears. " Is the poor boy so very ill ] " Philip asked. " I must go to him. It is really folly, and apparent cowardice, that I have not done so before." " You must not you must not, indeed," Irene ex- claimed, putting out her hand with a sudden gesture ; and then, almost instantly recovering herself, she said, " Of course, if you think it right, you must see Jasper ; but unless we can be of use, I do not think we ought to run into infection." " Perhaps not," Sir Philip said ; and immediately it flashed through his mind how Lady Eugenia had made 186 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. him promise not to go near the fever ; urging as a reason, " If people get hold of the idea that you have been in the way of scarlet fever, you won't be able to go on with the election. Every one will be afraid to let you into their houses." " Yes," he said ; " I won't run the risk of adding to trouble, though, of course, I have not the least fear. You look very pale, and are doing too much, I am afraid." " Oh ! no ; it all came to me to do; and therefore I feel sure I am in my right place. The chief thing that weighs upon me is about Cuthberb. I know he misses me, and wants me." "I have been to see him two or three times," Sir Philip said. " How very good and kind of you," she exclaimed ; " tell me about him." " He is getting on pretty well Your notes seem a great comfort ; but the child has given up keeping them because his mother was so afraid of their being under his pillow." " Dear Cuthbert," she replied, with that touch of tenderness in her voice, which, when she spoke of him, always made Sir Philip think how she could love, when once the depths were stirred. " Dear Cuthbert ! if you are so kind as to go and see him again, will you tell him I have not given up our plan about Orchard Leigh, and that I do not intend him to be disappointed. Give him my best love, and tell him I am quite well that is, if you really go to see him again." " I quite intend to do so, if Mrs. Williamson will let me ; but now I have been near dangerous people, I don't know what she may say. I am obliged to see your brother-in-law very often just now; for Mr. Hardcastle LIGHT AND SHADE. 187 is coming forward after all, and we shall have a contest." " A contest ! " she repeated. " For the representation of the county ; you know." " Oh ! yes ; you are really going to stand then 1 " " Yes, I believe so ; are you pleased, or not ? A long time ago I told you I must have some active service. I could not live an idle life. I believe, too, I shall be able to do more in this way than any other, and of course, my practice at the Bar is in my favour." He waited ; but Irene did not speak. How different to the enthusiastic interest that Lady Eugenia had shown. Almost as if reading her thoughts, he went on : " I shall go on with the church ; and I am looking after all the houses in the hamlet. Then, I don't forget the chapel ; that must be restored, and I hope to get daily prayer there for the old people, by providing Mr. Bolton with a curate. I intend to stand for the Eastern Division ; and what is more, I intend to win the seat, and shall use every fair and honourable means to do so. I don't know that I ever put my hand to any- thing yet and turned back." She raised her eyes to his those pure unworldlike eyes full of truth, and he read in them something which puzzled him. He waited, thinking she would speak ; but she did not. "You know the family motto," he went on ; "you must have read it often enough when you went under the old gateway of Hildyard's Almshouses, before you saw it over the door yonder." " Yes ; ' Ad Ccelum ' is a good watch- word for us all, when taken in its true sense. Those who mount on eagle's wings, and renew their strength, have to do something else, 188 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. too. I must go in to Rosie, now; she is getting on beauti- fully ; and is a very good patient." " What else 1 " he asked himself, as Irene disappeared. Then there came to him an echo of the old familiar words, and the voice within seemed to whisper " Wait." CHAPTEU IX M THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." " How should I not remember ? Is dusk of day forgetful ; or the winter of the sun ? " F. W. H. MYEBS. " THIS, too, will pass," the proverb of some old king of Persia, which he ordered to be written up in every room in his palace, is often brought home to us in our daily ex- perience. The illness which seemed so interminable ; the trouble which was at the time all but insupportable ; all phases of sorrow and distress ; nay, even the keenest pangs of grief which rend bereaved hearts, pass ; and we find ourselves insensibly but surely losing the very memory of the past in the present. Doubtless, some scars are left, which never really heal. Doubtless, though " pain and grief are transitory things," and leave us, they do not always leave us as they find us. " But this, too, will pass," may be written on every circumstance of this mutable and perilous life, and a certain amount of com- fort may be derived from it. I say a certain amount, for full comfort, under any trial and any sorrow, comes from a source from which the Eastern king could not draw the waters of consolation. For, if the Christian soul can feel that the fashion of this world passeth away, bearing with it all its sharpest pains, of bodily or mental 190 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. anguish, as well as all its fairest and dearest hopes, it can feel, too, that there is an inheritance which fadeth not incorruptible and undefiled reserved in Heaven for those who are kept through faith, in hope of the glory which shall be revealed. Long as was Jasper Dennistoun's illness, and weary as every one about him grew of the irritable convalescence which seemed harder to his nurses than the illness itself it came to an end at last. And one morning, in the last week of June, what Rosie called the hospital ward at Rockdeane was closed ; and the whole party left it together, for the final purification of the sea-air at Scar- borough. Irene was to accompany them ; for not one of the number could spare her. Mrs. Dennistoun had grown to rest in her and trust her, in a way which often made Rosie wonder ; it was so unlike her mother, to refuge herself in any one. Jasper would submit to her when no other authority availed ; and little Mi's. Henderson declared that, of all the young women of the present day that she had ever met, she thought Miss Clifford the most "capable." Mrs. Henderson often used that ad- jective, without the noun it qualified, and seemed to stretch its significance to any limit. The Rodham world had not dared to approach Rock- deane ; and so, for many weeks, the inhabitants were left without any attention but the cards of inquiry, which were sent by servants, and seldom delivered in person. " It is, of course, quite impossible to hold any communica- tion with the Dennistouns," people said ; and there were many stories circulated of the mysterious ways in which scarlet-fever was propagated by books, by letters, by wearing apparel, by every conceivable thing which existed. Those who were the most eager in their rehearsal of "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 191 these terrible stories of infection were those who were aggrieved at what might be considered want of proper attention to them ; and from some of these Irene Clifford suffered severely. "It has always been her aim to ingratiate herself with the Dennistouns ; but I fear she will be bitterly disappointed," said Margaret Thornycroft one afternoon, at a croquet party at the Tilletts' ; " it has been so transparent." " What has been so transparent ? " asked Mrs. Preston, a quiet little woman, who was one of the few Rodham people that really knew Irene. " Oh. ! did you not know what a dead set she made on Sir Philip at one time? Indeed, I dare say she has not given up hopes now ; but she will have to do it soon, for I hear that he is really engaged to Lady Eugenia Le Marchant ; so all her devotion to his sister and brother will be thrown away ; though, to be sure, not quite that, for she has gone to Scarborough with them; and that is a pleasant change in this hot weather." "Miss Thornycroft," said the little, quiet lady, in reply ; " Miss Clifford's stay at Rockdeane was scarcely optional. Her sister was naturally afraid to receive her, with, her own young children in the house, who might be liable to take the complaint ; but I think you can hardly be aware that Miss Clifford has been the most devoted nurse to Miss Dennistoun and the boy, and that the two doctors both think her services have been invaluable." " Dear me, Mrs. Preston, what nonsense ! A paid nurse, from the Nurses' Institution, has been at Rock- deane all these weeks. I know the Lady Superintendent very well ; and she told us so ; did she not, Mary ? " 192 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. appealing to her sister, who was just then brought near the place where Mrs. Preston was defending Irene, by a sharp croquet from her adversary. " Of course ; but, Margaret, if I were you, I would let that poor little Miss Clifford alone. Your strictures may be misinterpreted. I shall really begin to stand up for Irene Clifford ; and then Mrs. Preston, I know, will think the better of me. But, after all, I believe Sir Philip is in London, and Rockdeane is undergoing a purifying pro- cess ; so that, in September, it may be ready for shooting guests, and all the entertainments that Sir Philip will have to give to his constituents. It would be too dreadful if they caught the scarlet-fever. Now, I must return that croquet with interest ; " and, with a very profes- sional swing of her own particular mallet, which Miss Thornycroft carried with her to every party, marked with her cypher in red and blue letters, she certainly re- turned the croquet in grand style, and hit her opponent at an almost incredible distance ; thereby eliciting the applause of both sides of the game. " Mary can play croquet, if she can do nothing else," her sister said, as she departed ; " it is a good thing that we all find something in which we excel." And then Margaret Thornycroft moved towards another group of people, and sowed further seeds which will spring up and bear fruit; whether for good or evil, let those unoccupied women, who spend their time in discussing the imperfections of their neighbours, and imputing to them motives which exist only in their own brains, determine. It was not till the beginning of August that Irene re- tumed to her brother-in-law's house ; soon after Sir Philip Dennistoun had been returned for the Eastern Division "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 193 of the County, with such a large majority, that Mr. Hardcastle was left behind on the day of the polling by some hundreds of votes. Irene read the speeches ia the papers ; and heard Forster Williamson's account of the favourable impression which Sir Philip had made upon his constituents ; and one morning, as she was returning from a visit to Mr. Bolton's, she met Sir Philip, just as she was coming out from under the gateway of Hildyard's Aluishouses. He was walking with Sir Wilton St. John, his arm linked in his. He raised his hat, and smiled ; and then suddenly stopped, and, saying to his friend, " One moment," he turned, and overtook Irene. " I have not seen you since the election," he said. " I hope all my battles may be as easily won as this has been." The colour came to Irene's face ; and she felt a con- gratulatory speech was expected from her. " I am very glad you were successful," she said, in her low, sweet voice. " I liked your address very much ; it said in ten lines what Mr. Hardcastle tried to say in fifty." It was not like the enthusiastic reception and congratu- lation which Lady Eugenia had given him a few days before, but it sounded like the speaker, true, and simple, and real. "Thanks," he replied; "brevity is the soul of wit, you know. Have you heard from Rosie since they went to Brighton ? " " Yes, twice. Jasper seems better, and will be well enough to go to Eton after the vacation, she thinks." " I hope so ; and I dare say you know that Sandford is put on a year's probation by the powers that be ; and that after her first season in London, if Rosie holds firm, o 194 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. he is to have her. But I will try and come in to- morrow, before I go up to town, and discuss matters further. I have been looking up the grouse the last few days, or you would have seen me before. Good-bye." He shook hands with her warmly, and went to rejoin the impatient Sir Wilton. " Who was your fair friend, Dennistoiin ? What would the Lady Eugenia say ? Don't look so unsuspecting and so innocent ; you know you have got that pretty little piece of business to come off next. Another easy triumph, I suspect. I hope there is not another com- petitor in the field, in the person of that little lady you have just parted from, with so much reluctance. Who is she 1 " " Miss Clifford," answered Sir Philip, shortly. "That does not enlighten me, I am afraid. Miss Clifford ! What, one of the Lancashire Cliffords 1 and they were a good old Roman Catholic family." " No. I am not learned in her family pedigree," said Sir Philip. " She is the sister-in-law of my lawyer, and friend, Mr. Williamson Irene Clifford. Now, are you satisfied ? " " Not quite," was the rejoinder ; " nor do I think the lady at Bishop's Court would be. But revenons ct nos moutons how about the shooting party at Rock- deane 1 " So they went on to talk of many other things ; and Irene's name was not again mentioned. The next day passed, and Sir Philip did not come to Ecclestone Square. Flowers, and fruit, and a brace of grouse, were brought in the evening, addressed to Master Cuthbert William- son, but that was all. The boy stroked the birds, and watched Irene as she arranged the flowers in the vases, "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 195 and took out some of the choicest to put into her sister's hair, who was dressing for a party upstairs. " I wish he had come instead of sending all these things, Auntie," Cuthbert said; "I would rather see him than the flowers. And he is going away to-morrow, too. Didn't you say so, Auntie ] " " Yes, dear ; " and there was something very like a sigh which accompanied the words. " But I must go and look after Mamma now, and put these flowers in her hair, and then we will have a happy time. When Randal has done his lessons, I will read to you." " Your las* story ; is it finished 1 Oh, how delightful ! " "It is not only finished but printed. I have got the proofs ; and perhaps we shall go tc Orchard Leigh after all ! " "Auntie !" She ran away smiling, and saying " we shall see " her hands full of flowers and ferns and tapped at her sister's door. " Come in. Oh, Irene, I am glad it is you ! I want my hair dressed again. Nurse has done it so abominably ; and Hilda was so tiresome, and pulled the things about so dreadfully. It must all come down. Oh, what lovely flowers ! Where did you get them ? " " They came from Rockdeane, for Cuthbert. I thought you would like some for your hair." " Did Sir Philip bring them after all, then ? I thought he would not go without saying good-bye." "N~o; he sent them with some grouse, and some beautiful fruit. Now, do you know it is getting late ? Let me begin your hair." Irene soon smoothed her sister's abundant hair, and dressed it with taste and skill. The whole effect, when o 2 196 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. it was complete, was very gratifying ; and Mrs. William- son said, " Really, these flowers are a wonderful addition. Mrs. Tillett will not have anything to equal them." Irene seized the happy moment ; and, as she was putting a few finishing touches to her sister's hair, she said, " Mary, if you and Forster go to Paris, will you let me take nurse and the children to Orchard Leigh? Cuthbert has set his heart upon it." " Oh, it is so much too far so much too expensive a journey. I am sure Forster will say so. Just put that bit of maiden hair a little more to the left, Irene." " I have the money all ready for the journey, Mary," Irene said, " and we can have the little house at Orchard Leigh, on the cliff Eden "Villa the one that used to be covered with such beautiful roses in old days. I wrote to Mrs. Stephens, and asked her about the rent. We can have it from the 1st of September for six weeks for two guineas a week. May I write to say we will engage it?" " I will speak to Forster about it. It might be rather nice ; and we might come to you when we have been our trip. Forster needs the complete change so much ; and there is the doctor there who used to attend Cuthbert in our dear mother's time. I don't think it is at all a bad idea. But how did you get the money, Irene 1 " " I earned it with my pen," said Irene ; " it is mine, to do what I like with ; and Cuthbert and I shall enjoy this together." " There is Forster calling me; and there is the cab. Do give me my cloak. It is a pity you are not going, too. 1 must just run into the drawing-room and show myself "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 197 to Cuthbert. Good-bye, dear; thank you. You are a first-rate lady's-maid." Mrs. Williamson tripped lightly away, and Irene was left with the debris of flowers and every conceivable thing that could make a room untidy, lying here and there. She busied herself in arranging the dressing- table, closing and locking her sister's jewel-box, which Hilda's little fingers had rifled and upset, and then she went to the window and sat down to rest before going to her nephews, as she had promised. u Why should I be disappointed, or care 1 " she asked herself. " He is always kind and friendly to me when we meet. What can I want more ? Even if it had been, as I suppose I was beginning to be so silly as to think it was, it could not have been good for me. I don't think those high aspirings of his would have suited me. He would have left me so far behind ; it is so much better as it is. And then 1 know that the One I love best has ordered my life making me of use when I little expected it and showing me my work and giving me peace in it." In. another five minutes Irene's face was bright and happy. She went to Hilda's little bed and sang her her Evening Hymn, and then delighted Cuthbert and Randal by reading to them the proof-sheets of her new story. The next morning, on his way to the station, Sir Philip came in to say the Good-bye which he had pro- mised. He did not stay long ; and, as he left the house, Mrs. Williamson said " I do begin to believe it is true, and that he is engaged to Lady Eugenia Le Marchant. I heard some people talking of it last night. After all you have done for the family, Irene ; subjecting yourself, and, indeed, all of us, 198 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. to the risk of scarlet fever by nursing his sister and brother, and giving up everything for them, I think they might all show a little more gratitude ; though, as I always told you, you have managed the whole thing very badly. There is no doubt in my mind not the slightest that when he first came here, Sir Philip was really very much taken with you. It is en- tirely your own fault ; and, of course, when he found you so stiff and cold, and Lady Eugenia so very much the reverse, he was not slow to discover all she had to bring him, which you have not." Can there be anything more painful, or anything which jars a sensitive nature more, than to have our very inner- most and scarcely-acknowledged thoughts and feelings openly discussed. The torture that some of us undergo from this too common habit cannot be expressed by words. "We are all given to talk about each other a great deal more than is wise or right. But the shaft passes by harmlessly and does no real mischief to some dense souls ; while to others, bitterness of spirit and tears of self- reproach in secret, are often the results. At least, in all matters relating to marrying or giving in marriage, do let us try to remember that "silence is golden." The great wish of Irene's heart at this time was accom- plished. Mr. Williamson's doctor advised entire rest and change ; and the idea of the tour abroad with his wife met with the cordial approval of Dr. Simpson ; and, except the misgiving she had about the length of the journey for Cuthbert, Irene felt no difficulty in carrying out her scheme. Mrs. Henderson's kindly offer of a night's rest at her house at Worcester was accepted ; and, on the 1st of September, the whole family left Rodham Mr. and Mrs. Williamson going with the "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 199 children and Irene as far as Worcester, and then leaving them to pursue their journey to Orchard Leigh the next day. The little eccentric old lady gave Irene the warmest reception, and Cuthbert was provided with a room adjoining his Aunt's, and treated with the greatest kind- ness and consideration. " He is a sweet boy, my dear, and the very image of you," she said, when, after trotting up and down- stairs incessantly that evening, she finally subsided into her easy-chair and took out her knitting. " I took a fancy to you from the moment I saw you, and through all that trying scarlet fever time at Rock- deane you were so patient and pleasant. Dear me ! it is to be hoped a rise in life will not spoil you." Irene laughed. " I hope I am not likely to be tried." " Now, my dear, that is nonsense. We shall see you lady at Rockdeane in another year. I am not blind or deaf. Of course I saw and heard a great deal all those weeks at Rockdeane ; and, by the tone of my niece's note, I knew she had some very special reason for inviting me. If it had not been for the scarlet fever, and the necessity of somebody going, who was too old to take the infection as she implied I was, for I am in my seventieth year, my dear, and not ashamed of it either I should not have seen the grand house for some years ; perhaps, never ! Poor Carrie is very agreeable and handsome, and dresses well, and is kind in her way ; but she is a woman of the world, my dear, and no one knows her better than her stepson does. He reads her through and through with those eyes of his extraordinary eyes they are. I have often heard it said he would have risen to the very top of 200 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. the profession, if this ready-made fortune had not couie to him." " By the help of his eyes ? " asked Irene, laughing. Mrs. Henderson looked at her with her own little sharp beads, which suited so well with her quick restless move- ments. " No, my dear ; by his brains and by his will," she said. " A resolute will is Philip's. Carrie knows that ; and it is my opinion, that poor little Rosie would never have got this concession made about that great awkward lover of hers, who was lounging in the hall at Rock- deane on the day I arrived, if it had not been that she felt he was a friend of Philip's, and that he would stick to him through thick and thin ; in short, that opposition was useless." So the little lady chatted on, and Irene was amused at the children's remarks on her, when she went to kiss them for the night. " She is just like a little brown sparrow, Auntie," Randal said ; " and doesn't she speak out her mind. She said to nurse, just now, ' Make yourself comfortable, and get a good supper. I dislike other people's maids in my house ; they are so apt to unsettle my own ; but, of course, the invalid boy must have you. His Aunt slaves enough for him as it is.' " " And, Auntie," said little Hilda ; " she said I wasn't to scrape my feet on the ledge of the chair ; she's very particular, nurse says." " But very kind, dear Hilda. Mrs. Henderson is not used to have children in her neat pretty little house ; and we must remember how good it is of her to take us all in." Cuthbert had a restless night, and was so unfit to continue his journey the next day, that Irene yielded to "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 201 Mrs. Henderson's entreaty, and gave him a few hours more rest ; while she sent a telegram to the house at Orchard Leigh, to say that their coming was delayed for another day ; and when, at last, they bid their kind hostess good-bye, she let them depart with great reluctance, and would not hear a word of thanks, only saying that she hoped to see them on their return from Orchard Leigh. How long that return was to be delayed for two of the number, neither Mrs. Henderson nor any one guessed. Poor Cuthbert, after a fortnight's enjoyment of the sea, and the return to all the scenes, which were dear to him, as to Irene, for the sake of one who was gone, flagged, and got weaker ; and it soon became apparent that another abscess was forming on his hip, and he must go through the usual course of pain and suffering, which would render a journey northward impossible for many weeks. When Mr. and Mrs. Williamson arrived on their return from their tour, it was evident that it was out of the question for him to go home. His father was obliged to return at once ; but his mother lingered. Poor Irene had her full share of blame for proposing an expedition which had brought about such results, and her heart sank within her at the reproaches which her sister could not resist heaping upon her. In vain the doctor assured Mrs. Williamson that the accession of Cuthbert's disease would have been probably developed at home, that it would, perhaps, in the end, be better for him to spend the winter in a milder climate, and that the boy might be better after this abscess, than he had been before. His mother would not take any comfort from this ; she thought the doctor was making a nice winter's patient out of her boy, and saw him and 202 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. everything else at Orchard Leigh, through a distorted medium. It was a relief, at last, when Mr. Williamson's order came for his wife, and Randal, and Hilda, to go home. Irene felt as if she could bear the burden better alone. She had still friends and kindly neighbours left in the place, where she had spent so many happy years with her mother ; and her father's name, who had been the rector of a parish in the neighbourhood, was yet held in honour. The evening after her sister and the children were gone, Irene was sitting by Cuthbert's side, and looking out on the sea, which could be seen from the window, over the tops of the trees, now wearing once more their autumn livery. She hoped the child was asleep ; but, turning her head partly to look at him, she saw his eyes were full of tears, and that the pillow was wet. " Do you feel so dull, darling, without Randal and Hilda and mamma 1 " she asked, tenderly stroking back the thick hair from his pale forehead. " No, Auntie, no. I am only thinking how dull it must be for you, and how cross I was this morning, when I said, now nurse was gone, I would not let the new servant Mrs. Stephens sent come near me ; it was so very " Cuthbert's tears choked him, and rendered the rest inaudible. "I mean to let her do everything for me now. You will be making yourself ill, Auntie ; your life is spent in nursing sick people, and doing something for others. Please go out for a walk now, and leave me. I shall go to sleep, and it is such a lovely evening ; the moon will be so beautiful on the sea. Do go to please me," he said, beseechingly. " Very well, dearest, I will go ; and when I come back, we will light the pretty reading-lamp, and I will read to you. " "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 203 The pretty reading-lamp was one of Sir Philip's pre- sents to Cuthbert, and greatly prized. Whenever Irene touched it, it always seemed to bring back the evening when he had brought it to Ecclestone Square and had put it on Cuthbert's little table, as a sm-prise, before he displayed a new book of sketches. Now, as she took it up and placed it ready by the boy's couch, thoughts of the past came back ; and, as she strolled on the cliff and came home by the village, Irene had to fight one of those battles with herself, out of which all true-hearted women, who have God on their side, come out victors. She turned into the village churchyard, and found her way in the dusk to the white marble slab which marked her mother's resting-place. It was all beautiful and serene, like the close of that dear life in which her own. had been so bound up. From afar came the distant murmur of the waves and the shouts of the fishermen, who were getting their nets ready on the shore. There were soft whisperings of the trees in the churchyard, and the sleepy chuckle of an old jackdaw as it settled in its nest in the belfry tower for the night ; voices of children in the village street, subdued and mellowed by distance, and the faint moan which came fitfully as the autumn wind wandered through the open space at the top of the lych-gate and sank again to stillness, like a restless and uneasy spirit. It was a time when " From something seen or heard, Whether forests softly stirred, Or the speaking of a word, Or the singing of a bird, Cares and sorrows ceasa 204 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. For a moment, on the soul Falls the rest that maketh whole, Falls the endless peace ! " 0, the hush from earth's annoys f O, the heaven ! 0, the joys ! Such as priests or singing-boys Cannot sing or say ! There is no more pain and crying There is no more death and dying As for sorrow, and for sighing, These shall flee away ! " When Irene reached Eden Villa, she fcmnd Cutlibert all smiles and brightness. The new maid had been so kind, and brought him some jelly, and lighted the lamp ; and there was a present of flowers from the Parsonage ; and, above all, there was a letter by the late post for Auntie. The letter proved to be from Rosie Dennistoun, and began abruptly, "I have heard that you are all alone, you dear darling Irene ; and that you are not coming to Rodham for weeks and months. So I got Philip to make mother let me come and see you. I have to bring my maid horrid nuisance ! but you see she does for an escort, and you won't mind ; for she is a nice little woman, and not fine and stupid. I can stay a week; and I have such heaps of things to say ! " My dear, we have been so busy in London looking after the swell house in Queen's Gate, of which possession is to be taken in February and mother has been living in the society of upholsterers. Philip comes backwards and forwards, leaving everything to her, except one little room a boudoir for somebody that is to be untouched "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 205 at present. Then we have had to take several journeys to Eton just to see how Jasper was if his little finger ached, or if he had had any roughness or difficulty. On the contrary, things have gone remarkably smooth with him. His head is full of boys with big handles to their names, who are in the same master's house with him Mr. Knight's house. He is more of a dandy than ever, and not grown an inch, in spite of the elongating process of scarlet fever. One good sign I noticed yester- day. He asked for you ; said you were the j oiliest woman he knew ; and told me to remember him to you. ' No need,' quoth I ; ' her memories of you must be suf- ficiently vivid ; especially about the wine-glass ! ' " ' Too bad to go back to that ! ' I now hear you saying it most peaceful of Irenes ! As if it could be of any con- sequence that he dashed a glass of champagne in your face, because it hurt him to swallow it ! But I need not go on, or enlarge. I shall take the eleven o'clock express from Paddington to-morrow morning, and shall get to Exeter oh, I am sure I don't know when ! but on to Orchard Leigh in the course of the afternoon. " Ever and always, your loving "K. C.D." "P.S. N.B. My heart is in the same place as it was last May. My head is covered with little funny flat curls, which disturbs mother's peace of mind. They are making a lot of plaits and rolls to cover them when I come out next spring. Love to Cuthbert." Irene laughed over the letter, and found that the news it contained was more welcome than she could have believed possible. 206 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. * Rosie's room, and the maid's room, were all put in order by twelve o'clock the next day ; and about six o'clock she came dancing in, full of life, and looking prettier than ever; and threw herself into Irene's arms, and covered her with kisses. She was in the humour to be pleased with everything; and her spirits were exuberant. She brought baskets of treasures for Cuthbert ; and her only disappointment was to find him so weak and suffering, that he could only take a languid interest in what, when he was better, would have enchanted him. " And you are to be left alone here ? " Rosie said, when the happy week had come to its close ; and Mrs. Dennis- toun, who had returned to Rockdeane, refused to give Rosie a prolonged leave of absence. " How dreadfully dull it will be for you." " Oh, no," Irene said ; " if I could only see Cuthbert better, I should not mind ; but I fear the abscess will have to be lanced and probed again, and that does not look like much progress. However, I have faith in Mr. Spencer ; he is really a clever surgeon, and has a large practice in the neighbourhood. I love this little place dearly, and would as soon, perhaps sooner, be here than at Rodham, except for thinking that there are some people there who will rather miss me. I wish you would go to Hildyard's Almshouses sometimes, and see the old people and Mrs. Bolton." " Of course I will, if you wish it ; only I shall not kno\v a bit what to say. And I will get Randal and Hilda out to Rockdeane whenever I can. I would do anything for you, Irene." " I know you would, dear," was the answer. " Did I tell you," Rosie went on, " that I met him "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 207 Mr. Sandford the other day in London. It was stiff and horrid ; but still I think he would understand I was not changed ; only mother made me promise to go on, as if he had never proposed to me, till next May ; and then, after I had tasted the sweets of London, if I still held to my promise, and still kept in the same mind, she would hold to hers, and let us be engaged, and," with a little laugh, " married, I suppose." " You are perfectly right to do as your mother wishes, Rosie ; as I have told you before." " Yes ; but, when one thinks of it, it is rather hard. There he was, the other day, in that drawing-room at the St. Johns', when we met quite by chance ; and I had to speak to him as if he were anyone oh, dear ! " "You don't seem broken-hearted," Irene said, with a smile ; " I ne^er saw you look so well or so nice ; those little shining rings all over your head, and that charming little bow at the top, are most becoming." " So Philip says ; but Philip is altered, changed some- how, Irene. He is so preoccupied ; and always seems to be thinking of something. Now, when he was working at the Bar, he had leisure to be merry and silly some- times. Now, it is always letters and elections, and seats in the House, and politics, and Lady Eugenia. Do you know, Irene, I believe she means to marry him ; and he will persuade himself that she is the only woman to be of any help to him in his career, and all that sort of nonsense ; but I also believe that they, neither of them, care two straws for each other don't love each other, I mean ; and that, if Philip was a poor, struggling bar- rister, on circuit again, unable to keep a grand house, or hold his own with all the great people in the county, Lady Eugenia would just as soon think of marrying him ZUS HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. as she would George Sandford, or anyone else of that sort." The two girls were sitting in the autumn sunshine on the cliff, on a clump of dry heather ; and Irene's face was turned from her companion. "Do not judge others so hardly, Rosie," was her answer, in her low, gentle voice ; " you cannot possibly know what your brother and Lady Eugenia really feel for each other." " I know they are not in love with each other, as I understand love," said Rosie ; and then she broke off suddenly, sprang to her feet, with an exclamation of surprise and pleasure, as she ran to meet her brother : " Talk of angels and you see their wings. Why, Philip, what are you come for ? " " Now, I call that sisterly and affectionate ; why, I am come to see you, and take you home to-morrow. I thought I should rather like the spree. I am sorry you are not glad to see me." Irene meanwhile had risen, and stood quietly by ; and now held out her hand, as Philip came near her, and said : " Rosie is sorry to go away ; but not sorry to see you, I am sure." " I came from town to-day, and am bound for Rodham to-monow ; but we must stop for a night half-way, little Rosie ; where shall it be at Worcester ? If we don't, we shall have to start so awfully early to-morrow." " Hereford, not Worcester. Aunt Sophy would not be as glad to see us as she was to see Irene, the ' capable ' young woman, who never did anything wrong, except spoil me when I was ill." " A process which seems to go on, whether ill or well," "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 209 said Philip ; but he continued, turning to Irene : "I want to hear about my friend Cuthbert. I am afraid he is much worse. I went to Eden Villa when I arrived, and heard a bad account of him from the maid, who said he was just then asleep, and directed me here to find you. I think Cuthbert ought to have a London surgeon's opinion ? " " His father is coming again soon, and will decide what is best," said Irene ; " I have great faith in Mr. Spencer, the doctor here." " If it were to do him good or relieve you," Sir Philip added, " I would most willingly telegraph for Paget, or any other London celebrity ; and, of course, take the responsibility the fee, I mean." " Thank you," Irene said ; " I don't think it would be of any real use to Cuthbert. The disease from which he suffers is not so uncommon ; and, even in this small place, there is another case almost precisely similar. I think, Rosie," she said, " I will go home now ; and leave you to take Sir Philip over Orchard Leigh. We shall have tea at six o'clock." Sir Philip looked after her as she turned away, and began to whistle, which Rosie knew was an ominous sign. " Is the boy much worse, Rosie 1 " he asked presently. " Really, it is very cool of the Williamsons to leave her all the trouble and nursing." " I don't know that they could help it," Rosie said. " Cuthbert became so much worse here ; that is, this new abscess began to form on his hip ; and I believe it must run the usual course. The only thing is to keep up his strength." "And hers, too," said Sir Philip; "these unselfish people never think of themselves. Come ; let us P 210 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. lionize this "wonderful Devonshire village on the cliff, or between the cliffs, whichever you like to call it." Sir Philip strode on, and Rosie had some difficulty in keeping np with him. But he was not conversational, and as Rosie expressed it afterwards " out of sorts." She parted from him at the door of the little hotel where he was to sleep, and where he said he must go and look out some less travel-stained garments before presenting him- self at tea. Cuthbert was carried down into the little dining-room, that he might not miss a moment of Sir Philip's society ; and he was all eager anxiety for his arrival. The table was prettily set out by Irene's hand ; nd when Sir Philip looked in at the open window, from the autumn twilight, he lingered a moment, for the sake of the pleasiire the picture, which would have delighted the eye of any artist, afforded him. The little table, with its snowy cloth; the reading-lamp and two candles upon it ; Cuthbert's sofa drawn close to the end where Irene presided over the tea and coffee, a soft light falling upon her small, graceful head, with the chestnut hair braided back from the fair, serene brow, as she bent over the boy, and moved one of his pillows for him. Her white dress, with little sprays of green scattered over it, was fastened at the throat by a brooch, a brooch Sir Philip knew well the dove, with outspread wings, with the word "Pax" under it, in Roman mosaic. It had been her mother's, and was a relic of the past which he knew was dear to her. Rosie, in her bright evening .dress of some gauzy cerise material, with her cheeks brilliant with the rapid exercise in the air of the autumn evening, her short curls bound with a ribbon like her dress, on which a little gold butterfly ^yas perched, was at the opposite end of the " THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 211 table ; and, as Sir Philip leaned against the widow-sill, unseen as yet, she said, " That dear old Philip posted along to-night at such a pace that I am quite tired. He always posts when he is rather cross. Oh ! " and Rosie gave a little scream, as a little scarlet berry from the sweetbriar bush, which grew by the window, well aimed, touched her cheek. " Philip ! " and the next moment she had run out to meet him. A very happy evening followed. "When tea was over, Sir Philip carried Cuthbert into the drawing-room, and laid him on the sofa there ; sitting by his side, as in the days of their early acquaintance, and talking of things which the boy liked best to hear. There was no piano, but Rosie and Irene sang a little German duet together ; and then Cuthbert said, "Auntie, do sing something alone my song." " Yes, let us have your song, Cuthbert," Rosie said. " You have so many, Cuthbert ; which one ? " " The tempest rages wild and high." And Irene sang ; her clear, sweet voice lingering over the infinite pathos of " Miserere Doinine," and swelling the jubilant strain of the concluding words, " Gloria tibi, Domine." No one spoke when she ceased ; and she rose quietly, and said Cuthbert must go to bed, or he would have a bad night. " I can carry the boy," Sir Philip said, "if you will show me the way." Rosie took one of the candles, and preceded her brother, while he raised Cuthbert in his arms." "It is so nice to have you to lift me," he said ; "it feels so safe," p 2 212 HEIGHTS AKD VALLEYS. But when he laid him on the bed upstairs, Sir Philip saw that he was biting his lips, and that his face was very pale. "My boy, have I hurt you 1 " Sir Philip asked. " You can't help it j no one can. Even Auntie hurts a little. But I have got much braver now. I try to be a real soldier, and to fight all I can for His sake. You know who I mean." Sir Philip bent over the child, and kissed him. " God bless you, my dear boy; don't forget me ; " and then he was gone. . Rosie went to give the maid some orders about being ready by ten o'clock the next morning ; and when Sir .Philip returned to the drawing-room it was empty. He saw Irene no more ; and only Rosie returned to bid him good night, and to say that she would be quite ready to start at the appointed time the next day. She put her arm through her brother's ; and, looking up into his face, said, "Philip, I don't understand you now. I think," she went on, in her childlike, caressing way, " I think you are making a mistake, and that you and Irene would be so happy together; far happier than you and Lady " He repulsed Bosie almost roughly, and said, "You are a mere child, Rosie, and don't know anything about it. Pray do not interfere in my concerns." "I do understand," she said, trembling, while the tears started to her bright eyes ; "I do understand what love means, and I do know the difference between those who can love if all things go smoothly, and those who fly off, like swallows, at the first breath of adversity. 1 do know what Irene is." " Not another word, Rosie," Sir Philip said, sternly; " THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 213 and then he repented of his harshness. As he was going down the little garden, he stopped, and held out his hand. " Rosie, my child, forgive me. I have been horribly savage of late ; poor little thing ! " and he stroked the curly head, which was only too glad to lean against his shoulder in token of full reconciliation. " I saw Sandford yesterday," he added. " He is living in hope, and is going to spend the winter with the old people at Stow, and he has begun a book of Alpine feats, which he is to write and I am to illustrate. Good night, little one ! " He thought he had seen the last of Irene ; but the next morning, after a restless night, he turned out of the hotel, in the mists of the autumn morning, when scarcely a creature was stirring in the little village, and walked over the cliffs. Returning, he passed the churchyard, and went in. By a white marble cross a small figure was leaning, which struck him as at once familiar. He scarcely liked to intrude on Irene at such a moment, and was going to retreat, when she turned her head and saw him. " You are out early," he said, going up to her. " Yes ; I have had a sleepless night ; the poor child has suffered so much. I have scarcely left him, and I come here for a little refreshment almost every morning." Sir Philip read the inscription on the slab, and saw that both her father and her mother were buried there. "I come here to realize rest and peace," she said ; " and it braces me for what I have to do. I like to think of them who rest not day or night in the service of Him whom they loved, and yet can never know weariness or tiredness again. The service of love which cannot be weary, must be the perfection of life." 214 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. Evidently she was very tired ; for, as she spoke, her eyes bent down upon the turf, where now a thousand dew- drops were sparkling in the eastern sunshine, which had just triumphed over the mists and fogs. He saw that her cheeks were very pale, and that on the long fringe of lashes, which rested on them, there was also dew, the dew of recent tears. " You are doing too much," he said ; " it ought not to be so." " Oh ! no ; it is not too much," she answered. " I am not always so tired." She looked up at him, and there was an expression in his eyes which brought the colour back into her face, and in another minute she had drawn herself up to her full height, and said, in her natural tone " Will you come home to breakfast 1 it is just nine o'clock." " I ordered it at the hotel, thanks," he said ; " so I suppose we must part here." Something like a shadow came into her dim eyes ; but it passed away. " Good-bye," she said ; " I will see that Rosie is at the coach office by ten o'clock. Thank you for smoothing the way for me to have her for this week ; it has been such a help. Good-bye." So they parted. One going on in the path, which lay up the mountain side, ever higher and higher the ascent so the world said ; for honours and success seemed to come thick and fast on Sir Philip Dennistoun. The other to her lowly, but appointed track, through the valley ; taking up the way-side flowers of love and self- forgetfulness, and unconsciously weaving for her gentle brow a crown of unfading beauty ; unconsciously to herself, too, being raised higher and higher on the wings "THIS, TOO, WILL PASS." 215 of faith and hope to Him whose loving-kindness is better than the life itself ; who, for the meek and gentle souls, reserves a height of blessedness in the Eternal Kingdom of His Father, of which they little dream nor has it entered into their hearts to conceive. CHAPTER X. SIR JASPER ONCE MOKE. " 0, learn to read what silent love hath writ, To hear with eyes, belongs to love's fine wit ! " SHAKESPEARE. ONE bright morning, early in January, Rosie Dennistoun came dancing into the drawing-room at Ecclestone Square, and rushed into Irene's arms, with all her wonted empressement. " You are really come then. Isn't it delightful ; and just in time for the great events which are coming off, and for the climax of the 28th, my birthday festivities, a dinner, and a dance ; and heaps of people staying in the house at Rockdeane, and all kinds of fun. This drawing- room looks desolate without Cuthbert's sofa, I must say ; how is he ? " "Much better," was the reply; "and in a month's time I hope he will be able to return with his mother. She is so glad to be with him again, and the change was good for Mary, who has not been very strong this winter, and, perhaps, just as well for every one." "For you certainly, you look dreadfully pale and thin ; but I daresay you will only begin to trudge about after the poor people, and wear yourself out with them. I shall not allow it, while SIR JASPER ONCE MORE. 217 I am here, however. But we shall all be off to London the first week in February, I am afraid. Sir Philip Dennistoun, M.P., is anxious to take his seat, and we are all anxious to shine with borrowed lustre, as becomes his mother, sister, and brother. There has been a fuss with Jasper, of course," and Eosie's face became more serious ; " he borrowed money of Frederick Tillett, and they have been going on so badly together. It came to Philip's ears, and we had an awful commotion ; but I daresay Jasper will behave better now you are come ; we all shall. You don't ask about the Rodham people. Lady Eugenia begins to droop a little, for, in spite of great friendship, and all the rest of it, Philip has not actually proposed to her. It is rather odd, and I don't understand it ; but so it is. I don't think Philip knows his own mind." " I should have thought no one knew it better," Irene said. " Well, now we will talk about the twenty-eighth. I shall be nineteen, and we are going to make it an occa- sion for doing kindness to every one, before we go to London. What with the scarlet fever about the house, and having to go to London, every one has not been entertained as they ought to be. We are to have a suc- cession of people staying with us, as I told you ; and dinners to suit their various degrees. Mother is so great in the little distinctions now ; and she has learned the whole ins and outs of Rodham, and the county, in the most wonderful way. We begin to-morrow with the first batch of people, and a dinner the day after. I want you to come for the whole time, will you 1 " " Oh, no ; most decidedly not," said Irene ; " I have to look after Forster and the children, and there are 218 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. many things also I must attend to. I shall like to see you on your birthday ; one such party will be quite enough for me." " But you will come to dinner with Mr. Williamson on the twenty-third, and stay on after that." " No, I think not. It is very good of you, Rosie, to invite me ; but I don't feel in the least up to many of your grand doings. Perhaps I am not very strong ; for it tires me even to think of it." " Very well," said Rosie, " you shall do as you wish ; but you must and shall come on the twenty-eighth. All the rooms are to be thrown open ; and we are to have dancing and music, and something to please every one. All Rodham, and the county besides, are to be there on that occasion ; and oh, it will all be very much like a story ! Just think two years ago, when I was seventeen, how little I dreamed of such times as these. I went to a little dancing-party at a neighbour's at Kensington, in a white muslin, with some flowers in my hair that George Sandford sent me ; and Philip was too tired and busy to go with us. He came home dusty and inky from his cham- bers, just as we were starting ; and said he should have to be hard at work till two or three in the morning ; but somehow" Rosie paused. Then she went on " Some- how, the Philip of those days was more to me than the Philip of these. It is not that he is a bit spoiled, or set up that he could never be but he is always so full of schemes and plans ; and he often looks far more tired than in the old times." Hilda and Randal now came running in, to claim Irene's promise of a walk, and were delighted with a drive instead, in the pretty pony carriage which was waiting for Rosie, and in which she drove JASPER ONCE MORE. 219 them all half-way to Eockdeane ; setting them down at the first gate, and leaving them to walk home. In spite of many attempts to change her purpose, Irene held firmly to her determination not to enter into any of the Rockdeane festivities till Rosie's birthday arrived. Her sister wrote often from Orchard Leigh, where she was fast losing a cold and cough, which had clung to her through the early part of the winter, and expressed great interest in the coming parties at Rockdeane. She was very anxious that Irene should have a new dress for the occasion, and begged her to get a suitable and pretty one. Ideas differ as to what is suitable and pretty ; and Mrs. Williamson would undoubtedly have found fault with the simple and unpretending white dress which lay on. the bed, on the eventful night of the twenty- eighth, waiting for Irene to put it on. It was getting very late, and yet the dress lay untouched. Irene had helped Rosie in various little finishing touches about the rooms which servants never give ; and long after she had disappeared to dress, she went hither and thither at Mrs. Dennistoun's in- stigation, from one end of the house to the other. She was too little accustomed to think of herself, even to remember how tired all the extra exertion would make her. And when at length she went to her room, she lay down on the sofa at the foot of the bed ; and, instead of beginning to dress, she began to dream, and was uncon- scious of everything that was passing, till a touch on her shoulder awakened her. " Do you know it is nearly ten, and every one is coming. Are you astonished to see me ?" The speaker was Lady Eugenia, who stood before Irene in the most becoming dress of pale blue, here and 220 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. there looped up with the faintest blush roses ; some of which were also arranged in the masses of light hair which hung low over her sloping shoulders, and were fastened in their place by a diamond pin. Irene, between sleeping and waking, could not repress the words which rose to her lips, " How beautiful you look." " Do I ? "Well, be quick, and make yourself beautiful, too ; and we will go down together. I will make myself comfortable in this chair, and wait. I wanted to see you, and talk to you, that is why I came. Oh, dear !" and with a sigh, Lady Eugenia threw herself back in the chair, and went on " Why don't you ring for a maid ; that child Rosie must be dressed by this time." " I am accustomed to dress myself, thanks." " Not your hair ? " " Yes, my hair ; and I dislike to have it touched by other people." " How odd ! I should die of the trouble, if I had to touch mine myself." " But you and I are different." " I know that ; you are not only different to me, but to all the world beside. Do you remember that day long ago when I met you in an old broken-down vehicle, in the autumn twilight ? As you turned your face towards me then, I took a liking to it ; and I never see it but I feel the same liking. I had no idea that the man who was whipping up the grey pony was Sir Philip. I read it differently I thought he was a friend, something more to you than a friend, perhaps, who had come from your old home in Devonshire to see you, and had taken you and that boy a drive. I made a story out of it. You looked so happy, and just then I was miserable ; I felt ill, and weak, and SIR JASPER ONCE MORE. 221 stupid, as if life had nothing in it worth living for wishing the end would come. But since then it has been changed, and now it has come to a stop again ; I feel the old blank creeping back. I shall get the blues again, and fall into ill-health, as they say. Irene, I wonder what it is that makes you look so serene and happy ? It is a mystery ; because you have not, I suppose, every- thing to make you so, as Aunt Catharine is always saying I have. What is it?" The answer to the question did not come, for there was a tap at the door, and Lady Eugenia's maid appeared. " I came to tell your ladyship that a great many people have arrived, and Mrs. Dennistoun has sent for Miss Denuistoun. All the ladies are gone down; had not your ladyship better go too ? " " I shall not hurry myself. Look here, Elstone, finish dressing Miss Clifford, and I will watch the operation." " This dress 1 " inquired Elstone, significantly, as she touched the white heap on the bed ; " and what orna- ments 1 " " Those white camellias, please, for my hair ; and if you will put them in for me I shall be very glad." The voice was irresistible. Elstone melted. She put on the white silk skirt, and then arranged the tunic and body of white tulle, with her professional fingers, looping up the tunic with sprays of fern and camellia buds, and putting some in Irene's hair. " Any ornaments 1 " she asked again ; but more graciously this time. " Yes ; I have a string of pearls, on some black velvet, for the throat and wrists." " Old-fashioned " was almost on Elstone's lips, but she took the little necklet in her hand, and tied it in its place. 222 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. "She wants no ornaments," said Lady Eugenia, " except those she always has ; " and, with an impulse she could not resist, she bent over Irene, and kissed her, saying, " What are those words about the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which are of great price ? Come, put on your gloves, and let us go down." The wide staircase and hall were brilliantly lighted, and flowers in stands, and flowers in pots, were massed together on all sides, and perfumed the air with their fragrance. As the guests entered, from the cold, raw, January night, it seemed like stepping into fairyland. Rosie stood by her mother and Sir Philip at the door of the first room, receiving every one with graceful courtesy ; and, as Lady Eugenia and Irene passed in, Sir Philip's eye rested on them. What a contrast they were ; and who, in all that crowd, could look at Irene a second time by the side of her companion ? A little bantering talk passed between Lady Eugenia and Sir Philip ; and then other guests arrived, and she moved on. Irene stayed by Rosie ; and, as Sir Philip was ex- changing a few pleasant words with a stout lady, who was one of the many Rodham people who were flattered by the invitation, Irene saw old Forrest touch Sir Philip's arm. She heard the words, " In the study, Sir Philip, " and saw that a card was put into his hand. She saw, too, that, as he looked at it, a bewildered, puzzled expression passed over his face. He turned to Mrs. Dennistoun, and saying, " I will return directly," followed old Forrest to his own room, in the other wing of Rockdeane. The wax candles at his writing-table were lighted ; but, after the brightness and splendour of the other part of the house, the room looked dark and dismal. When SIR JASPER ONCE MORE. 223 Sir Philip entered it, standing by the chimney-piece, and leaning against it, as if for support, was a young man, with a pale, haggard face, and weak eyes, who was nervously twitching at the wide-brimmed felt hat he held in his hand : and whose voice, with a strong colonial twang, jarred unpleasantly on Sir Philip's ear, as he said : " I went to the lawyer's first ; but I heard he was here ; so I came on at once. It is not a very pleasant errand for me, nor for you neither." " Sit down," said Sir Philip, with his accustomed courtesy, and never failing pity for anything weak and and feeble ; " sit down. I see on this card, my servant has brought me, a name which I do not know : Sir Jasper Cleveland Dennistoun. Surely there is some mistake." " There is no mistake ; I am Sir Jasper Dennistoun's grandson. I can't help it. Of course it will be very disagreeable for you, and you no end of a swell, and all these grand folks here ; but it's no mistake." " That will appear hereafter," said Sir Philip, proudly ; " do I understand that you present yourself here as heir to the estates and title of the late Sir Jasper Dennistoun ? Such a claim as that must be substantiated." " There will be no trouble about it ; " and the boy, for he was scarcely more, took from his breast-pocket a black leather case. " The whole story is in here," he said. " The copy of the marriage certificate, and of the registers of my father's birth and baptism. My old grandmother had a temper ; and so my grandfather soon grew tired of his bargain. He refused to bring her here to this place, Rockdeane, as his wife, though his wife she was. His mother, so they say, was as proud as a peacock ; and there was an awful row 224 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. when her daughter-in-law tried to force herself in here once. On condition of a regular allowance, and a hand- some sum to start with, she went out to New Zealand, and there she died some months ago. She and I were both down with the fever, when the news of old Sir Jasper's death came, and the legacy of 10,000?. was paid into the Bank by the lawyer. Nobody knew which of us would go first ; but the old lady died, and I lived. It might have been better if it had been the other way, especially for you." There was a want of refinement and taste about the boy, which grated on Sir Philip's feelings most terribly ; but at the same time, every moment seemed to strengthen his faith in the truth of his statement " I was carried into my grandmother's room, and laid down by her side on her bed. She took from under her pillow this case, and charged me to start for England as soon as I could wind up the affairs of the farm, and come direct to Rockcleane. She made me swear I would, and she told me that my father had never known his father was an English baronet, till he too lay dying. Then she told him the truth, and promised to see me righted. There was a duplicate of these papers in the old man's possession. Of course you have seen them 1 " " Do you suppose it is possible?" said Sir Philip, with dignity. " Do you suppose that if I had seen them, I should have taken possession here 1 But, as I told you, the whole story shall be submitted to my lawyers^ search shall be instituted for the duplicate of these docu- ments, at which I cannot look now and if things are as you say " " You needn't doubt me, sir," said the youth, a touch of honesty of purpose kindling in his plain sallow face ; " I never told a lie yet, and I never will. I should have SIR JASPER ONCE JIORE. 225 been much happier if I had stayed in New Zealand. I have been brought up at New Cross farm, and seen it grow to what it is ; it was a deal more to my taste than this place would be. It is too big and grand; I shall never do for life here." " Well," Sir Philip said, touched by the boy's man- ner, in spite of the voice and face, which were alike unattractive, " as you see, my house is full of guests to-night. I am giving an entertainment on a large scale, as an acknowledgment of much hospitality and kindness which has been shown me in this neigh- bourhood. I will, if you please, order refreshments to be bi'ought for you here, in this room ; and I will try to communicate with Mr. Williamson, and send him to you, if I can do so unnoticed. It is impossible for me to stay any longer now ; but I hope you will rest, and take necessary refreshment before you return to Rodham." Something of the greatness of Sir Philip's soul seemed to penetrate the boy, as he looked up at him from the depths of the comfortable chair, into which he had sunk. Those wonderful eyes, about which Mrs. Henderson had spoken, seemed to read him through and through. He almost quailed under their glance ; and yet, in the answering look which he gave back, there was fully as much admiration as fear. He had expected something so different anger and a fierce determination to resist his claim, contempt and contumely. Instead of these, he met dignified kindness and forbearance ; and if there was doubt as to the validity of his claim, as it was only natural there should be, it was scarcely expressed at all, and certainly in no way which could hurt or offend him. " I am sorry enough," he faltered; "but it is all true; I wish it wasn't, For, of course, every one will sneer and 226 HEIGHTS AND VALLEYS. scoff at me here. My grandmother was the daughter of poor but respectable people ; and though there is a great deal to be said to her honour, of course that will be cast up against me amongst all these great folks. My own mother I can't remember ; my father never cared much about me. And I have no friends ; not a soul who really cares whether I live or die. I swore solemnly to the dead to come here and assert my claim, and I was bound to do it ; but " He covered his face with his hands, and Sir Philip could see that he was trembling in every limb. He laid his hand kindly on his shoulders, and said, " We must both nerve ourselves to act like men ; and may God defend the right." Then he left the room ; and catching sight of a servant, sent him to call Forrest. Old Forrest came, his face full of inquiry and eagerness, " Forrest, will you see that the gentleman in my study has some wine and cold meat sent in to him. He has travelled a long distance, and has only recently recovered from an illness. Let him be attended to, and make up the fire there, and light some more candles." " Yes, Sir Philip," said the old man, "certainly;" and then he waited, as if he expected more. But Sir Philip passed on ; and Forrest wondered "There is something amiss, there is something wrong; but, lor ! how calm he is. Well, I would very near be ready to go through fire and water for him, that I would." Sir Philip went back into the gay crowd, where he was anxiously expected by Mrs. Dennistoun and Rosie. ' Where have you been, Philip ? Do you know how ate it is ; and dancing ought to have begun ? But you know you were to dance the first quadrille with Lady SIR JASPER ONCE MORE. 227 Eugenia. Lord Scarstone, too, is come, and Mr. Bell- field. Pray, do look after them. Philip, really you take it very easily ; and you know so many people are here who will be ready to catch at little deficiencies, an( j be offended." " I will do my duty now," Sir Philip said. ' ' Jasper " and the very name recalled the other Jasper, who was at that moment in his study "Jasper, tell the band- master we are ready. Come, do your duty ; and see that the young ladies have partners." Then, in another minute, he had led Lady Eugenia to her place, and was for the rest of the evening perfect as a host, and delight- ing every one with his genial courtesy and kindness. No one was forgotten ; yet no one felt themselves under the pressure of forced attentions. "It is passing away from me," he was saying to himself; "they may as well carry away a good impression of it all. There is no one to suffer personally ; that is the great comfort. Rosie will be well taken care of; this life has been bad for Jasper ; and his mother will soon recover from the disappoint- ment. If there had been one nearer to me to whom I must have told this, and had known that there rx>uld have been humiliation and distress, for my sake, it would have been very hard." And as these thoughts passed through his mind his eye caught a wistful, earnest glance from Irene. She was enjoying herself in her own way : talking to those people who seemed shy and solitary, and watching every one with interest and pleasure. It was nothing to her that Margaret Thornycroft assured her the theatrical party at Scarstone Court had been more brilliant ; and the rooms were really magnificent there. Nothing to her that Mrs. Tillett talked, behind her, to one of her