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 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 Price 75 c. 
 
 A GIRL WITHOUT AMBITION 
 
 With Four Illustrations 
 
 " <P A Girl Without Ambition ' ought to be read by 
 every college girl. ... An unhackneyed plot, keen 
 powers of observation and a rarely pleasing style ren- 
 der ' The Girl Without Ambition ' captivating from 
 beginning to end. It is the equal of anything Louisa 
 M. Alcott ever wrote. No more praise could be given 
 any writer of girls' stories." 
 
 The Chicago Times- Her aid. 
 
 DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER 
 PHILADELPHIA, PA.
 
 "She looked at him long and pitifully" (p. 166). 
 
 Frontia.
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S 
 NIECE 
 
 ISABEL SUART ROBSON 
 
 Autbor of 
 "A Girl Without Ambition " 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER 
 610 SOUTH WASHINGTON SQUARE
 
 Cofyrtghty IQOI, by 
 CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
 
 URL 
 SRLF 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Long ago I asked a young American girl 
 what quality she most admired in her girl friends, 
 Und her prompt reply was: "Oh, courage! The 
 courage that is never daunted by circumstances 
 and that goes out to meet the disagreeables of 
 life with flags flying and drums beating ! " It is 
 in the hope that this friend of my youth voiced 
 the feelings of American girls of to-day, that I 
 send this story of English girlhood across the 
 Atlantic. 
 
 Hilary and Frances and Ursula are types of 
 girlhood neither rare nor idealized and nationality 
 has little indeed to do with Hilary's buoyancy 
 and resourcefulness under adverse fortune, or 
 with Ursula's serenity and fixity of purpose, or 
 with Frances Skone's mistaken eagerness for suc- 
 cess in the work she has chosen. 
 
 For girls of all ages and nations my heart 
 beats warmly ; it touches me at all times, to 
 watch them 
 
 " Standing with reluctant feet 
 Where the brook and river meet."
 
 I know how they look at the future through a 
 golden haze and that "it beckons them with a 
 thousand fingers promising beautiful possibilities," 
 and I prize more deeply than I can tell every 
 opportunity that comes to me to say a word of 
 inspiration or encouragement. It is my hope 
 that this story of Hilary and her friends will help 
 some girl across the seas to take up with cheerful 
 courage the work which has been given her to do 
 in the world of school or home ; not forsaking all 
 other duties in complete self-absorption as Frances 
 did, but like Hilary, who strove after the beauti- 
 ful example of Pater's Marius the Epicurean, 
 " not to be wanting to the claims of others, in 
 their joys no less than in their calamities." 
 
 Life has its difficult and sad sides even for girls 
 as young as my heroine and all the future hinges 
 on the way they learn to face troubles. Hilary's 
 story, and that of those with whom her life was 
 bound up, would have been a strangely different 
 one had she elected to hang the world in black 
 because she had lost much she was girl enough 
 to prize highly. 
 
 To me the three girls, part of whose history 
 I have told, are not merely " dream-girls," with 
 whom I have lived happily for months and to 
 whom I must now say " good-bye." Under other 
 names and in somewhat different circumstances
 
 they form part of my own every-day life and it 
 would look empty indeed if they slipped out of 
 it as Hilary, Frances and Ursula must do. If 
 only my readers in America follow the history of 
 the trio with as much interest as the originals 
 have done, I shall have no reason to fear that I 
 have failed to make them live in the pages of my 
 
 book. 
 
 ISABEL SUART ROBSON.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. WHEN CHANGES COME ... ~ *.. i 
 
 II. FRANCES ... ... " 
 
 III. COBWEBS ~. ... 23 
 
 IV. MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR ... ~. 34 
 V. A NEW FRIEND ~.. 56 
 
 VI. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 76 
 
 VII. THE STORM BURSTS 90 
 
 VIII. FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE ... 106 
 
 IX. A STEP DOWN IN THE WORLD 123 
 
 X. "BATESON'S SELECT BOARDING ESTAB- 
 LISHMENT" 135 
 
 XI. WHAT BECAME OF THE SOVEREIGNS? ... 145 
 
 XII. HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAY 157 
 
 XIII. A COTTAGE IN A WOOD 172 
 
 XIV. A CADMEAN VICTORY .. 181 
 
 XV. QUITE AN OCCASION 195 
 
 XVI. FAIRMEAD ... ... 204,
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. TAG* 
 
 XVII. "LET us FORGET TO BE WISE" 212 
 
 XVIII. A DISASTER 220 
 
 XIX. DARK DAYS AT THE COTTAGE 230 
 
 XX. THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS M . ... 243 
 
 XXI. IN THE FURROWS 253 
 
 XXII. THE AWAKENING OF FRANCES ... ... 259 
 
 XXIII. IN THE HOUR OF PERIL ... _ ... 267
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHEN CHANGES COME. 
 
 IT is the most unexpected and the most 
 annoying thing that could ever happen," said 
 Hilary Pederson, staring out of the window 
 into the wide courtyard, white and still in 
 the afternoon sunshine. 
 
 She stood in the middle of Madame Brun's 
 private parlour, with an expression of angry 
 bewilderment on her usually radiant and beau- 
 tiful face. She was a girl of eighteen, straight 
 and slim as a young palm tree, with blue 
 eyes sparkling with life, and lips which curved 
 readily into a smile. 
 
 " Of course, I am sorry for poor Uncle 
 Gervase," she went on, without looking at 
 the old French lady who sat at the table, an 
 open letter in her hand ; " but he had no right 
 to arrange my future for me in this fashion." 
 
 "The right of those who provide for us,
 
 2 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 I suppose," Madame Brun reminded her gently. 
 She was sufficiently in sympathy with her 
 favourite pupil, however, to feel that the girl 
 had some grounds for her protest. It was 
 only natural that she should shrink from leaving 
 the little community of which, for ten years, 
 she had formed an integral and important 
 factor ; and, certainly, the late Major Pederson 
 had taken a high-handed and imperious way 
 to gain his own end. 
 
 She glanced again at the letter she held in 
 her hand. It was a lawyer's letter announcing 
 his late client's death and that a legacy or 
 ninety pounds a year had been left to Hilary 
 on condition that she made her home with the 
 widowed Mrs. Pederson. 
 
 u Nothing would have induced me to make 
 anyone's dependence a handle to force her to 
 do unpleasant things," Hilary said impatiently. 
 " I have been so happy here, dear Madame, 
 that I hate the mere thought of leaving Paris." 
 
 The old lady nodded. "It is ten years 
 since your uncle brought you, and never once 
 have we been parted," she said affectionately. ' 
 "Yes, it will be hard, very hard, to part with 
 you, my little one. Other English girls have 
 come and gone, charming girls, many of them,
 
 WHEN CHANGES COME. 3 
 
 but they never stayed long enough to win the 
 heart. You have been to me as my own 
 child." 
 
 Hilary Pederson's lips quivered, and she 
 tapped her foot restlessly on the polished floor. 
 She knew that in the Pension Brun she held 
 a unique position. As the oldest resident pupil 
 and the only one who never left its shelter, 
 she had many privileges, and life there had run 
 for her on pleasant lines. She was called now to 
 relinquish all that had made home and happi- 
 ness during these years, and what was offered her 
 in exchange seemed hopelessly inadequate to 
 compensate her. Every fibre of her being 
 prompted her to say an emphatic "no" to her 
 uncle's dying injunction, whilst common sense 
 told her that she had not a shadow of a reason 
 for refusing to obey it. 
 
 "Of course, I must do as Uncle Gervase 
 directs," she said aloud. " It would be different 
 if I knew and cared for Aunt Sophie. But I 
 can't flatter myself that, after forgetting my 
 existence lor five years, I have suddenly be- 
 come dear and desirable to her." 
 
 " My dear, we must not judge," said Madame, 
 shaking her head. 
 
 " I'm not judging, I'm stating a probability,"
 
 4 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Hilary replied, laughing a little. "Her letter 
 to me is kind enough a little too effusive, 
 perhaps, but that may be her way. What I 
 want explained is this : if she wants me so 
 inordinately now, why has she never written 
 to me or asked me to visit her before ? " 
 
 "She was not alone then," Madame put in 
 softly. 
 
 Hilary's lip curled. "Did Uncle Gervase 
 strike you as an all-sufficing companion ? 
 Stiff, dull, commonplace, that's how I remember 
 him. Altogether English, you know." 
 
 "My child, you are English also," Madame 
 replied, laughing, though with a trace of anxiety 
 in her faded eyes. She never saw a fault in 
 her favourite if she could possibly help it, 
 but it jarred on her sense of propriety that 
 the girl should criticise her dead uncle in this 
 frankly disrespectful fashion. It was not sur- 
 prising, she was bound to confess. He had 
 maintained the girl generously, but he had 
 done nothing, in all the ten years since her 
 parents left her to his care, to win her affection 
 or respect. He had been almost a stranger to 
 her. During her life under Madame Brun's roof 
 he had visited her only some half-dozen times, 
 and then for the briefest space. His wife,
 
 WHEN CHANGES COME. 5 
 
 married five years ago, Hilary had never seen, 
 and the first letter the girl received from her 
 was to announce the Major's death. 
 
 With every wish to maintain family affection, 
 Madame Brun could not feel surprised that 
 Hilary's liking for her relatives was of the 
 most tepid character. She took comfort, how- 
 ever, in her knowledge of the girl, and told 
 herself that Hilary belonged to that fortunate 
 class who are happy anywhere, and make 
 friends in the most unlikely places. 
 
 "You will find Mrs. Pederson companionable 
 enough, I doubt not," she said dully. "I have 
 no fear but that you will find a happy home, 
 cherie. The regret and the blankness will be 
 with those you leave behind you." 
 
 Hilary threw back her head with a quick, 
 impatient gesture. 
 
 "If you keep harping on that string I shall 
 do something desperate, dear Madame," she 
 said, with a catch in her clear voice. " I 
 can keep up my own spirits, but I can't keep 
 up yours too. Let us put the whole tiresome 
 business away for awhile. You know we were 
 discussing our next holiday excursion when 
 this odious letter came. We are going to do 
 the Hartz Mountains this time."
 
 6 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 "We shall have to give up the Hartz, 
 Hilary." 
 
 " Dear Madame, how preposterous ! Surely 
 there is not the least necessity to pile that 
 disappointment on the mountain of my woes. 
 A few weeks more or less cannot overwhelm 
 Mrs. Pederson with grief. It will surely be soon 
 enough if I go to England when the holidays 
 are over and the girls return." 
 
 Madame Brun shook her head. 
 
 " My child, I shrink from sending you from 
 me a moment sooner than necessary, but there 
 are things to be considered before personal 
 feelings. Miss Smith, our second English 
 mistress, starts for London on the day after 
 to-morrow, and you must travel with her. It 
 will be a great relief to me not to be obliged 
 to commit you to the care of strangers." 
 
 Hilary laughed. Miss Smith was barely 
 two-and-twenty, and though she was a Girton 
 graduate she did not appear to Hilary as a 
 very imposing custodian of English maidenhood. 
 
 "I might be a crate of valuable china or a 
 maniac," she cried, shrugging her shoulders. 
 "It is fortunate that I look young for my age, 
 or fellow travellers would have a difficulty in 
 discerning which was the chaperone and which
 
 WHEN CHANGES COME. 7 
 
 the chaperoned. Honestly, dear Madame, don't 
 you think I might be trusted to make the journey 
 alone when we come back from the Hartz ? I 
 hate to give up the excursion, the very last 
 we shall have together, and I really feel as 
 capable of finding my way as Miss Smith can 
 do." 
 
 " My dear Hilary, I desire that you travel 
 with Miss Smith," Madame said firmly. "A 
 schoolgirl never travels alone. It has never 
 been thought right for her to do so" an argu- 
 ment which has been considered conclusive since 
 the days of Job. "I must find Miss Smith at 
 once and make arrangements for your journey." 
 
 The old lady left the room, and Hilary 
 soon followed her, taking her way slowly up 
 the uncarpeted staircase to the little white room 
 which had been hers so long. It had never 
 seemed so dear and desirable as now, when it 
 was so soon to have another tenant. 
 
 The prospect of Miss Smith's company was 
 not an exhilarating one. She was the one 
 person Hilary had ever found it difficult " to get 
 on with," and the relations between them had 
 been, to say the least, strained. Hours of her 
 society and her undiluted conversation presented 
 no attractions. There was scarcely a subject
 
 8 Mas. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 upon which they held the same views, and 
 Hilary failed altogether to reach Miss Smith's 
 standard of girlish excellence. 
 
 It was Miss Smith's conviction that the 
 passing of examinations and the taking of 
 degrees was the only business of a girl's life 
 worth pursuing. Every day she thanked the 
 goodness and the grace which on her birth 
 had smiled and caused her to be born in 
 an enlightened age which endowed colleges 
 and opened the doors of learned professions 
 to women. Hilary's Gallio-like spirit towards 
 these privileges was incomprehensible to her, 
 though she openly affirmed, and with acerbity, 
 that the atmosphere of the Pension was not 
 conducive to scholastic ambitions. 
 
 She had made strenuous efforts to imbue 
 Hilary with desires for a Girton course, and 
 pointed out the gain of a degree should she 
 ever be thrown on her own resources for a 
 livelihood. The girl was too happy with 
 Madame Brun, and too young and careless to 
 fear the future. She turned only a laughing 
 ear to the English mistress' predictions ; whilst 
 Uncle Gervase was willing to keep her 
 at the Pension Brun, she desired nothing 
 better.
 
 WHEN CHANGES COME. 9 
 
 And now Circumstance, often cruel and 
 always arbitrary, was sending her away. 
 
 Hilary went to the window and threw it 
 open. The afternoon was warm and sunshiny, 
 with a fragrance of spring in the air. She 
 leaned her elbows on the sill and looked out 
 thoughtfully. The school was situated in a 
 retired part of Paris, and high walls enclosed 
 the large house and its gardens. Nothing of the 
 outside world was to be seen ; it might have 
 been the cloister of a convent, so absolutely 
 was its busy hive of girls guarded from every 
 contact with the great city. 
 
 Hilary's little room was on the second floor, 
 and from its window she could see the lilac 
 and laburnum nodding in the light spring breeze, 
 and the golden and brown of wallflowers in the 
 borders. Delicate green, the colour of hope, 
 met her eyes wherever they turned. 
 
 She was by nature bright and buoyant, and 
 as she stood looking out on the new life in the 
 old garden, some of her vague dread of an untried 
 future slipped from her. Why should the world, 
 which had shown her so smiling a face hitherto, 
 be less kind in the days to come ? 
 
 She knew nothing of Mrs. Pederson, but 
 why should that depress her ? She had never
 
 io MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 known anyone yet who did not mean her well 
 and in whom she could not feel interest in 
 some degree. Even poor Miss Smith had her 
 good points and her hours when she was quite 
 a pleasant companion. She found herself specu- 
 lating, as she watched the little girls at play 
 in the garden, as to what "Aunt Sophie" was 
 like ; but such speculations were soon merged in 
 the prospect of a life removed from school 
 discipline, a life without rules, and which now 
 to Hilary seemed a life of uneven and ragged 
 edges. She had been used for so long to have 
 her days set in a frame that she was not sure 
 that she should like its removal. 
 
 After all, as Madame Brun said, it was 
 largely in her own hands to make her life, in 
 the days to come, "worth while," and she was 
 resolved that it should not be empty or 
 purposeless. It must be a difficult sphere which 
 did not promise some pleasures and compensa- 
 tions for all she was leaving. 
 
 When the tea bell rang, Hilary went down- 
 stairs gaily humming a little French song. 
 Madame Brun noted a new expression in the 
 frank young face and smothered a sigh. 
 
 The regret and the sorrow would be for 
 those to whom Hilary was saying good-bye, for
 
 WHEN CHANGES COMB. n 
 
 though she might feel the wrench of parting, 
 already the future was beckoning her, promising 
 a thousand things the Pension never could give 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FRANCES. 
 
 IT was a chill, grey afternoon when Hilary 
 reached London. Spring, after promising beau- 
 tiful things, seemed to have repented and 
 withdrawn her warmth and colour. It was 
 altogether an inauspicious day on which to 
 make acquaintance with one's native land. 
 
 Miss Smith had parted with her charge at 
 Herne Hill, where her own journey ended. 
 Long before she reached Hilary's age she had 
 gone to and fro in the earth without let or 
 hindrance and come to no harm. She there- 
 fore frankly disavowed any concurrence in 
 Madame Bran's apprehensions, and when the 
 girl assured her that she would be met at the 
 terminus, left her to finish the journey alone 
 without any compunction. 
 
 Hilary said good-bye to her with more 
 regret than she would have thought possible 
 twenty-four hours earlier. She watched her 
 uncompromising deerstalker-hat and neat coat 
 disappear in the crowd of alighting passengers
 
 FRANCES. 13 
 
 with a sudden sense of chill and limpness. 
 For the first time in her life, she was alone 
 in the big, bustling world, where everyone was 
 absorbed in his or her own business and had 
 no thought or attention to give to the solitary 
 schoolgirl. 
 
 The train started again, and a quarter of an 
 hour later she was on the platform of Holborn 
 Viaduct Station. 
 
 She had written to Mrs. Pederson mention- 
 ing the hour of her arrival, and it had been 
 her comfortable conviction that she would find 
 her aunt awaiting her. It was manifest that 
 she had over-estimated Mrs. Pederson's eagerness 
 to see her. Porters were hurrying, shouting, 
 threatening to bear down upon the unwary 
 with trucks piled high with luggage ; women 
 with harassed faces and children clinging to 
 their skirts wandered about aimlessly, whilst 
 news-boys bawled the latest intelligence in 
 untranslatable Cockney. There was no one on 
 the crowded platform whom Hilary could by 
 the greatest effort of the imagination mistake 
 for her aunt. 
 
 She waited a few minutes, then went to 
 claim her luggage, directed it to be put upon 
 a cab, and set out to find Markham Square.
 
 14 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 This could scarcely be called a propitious 
 opening of her new life, and it was fortunate 
 that she was not one of those whom circum- 
 stances easily depress. She looked out of the 
 cab window, nevertheless, with a sinking heart. 
 All the morning's sunshine had been left behind 
 in Kent, and there was a menace of rain in 
 the grey, sullen sky which accorded well, she 
 thought, with the dinginess of the streets and 
 the tired, absorbed faces of the passers-by. 
 
 Her spirits rose as the cab turned into 
 Markham Square. It was dull and monotonous, 
 but there was an air of comfort and respect- 
 ability about the tall, well-kept houses. Here 
 and there a brightly painted exterior or a 
 freshly filled window - box made a welcome 
 splash of colour, whilst, in the square garden, 
 glimpses of lilac and laburnum could be seen. 
 
 "If No. 10 has window-boxes I shall con- 
 clude that life is going to be pleasant there," 
 11; ary sa;d to h-iso-., laughing. "I believe in 
 signs and tokens.' 
 
 (Later, she came reluctantly to acknowledge 
 that, under Mrs. Pederson's administration, even 
 window-boxes may be an abomination and the 
 caring for them a wearying of the flesh.) 
 
 Her knock brought to the door an elderly
 
 FRANCES. 15 
 
 maid, who regarded her with stolid but quite 
 friendly curiosity. 
 
 "My mistress is out, miss, but as you are 
 expected it is all right," she said affably. 
 "If you will please walk into the drawing- 
 room, the second door on the right, I'll help the 
 man with your boxes." 
 
 Hilary followed these directions and found 
 herself in a large room, gaudily papered, and 
 furnished in the walnut and green rep style of 
 the 'sixties, tastelessly supplemented with imi- 
 tation Chippendale chairs and Japanese fans. 
 She looked about her with undisguised amuse- 
 ment, and then became suddenly aware that 
 she was not sole monarch of all she 
 surveyed. Her right was disputed by a rather 
 untidy-looking girl who was standing at one 
 of the windows, staring out into the sooty 
 square of garden behind the house. 
 
 At the sound of Hilary's step she turned and 
 looked at her with a long, full stare. She 
 was a small and very thin girl of four or five- 
 and-twenty, with black eyes more critical 
 than kindly. There was an expression of 
 strain and overwork on the small white face, 
 whilst the low brow with its disproportionate 
 cranial development gave her, at a first glance,
 
 1 6 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 the appearance of a precocious child. She wore 
 a gown of some dark stiff stuff which hung 
 in ungraceful folds about her thin figure. 
 
 "You are Hilary Pederson, of course," she 
 said coolly ; " I am Frances Kemsing. Mother 
 told me she expected you to-day, so I thought 
 I would come round. I knew it was as 
 likely as not that she would not be here to 
 receive you. She is a law unto herself in 
 most matters where other people are governed 
 by convention." 
 
 " Indeed/' murmured Hilary, somewhat taken 
 aback by this odd reception and no less by 
 Miss Kemsing's announcement of their relation- 
 ship. Uncle Gervase had not thought it 
 worth while to mention that in marrying he 
 had gained a daughter as well as a wife. 
 " You are very kind to be here to meet me." 
 
 Miss Kemsing laughed drily. 
 
 "I don't suppose I should have come if I 
 had not happened to have a free afternoon. I 
 have not the reputation for doing odd kind- 
 nesses, I assure you. As we're likely to see 
 something of one another, I may as well tell 
 you that I'm a medical student and devoted 
 heart and soul to my work. I allow nothing 
 to stand in the way of my work; I leave
 
 FRANCES. iy 
 
 the little acts of kindness, little deeds of love, 
 to those who have nothing else to do." 
 
 Hilary laughed. "I'm sure you make your- 
 self out more tiresome than you really are," 
 she said, with decision. She had been study- 
 ing the dark, clever face, and decided that 
 she liked it, in spite of its expression of gloom 
 and acerbity. 
 
 "Do you know, Frances I may call you 
 Frances, may I not, since we are almost 
 cousins ? I did not know of your existence 
 until this afternoon." 
 
 Frances smiled. "I guessed that from your 
 mystified air when I introduced myself. I am 
 not surprised that the Major did not mention 
 my existence. I was the thorn in his cushion, 
 and he only compassed repose by forgetting 
 me altogether. He disapproved of my choice 
 of a profession, root and branch. When he 
 and mother married he offered me a home 
 on condition that I gave up the hospital 
 altogether." 
 
 Hilary nodded. " He seems to have been 
 fond of making conditions." 
 
 Frances looked at her sharply, but there was 
 nothing but good-tempered interest in her story 
 on the frank, sunny face of her. companion.
 
 1 8 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 " It did not take me long to decide that I 
 could not give up all I had been working for. 
 Why, I would rather live in a garret than 
 abjure my profession. I've roomed with another 
 student ever since, and it has been the best 
 thing in the world for all of us." 
 
 " I wish you lived here, though," Hilary said 
 warmly. "It was jolly to find that I had a 
 cousin, but you will not be much use if you are 
 miles away." 
 
 Frances leaned back in her chair and clasped 
 her thin fingers behind her close-cropped head. 
 
 "You will see enough of me, I daresay, 
 though I've no time for gossiping. I should 
 not be here now if someone had not taken 
 my part and left me to hang about without 
 anything to go on with." 
 
 Hilary was wondering what a "part" was 
 and framing a question when the door opened 
 and Mrs. Pederson swept in like a whirlwind. 
 
 "My dear Hilary, to think you should 
 arrive in this way without kiss or welcome 1 " 
 
 She bore breathlessly down upon the girl 
 and folded her in the embrace of two bony 
 arms, while her eyes wandered across the room 
 to its other occupant. 
 
 "You here, Frances! I'm sure I ought
 
 FRANCES. 19 
 
 to be flattered by such an unusual show of 
 attention." 
 
 "No doubt you are, my dear mother," 
 Frances responded coolly. "You certainly owe 
 me some thanks for taking your place this 
 afternoon and doing my small best to make 
 up for your absence. It looked a little unkind 
 to Hilary to let her come 'without kiss or 
 welcome,' as you put it." 
 
 " I don't need you to teach me what I 
 should do or leave undone," Mrs. Pederson 
 retorted tartly, as she sank into a chair, tossed 
 her little sailor hat upon another, and threw 
 open her smart fawn coat. "You might have 
 had sense to order some tea." 
 
 She rang the bell with a jerk which filled 
 the house with discordant clangour. 
 
 Hilary, during these amenities, sat silently 
 studying her hostess, divided between mirth 
 and dismay. She had never before met anyone 
 the least like her, and mentally compared her 
 with dear old Madame Brun, who had so 
 beautifully mastered the art of growing old 
 gracefully. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson was a thin, fashionably 
 attired woman of sixty or so, with an expres- 
 sion partly of ill-health and partly of discontent
 
 2O MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE 
 
 on her pinched, colourless face. Her grey hair 
 was curled stiffly back from her forehead in a 
 fashion which reminded Hilary of nothing so 
 much as a corrugated iron fence. It was said 
 that Mrs. Pederson had been a beauty in her 
 youth, and there were some who believed the 
 rumour. Mrs. Pederson did so herself, and 
 dressed to suit the part in bold defiance of 
 the ravages of time. 
 
 In spite of her failure in the matter of a 
 welcome, she was frankly pleased to see her 
 niece, and her questions concerning her journey 
 and the schooldays which lay behind it were 
 kind and well-meant. They chatted over the 
 tea-table until Frances began to make ready to 
 depart, and then Mrs. Pederson rang for a maid 
 to take Hilary to the room prepared for her. 
 
 "You mustn't go till you tell me what you 
 think of her, Frances," she said, as soon as 
 they were alone. Though there was not 
 much warmth in her affection for her daughter, 
 she relied a good deal on her judgment. 
 " Do you think I shall get on with her ? 
 She seems nice, and quite a child in spite 
 of her age." 
 
 Frances stared into the gaily decorated 
 grate as she answered :
 
 FRANCES. 21 
 
 " I wish she had not come, though you 
 will like her well enough. She is not our 
 sort, mother a cut above us, just as the Major 
 was." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson reddened and tossed her head. 
 She was one of those who resent superiority 
 in an acquaintance and regard it as an insult 
 in a relative. 
 
 "The Pedersons have always been as poor as 
 church mice/' she said crossly. "The Kemsings 
 could have bought them up any time these 
 twenty years. This girl has only her ninety 
 pounds a year, whilst you and I, my good 
 Frances, may call ourselves fairly well-off." 
 
 Frances straightened her hat before the 
 glass, and her lip curled disagreeably. 
 
 " I suppose it is no use me telling you 
 once again, my dear mother, that money is 
 not everything. There are a few things it 
 cannot buy, things that are as natural as the 
 air we breathe to Hilary and the Major. 
 There are some of your visitors, too, whom 
 she might not care to meet." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson's thin face flushed with anger 
 and her ringers worked nervously. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean, Frances. 
 You were always a disrespectful child."
 
 22 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Frances looked at her with a softening of 
 her dark eyes. After all, it was never any 
 use arguing with her mother, and it widened 
 the breach which, in her better moments, the 
 girl honestly regretted. 
 
 "Poor dear mother, I always rub you up 
 the wrong way," she said, with a laugh. 
 "Perhaps you'll get more satisfaction out of 
 Hilary. If you'll let her, I'm sure she will 
 love you. She is simply overflowing with good- 
 will." 
 
 Yet as she walked back to her rooms in 
 Skone Street, Frances wished heartily that it 
 had not occurred to her stepfather to stipulate 
 for Hilary's presence in Markham Square. 
 
 "It came of his disapproval of me," she 
 said shrewdly. "He wouldn't have the mater 
 left to her own resources entirely. He was 
 afraid that if she got lonely she would be 
 driven to commandeer me. Poor, dear mother! 
 she won't have anything to complain of in 
 the substitute he has provided if one may 
 judge from first impressions."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 COBWEBS. 
 
 "MY dear Hilary, do you remember that it is 
 exactly three months since you came to be my 
 dear little daughter ? " Mrs. Pederson always 
 ignored the manifest fact that her niece was 
 nearly a head taller than herself. " Three happy 
 months I I never dreamed that we should get 
 on so admirably together." She smiled ex- 
 pansively and looked at her companion with 
 her head drooped languishingly on one side. 
 
 They were seated at luncheon in the 
 commonplace dining-room, which always seemed 
 to Hilary the ugliest and dullest room 
 imaginable. 
 
 "I had awful visions, you know," Mrs. 
 Pederson went on gaily, "visions of a blowsy 
 schoolgirl, with red cheeks and aggressive 
 manners, who would be always in the way. 
 It was such a relief to find we did not interfere 
 with each other's pleasure in the least, but got 
 on perfectly." 
 
 Hilary smiled inscrutably. She had soon
 
 24 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 discovered that " getting on " with Mrs, 
 Pederson meant following her lead unquestion- 
 ingly, and having no private ends at all to 
 serve. 
 
 " I'm sure I'm glad you are pleased with 
 me, Aunt Sophie," she replied good-temperedly. 
 " It would have been distinctly unpleasant if I 
 had not happened to suit you." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson laughed. "How outspoken 
 you are, child ! But there's nothing I admire 
 more than perfect openness. I always spit 
 out just what I feel myself and never think 
 another word about it. I remember so well 
 what my poor old father used to say he was 
 a Thames pilot, you know, in the days 
 when fortunes were made on the river : ' Sophie, 
 mind this, if there's to be peace in a house, 
 there must be no secrets and perfect oneness 
 of mind.' I've thought of his words many a 
 time, but I never could get Pederson to see 
 the truth of them. Your uncle Gervase was an 
 awful man for having his own way." 
 
 Hilary bent over her plate to hide the 
 merriment in her blue eyes. Under Mrs. 
 Pederson's roof there must be only one mind 
 and that her own. If the late Major were 
 fond of his own way there was little wonder
 
 COBWEBS. 25 
 
 that life had not run very smoothly at No. 10. 
 It was not that Mrs. Pederson meant to be 
 tyrannical, but she laboured under a constitu- 
 tional disability to see any aspect of a question 
 except her own. 
 
 If Hilary had come to Markham Square 
 with any ideas of finding life there wider and 
 more full of change than that she had spent 
 under Madame Brim's roof, she was woefully 
 mistaken. Every moment was occupied, but 
 there was a lamentable monotony in the 
 manner of filling them. Mrs. Pederson 
 monopolised her throughout the day whilst 
 protesting that she desired to leave her entirely 
 free to please herself. From the morning hour 
 when, breakfast over, she drew an armchair to 
 the window and sat down to absorb the 
 contents of the newspaper, she claimed the 
 girl's undivided attention and resented any 
 diminution of her interest in the discussion 
 of the day's doings. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson was one of those who like 
 to put each hour, as it were, in a frame, and 
 her arrangements, like the laws of the Medes 
 and Persians, were irrefragable. Not until she 
 went away on household cares intent could 
 Hilary feel at liberty to take up her book or
 
 26 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 open her letters. Even then she was subject to 
 little tempestuous visits, for Aunt Sophie had 
 no idea of enjoying a surprise or enduring a 
 wrong at the hands of her staff without sharing 
 it with every member of the household. 
 
 At No. 10, Markham Square, the perfection 
 of cleanliness and order was only achieved by 
 an enormous expenditure of noise and confusion. 
 The cook, housemaids, and the invaluable 
 Mantle were marshalled hither and thither at 
 Mrs. Pederson's command, and her voice could 
 be continually heard, chanticleering orders from 
 distant parts of the house. 
 
 Hilary declared that it was fatiguing to 
 follow, even in thought, the race-course of 
 Aunt Sophie's day. She was one of those 
 tirelessly busy people whose energy does not 
 require a serious object. To the smallest detail 
 she gave the heated discussion and the concen- 
 tration of attention which most people reserve 
 for epoch-making crises. 
 
 Those who knew the late Major Pederson 
 wondered sometimes what could have induced 
 him to marry a woman so oddly different 
 from the women of his own class, and a few 
 whispered that her substantial fortune had been 
 a temptation. The Major had always been an
 
 COBWEBS. 27 
 
 extravagant and self-indulgent man, and half-pay 
 leaves little margin for luxuries. His reward 
 had been in excess of that usually accorded to 
 those who marry for mean motives. In spite of 
 her eccentricities, Mrs. Pederson made him a 
 devoted and admiring wife. There was no 
 denying her goodness of heart even when her 
 manners left most to be desired. 
 
 She looked up from the newspaper which 
 always lay beside her plate when Hilary rose 
 from the table. 
 
 " Are you going already, my dear ? I was 
 about to tell you of Eliza's rudeness to me this 
 
 morning. Her conduct was such Well, 
 
 there was nothing for it but to give her notice." 
 
 Hilary shook her head. "I really can't stay 
 now, Aunt .Sophie, so please let the tale of 
 Eliza's enormities wait. You remember I 
 promised to go round to Frances' lodgings at 
 two o'clock. She has an afternoon free, and 
 we are going somewhere together." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson's smile vanished, and she 
 tossed her head crossly. The friendship which 
 had sprung up between the two girls had not 
 the seal of her approval. It threatened to limit 
 her own share of Hilary's society, and though 
 she could be generous on a large scale, in
 
 28 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 small matters she was essentially mean. She 
 said to herself that it was solely on Hilary's 
 account she objected to the intimacy. Frances 
 had always been opinionated and unmanage- 
 able. She had never, even as a child, shown 
 proper respect to her elders, and she would try 
 to imbue Hilary with her wild independent 
 notions. 
 
 "This is the third time in a fortnight you 
 have spent half the day with Frances, 
 Hilary," she said, in a tone which was itself an 
 impeachment. "You see more in Frances than 
 most people do, I must say. I'm glad, poor 
 girl, that somebody finds her amiable. She 
 can't have many friends with her bad temper. 
 But don't forget, my dear, that your uncle 
 desired you to be my companion, not Frances'. 
 I have always the first claim." 
 
 Hilary nodded, and a little smile curved her 
 mouth. She was used to Aunt Sophie's protests 
 now and they did not ruffle her in the least. 
 
 "I'll send a note to Frances and ask her to 
 come here, if you really want me, dear," she said 
 good-temperedly. " I thought you overheard 
 me make the arrangement with Frances." 
 
 " No, you can go ; I don't want to be a 
 check on your pleasures," Mrs. Pederson replied,
 
 COBWEBS. 29 
 
 with a resigned droop of the corners of her 
 mouth. "Only don't forget that I have the 
 first claim on you." 
 
 She made the protest merely in accordance 
 with her fixed idea that Hilary would be only 
 too ready to deny her claims and that it was 
 well to keep them before her mind. She was 
 secretly glad to be free from the girl's company 
 for a few hours, for she expected a visitor 
 whom she was by no means anxious to 
 introduce to her niece. 
 
 Frances Kemsing lived in a rather dingy 
 street off the Tottenham Court Road. The 
 house was half-way down, on the shady side, 
 and distinguished from its neighbours by a row 
 of blue flower-pots in ; which a few pink ivy- 
 geraniums had a precarious existence. This 
 attempt at decoration was not to be attributed 
 to Frances. To everything which did not bear 
 upon her work she was absolutely indifferent, 
 but she submitted to any amenities projected by 
 her companion, Ursula Grantham. 
 
 It was wholly due, also, to Miss Grantham's 
 efforts that the front parlour which Hilary 
 entered, a few minutes later, was picturesque 
 and exquisitely neat. Frances would have 
 worked comfortably in chaos, but Ursula loved
 
 3O MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 to have everything about her as beautiful and 
 orderly as herself. 
 
 "Besides, we owe it to the profession to 
 look nice and have nice surroundings," she 
 would tell Frances decisively. " If we live 
 in a muddle and look like a rag-bag we can't 
 expect men to imagine that it improves things 
 generally for us to take up professions. When 
 they begin to talk of the women of other days 
 and to praise their domestic virtues, I know 
 they have been studying such girls as May 
 Limpfield or Anne Meadows, who seem to 
 imagine there is some special grace in wearing 
 ugly, ill-made gowns and leaving their hair 
 unbrushed. You may think yourself fortunate, 
 Frances Kemsing, that you have me to look 
 after you." 
 
 Frances was bending over a large, workman- 
 like table in the window when Hilary came in. 
 
 "Here I am, Frances, having braved Aunt 
 Sophie's displeasure to reach you," she cried, 
 stooping over her cousin to kiss her. " It is such 
 a lovely afternoon that we ought not to waste 
 a moment of it indoors." 
 
 "My good child, there's a time for em- 
 bracing and a time to refrain from embracing. 
 It is the time for refraining, though I can't
 
 COBWEBS. 31 
 
 expect you to see it," said Frances, coolly 
 disengaging herself from Hilary's encircling 
 arms. " I've been two solid hours arranging this 
 dissection, and I don't want it upset, if you 
 please. Just sit down somewhere out of the 
 way for a few minutes, and then I will talk 
 to you." 
 
 Hilary sat down in a well-cushioned armchair 
 which manifestly belonged to the luxurious 
 Ursula, and settled herself to wait with 
 patience Frances' pleasure. 
 
 In ten minutes the student pushed back her 
 chair and stretched her arms out with a tired 
 gesture. 
 
 " It's going to be a beautiful dissection. 
 These bits of minute work are awfully fascin- 
 ating," she said. "I've got to a splendidly 
 interesting point Another hour's work will see 
 it finished." 
 
 Hilary lifted her eyebrows. 
 
 " My dear Frances, have you forgotten that 
 you promised to go out with me ? We've 
 tickets for that flower show on the Embank- 
 ment." 
 
 Frances ran her ringers through her short 
 
 dark hair and frowned. "Oh, that's out of 
 
 question to-day, Hilary. I'm sorry, but
 
 32 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 I should not feel happy to leave my work at 
 this stage. I should be thinking of my dis- 
 section all the time and worrying to get back 
 to it." 
 
 "I'm sure you would lose nothing by taking 
 an afternoon's rest, Francie," Hilary replied. 
 "You work too hard. Ursula Grantham often 
 says that to work without any rest or recrea- 
 tion is the way to court failure." 
 
 Frances shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Oh, don't quote Ursula to me, I have her 
 at first hand morning, noon, and night ! " she 
 exclaimed sharply. " You must not go by what 
 she says. She has ridiculous luck herself in 
 exams. She will dance through the finals with 
 one half the work we others have to give. 
 By the way, Hilary, if you want an outing, you 
 might go into Lambeth with her this after- 
 noon. I'm sure she will be glad of your 
 company, and then the thought of having spoilt 
 your afternoon will be off my mind. Here 
 she comes, all ready to start. Nuttie, I want 
 you to take Hilary with you. I promised to 
 go with her to a flower show, but at the point 
 of departure I am too busy." 
 
 "That's your way, and a very bad way it 
 is, Francie," said the newcomer, smiling. She
 
 COBWEBS. 33 
 
 was a tall girl, fair-haired, with a calm, strong 
 face which showed none of the strain and the 
 eager unrest which was in Frances'. She 
 might have been the model for Werther's 
 Charlotte of bread-and-butter-cutting fame, though 
 she had taken her Tripos at Cambridge and 
 ranked among the most brilliant students of 
 her hospital. Hilary admired her greatly. If 
 Frances had been her sole example of the 
 student and the hard worker she might have 
 been inclined to agree with Mrs. Pederson 
 that such careers were a mistake for girls, 
 but Ursula Grantham forever reversed such 
 opinions. You could not imagine a sick- 
 room or a scene of misery which would not 
 be the brighter and better for beautiful, serene 
 Ursula Grantham's presence. 
 
 Hilary was not surprised to find that 
 Miss Grantham's errand this afternoon was one 
 of charity. She had promised to find out 
 the friends of a girl who had been brought 
 into the hospital a few days before and to make 
 them acquainted with the patient's progress. 
 It was like Ursula to allow such a mission to 
 dip into her scanty leisure, and Frances had 
 not scrupled to call her a fool for her pains.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 
 
 URSULA GRANTHAM'S destination was a cer- 
 tain street not far from the Westminster 
 Bridge Road, a squalid, irregularly built street, 
 where a public-house at one corner and a 
 fried fish shop at another vied with one another 
 in odorising the air. The pavement swarmed 
 with children, and at the doors dirty, unkempt 
 women suspended their gossip to stare at the 
 two girls. 
 
 It was evident that Ursula was no stranger 
 in Cross Street. Three or four women wished her 
 a "good afternoon" and she readily obtained 
 what information she required to find Maude 
 Flitter's home. 
 
 The name "Flitter" appeared in faded 
 letters over a second-hand clothes shop some 
 way down the street, and, bidding Hilary wait 
 outside for her, Ursula dived into its gloomy 
 recesses. 
 
 She reappeared presently, followed by a 
 red-faced woman, who was talking volubly and
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 35 
 
 darning at the same time a much-worn coat. 
 Ursula looked vexed and hot, and, after a 
 little more talk with the woman, said "good 
 afternoon " and joined Hilary. 
 
 "You don't look as though the interview 
 had been a pleasant one, Ursula," Hilary said 
 as they turned homeward. 
 
 Ursula shook her head. "It appears that 
 Maude went to the hospital against her mother's 
 wish. Mrs. Flitter has a rooted belief that 
 hospitals are repositories where we kill off the 
 patients in the shortest possible time for our 
 own ends. She wants Maude home, though I 
 assured her that the girl is doing splendidly. 
 I made a point of asking the ward sister to-day 
 that I might give the latest news. Of course, 
 we have nothing to do with the patients our- 
 selves, though I go and chat with several of 
 them when I have a few minutes to spare. 
 It is one of the forms of recreation I indulge 
 in, you know, when I get fagged with the 
 work. 
 
 " It is more than that, Ursula," Hilary re- 
 plied quietly. "Who is it says that our recrea- 
 tions, not our labours, are the index to our 
 characters ? Somehow," she added, laughing, 
 " I can fancy you a nurse, or a Sister of the
 
 36 MRS. PEDEKSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Poor, or a deaconess of some kind ; but to 
 imagine you a doctor, sitting in a luxurious 
 consulting-room, waiting for patients, seems 
 ridiculous." 
 
 Ursula joined in the laugh. "Well it may, 
 indeed. I could not fancy myself in that 
 position at all. No, Hilary, I have my ambitions, 
 but they do not run in that direction." 
 
 "Why, I thought you and Frances thought 
 of nothing else but passing the exams, and 
 taking your degrees," Hilary said. 
 
 Ursula walked on in silence for a few 
 minutes. 
 
 "I love my work, and, of course, I care 
 immensely about passing the finals well; but 
 they are the steps to a very different end to 
 that you picture," she said quietly. "Some day 
 I mean to practise down in these mean streets, 
 to use my skill and knowledge for the benefit of 
 these poor people, who are so ignorant that they 
 will seldom come to us at the hospital until they 
 are past remedies. Some of them are actually 
 afraid of us. You cannot imagine what stories 
 I have heard from them. They think we want 
 their poor, shrunken, emaciated bodies for our 
 dissections, and that, once in our clutches, we 
 shall never let them go again with their full
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 37 
 
 number of limbs. When I get through, I shall 
 come and live down here and teach them to 
 think differently. Besides, it is not always 
 mere medicine they want. They often need 
 what only we girls can give them love, sym- 
 pathy, and a gleam of hope for the future. 
 The 'doctor' ought to mean more to these 
 poor creatures than it does to people in 
 happier circumstances." 
 
 Ursula spoke rapidly, and there was amoved 
 expression on her usually calm face. 
 
 Hilary pressed her arm as it lay within her 
 own. She was always quick to appreciate the 
 generous and true-hearted in others, and she 
 gave her companion the meed of her girlish 
 admiration without stint. 
 
 " No wonder you are so lucky in exams.," 
 she said warmly. "You couldn't fail with such 
 a motive." 
 
 Ursula nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I have 
 felt that sometimes myself," she said simply; 
 "I am helped so that I do not get worried 
 and nervous as some of the girls do. The 
 work does not hurt one much if one can take 
 it quietly." She stopped abruptly, and Hilary 
 knew she was thinking of Frances, who mini- 
 mised her own chances of success by the feverish
 
 38 MRS. P ED ER SON'S NIECE. 
 
 eagerness with which she worked and the 
 relentlessness of her study. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Hilary 
 got back to Markham Square. She expected to 
 find Aunt Sophie in no very pleasant humour, 
 for if there was one thing that lady disliked 
 more than another, it was to be kept waiting 
 for her tea. Looking at her watch, Hilary saw 
 that it must already be carried to the library, 
 where Mrs. Pederson elected to drink it during 
 the hot days. 
 
 "I wish I could have persuaded Ursula to 
 come back with me," she said to herself, 
 thinking of the long evening tete-a-tgte with 
 Mrs. Pederson which lay before her. She 
 knew exactly how it would be spent, and 
 laughed a little in amused self-pity. What 
 would Madame or her girls think if they 
 could see their favourite consuming hour after 
 hour in dominoes, beggar-my-neighbour, or spill- 
 kins, games which she cordially hated ? 
 
 Mrs. Pederson's sole idea 01 amusement 
 was to play games of a more or less exciting 
 kind and she threw herself into them with 
 ardour. Over the most trivial game she became 
 another creature ; her very features seemed to 
 sharpen with uncanny interest ; her eyes glittered,
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 39 
 
 and discordant shrieks of glee or dismay marked 
 her success or failure. 
 
 Hilary was but a few paces from No. 10 
 when the door opened and a young man came 
 down the steps. The girl glanced at him 
 curiously, though she had long ago discovered 
 that Mrs. Pederson received visitors who could 
 scarcely belong to her own world, and whose 
 presence she explained vaguely to her niece as" 
 " business." 
 
 He was a short, clean-shaven man, showily 
 dressed in a snuff-coloured check suit and a 
 brilliant tie confined in a heavy gold ring. He 
 stared at Hilary with admiration in his beady 
 brown eyes as she passed him, and turned to 
 stare again, whistling softly, as she went up the 
 steps he had just descended. 
 
 " What an odious man 1 " Hilary said to her- 
 self, as she opened the door with her latchkey. 
 " What can have been his business with Aunt 
 Sophie?" 
 
 She went quickly across the hall and opened 
 the door of the library. On the threshold she 
 paused abruptly and caught her breath in 
 surprise. 
 
 The setting sun illumined the room and 
 showed Mrs. Pederson crouched on the hearth-
 
 4O MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 rug, swaying to and fro in a storm of petulant 
 sobs, while she called on powers visible and 
 invisible to witness that she was a cheated and 
 ruined woman. 
 
 " Dear Aunt Sophie, what is the matter ? 
 Who has been injuring you ? " Hilary cried, 
 running across the room and kneeling down 
 beside this victim of outrageous fortune. "Has 
 that odious man been insulting you ? He 
 looked capable of it ! " 
 
 Mrs. Pederson sprang to her feet with an 
 agility remarkable considering her age. 
 
 " How you startled me, Hilary ! I had no 
 idea you were in the house ! " she exclaimed 
 angrily. " And what are you talking about ? 
 If it is Chivers Smith you are calling ' odious,' 
 let me tell you that is my man of business 
 and my very good friend, and I expect him to 
 be treated with respect when he comes to my 
 house. I hope to goodness you have not been 
 treating him to any of your high and mighty 
 airs." There was a shade of anxiety under 
 the coarse petulance of the excited woman's 
 tone. 
 
 Hilary leaned against the corner of the 
 table and looked at her aunt with a rising 
 colour.
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 41 
 
 "Do you mean a vulgar little man with a 
 horsey air and diabolically dressed, whom I 
 saw leave the house just a few minutes ago ? " 
 she asked coldly. "I hope I am never rude 
 to anyone, and as I had no opportunity nor 
 desire to speak to him, he cannot resent any- 
 thing I have said." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson looked at her for a moment 
 in speechless exasperation ; when Hilary spoke 
 in that tone, "just the Major's tone," she 
 always felt herself hopelessly at a disadvantage. 
 Then she dropped into a chair and began to 
 sob with childish abandon. There was nothing 
 pathetic about poor Mrs. Pederson's woe. Her 
 cast of countenance was not fashioned for 
 tears, and Hilary, despite her ruffled feelings, 
 struggled for a moment with emotions sadly 
 out of harmony with the Scriptural injunction 
 to weep with those that weep. 
 
 She came nearer and put her arm round her 
 aunt's thin shoulders. 
 
 "Do tell me what troubles you, Aunt 
 Sophie," she begged, touched by a grief which 
 must surely be great though she was entirely 
 ignorant of its cause. "You surely don't mean 
 me to conclude that little monster has the 
 power to move you like this ? "
 
 42 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 There was a faint diminution of the petulant 
 sobs, and Hilary went on coaxingly. 
 
 " Of course, I may not be able to help you 
 in the least, but it generally makes things 
 easier to bear when someone shares the burden. 
 I have felt ever since I came that you had 
 some hidden worries." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson looked into the girlish 
 face bent to hers hesitatingly, then she 
 wrenched herself impatiently from the en- 
 circling arm. 
 
 " What nonsense you are talking, Hilary ! 
 You are like the Major, always making moun- 
 tains out of molehills. What worries should I 
 have, pray, beyond the wear and tear of 
 managing the house and my money matters, 
 though you are enough, I am sure, to drive 
 one to the verge of insanity. I have got one 
 of my neuralgic attacks, and talking to Chivers 
 Smith has made it unbearable." 
 
 Hilary moved away to the window, her 
 head held high and a hard look in her blue 
 eyes. She was not used to having her sympathy 
 thrust aside as superfluous, and she knew Mrs. 
 Pederson was not honest with her. With 
 the haste of youth she concluded that the 
 falsehood hid something discreditable, and she
 
 . PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 43 
 
 told herself that she wished to know nothing 
 about it. 
 
 She stood looking across at the tall grey 
 houses on the other side of the square, feeling 
 her spirit in revolt against the narrowness and 
 the vague entanglements of the life she had 
 now to live, full of longing for the old quiet, 
 sunny life, in which the searchlight of truth 
 could find nothing to bring a blush to the 
 cheek. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson's metallic voice broke the 
 uncomfortable silence. 
 
 " I don't want your pity and all that sort of 
 thing, but perhaps you will not mind taking 
 the trouble to tell Mantle that I'll have some 
 tea in my own room," she said. "This is too 
 cold to drink now and the muffins are like 
 leather. Tell her she may toast me two more, 
 and I shan't come down to dinner. I daresay 
 you can manage to amuse yourself." 
 
 Hilary assented gravely. 
 
 " I'll tell Mantle what you say," she replied, 
 without looking round. 
 
 At the door Mrs. Pederson stopped and stood 
 for a minute fingering the door-plate. 
 
 "When you see Frances, Hilary, you need 
 not tell her that Olivers Smith called," she
 
 44 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 said sharply. "I know you girls exchange all 
 sorts of confidences." 
 
 "No, I won't mention it," Hilary said, still 
 without turning her head. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson looked at her curiously and 
 then went out, banging the door noisily behind 
 her. 
 
 Hilary stood for a long time looking 
 into the quiet square in which the twilight 
 was gathering. In one window after another 
 of the houses opposite sprang a yellow spark 
 of gaslight, and the lamplighter on the pave- 
 ment was running from post to post with his 
 long rod. The girl watched him with unseeing 
 eyes, busy with her own thoughts. 
 
 Three months 1 It seemed like as many 
 years since she left Paris. She had wondered 
 then how she should adapt herself to her 
 altered circumstances. She found it no question 
 of adaptation. She moved on another plane 
 altogether, a plane where "the comely 
 fashion to be glad," which had hitherto been 
 the rule of her life, was surprisingly difficult 
 to follow. 
 
 The air seemed full of sordid little cares, of 
 mysteries and uncertainties of which she was 
 vaguely conscious without being able to define
 
 MRS. PEDERSON' s VISITOR. 45 
 
 them. They clung about her like cobwebs, 
 and she could not get free from their stifling 
 influence. 
 
 The business-like documents which came so 
 often, and which Mrs. Pederson read with such 
 feverish eagerness and hid away lest Frances 
 should see them, the frequent expeditions into 
 the City, vaguely explained as "business," the 
 commonplace, often vulgar, visitors who left 
 behind them a worried and irritable hostess, all 
 suggested to Hilary something below the surface 
 she was not allowed to know. 
 
 " It's a thousand pities that .like the lamented 
 Sherlock Holmes, I cannot help being observ- 
 ant," she said, shrugging her shoulders. " I 
 hate myself for developing such a talent for 
 suspicion. Besides, it is so much more comfort- 
 able not to see things you are not meant to 
 see, and to be certain that everything about 
 you is right and straightforward. I am not 
 surprised that Aunt Sophie should not consult 
 me about her business, but why should she 
 make such a point of keeping Frances in the 
 dark about the merest details ? " 
 
 She knew that, in her own way, Mrs. 
 Pederson loved Frances and relied on her 
 judgment. If she feared Frances' criticism it
 
 46 Mas. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 must be because she knew that Frances would 
 condemn. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson did not appear again, and 
 Hilary ate her dinner in solitary state. It was 
 some compensation to remember that there 
 would be no spilikins or dominoes to wile 
 away the long evening hours. She went back 
 to the library and sat down to write her 
 weekly letter to Madame Brun. It was 
 astonishing how much she found to tell her old 
 governess, and she enjoyed the writing of these 
 letters almost as much as Madame Brun did 
 the reading of them. 
 
 This evening the tide of Hilary's eloquence 
 ebbed to extinction. She could not concentrate 
 her mind on a vivacious account of her after- 
 noon's expedition, nor find words to tell of 
 the week's happenings. 
 
 In spite of a valiant determination not to 
 trouble herself about Aunt Sophie's affairs, the 
 thought of her vexation and its evident connec- 
 tion with Chivers Smith would come between 
 her and the sheets of paper. 
 
 Hilary's was a singularly open and direct 
 nature. She disliked any necessity for conceal- 
 ment and abhorred deceit. To know that those 
 with whom she must spend her life had
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 47 
 
 schemes and worries of which she was kept 
 ignorant, presumably because she was unfit or 
 not trustworthy enough to share them, hurt 
 and angered her. If there were wrong she did 
 not wish to know it, but she wanted to be 
 allowed to help and sympathise in any trouble. 
 
 She got up and moved restlessly about the 
 room. Like all Mrs. Pederson's rooms, it was 
 hot and close, and the aroma of the afternoon's 
 muffins still hung about it. She longed to 
 throw open one of the windows, but that 
 would have been a bold defiance of the rules 
 of the house. At sundown every window ot 
 No. 10 was shut and bolted for the night. 
 
 "Ill finish my letter and go out and post 
 it," she said, sitting down at the writing-table 
 again. "A breath of fresh air will blow away 
 the dismals ; I hate to feel mopish and dull." 
 
 She added a few lines to her letter, saying 
 she was "too tired, cross, worried, anything 
 dear Madame liked to think, to continue the 
 history of her daily doings," then folded the 
 sheet of paper, put it into an envelope and 
 addressed it. 
 
 Mantle was crossing the hall as Hilary 
 unbolted the hall door. 
 
 " Miss Hilary 1 You are not going out at
 
 48 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 this hour of the night surely ? " she exclaimed. 
 " Whatever would mistress say 1 If you want 
 your letter posted particular to-night, I'll send 
 Eliza with it." 
 
 Hilary laughed and shook her head. 
 
 " I shall not be gone ten minutes, and no one 
 will hurt me," she said. "A breath of fresh 
 air I must and will have, even at the risk of 
 shocking you and Mrs. Grundy, my good 
 Mantle." 
 
 The maid looked dubious and half inclined to 
 follow the girl, but Hilary settled the matter 
 by shutting the door behind her and running 
 down the steps into the square. 
 
 The nearest letter-box was in the next 
 square, and as Hilary walked briskly towards 
 it, she felt her spirits rise. The cool air 
 fanned her cheeks and the rapid movement 
 stirred her blood. 
 
 "After all," she said, half aloud, "I may, 
 as Aunt Sophie says, be making a mountain 
 out of a molehill. I must not judge her by 
 the standard of manners and feelings set up by 
 dear Madame." 
 
 She paused under the gas-lamp beside the 
 letter-box to verify the address before commit- 
 ting her missive to the post.
 
 Mas. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 49 
 
 A man, passing at the moment, stared at 
 the girlish face lit by the falling light, and 
 stopped abruptly with a familiar " Good 
 evening." 
 
 Hilary started and looked at the stranger 
 with surprise and annoyance, then turned away 
 with her head held high. She had recognised 
 at once the thick-set figure in the loud check 
 suit, and concluded rightly that its owner had 
 seen her enter No. 10 earlier in the day. But 
 that gave him no right to address her, she 
 said to herself indignantly. She might live 
 under Aunt Sophie's roof, but that lady's 
 acquaintances were not necessarily hers. 
 
 Chivers Smith seemed to think otherwise. He 
 lifted his hat and turned to walk with her in 
 the direction of Markham Square. 
 
 "Miss Pederson, I think," he said coolly. 
 "The moment I saw you under the lamp I 
 said in the words of the song, ' Where have I 
 seen that face before ? ' and then it came back 
 to me like a shot. I saw you go into No. 10 
 this afternoon, and since you had a latchkey 
 I made a good guess that you lived there. 
 You are the niece the old lady has talked 
 about, and too pretty a girl to be mixed up 
 with her little affairs."
 
 5O MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECS. 
 
 Hilary interrupted him in a tone which 
 was meant to be cutting, though he walked on 
 with her apparently unwounded. 
 
 "Please go away. I do not know you and 
 you have no right to speak to me." 
 
 "If you have not heard of Chivers Smith, 
 my dear young lady, you will live and learn," 
 he said genially. "I don't need you to tell 
 me it is not just the correct thing to make 
 myself known to you like this, but it's worth 
 your while to listen to me. If you'll take my 
 advice you won't cut up rough when Chivers 
 Smith wants to give you a tip." 
 
 Hilary's cheeks burned and she quickened 
 her pace. She had not even guessed that the 
 world held such odious people as the man 
 beside her, and that he should speak to her 
 in this manner was incredible. He threatened 
 her too ! No doubt he menaced poor Aunt 
 Sophie in the same manner; but she was not 
 afraid of him as Aunt Sophie manifestly was, 
 though why she should be was past understand- 
 ing. What power could he really have over a 
 woman in Mrs. Pederson's position ? What claim 
 could he possibly hold against her ? 
 
 "Your threats are nothing to me," she said 
 contemptuously. " I do not wish to hear any-
 
 MRS. PEDERSON' s VISITOR. 51 
 
 thing you may have to say. What harm could 
 you ever do me or Mrs. Pederson, even if you 
 had the heart to inflict injury on a fellow 
 creature ? " 
 
 The young man laughed with evident amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "In our way of business we don't stop 
 short through any little weaknesses of the 
 heart," he said, disagreeably. "You may be 
 sure of this, though, that any harm that comes 
 to Mrs. Pederson will lie at her own door. 
 She won't want much helping. There aren't 
 many have her spirit and go." 
 
 Hilary bit her lip. Would she never reach 
 No. 10, and was there no way of shaking off 
 this detestable man ? Why had she not been 
 guided by Mantle, who saw the folly of 
 strolling out alone after dinner ? She walked 
 swiftly, looking straight before her, her eyes 
 ablaze with indignation. 
 
 "I say, you are thinking me an awful cad, 
 Miss Pederson." 
 
 Hilary did not deny the fact, though it only 
 faintly described her feeling. 
 
 "And honestly, I only wanted to give you a 
 tip. It is the first and only thoroughly dis- 
 interested thing that has ever been set to my
 
 52 MRS. PEDERSON'S 
 
 credit, and it seems as though kindness doesn't 
 pay very high dividends," the young man said, 
 in a tone of half-mocking apology. 
 
 Hilary turned and looked him full in the 
 face. 
 
 "Your ideas of kindness and honour and 
 mine differ. I refuse to hear my aunt's private 
 business from any lips but her own. As for 
 your threats and your hints of future disaster 
 unless we court your favour, I do not care for 
 them in the least. You may have a score of 
 evil plots in your mind, but I will never 
 believe that a man like you has power to hurt 
 me or mine." 
 
 She saw that for some reason her words hit 
 him hard, and she was glad of it She turned 
 from him, and running up the steps, let 
 herself into the house and shut the door 
 behind her. 
 
 Chivers Smith stood for a moment on the 
 pavement looking after her. Then he laughed 
 softly and thrust his hands deep in the pockets 
 of his short coat 
 
 "I like her spirit and that way she has of 
 looking straight at one, but spirit and pride 
 won't help her if she's dependent on the old 
 lady. It'll be a pity, for she's a cut above
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 53 
 
 Mrs. P. and worth a better fate than losing 
 her bottom dollar." 
 
 He moved off in the direction of the City, 
 whistling thoughtfully. It was not often that 
 Chivers Smith thought for half an hour con- 
 secutively of anything but money, but to-night, 
 as he let himself into his dingy office in 
 Chancery Lane, he was still thinking of Hilary 
 Pederson and the lift of her head as she told 
 him that her thoughts were not his thoughts 
 nor her world his world. 
 
 In the chequered course of his life it had 
 not fallen to his lot to see many girls of 
 Hilary's type. His own sisters were altogether 
 different, and they were almost strangers to him. 
 Nor had their open contempt for himself tended 
 to bridge the gulf or to sweeten the relations 
 between them. Men and women usually 
 showed their darkest side to Chivers Smith, 
 and his intercourse with them was seldom 
 pleasant. 
 
 Nominally a stockbroker, he was actually 
 a moneylender of the most usurious type, and 
 those who came to his little office seldom 
 cherished any but the most bitter memories of 
 their transactions with him. His brokerage 
 seemed mere gambling when their money was
 
 54 Mas. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 gone, and his loans, so genially offered, were of 
 no tangible or lasting benefit. 
 
 One thing was certain, the young man was 
 laying by money and might already be called 
 wealthy. It was his ambition to be a 
 prominent man in the City and to take his 
 place in a social circle above that in which he 
 had been born. He believed that he could 
 achieve these heights if he were rich, extra- 
 ordinarily rich, and to the making of money 
 he set himself to the exclusion of all other 
 interests. 
 
 To-night, after his interview with Hilary, 
 he felt that he had caught a glimpse of the 
 world it was his ambition to enter, and which 
 he began dimly to see was not all money- 
 making and self-aggrandisement. Something in 
 Hilary's clear eyes told him more convincingly 
 than words that she would never sell honour 
 for social position, nor would she cringe before 
 him though he robbed her of her last penny. 
 He might cheat her and defraud her, but she 
 would have no feeling for him but contempt 
 or pity. If she were driven to sweep a crossing 
 for a living she would still be miles above 
 him. She breathed a mental atmosphere too 
 rarefied for him.
 
 MRS. PEDERSON'S VISITOR. 55 
 
 No one is wholly base or callous, and that 
 Chivers Smith could recognise these qualities in 
 Hilary Pederson in one brief interview, and give 
 them the meed of his admiration, argued that 
 he was not yet wholly the slave of greed. 
 
 Hilary had builded better than she knew 
 that night.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 
 
 MRS. PEDERSON had this grace, she never 
 nursed her grievances. They might overwhelm 
 her for the moment, but when she found they 
 did not kill, she rose superior to them. 
 
 She came down to breakfast next morning 
 with a face wreathed with smiles, and in a blouse 
 of exceptional smartness. 
 
 Evidently the painful hour in the library 
 was to be ignored, and Hilary discreetly ab- 
 stained from inquiry concerning the neuralgic 
 headache. 
 
 "My dear Hilary, I have made such a 
 delightful plan for spending the day," Mrs. 
 Pederson said, when her temporal needs had 
 been carefully supplied and Eliza had been 
 twice summoned to convey messages of com- 
 plaint and reproof to the cook. "A delightful 
 whole day's outing. It came into my head 
 as I lay awake this morning." 
 
 Hilary looked up from her plate without 
 any overpowering sense of elation. She shrewdly
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 57 
 
 guessed that the main object of these matutinal 
 cogitations was to supply her with a new 
 interest which should oust any tendency to 
 dwell on the visit of Chivers Smith. 
 
 "I have not seen my cousin Paul Kemsing 
 for months," Mrs. Pederson went on airily. 
 "He is an artist, you know, with a charming 
 house at Sydenham, quite a palatial place in 
 its way, not large, but exquisitely furnished. I 
 believe he got one of the big firms to do it 
 throughout, though, of course, under his own 
 direction. Paul always had such queer taste 
 the fruit of having the artistic temperament, I 
 suppose. I have not seen anything of him for 
 ages, for he and your Uncle Gervase did not 
 get on very well. It is a lovely morning, we 
 could not have a nicer day for an excursion. 
 I will send Eliza to order a carriage and we 
 will drive down to Sydenham to lunch." 
 
 "But, Aunt Sophie, if we are not expected 
 won't it be awkward for Mr. Kemsing to have 
 us pounce down on him in that unceremonious 
 way ? " said Hilary, though the expedition 
 sounded inviting. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson tossed her head. 
 
 " My goodness, Hilary ! as if relations couldn't 
 visit without a formal invitation. And to describe
 
 58 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 my lunching with my cousin Paul as ' pouncing ' I 
 I might be a hawk or a beast of prey to 
 hear you ! " 
 
 " I recall the opprobrious term/' said Hilary, 
 laughing. "If you are sure that Mr. Kemsing 
 will welcome us, it will be a delightful outing." 
 
 "There is the Crystal Palace to fall back 
 upon if Paul happens to be away from home," 
 Mrs. Pederson added, as she proceeded with her 
 breakfast and advised Hilary to follow her 
 example. 
 
 "Pleasuring is hungry work," she explained; 
 "I always make a point of taking plenty of 
 support before I start." 
 
 It was arranged that they should leave 
 Markham Square at eleven o'clock, and five 
 minutes before that hour Hilary stood in the 
 dining-room window ready to start. Mrs. Peder- 
 son's voice could be heard in the hall, chanti- 
 cleering a few final orders to the much-enduring 
 Mantle with an energy unsubdued by the heat 
 of the day. 
 
 "Oh, how can people fuss so with the 
 thermometer at seventy in the shade ? " said 
 Hilary to herself, as she picked up her sun- 
 shade. A glance into the square, however, 
 told her that this would be a superfluous
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 59 
 
 addition to her toilet. With her usual pre- 
 caution against draughts and chills, Mrs. Peder- 
 son had ordered a closed carriage. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I wish I had not started the 
 day with a headache," sighed the girl, as she 
 went slowly down the steps and took her seat 
 beside her aunt. "It will be terribly hot boxed 
 up in a brougham this warm morning." 
 
 " I'm glad I thought of taking you to Syden- 
 ham to-day, Hilary," Mrs. Pederson said, as the 
 carriage rolled out of Markham Square. "You 
 look quite pale and as though a breath of 
 country air would be just the thing for you. 
 You've a headache ? I've never known you to 
 have one before, so it must be the heat. Take 
 my vinaigrette, it's an invaluable specific. I 
 want my little adopted daughter to make a 
 good impression on Paul Kemsing." 
 
 She pressed the gold-topped bottle fussily 
 upon Hilary, who declared the headache would 
 pass away, and declined the remedy. 
 
 Aunt Sophie shook her head dubiously. 
 She had a firm belief that no malady "passed" 
 without stringent measures, and for headache 
 that particular vinaigrette was simply miracu- 
 lous. She chattered on of numerous acquaint- 
 ances who had tested its virtues and risen up
 
 6o MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 to call hei> blessed, whilst Hilary listened 
 dreamily, putting in a word now and then as 
 an earnest of her attention. 
 
 She did not anticipate much pleasure from 
 the visit to the artist ; so many of Aunt 
 Sophie's swans turned out to be very common- 
 place geese ; but the drive, after a while, be- 
 came delightful. The carriage bowled through 
 tree-shaded roads, past parks and well-kept 
 gardens ablaze with flowers. 
 
 "I wished we lived out here instead of in 
 dull Markham Square, Aunt Sophie," she said, 
 craning her head out of the window in a most 
 undignified fashion. " Isn't it possible for us to 
 change our abode ? " 
 
 Mrs. Pederson shook her head. "Thank 
 goodness, I've a long lease of the house ; but 
 I would not leave it if I could. I should die 
 if I had to stay here a whole month. It is 
 pretty enough, but give me the streets and the 
 shops, with plenty of life and stir. Your uncle 
 once took a house on Dartford Heath for a 
 year, but the empty, endless days drove me 
 wild. If I had not been able to run up to 
 town once a week and bike all over the 
 place I should have gone mad." 
 
 Mrs, Pederson was an ardent cyclist despite
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 61 
 
 the fact that she rode execrably, and always 
 returned from a ride with the exultant air of 
 one who has faced death and conquered it by 
 her own skill and agility. Her description of 
 a ride always bristled with hairbreadth escapes 
 and unlucky "spills." 
 
 "We will cycle down here next time we 
 come, Hilary," she said with decision. "The 
 roads are good, and it is not nearly so far as 
 your uncle Gervase pretended. Ah I here we 
 are at last. I wonder whether we shall find 
 Paul at home." 
 
 The carriage drew up as she spoke at a 
 little green gate upon which was painted in 
 white letters "The Nook." The gate was set 
 in a long brick wall over which peeped a 
 tangle of roses and the gnarled branches of 
 ancient fruit trees. Through the bloom and the 
 lacework of boughs Hilary caught sight of the 
 gables and chimneys of a red-brick house set 
 high above the road on a grassy bank. 
 
 She sprang out of the carriage and took a 
 long breath of the soft, fragrant air, wondering 
 how anyone in their senses could prefer the 
 dusty, dingy town to this heavenly spot. 
 
 "You can go and find some place to bait 
 the horses and return for us in three hours,"
 
 62 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson directed the coachman. "Now, 
 Hilary, don't stand gaping around you as 
 though you had never seen a tree before. Let 
 us go up to the house and make sure of some 
 luncheon. It's unfortunate that Paul is one 
 of the tiresome people who don't care a 
 row of pins about their food, for it makes 
 the prospect of our being decently fed more 
 problematical." 
 
 "Beggars mustn't be choosers," cried Hilary 
 merrily. "I feel as though I want nothing but 
 the proverbial cup of cold water and permission 
 to ramble about this lovely old garden." 
 
 A bell hung beside the gate, and Mrs. 
 Pederson pulled it vigorously. In a few minutes 
 the gate was opened by an old man with a 
 face rosy and wrinkled as a winter apple, and 
 eyes which twinkled humorously. 
 
 " I wish to see Mr. Kemsing Mr. Paul 
 Kemsing," said Mrs. Pederson. "I wish to see 
 him at once." 
 
 She always spoke with great slowness and 
 many repetitions when she addressed those of 
 a lower station, as though she imagined that 
 their faculties were in the same ratio to her own 
 as their worldly position. 
 
 "The master is at home, but whether
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 63 
 
 he's to be seen is a coat of another 
 colour," the old man replied, studying the 
 visitor as though she were a denizen of another 
 world. "He don't set much store by women 
 callers; sort of interrupts his work, you see." 
 His beady eyes twinkled more than ever. 
 "There's some as say that he don't lose 
 much anyway." 
 
 "What an extraordinary old man!" Mrs. 
 Pederson exclaimed. " I should think Paul must 
 be setting up a private lunatic asylum." She 
 adopted a louder tone and a more conciliatory 
 manner. "My good creature, you don't under- 
 stand me. I am not an ordinary caller. I 
 am a relation of your master's, a cousin of 
 his, by name Mrs. Pederson. Take me and 
 my niece to the house and then carry my 
 name to your master." 
 
 She stepped quickly across the threshold, 
 drawing Hilary after her, and the old man, 
 chuckling to himself, led the way to the entrance 
 of the house. 
 
 "It's quite an adventure," giggled Mrs. 
 Pederson. "Paul always managed to get the 
 queerest people about him." 
 
 " It's an uncommonly disagreeable adventure," 
 Hilary retorted. "It is not pleasant to feel
 
 64 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 that one is forcing oneself into the house 
 unasked and apparently unwelcomed." 
 
 " What nonsense, child 1 Relations certainly 
 have a right to go unasked to each other's 
 homes. Paul and I were great friends in the dear 
 old 'long ago/ though we certainly quarrelled 
 tremendously." 
 
 The old man summoned an elderly house- 
 keeper, who led the visitors into a bright little 
 morning-room. There she asked them to be 
 seated whilst she went to tell Mr. Kemsing 
 of their visit. 
 
 What manner of man Hilary expected this 
 cousin of Aunt Sophie's to be she scarcely 
 knew, but he had no likeness to the real 
 Paul Kemsing, who entered a few minutes 
 later. 
 
 Mr. Kemsing was tall, he had a very high 
 forehead, very shaggy eyebrows which shaded 
 blue and kindly eyes, a shy, courteous manner, 
 and a humorous smile. He wore a silk stock 
 in place of a collar, and a long, oddly 
 fashioned coat of buff linen. In spite of this 
 strange attire he could not be mistaken for any- 
 thing but a gentleman as he came forward to 
 greet his visitors. Hilary decided on the spot 
 that she liked him, and wondered exceedingly
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 65 
 
 that he should be even distantly related to 
 Mrs. Pederson. 
 
 " My dear Sophie Pederson, this is indeed 
 a surprise/' he said ; " I wonder what can have 
 recalled my insignificant self to your recollec- 
 tion. And who is this young lady? Not 
 another daughter of the Major's ? " 
 
 Mrs. Pederson hastened to explain the 
 relationship and to introduce Hilary. "Really 
 my little adopted daughter, you know," she said 
 gushingly. 
 
 " She is fortunate, I do not doubt," he 
 replied gravely, yet with an odd twinkle in 
 his eyes. He turned to Hilary and set her at 
 ease by a few kindly questions about her school 
 life, and a word or two of unmistakably sincere 
 welcome. 
 
 "You are both going to lunch with me, of 
 course. I have already given Mrs. Murdoch direc- 
 tions," he said. "It is months since I had the 
 company of ladies at my frugal meal. This 
 little festivity comes also on a day when I have 
 brought successfully to completion the work 
 of eighteen months. I always like to mark 
 such a day with some festivity, and this is 
 certainly more charming than a run up to town 
 or a turn in the grounds of the Palace."
 
 66 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 "Oh, you have finished another picture/' 
 cried Mrs. Pederson. "You must show it to 
 us after luncheon. I hate to see unfinished 
 things, they look such daubs." 
 
 "You shall not see the daubs, I promise t 
 you," Mr. Kemsing said, smiling. 
 
 When luncheon was announced he led the 
 way to the dining-room. 
 
 A glance told Mrs. Pederson that she need 
 have no fears concerning the quality of her 
 meal, and she sat down with manifest relief: 
 If the artist cared nothing about such details 
 himself, his domestic arrangements were in 
 excellent hands. A round table was set in the 
 bow window overlooking the garden, and upon 
 it were spread the daintily garnished dishes, 
 the gleaming silver, and the sparkling glass 
 which pertain to a delicately served luncheon. 
 
 When they rose from the table the artist 
 proposed an adjournment to the studio. Hilary, 
 had charmed him by her sweet, frank talk, and 
 he had a fancy to see how his latest work 
 would strike one who had not been spoilt by 
 a surfeit of galleries and was incapable of giving 
 him pleasant little insincerities. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson consulted her watch. 
 
 "I told our coachman to come back in three
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 67 
 
 hours, and we have sat an unconscionable time 
 over luncheon. Suppose you take Hilary to 
 the studio without me, Paul ? I must ask your 
 housekeeper how she made that mayonnaise 
 sauce. Those things are really more in my 
 line than pictures, you know." 
 
 She bustled off in the direction of the house 
 keeper's room, calling for " Murdoch " as though 
 she had known that stately personage a dozen 
 years. 
 
 The studio to which the old artist led 
 Hilary was a large room built out into the 
 garden. A great north window filled one end, 
 and its walls were draped with quaint 
 hangings, and hung with pictures in a more 
 or less finished condition. 
 
 "Now, I will show you anything you think 
 likely to interest you, Miss Hilary," he said 
 kindly. "You must not imagine that you are 
 monopolising time I can ill spare ; I am at 
 perfect liberty to-day. You must tell me just 
 what you think of each picture. It does us old 
 people good at times to see how things look 
 through the eyes of the young." 
 
 Hilary felt sure that she would never dare 
 to criticise, but before long she found herself 
 chatting quite unrestrainedly with her kindly
 
 68 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 host. Long before the hour struck for her 
 departure and Mrs. Pederson appeared in the 
 wake of the tea she had ordered, they were on 
 the border-line of friendship. 
 
 As they studied the pictures and chatted 
 about them, the girl had found herself telling 
 him of her own little difficulties and the gulf 
 which lay between her old life and the new. 
 
 "I can imagine that the atmosphere of 
 Markham Square is not quite so rarefied as that 
 of the Pension," the artist said slowly. "Tell 
 me, my child, are you happy there ? " 
 
 Hilary started, and the colour rushed to 
 her cheeks. In the pleasure of talking with 
 one who seemed to understand and sympathise, 
 she had spoken more unguardedly than she 
 intended. She hated to think that her frankness 
 savoured of disloyalty to Aunt Sophie. 
 
 " Happy ? Yes. Surely one can be happy 
 anywhere," she said lightly. " My old governess 
 used to tell us that happiness was an accom- 
 plishment, and that every girl ought to acquire 
 it" 
 
 The artist smiled. " She was a wise woman, 
 though I cannot altogether agree with her. 
 Most generalisations have some vulnerable 
 point. Happiness is a gift as well as an
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 69 
 
 accomplishment You may throw it away or 
 you may increase it by culture. It is your good 
 fortune to be thus endowed. You may suffer, 
 as we all have to do, but you won't hang the 
 world in black on that account. You are bora 
 to recover from calamities. Do you see this 
 sketch ? " 
 
 He turned a canvas which had been placed 
 on an easel with its face to the wall. 
 
 It was an unfinished portrait of a girl 
 scarcely more than Hilary's age, a girl with a 
 small oval face, red lips parted in a frank, sweet 
 smile, and dark eyes sparkling from a tangle of 
 red-gold hair. 
 
 " It will never be finished," he said regret- 
 fully. "It was painted two years ago, and I 
 hoped to exhibit it. But troubles came to my 
 little friend and she lost interest in life. Now, 
 you would have ridden on the top of the waves 
 which drowned all the brightness Aglae 
 possessed. If anyone saw that picture now 
 they would pass it by as a sketch which merely 
 resembled slightly the Aglae of to-day. 
 Happiness, you see, is a question of will and 
 temperament as well as of acquirement." 
 
 " I am afraid you do not know me very well 
 yet, Cousin Paul," Hilary said quickly. "Un-
 
 70 MRS. PEDERSON s NIECE. 
 
 bridled cheerfulness is not easy even to me. It 
 would be nice to be made of material warranted 
 not to fret, but I have hours when it does not 
 seem possible to be bright or to laugh at 
 things." 
 
 " My dear child, I know," the old man said 
 quietly. "But I agree with that old governess 
 of yours in this your capacity for joy is of 
 the growing sort. It will increase amazingly 
 with effort 
 
 "Take Joy home 
 
 And make a place in thy great heart for her, 
 Then will she come and oft will sing to thee 
 When thou art working in the furrows ay, 
 It is a comely fashion to be glad." 
 
 Hilary looked up with shining eyes. "Yes, 
 I have always loved those lines of Miss 
 Ingelow's. I know it is 'a comely fashion to 
 be glad,' but it is not always easy to be in 
 the fashion." She hesitated, and glanced shyly 
 at her companion. 
 
 "Will you let me come and see you some- 
 times, Cousin Paul, when I feel myself getting 
 frumpy ? I could cycle down, you know, if I 
 were sure you would not think me intrusive." 
 
 "My dear child, come as often and when 
 you like. If I am not in the mood for visitors
 
 "'It will never be finished,' he said regretfully" (p. 69).
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 71 
 
 I shall just tell you so and let you amuse 
 yourself as you please. I think you and I 
 are going to be great friends, though I 
 belong to a past generation, and the young 
 of to-day are rather incomprehensible to 
 their elders." 
 
 Hilary laughed. "I have not the reputa- 
 tion for being cryptic, Cousin Paul, I assure 
 you." 
 
 It was at this juncture that Mrs. Pederson 
 appeared. 
 
 "I hope you two are not quarrelling," she 
 cried banteringly. "You remember that we 
 could not be left together five minutes, Paul, 
 in our young days, without coming to wordy 
 warfare. I have got the recipe I wanted, 
 and your housekeeper is a treasure. Mind you 
 don't quarrel with her and incite her to leave 
 you. It is an awful mistake to offend 
 decent servants. I endure untold impertin- 
 ences from Mantle because she is such a 
 good soul." 
 
 She helped herself to tea and poured out 
 some for her cousin and Hilary, talking so 
 fast all the time that she did not hear the 
 artist's protest that he took neither sugar 
 nor cream.
 
 72 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 A few minutes later the carriage was 
 announced, and she haled Hilary away in a 
 bustle of good-byes and promises to "come 
 again," which scarcely called forth profound 
 gratitude from her host. 
 
 "My dear Hilary, what did you and Paul 
 find to talk about all that time ? " she said, as 
 she sank back breathless in the carriage. " I was 
 pitying you dreadfully, but that good creature, 
 Murdoch, had so much to tell me about the 
 smart people who come to see Paul that I 
 could not tear myself away. I had no idea 
 he was such a big man in the artistic world. 
 I never could see anything in his pictures my- 
 self. Give me something with a story in it, 
 not a splash of faded colours that look as 
 though the brush had done it without human 
 aid. Whatever does he aim at in his paint- 
 ing?" 
 
 Hilary made a valiant effort to explain, but 
 her observations fell on deaf ears. It was a 
 provoking habit of Mrs. Pederson's to express 
 curiosity about things she had not the faintest 
 interest in when they were explained to her. 
 She broke in ruthlessly on Hilary's well-meant 
 attempt to be lucid. 
 
 " Yes, dear, I see, though I'm not clever
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 73 
 
 enough to like it all. But now tell me what 
 you think of Paul. I could tell you were 
 taken with him, and it seems that he is 
 quite a person to cultivate, though I say 
 it as shouldn't, being his relative. We 
 will go down to Sydenham oftener this 
 summer." 
 
 Hilary did not reply. It seemed to her in 
 the worst taste to be discussing one's host as 
 soon as he was out of sight and hearing, even 
 if he were a relative. 
 
 " I never like to pronounce an opinion after 
 such a short acquaintance," she said senten- 
 tiously. 
 
 " Gracious ! you ought to be fifty, you are 
 so cautious, my dear 1 " laughed Mrs. Pederson. 
 "I don't pretend to be a person of great 
 acumen, but I can sum up anyone at a glance. 
 It does not take me two minutes to discover 
 whether a man is clever and a perfect gentle- 
 man." 
 
 Hilary winced. Mrs. Pederson's habit of 
 summing up her acquaintances as " perfect 
 gentlemen" or "perfect ladies" always jarred 
 upon her. Her own category did not include 
 imperfect specimens of the type. She told 
 herself, howey.er, that it was altogether
 
 74 Mxs. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 absurd to take exception to Aunt Sophie's 
 phrases. She meant nothing derogatory, and it 
 was only fair to accept her motives as the 
 standard of one's judgment of her. 
 
 "I enjoyed myself immensely," she said 
 good-temperedly. " I'm ever so much obliged 
 to you for taking me, Aunt Sophie." 
 
 "Well, it is something to be thankful for 
 that one of my friends comes up to your 
 standard," Mrs. Pederson replied, with a shrug 
 of the shoulders. " It isn't often they do, if 
 you told the honest truth." 
 
 She had not found the outing suffi- 
 ciently exciting to make her loquacious, and 
 soon dropped asleep in her corner. Hilary was 
 quite content to be silent, though not for the 
 same reason. The great want in her life since 
 she left Paris had been someone to confide in, 
 someone who could sympathise with her girlish 
 aspirations. Madame Brun, despite her white 
 hairs and her wrinkled cheeks, was a girl at heart, 
 and had been confidante, counsellor and friend 
 to her favourite. Hilary soon learned that she 
 must not look to Aunt Sophie for the like help 
 and sympathy in any but the most material 
 needs. Frances might have been a comrade, 
 but she had neither interest nor attention for
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 75 
 
 anything outside her own work. To-day 
 Hilary felt that she had made a friend 
 and that she would never again feel quite 
 alone.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 
 
 FRANCES came round to Markham Square next 
 day after luncheon. Mrs. Pederson had gone 
 on a shopping expedition from which Hilary 
 had excused herself on account of the heat 
 
 "It's too hot to spend hours in a jostling 
 crowd, buying things for which you have no 
 earthly use," she said. " I'm sure it was good of 
 Aunt Sophie to excuse me with such good grace, 
 for she hates going alone." 
 
 "It will be cooler in an hour," Frances said, 
 taking possession of her mother's armchair. " I 
 have managed to get a leisure afternoon, and I 
 want you to come down to Herne Hill with 
 me to see Mona Smith. She has not been at 
 the hospital for a couple of days, and wild 
 horses would not keep her away if she were 
 not too ill to come." 
 
 "I should like to, though I don't know 
 what Aunt Sophie will say if she comes home 
 and finds me away," Hilary replied dubiously. 
 
 "We shall be back in time for dinner,"
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 77 
 
 Frances said coolly. " I could not possibly 
 stay longer, for Ursula and I have some work 
 to do this evening. If I don't take care Ursula 
 will beat me all along the line. She is splendid 
 at some things. She does not work half as 
 hard as I do but she will walk through the 
 exams, with a smile." 
 
 " Aren't you too anxious, Francie ? " Hilary 
 said quickly. "You are too hard on yourself; 
 you don't give your poor brain a chance of 
 resting. Wouldn't it be better to forget the 
 work now and then as Ursula does ? " 
 
 " Forget ! You little silly ! how can people 
 forget the only thing in the world that they 
 really care for ? " Frances shrugged her shoulders 
 with an affectation of boredom which her 
 flashing eyes and quivering lips belied. "You 
 don't know all that hangs on this exam. 
 I shall never have nerve to try again. Some 
 students go up time after time, but I'm not 
 made that way. If I fail, I shall throw 
 the whole business up ; and then where 
 am I ? What am I going to do with my 
 life?" 
 
 Hilary frowned. "But why should you 
 throw it up because you don't pass ? You can 
 try again as you say other girls do."
 
 78 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Frances moved her head to and fro on the 
 cushion of her chair restlessly. 
 
 " Of course, you don't understand, and I could 
 never make you," she said. "If I fail I shall 
 never have nerve to try again. I lie awake at 
 nights and think of what will become of me if 
 I don't get through, till I feel as though I shall 
 go out of my mind. Of course, that way mad- 
 ness lies, but I can't help it." 
 
 Hilary looked anxiously at her cousin's thin, 
 worried face. She was years younger than 
 Frances, but just now she felt immeasurably older 
 and wiser. She knew with certainty that all 
 this fever and anxiety were laying the founda- 
 tion for the failure Frances dreaded. 
 
 " Oh, if you would not worry so much 1 " 
 she sighed. "You are so clever, and you work 
 so hard, Francie, that you are sure to pass. 
 Promise me that you will rest more and think 
 less about the work." 
 
 "Let me alone this afternoon, Hilary, 
 please," Frances replied, almost angrily ; " I 
 am all jarred and out of humour. I made a 
 mess of a dissection this morning through 
 forgetting a mere rudiment that a beginner 
 should have known. Don't mention the 
 Jaospital to me to-day, though I shall have to
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 79 
 
 talk to Mona Smith about it. Thank goodness ! 
 here comes Mantle with some tea. Pour me 
 out a cup and tell me what you have been 
 doing lately. Remember, I have not seen you 
 for a fortnight, time enough for thrilling 
 episodes." 
 
 Hilary laughed as she handed Frances her 
 cup. 
 
 "Events are about as plentiful as your visits, 
 but yesterday was a red-letter day. We went 
 out to Sydenham to see Cousin Paul. I'm 
 inclined to quarrel with you, Frances, for 
 keeping his existence a secret so long. He is 
 quite the nicest person I have seen since I left 
 Madame Brun." 
 
 " How flattering to mother and me," laughed 
 Frances. "But the truth is, that Cousin Paul 
 and I do not get on together, and in that case 
 wisdom lies in mutual and amicable forgetfulness. 
 He is as old-fashioned as the Major was, and 
 my choice of a profession raised an impassable 
 barrier between us. I used to spend a lot of 
 time once at Cousin Paul's. When the atmo- 
 sphere at home got electrical I always ran 
 away to Sydenham, and if I had shown the 
 least talent for art he would have adopted me. 
 As it is, I disappointed him. I'm glad you have
 
 8o MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 made friends with him, Hilary," she went on in 
 a softened tone ; " there's no one on earth I 
 reverence more than Cousin Paul, and if ever 
 I wanted a friend, which God forfend, I would 
 go to him first and abide by his counsel." 
 
 "Yes, I feel that already," Hilary replied 
 quickly. " I know what you mean by his 
 being old-fashioned, and I think that is what 
 makes him different to other men one meets. 
 He does not like to think of a girl working for 
 her living, shoulder to shoulder with men, 
 though so many must do it. He believes that 
 some man should work for her, and that if she 
 is in any trouble it is a man's part to protect her. 
 It may be old-fashioned, but it is a nice thing 
 to have at the back of one's mind, particularly 
 when one knows that all men have not the same 
 ideas." She was thinking of Olivers Smith and 
 the different impression he had made on her 
 mind. It was his opinion that a woman must 
 take care of herself, and that if she be a little 
 more foolish and careless than others, she 
 must expect to be the prey of the more clever 
 and wary. 
 
 The two girls took an omnibus to Victoria 
 Station, and in less than an hour found them- 
 selves at Herne Hill.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 81 
 
 Mona Smith lived in a road ot small, semi- 
 detached houses, climbing ?a suburban street not 
 far from the station, somewhat pretentiously 
 named Jamaican Avenue. The house itself was 
 neither better nor worse than its neighbours, 
 but it lacked the individual touch of colour and 
 decoration which lifted many from an aspect of 
 dreariness. The blinds were drawn up askew, 
 and dark curtains at the windows bespoke a 
 desire, at all costs, to avoid labour. 
 
 "It looks dingy, but the Smiths do not 
 bother about household affairs," said Frances, 
 as she opened the gate. "They are all at work 
 except the children, who have not left school. 
 There's an elder son, but he comes home so 
 seldom that he never seems to be reckoned as 
 one or the family. By the way, we seem to 
 have hit on one 01 these festive occasions, for 
 here he is." 
 
 Hilary looked along the tiled path, and her 
 face flushed with surprise and annoyance. That, 
 among the great family of Smiths with its 
 innumerable branches, Frances' student friend 
 and her aunt's " man of business " should belong 
 to the same had never occurred to her. It 
 was Chivers Smith, who came down the path, 
 lifting his hat to the girls. Hilary passed him
 
 82 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE, 
 
 with a chilling bow and followed Frances to 
 the door. 
 
 A diminutive servant ushered the girls un- 
 announced into an untidy front - parlour, which 
 seemed to Hilary unpleasantly crowded and hot 
 to suffocation. The crowd resolved itself into 
 five persons : a stout, elderly woman, sitting in 
 a low chair, reading a halfpenny paper; two 
 schoolgirls with lank hair hanging about cross, 
 tired faces ; a sharp-featured, freckled little boy, 
 catching flies on the unshaded window-pane ; 
 and the invalid, who sat huddled in a corner 
 of the sofa, a heavy volume of physiology 
 propped against her knees. 
 
 She got up and greeted the newcomers 
 languidly, introduced them to the assembled 
 family, and explained that her ailment was no- 
 thing more interesting or romantic than a cold 
 in the head. 
 
 "It's awfully good of you to spare the 
 time to look me up, Miss Kemsing. I know 
 you are tremendously busy. I'm doing all I 
 can at home, but it seems a horrible waste of 
 time to be ill just now. Mother, it would be nice 
 of you if you would bestir yourself to get some 
 tea for Miss Kemsing and her friend. It is no 
 use asking Dagmar or Betty to go and urge
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 83 
 
 Martha on, they always succeed in making her 
 more slow and stupid than nature intended her 
 to be. I envy you sometimes, Miss Kemsing, 
 living in lodgings and being free from domestic 
 worries." 
 
 " You know that you don't envy me at all in 
 your heart, my dear Mona," said Frances, with 
 a cheerfulness which she firmly believed was 
 the best clinical manner. "You have a cold 
 and are out of sorts. When you are well, 
 you think mine a wretchedly uncomfortable 
 existence. Please don't disturb yourself, Mrs. 
 Smith. We cannot stay long, and we would 
 not for worlds forestall your regular hour for 
 tea." 
 
 " It's no trouble at all, my dear," responded 
 Mrs. Smith graciously. "We are plain folks, 
 but we're hospitable. I'm only sorry Smith 
 won't be home, for he is keen to see any of 
 Mona's grand hospital friends. Anyhow, Chivers, 
 my eldest son, happens to be home to-day, 
 and he'll do the honours. I shouldn't wonder 
 if he brings in a bit of ham or something for 
 tea. There's a cookshop close to the post- 
 office where he has gone with his letters, and 
 he always likes a nice tea and an early one. 
 Chivers is quite the gentleman," she explained
 
 84 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 confidentially. " He dines late, so naturally 
 he prefers an early cup of tea." 
 
 She went away on household cares intent, 
 blissfully unconscious that Mona was inwardly 
 raging at her revelations. Mona did not mind 
 a whit the poorness or plainness of her home, 
 but since her life had brought her into contact 
 with Frances Kemsing, Ursula Grantham, 
 and many like them, she had grown ashamed 
 of its disorder and vulgarity. Unfortunately, her 
 revolt as yet took no other form than an oc- 
 casional and captious fault-finding, which did no 
 good but merely vexed her relatives. 
 
 She put her domestic trials aside now and 
 eagerly questioned Frances about the lectures 
 she had missed through her absence from the 
 hospital. Hilary, who had no part or lot in 
 such matters, turned to the two schoolgirls, 
 who were staring at her with manifest interest. 
 They knew that nearly all her life had 
 been spent with Madame Brun, and were 
 anxious to hear all she could tell them about 
 her schooldays. 
 
 " Of course, Gertrude tells us things, but if 
 you are a governess you cannot see things 
 properly," said Betty, the elder, who was pre- 
 paring for matriculation and hoped to go to
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 85 
 
 Paris as soon as the examination was over. 
 "They don't know half the fun that goes on, 
 and wouldn't understand it if they did. Ger- 
 trude and Mona lost all their 'go' when they 
 took up a profession, but Dagmar and I don't 
 ,mean to follow their example in that respect. 
 We are going to work like demons, but we 
 mean to have a good time all the same. 
 Dag is going to Girton if she gets a scholar- 
 ship, but I'm to have a couple of years at 
 Madame Brun's and qualify for a first-rate 
 language mistress. Madame is going to take 
 me for Gertrude's services, so it won't cost poor 
 old father anything. It seems rather hard on 
 old Gertie, of course, but it was her proposition. 
 She would not take ' No ' for an answer, though 
 we all said it was not fair on her." 
 
 "Everything that is good for one person 
 hits someone else hard," Dagmar said, out of 
 her deep and varied experience of genteel 
 poverty. "But, Miss Pederson, is Madame 
 Brun's really a nice school ? Gertrude praises it 
 no end, though she says it is rather a sleepy 
 place, with nothing about it to rouse one's 
 ambitions." 
 
 " I was there ten years, and there was 
 not an unhappy day in them all," Hilary said,
 
 86 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 speaking gently, as she always did when her 
 thoughts turned back to the quaint old house 
 in the quiet Paris suburb. 
 
 "Tell us everything you can remember," 
 demanded Betty. 
 
 Hilary laughed. "That's too large an order; 
 I could not fulfil it if I talked till midnight." 
 She was in the full tide of reminiscences when 
 the door opened and the elder son of the 
 house looked in. 
 
 Chivers Smith had no illusions concerning 
 his sisters. He knew they were clever and 
 hardworking girls, who stood by one another 
 and never lost sight of the fact that their 
 futures depended on their own exertions. He 
 knew also that he could, if he would, save 
 them much of this grinding and worrying, but 
 his affection was not of the kind which puts 
 family ties before self-interest. He told himself 
 that he had his own goal to reach, and that 
 he had had to struggle at the beginning as 
 they were doing. It had not hurt him, and it 
 would do them no harm. Yet he was conscious 
 of a difference in the three faces which bent 
 towards one another over the centre table. 
 He told himself that it was birth and breeding 
 which gave Hilary's sweet, animated face some-
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 87 
 
 thing the others lacked; but he was wrong. 
 She alone of the five girls lived for other 
 things than her own advancement and her pet 
 interests. The light of a wholesome, buoyant 
 spirit shone in her tender, mirthful eyes. She 
 was happy and free from all taint of depression 
 because a life of self-renouncing love has always 
 been a life of liberty from carking and narrowing 
 cares. 
 
 Over the tea-table, where each scrambled 
 for his or her own meal, Chivers Smith en- 
 deavoured, without much success, to further 
 his acquaintance with Hilary and Frances, 
 The elder girl had always disliked him and 
 dreaded his influence upon her mother, whilst 
 Hilary's recollection of their last meeting was 
 too vivid for her to feel at ease in his presence. 
 Both were glad when it was possible to say 
 good-bye to Mona and her sisters and leave 
 the house. 
 
 "I wish we had not gone to-day," Frances 
 said discontentedly, when they were in the 
 train. "It is the way I am usually rewarded 
 when I exercise the virtue of self-sacrifice. 
 There was really nothing serious the matter 
 with Mona, and I hated to have you meet 
 that brother of hers, Hilary. By the way, I
 
 88 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECE. 
 
 saw that you needed no introduction to him. 
 Surely mother does not inscribe him on her 
 visiting list ? " 
 
 Hilary shook her head. "No, he comes on 
 business now and then, though, perhaps, I ought 
 not to have mentioned it. Aunt Sophie dis- 
 likes me to talk of her business affairs. He 
 saw me going into No. 10 one day, and on 
 the strength of that, imagined that we were ac- 
 quainted. It was odious of him to try to talk 
 to me about Aunt Sophie's business, but I 
 suppose he did not know it was not the way in 
 our world." 
 
 " No ; perhaps not," Frances said absently, 
 looking out of the window without seeing any 
 of the drawbacks to the dingy little houses 
 past which the train was whirling her. 
 
 She was wondering whether she should tell 
 Hilary why she disliked Chivers Smith and 
 feared his influence over her mother. She re- 
 membered that once he had been responsible 
 for a heavy monetary loss, and that the Major had 
 broken off all business connections with him in 
 a summary fashion. He had also enjoined on 
 Frances to keep her own little income out of 
 Smith's hands. But what good could she do 
 by raking up these doings in the past ?
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, 89 
 
 Hilary's money was safe, and it was not likely 
 that Mrs. Pederson would be guided by her 
 niece in anything relating to her own affairs. 
 Why cast a shadow of possible evil on the 
 path Hilary was treading ? It had its diffi- 
 culties already, though she trod it with radiant 
 smiles and an undaunted courage. 
 
 Frances was still debating the point when 
 the train drew up at the platform at Holborn 
 Viaduct station. The opportunity for warning 
 Hilary was gone. It was too late now to speak. 
 She said good-bye to her cousin, and went on 
 her way to Skone Street with a meditative 
 frown on her dark little face. 
 
 "Well, I cannot hinder my work by bother- 
 ing about other people's business," she said, 
 as she put the latchkey in the lock of her 
 own door. " Mother would not brook my inter- 
 ference for a moment, so she and Chivers Smith 
 must go their own gait. If anything seriously 
 affects Hilary, she shall have a corner of my 
 diggings, and glad enough I shall be to have 
 her."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 
 
 SUMMER slipped into autumn, and autumn into 
 winter, each with its widening interests and 
 new experiences for Hilary Pederson. 
 
 Looking back, she seemed to see a great gap 
 between the girl who had said good-bye so 
 hopefully to Madame Brun in the dear old 
 French school and the Hilary of Markham 
 Square. The months had left their mark on 
 the frank, girlish face. No one would call 
 Hilary a childish-looking creature for her years 
 now, as Mrs. Pederson had done eight months 
 before. Nothing could rob her of her buoyancy 
 and her talent for finding the bright and the 
 amusing side of everything that happened. The 
 joyous laugh and the merry word were as 
 frequent as ever; but she saw sights and heard 
 stories now which would have been meaningless 
 to her before, and they touched her to the heart. 
 Her character had strengthened ; her mental 
 and moral fibre had become finer and more 
 tempered. The frank acceptance of a new phase
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 91 
 
 of life, and the nerving oneself to self-control and 
 kindly endurance of much that goes against the 
 grain, cannot help having a fine bracing effect 
 on the whole nature. 
 
 Hilary found herself thrown more and more 
 on her own resources as the weeks slipped 
 away. If, at first, she had chafed at Aunt 
 Sophie's perpetual call upon her time, she could 
 do so no longer. Mrs. Pederson was more 
 and more engrossed in interests she did not ask 
 Hilary to share, and in which it was manifest 
 the girl's participation would be unwelcome. 
 
 Hilary went often to Sydenham ; scarcely 
 a week passed without her visiting the studio, 
 and it was evident that Mr. Kemsing found 
 her presence no hindrance to his work. He 
 liked to listen to her chatter as he painted, 
 and in these summer and autumn months a 
 close friendship was cemented which was to be 
 the girl's refuge and safeguard in the dark days 
 she had, later, to face. When the waves of a 
 sea of perplexities threatened to sweep over 
 her, she turned confidently to the old man 
 whose wisdom and tolerance she had tested in 
 the days of sunshine and prosperity. 
 
 She had other interests also above and 
 beyond her friendship with Paul Kemsing.
 
 92 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 Since her expedition with Ursula Grantham to 
 Cross Street she had been there often, some- 
 times with Ursula, but more frequently alone. 
 
 A sister of Ursula's, the widow of a London 
 clergyman, had taken a small house in the i 
 squalid little street, and with two or three girl, 
 friends was working amongst the poor in a' 
 quiet, practical way which fired Hilary's enthu- 
 siasm. She would have liked to join them, and 
 hinted as much to Mrs. Devon. That wise 
 woman gave her little encouragement. 
 
 " My dear, your duty lies in Markham 
 Square," she said frankly. "It you ever find 
 yourself without ties or friends who need you, 
 we will talk about the matter. As it is, you 
 have a duty to your aunt, and you could not 
 expect to do any good here if you reached 
 Cross Street through the gate of a neglected 
 duty. Come and see us as often as you like,' 
 but nothing more for the present." 
 
 In the early spring Hilary persuaded Mrs. 
 Pederson to let her pay Madame Brun a visit. 
 The old French lady had been ailing all the 
 winter, and pined for a sight of "her child." 
 
 Betty Smith travelled to Paris with her. 
 Dagmar had won her scholarship and gone to 
 Girton, and Betty had herself been fortunate in
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 93 
 
 gaming a "Local," and was jubilant at the 
 thought of being able to hand back to her 
 elder sister some of the diverted salary. 
 
 " It was hateful to think of her giving up all 
 for me, so I was bound to work hard and 
 try to get something," she told Hilary. "I 
 shall find a good post when I leave Paris, and 
 then I'll make it up to the dear old girl." 
 
 " You are very fond of Miss Smith ? " 
 Hilary said, remembering that she had once 
 thought the second English mistress was 
 scarcely a girl to inspire affection and that 
 her own liking for her had been decidedly 
 tepid. 
 
 Betty stared. 
 
 "She is my sister," she replied coolly. 
 "It's easy to see that you have never had 
 any folks of your own. Sisters always stick 
 together, however much they may squabble in 
 private. Some people say brothers do too, but 
 I don't know anything about that. Chivers 
 has never lived at home since I can remember, 
 and though he might have done a lot for us, 
 he has never troubled himself. We all think 
 him abominably selfish, though mother sticks up 
 for him, I say that he is selfish to the core, 
 and I should be sorry for anyone whose
 
 94 MRS. PEDERSON s NIECE. 
 
 interests clashed with his. They would certainly 
 go the wall." 
 
 Hilary looked troubled, and made haste to 
 change the subject. Nevertheless, she could 
 not wholly forget Betty Smith's outspoken 
 criticisms, and they made her vaguely uneasy. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson's "man of business" had 
 been more often in Markham Square than ever 
 of late, and Hilary could not help attributing 
 her aunt's worried expression and her fitfulness 
 of temper to the frequency of these visits. 
 
 It was useless to take Frances into her 
 confidence. Frances said plainly that she did 
 not wish to be bothered with anyone's troubles 
 and trials until her own were past. 
 
 Hilary blamed herself because she could 
 not help feeling glad to be away from Markham 
 Square for a few weeks. She hated problems 
 and complications, and thought with relief that 
 none would vex her while she was under 
 Madame Brim's roof. 
 
 She was welcomed like a child of the house, 
 and settled down into her old niche as though 
 she had never left it. She had only three 
 short weeks to spend in Paris, but during that 
 time she meant to forget that she was no 
 longer the happy, irresponsible schoolgirl.
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 95 
 
 Madame Brun soon knew all there was to 
 tell about her darling's life in London, and 
 guessed much that Hilary did not put into 
 words. It was not the life she would have 
 chosen for her but she had faith in the girl's 
 power to walk amidst its dangers and tempta- 
 tions, and to resist its tendency to lower and 
 limit her aspirations and ambitions. She 
 believed that Hilary would be equal to all 
 the claims upon her, the smallest and most 
 exasperating no less than the larger and more 
 impressive. 
 
 The girl made the most of her holiday. 
 She wandered about the city, with old Marie, 
 Madame's factotum, as a chaperone, as she had 
 not been allowed to do in former days. Though 
 she had crept into her old place in the house, 
 Madame did not forget that she was no longer 
 the schoolgirl, and gave her a liberty she had 
 not enjoyed before. Sometimes she sat for 
 hours in the window of the little room, which 
 had been given up again to her use, the little 
 room which had always been a haven of peace, 
 the quietest nook in the busy house. Here all 
 her battles had been fought, all her vexations 
 adjusted to the line of life, all her joys tasted 
 to the full. The old life had never seemed
 
 96 MRS. PEDERSON'S NJECB. 
 
 so sweet and wholesome as it did when Hilary 
 sat dreamily looking down into the old-fashioned 
 garden. 
 
 Nature had not yet awakened from her 
 winter sleep, and the garden was bare and 
 brown. In another month it would don its 
 garment of spring greenery, and look much as 
 it had done on the day the girl said good-bye 
 to it. She sighed a little as she recalled the 
 small, dull garden in the square, with its groups 
 of stunted shrubs which so soon lost their 
 freshness. The fascination ol our great city had 
 not yet touched Hilary. She regarded it still 
 with the eyes of a country-bred girl, and had 
 no one to show her its historical interest, its 
 peculiar charm and its secret beauty. 
 
 Years after, one who would never see again 
 what he revealed to Hilary, lifted the veil for 
 her, and she saw the most wonderful city in 
 the world with different eyes. In her girlish 
 ignorance she had pronounced it cruel, ugly, and 
 dismal; he taught her to dream of ancient 
 days in the cloisters of the Abbey, or in the 
 seclusion of hidden courts and inns; to wander 
 in historic places, to watch for wonders of 
 light and shade on the riverside houses, and to 
 love the great waterway with its burden of
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 97 
 
 mysterious freight. These things were still un- 
 known to Hilary, and she compared Paris to 
 her native city with scant appreciation of the 
 latter. 
 
 A letter from Markham Square suddenly 
 cut Hilary's holiday short. 
 
 Miss Smith was the bearer of the undesired 
 missive. She brought it into Hilary's room one 
 morning as the girl was putting on her hat and 
 coat to accompany Marie on a marketing 
 expedition. 
 
 "A letter for you, Hilary," she said, tossing 
 it on the table and turning away. 
 
 Miss Smith had shown little friendship for 
 Hilary since she came to Paris and was 
 manifestly jealous of Betty's violent attachment 
 to her. 
 
 Hilary took up the letter and glanced at 
 the address. It was written in a laboured, un- 
 formed hand which recalled none of her few 
 acquaintances in London. She broke the 
 envelope and drew out its contents. 
 
 The epistle proved to be from Mantle, and 
 Hilary's face grew grave as she read. Then she 
 laid the sheets on her knee and considered the 
 news they contained. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson was ill, "clean demented"
 
 98 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 was the maid's description of her mistress's 
 condition, and though it seemed absolutely 
 essential she should see a doctor, she refused to 
 have one called in. All the servants except 
 Mantle had been sent away, and Mrs. Pederson 
 had taken to her bed, forbidding anyone to 
 send for Frances or let her know what was 
 happening. 
 
 "It is evident that poor Mantle is at her 
 wit's end and must have some help," Hilary 
 said aloud, as she went downstairs to find 
 Madame Brun. "She does not like to ask me 
 to come home, but it is what she really wants 
 me to do." 
 
 Madame looked grave when Hilary explained 
 the situation. 
 
 "It seems a pity to shorten your holiday, 
 chtrie, but I think you ought to go," she said. 
 " Let us hope you will find things not so bad 
 as that alarming letter would lead one to fear. 
 The poor maid is evidently greatly overwrought. ' 
 
 Hilary nodded. "And that is so unlike 
 Mantle. Under the most exciting circumstances 
 she usually shows as much emotion as the 
 Rock of Gibraltar. Yes, I must certainly go 
 to the rescue as quickly as train and steamer 
 will take me. "
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 99 
 
 Hilary reached Dover at daybreak, took 
 the next train to town, and drove straight to 
 Markham Square. The dull rows of houses, 
 which never rose to the day's duties with any 
 demonstration of haste, were still shuttered 
 as the girl ran up the familiar steps of No. 10 
 and rang the bell. 
 
 Mantle was astir, for she could be heard, 
 without any delay, crossing the hall and 
 fumbling at the lock of the entrance-door. 
 
 " Good gracious ! Miss Hilary, what a 
 time of day for you to be out ; and I'll be 
 bound you have been travelling all night 1 " 
 she cried. "I'm right glad to see you, though. 
 Come in, and I'll get you some breakfast at 
 once." 
 
 Hilary laughed. "I travelled all night and 
 I own to being famished," she said, as she 
 opened the door of the dining-room. The 
 blinds had been drawn up, and in the chill 
 morning light she could see the dust lying thick 
 on the furniture. Everything wore that look 
 of forlornness an apartment always takes on 
 when it has not been used for days. In the 
 grate there were still the cinders of a 
 dead fire, and a litter of torn paper lay in 
 the fender.
 
 ioo MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 " How dreary arid depressing 1 " she cried, 
 shivering. " I'll come down to the kitchen and 
 have my breakfast by your fire, Mantle. I 
 shall get the blues if I stay up here by myself. 
 Whilst you are boiling the kettle you can tell 
 me about Aunt Sophie's illness. Your letter ' 
 alarmed me awfully." 
 
 "You won't find the place fit to sit down 
 in, Miss Hilary," Mantle said, leading the way 
 to the basement. "I have had my hands too 
 full to keep any one spot clean and neat as 
 the mistress likes it. But there, she can blame 
 no one but herself. She it was sent off Eliza 
 and cook at a moment's notice, and without 
 giving a word of reason 1 " Mantle tossed her 
 head, and swept to and fro with worry and 
 indignation in every line of her angular figure. 
 
 "What do you think really ails Aunt 
 Sophie ? " Hilary asked anxiously. 
 
 Mantle paused in the act of lifting the 
 kettle from the fire and looked at the girl 
 significantly. , 
 
 " If you ask my candid opinion, knowing 
 mistress as well as anyone can know her, 
 and in strict confidence between you and 
 me, Miss Hilary, there ain't anything the 
 matter with her at all. She's just sulking.
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 101 
 
 Somebody has done her an injury, and she is 
 sick with vexation. All she'll say is that she's 
 a badly injured woman, and there's them as 
 ought to be punished for what they've brought 
 on her, but ask her a question I dare not. She 
 gets heaps of letters, but she tosses them un- 
 opened into the grate. You'll see a pile of 
 them when you go up, for she won't have 
 them touched. Maybe she will tell you all 
 about it, though it's plain she isn't going to let 
 Miss Frances know anything." 
 
 At this point Mrs. Pederson's voice was 
 heard calling shrilly for Mantle, and demanding 
 to know who was in the house and why her 
 chocolate was delayed. 
 
 "Pour it out, Mantle, and I will carry it 
 up," Hilary said. "She will be so surprised to 
 see me that she may tell me her troubles on. 
 the spur of the moment." 
 
 " I wish she may," Mantle responded grimly. 
 "For a lady with a tongue as long as the 
 mistress, she can keep a secret uncommonly 
 well when she likes." 
 
 Hilary threw off her hat and coat and 
 made her way upstairs with the little tray 
 Mantle had prepared. 
 
 There was no mistaking Mrs. Pederson's
 
 IO2 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECE. 
 
 surprise when Hilary opened the door and 
 stepped into the room. She lifted herself upon 
 her elbow and stared at her with astonishment 
 not unmixed with annoyance. 
 
 " So it was your cab that I heard ! " she 
 exclaimed sharply. "What has brought you 
 back in this hurry ? Have you quarrelled with 
 your wonderful Madame Bran, or has she tired 
 of you?" 
 
 "Neither," said Hilary, laughing. "But it 
 was clearly time I returned. You have taken 
 wretched care of yourself, Aunt Sophie, and 
 need someone to look after you. I am going 
 to nurse you back to health. Mantle says 
 you have not been out of your room for ten 
 days." 
 
 "Mantle always chatters," grumbled the 
 invalid, settling herself back on her pillows and 
 occupying herself with the tray Hilary placed 
 before her. She had aged wonderfully in the 
 three weeks since Hilary had left her. There 
 were fresh lines on her forehead and about her 
 mouth, and her eyes had a tired, worried 
 expression. Now and then she cast a keen, 
 suspicious glance at her niece, as though she 
 would have liked to ask how much Mantle 
 had told her, and what she knew of the
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 103 
 
 circumstances it had been Mrs. Pederson's 
 endeavour hitherto to conceal. 
 
 "Now, tell me what brought you back, 
 Hilary," she said at length. 
 
 Hilary hesitated. "I heard that you were 
 ill, Aunt Sophie/' she said gently. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson frowned. " That was 
 meddling Mantle ! She shall leave as soon as 
 I get about again. There is nothing the matter 
 with me, Hilary nothing." 
 
 "My dear aunt, what an incomprehensible 
 statement when I find you in bed and hear you 
 have not left it for ten days ! " Hilary replied 
 with the ghost of a smile. " You cannot expect 
 me to think you are well." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson laughed hysterically, and 
 then burst into a storm of sobs and tears. 
 
 " Yes, I am ill, ill in mind if not in body," 
 she gasped. " I'm a ruined woman, Hilary ruined, 
 robbed, without a penny in the world. I have 
 lost everything, so that swindler tells me, 
 though he may be lying about that as he has 
 done about everything else." 
 
 Hilary looked startled. " I don't understand, 
 Aunt Sophie." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson moved irritably on the 
 pillows.
 
 IO4 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 "Gracious! Surely I am lucid enough. It 
 does not take much sense to grasp the fact that 
 when you have lost all your money you are just 
 ruined, and that there is nothing but the work- 
 house for you. These lawyers ought to be 
 punished when they deceive poor widows with 
 their lying reports and their grand promises. 
 What is the use of a man of business if you 
 cannot trust him and follow his advice in the 
 investing of your money ? " 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Sophie, has Chivers Smith done 
 this ? " exclaimed Hilary. " Frances was 
 always afraid of him." 
 
 "Yes, and you were never a friend to him 
 either. You can both laugh finely at me now. 
 It will be a joke that will last you a lifetime. 
 But go away and send Mantle to me. It 
 worries me to have you sit there, looking as 
 though I were a lost soul because I happen to 
 have made some unlucky investments, and 
 trusted a man who turns out to be a mere 
 swindler." 
 
 Hilary got up and went away, feeling 
 helpless in a crisis in which she had no past 
 experience to guide her. She wandered about 
 the house in a state of conscious and miserable 
 superfluousness, until she made up her mind
 
 THE STORM BURSTS. 105 
 
 to write later in the day to Mr. Kemsing and 
 beg him to come and see Aunt Sophie. Now 
 she would go and find Frances. The student 
 might be too much taken up with her work for 
 ordinary calls upon her, but this was something 
 she ought to know and to which it was 
 essential she should give her help and advice.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. 
 
 FRANCES had not returned from the hospital 
 when Hilary reached Skone Street. Knowing 
 that it was a little before her usual time, 
 Hilary sat down to wait for her. She came 
 in about twenty minutes later, looking cross 
 and tired, though her face brightened when she 
 caught sight of her visitor. 
 
 "My dear Hilary, I thought you were in 
 Paris 1 " she exclaimed, tossing an armful of 
 books on the table and shaking hands in her 
 usual boyish fashion. " Ursula has gone to 
 Brighton for a couple of days, so I expected 
 to find an empty room." 
 
 She threw herself full length on the lounge 
 and stretched her arms with a wearied gesture. 
 The sun from the unshaded window fell full 
 on her small, dark face, and Hilary saw that 
 it was thinner and whiter, and that there were 
 purple lines under the restless eyes. 
 
 " I'm getting on awfully well with my lec- 
 tures just now," Frances went on, in a quick,
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. 107 
 
 excited way. "You are not a student, Hilary, 
 or you would know how glorious it feels to 
 be in thorough working trim, to be able to 
 grasp things easily, to feel you are just all 
 brain and nothing is too difficult for you to tackle. 
 I hate to seem cocksure, but there does not seem 
 the least reason why I should not do splendidly 
 in the finals, even if I don't take honours. 
 In another six months you will be able to 
 congratulate me on being thoroughly qualified, 
 I hope." 
 
 Hilary regarded her seriously. 
 
 "I am glad you are so happy in your work, 
 Francie, though you look awfully strained. I 
 hate to worry you about other things." 
 
 "Do not do it, I beg," Frances said, 
 emphatically. "I warn you that I have 
 not a figment of interest in anyone but 
 myself, and an earthquake would only 
 seem a temporary disarrangement of my be- 
 longings." 
 
 "But you must detach yourself a little," 
 urged Hilary. "Aunt Sophie is ill, Frances." 
 
 " Send for a doctor, my dear ; I am not 
 qualified to practise yet, however much I may 
 know of disease theoretically." 
 
 "Please be serious, Frances. I want you to
 
 io8 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 come to Markham Square. Aunt Sophie is ill 
 in mind and body, and I cannot bear all the 
 burden of her trouble. It is heavy, I am sure, 
 and I believe it is a money trouble." 
 
 Frances sat up, and her black brows met in 
 a frown. 
 
 "A money trouble ! What on earth do you 
 mean, Hilary ? " 
 
 Hilary hesitated. "From what Aunt Sophie 
 says, she has lost everything. She has made 
 bad investments, and accuses Chivers Smith of 
 ruining her." 
 
 " That's sheer nonsense. She has nine hundred 
 a year in her own right. She would never 
 touch the capital, though, of course, she has the 
 power to do so." 
 
 She crossed the room, and, with one hand 
 on the mantelshelf, stood looking down into the 
 empty grate. 
 
 Though she denied the possibility of her 
 mother's being ruined with nine hundred a year 
 at her back, she did not feel so confident of 
 her solvency. Ever since she could remember, 
 her mother's passion for dabbling in speculation 
 had been a source of danger and of family dis- 
 cord. When the Major was alive he had held 
 the reins tightly, and Frances knew that his
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. 109 
 
 legacy to Hilary, with its condition, had really 
 been one of his plans for safeguarding his 
 wife from actually beggaring herself. If all 
 else went, there was still a little she could 
 neither squander nor throw away in wild 
 speculation. 
 
 " If the worst comes to the worst, you have 
 your own income, Hilary," said Frances in a 
 hard tone. "Every family has its skeleton in 
 the cupboard, I suppose. I wonder if you have 
 guessed that ours is the mater's mania for dabbling 
 in stocks and shares and business of which she 
 knows as much as you or I do. All the women 
 of our family are born gamblers. My grand- 
 mother has told me that when she was a girl 
 she regularly doubled or lost her income the 
 day after she received it. Card-playing was 
 the fashionable vice in her day, you know. 
 Mother has few opportunities for indulging in 
 that direction, and in her the passion takes the 
 form of dabbling in speculation, with Chivers 
 Smith to egg her on. Sometimes I have thought 
 my own keenness for work was only the spirit 
 of gambling in disguise. I don't care about the 
 future as Ursula does ; I scarcely ever think 
 of it To me success in the exams, is the goal 
 I would sell the gown off my back, de-
 
 no MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 nounce my dearest friend, or risk life itself to 
 win." 
 
 Hilary listened with a bewildered expression 
 on her young face. She knew so little of life, 
 and nothing of its seamy side. What had 
 been mysterious and alien in her life at 
 No. 10 she had resolutely put from her, 
 refusing to dwell on what she could not 
 understand. 
 
 There flashed before her mind, as she listened 
 to Frances, a remembrance of Mrs. Pederson's 
 passion for cards, her shrill excitement over 
 the most childish games, her eagerness when 
 the stakes were merely chocolates. That, 
 then, was the stuff of which gamblers were 
 made : she knew now why it had always 
 repelled her. 
 
 "I can't believe it," she said slowly. 
 
 Frances shrugged her shoulders. "Disbelief 
 does not alter facts," she said coolly. 
 
 "I have written to Cousin Paul to come 
 and see Aunt Sophie," Hilary said. 
 
 Frances nodded. "You could not do better 
 than follow his advice, though he is the most 
 unworldly-wise of men. Let me know what 
 he thinks of the business, and what mother is 
 going to do."
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. in 
 
 "But, Frances, you are coming to Markham 
 Square to see her ? " 
 
 " My good child, how can you ask me ? I 
 can't mix myself up in the business. I have 
 not time or attention to give at this stage. 
 Mother must get out of her own muddles : 
 if she had taken my advice she would never 
 have got into them. You are all right, for 
 your ninety pounds is safely invested and no 
 one can touch it. You had better come and 
 live with me." 
 
 " It is only mine so long as I live with 
 Aunt Sophie," Hilary said thoughtfully. 
 
 "Of course, I forgot," exclaimed Frances. 
 "That was the Major's last effort to protect 
 poor mother from herself. It is rather hard on 
 you, Hilary, but it relieves me a good deal. 
 You are bound to stay with mother, and I can 
 trust you to look after her. I must say it 
 would have been annoying if you had taken 
 your money and gone off to Paris, though it 
 is what I should have done myself, I dare- 
 say." 
 
 Hilary looked at her cousin curiously. She 
 felt that whatever help and sympathy she 
 and Aunt Sophie needed, they must not look 
 to Frances to give it. Self had gradually
 
 112 MRS. P ED ER SON'S NlECB. 
 
 wrapped the girl about till it was beyond her 
 power to care much for others. She could not 
 give even a casual and perfunctory attention 
 to any claims outside the radius of self- 
 interest. 
 
 "But won't you come home with me now 
 and see Aunt Sophie ? " Hilary said wist- 
 fully. 
 
 Frances bent over her books and the colour 
 dyed her cheeks. 
 
 "No, better not," she said, with an odd 
 roughness in her voice. "She would not care 
 to see me. I should only rub her up the 
 wrong way." 
 
 " Oh, Francie, when she is in trouble ! Your 
 own mother 1 " 
 
 Hilary's eyes shone and her lip quivered. 
 She could not recollect her own mother, and 
 had only the merest scraps of knowledge con- 
 cerning her, but she could imagine no claim of 
 work or intellect, no depth of estrangement, 
 which would have kept her from her side in 
 sickness and trouble. When clouds gathered, 
 it was surely the time to strengthen and draw 
 closer the ties of blood and affection. 
 
 Prances was staring out on the forest of 
 chimneys outlined against the grey March sky.
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. 113 
 
 She felt sore and angry : with Hilary, because 
 she saw that the younger girl was judging her 
 by her own altruistic standard; with her 
 mother, that she should have brought this dis- 
 turbing element into her life ; with herself, for 
 a score of reasons she preferred not to define 
 too accurately. 
 
 The opinion of others had never weighed 
 much with Frances Kemsing. She had prided 
 herself on being a law unto herself and beat- 
 ing out her own path in life. Now she was 
 conscious of a sense of irritation at being 
 weighed in someone's balance and found want- 
 ing. Judged by Hilary's standard, she was 
 marked "tekel," found lacking. 
 
 Yet how impossible to explain to Hilary 
 the gradual estrangement which made it im- 
 possible for her to feel that her mother either 
 needed or desired her presence at this crisis 
 in her fortunes. Relationship is a great oppor- 
 tunity for affection, not a compelling force. 
 From the first, neither Mrs. Pederson nor 
 Frances had cultivated that natural affection 
 which exists in a child's earliest years. Little 
 differences had been the germ of endless 
 bickerings, and Self had been allowed to intrude 
 perpetually. Frances, from the time she came
 
 114 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 back, a girl of sixteen, from a German school, 
 had never been particularly dear to her 
 mother. She came as a disturbing element in 
 a life which had been long regulated with- 
 out regard to her existence. She was difficult 
 to manage, wilful, and opinionated. She was 
 unmistakably clever, but when Mrs. Pederson 
 heard that brilliant things might be expected 
 of her, she metaphorically wrung her hands. 
 She disliked clever women. They never married, 
 and they always made her feel at a dis- 
 advantage. She was good-hearted, however, and 
 fond of the girl in her own way. She received 
 her with open arms and determined to make 
 the best of her. 
 
 Frances, certainly, did nothing to make this 
 easy for her mother. She had a sharp tongue 
 and liked to say biting things; she had, more- 
 over, keen eyes, and every detail of her mother's 
 daily doings passed through the crucible of her 
 merciless criticism. Looking back in after years, 
 Frances confessed that she must have been 
 difficult to deal with, and singularly trying to 
 a woman of Mrs. Pederson's character and 
 temperament. She could readily believe that, 
 when she announced her determination to 
 become a lady doctor and took herself and
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. 115 
 
 her belongings to Skone Street, her mother's 
 lamentations were tempered by a sense of 
 relief. Since that day, mother and daughter 
 had seen little of each other, and though the 
 estrangement remained, the bitterness had almost 
 died out of the hearts of both. Frances, 
 at this moment, wished heartily that she could 
 go to her mother, sure that her presence would 
 be welcome and her help desired. Yet no 
 one knew better that you cannot tear down 
 in a moment what years have laboriously 
 built up. 
 
 "I'll come if I can by-and-bye, Hilary," she 
 said, over her shoulder. "You may tell mother 
 so if she inquires." 
 
 Early next morning, in response to Hilary's 
 letter, Mr. Kemsing came to Markham Square. 
 
 Hilary was watering the ferns in the 
 drawing-room when he was announced, and she 
 came forward to greet him with a grateful 
 smile. 
 
 "How good of you to come so soon, 
 Cousin Paul I " she said, holding out her hands. 
 "I will go and tell Aunt Sophie you are 
 here." 
 
 "No, wait a bit T \ want to hear all you 
 know of tin's, troublesome business first," Mr.
 
 u6 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 Kemsing said. "I never can make head or tail 
 of Sophie's incoherent stories." 
 
 Hilary told him all she had gathered from 
 Frances and Mantle, and the sum total agreed 
 exactly with what the artist knew of the past. 
 
 "The best thing for me to do will be to 
 go into the City and see this man to whom 
 Sophie attributes her losses," he said thought- 
 fully. "Then I shall know exactly how 
 matters stand and be better able to advise your 
 aunt. You can tell her I will join her at 
 dinner." 
 
 When he returned a few hours later, look- 
 ing tired and worried, Hilary was alone in the 
 library. Mrs. Pederson refused absolutely to see 
 him. She was too ill to discuss business, she 
 said; all she wanted was to be left alone, 
 and they might manage her affairs as they 
 pleased. 
 
 In vain Hilary protested, coaxed, and en- 
 treated. Mrs. Pederson decreed to keep her 
 room, and her dinner was carried thither by 
 the overworked and exasperated Mantle. 
 
 Mr. Kemsing smiled inscrutably when Hilary 
 apologised for her aunt's absence. 
 
 "That was her way from a child," he said. 
 "She could never be got to face a situation
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. 117 
 
 which threatened to prove disagreeable. It's a 
 species of weakness which never pays in the 
 long run." 
 
 Hilary nodded. She did not want Cousin 
 Paul to drop into generalising as he had a 
 habit of doing. She was anxious to hear the 
 result of his expedition into the City. 
 
 "Did you manage to see Olivers Smith, 
 Cousin Paul ? " she asked, as he helped her 
 to fish. "Are things as bad as poor Aunt 
 Sophie fears?" 
 
 Mr. Kemsing frowned, and seemed in no 
 hurry to reply. His experiences that afternoon 
 had not been pleasant ones, and he disliked to 
 go over them even in thought. 
 
 " Bad 1 They are as bad as they well can 
 be," he said irritably. " Everything has gone, 
 swallowed up in some confounded company, 
 which promised such huge dividends that 
 ordinary common sense ought to have warned 
 people that it was a fraud. Your aunt sold 
 out of fairly safe concerns and put the whole 
 of her money in it. Any man of sense and 
 probity would have warned her against such 
 folly, but she leaned on that rogue Smith, who, 
 you may be sure, has not lost a penny. 
 There's her bill to him for managing the
 
 n8 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 business for her, a cool three hundred with his 
 commission, and another couple of hundred she 
 borrowed awhile ago. She couldn't keep out 
 of borrowing, it seems, though her own income 
 was large enough to maintain her in comfort. 
 Smith, who seems to know all her business, 
 says that she has not a penny to meet his 
 claims with and he means to press for a settle- 
 ment. Something can be got by selling the 
 lease of this house and by the sale of the 
 furniture, but there is the future to think of." 
 
 Hilary listened, her eyes opened wide and 
 her food untasted on her plate. 
 
 " What will Aunt Sophie do, Cousin Paul ? " 
 she said. 
 
 "That is a question for her to settle," he 
 replied, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Of 
 course, she must go to Frances, who has a 
 small income that no one can touch. It isn't 
 much, but two women can live on very little, 
 I am told." 
 
 Hilary shook her head. " Frances has her 
 work, and her money does little more than keep 
 her and pay her hospital expenses." 
 
 "Well, we must leave them to manage that 
 between them. It is you I am thinking of 
 just now, my dear. Pederson left you ninety
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. 119 
 
 pounds a year on condition that you lived 
 with Sophie. If you break that condition, the 
 money lapses to her. What do you say, 
 Hilary, to letting it lapse and coming to live 
 at Sydenham ? It would be a bright day for 
 me, child, when you became my adopted 
 daughter, and it would be no loss to you from 
 a pecuniary point of view. I have enough for 
 us both and to spare." He looked across the 
 table with a kindly smile and a manifest affection 
 which touched the girl to the heart. Her eyes 
 filled with tears and her lip quivered. The 
 prospect the old artist held out was a tempting 
 one. She knew so well what life in the quiet 
 old house was like : the cultured ease, the 
 companionship of clever and well-bred people, 
 the influence of art and books all these would 
 be part of her daily life. On the other hand 
 was the limited existence which would be 
 possible for her and Mrs. Pederson on ninety 
 pounds a year. She was sorely tempted to 
 accept Cousin Paul's offer, the more as she felt 
 that Aunt Sophie would perhaps prefer it, since 
 it gave her uncontrolled use of the legacy 
 Hilary would give up. 
 
 Something Frances had let drop checked 
 her. The Major had left this money so guarded
 
 I2O MRS. P ED ER SON'S NIECE 
 
 that it might not be in Aunt Sophie's power 
 to lose it. He trusted her to the girl's care, 
 and she could not be unfaithful to that trust 
 though she had never desired it. 
 
 " I can't come, though I should like it 
 above everything, Cousin Paul," she said slowly. 
 "I must not desert poor Aunt Sophie in her 
 trouble. Please, do not be vexed or think me 
 ungrateful." 
 
 Mr. Kemsing was vexed and he did not 
 conceal it. He was used to having his own 
 way, and liked as little to be thwarted as Mrs. 
 Pederson did. "Your aunt has no right to ex- 
 pect you practically to sacrifice yourself to her, 
 child, and I don't doubt she would rather have 
 the ninety pounds than your company with a 
 share in it. You had better come to me." 
 
 He was fond of the bright, winsome girl, 
 and was keenly anxious to spare her the life ot 
 pinching poverty which lay before her. 
 
 Yet as he strode up and down the room, 
 he was bound to confess that he would have 
 been disappointed if Hilary had embraced his 
 offer. She would have fallen in his esteem 
 if she had put Self first and left the fretful, 
 disappointed woman upstairs to complete her 
 own ruin.
 
 FRANCES REFUSES TO INTERFERE. 121 
 
 He stopped in his walking to and fro and 
 laid his hands heavily on the girl's shoulders. 
 
 "Of course, you must have your own way, 
 you foolish girl." 
 
 Hilary laughed. "That's tantamount to 
 saying that you know I am right, Cousin 
 Paul." 
 
 " I don't say yes or no," he replied testily. 
 "I can see that you are going to be horridly 
 uncomfortable. I have had glimpses of the 
 life you will have to lead, and it baffles 
 description. I would have saved you from it 
 if you would have let me. If you won't leave 
 Sophie, I see no other way to help you." He 
 did actually see another way, but even for 
 Hilary's sake he could not bring himself to 
 mention it. He might have offered to both 
 the shelter of his home, but he could not 
 make so big a sacrifice. A man, he said, must 
 have peace and quiet in his old age, and Mrs. 
 Pederson's presence at The Nook would make 
 work and serenity a sheer impossibility. 
 
 "There is no other way," he repeated. 
 "But remember, child, if you ever come to a 
 rough place, you are to send for me. If ever 
 you need money, write me a line, and I will 
 sell my last curio, if need be, to get it. Promise
 
 122 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 to remember old Paul Kemsing if you want 
 help or a home." 
 
 Hilary promised readily enough. She knew 
 that he was sincere in his desire to help her, 
 and there was no one on earth to whom she 
 would go so willingly. She determined, how- 
 ever, that it should be only as a last resource. 
 Surely she and Aunt Sophie would manage easily 
 enough, without needing assistance. To Hilary, 
 who had never needed to know the price of a 
 meal, or gauged the cost of merely living, 
 ninety pounds a year seemed a sum of enor- 
 mous proportions.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A STEP DOWN IN THE WORLD. 
 
 "I DON'T mind being poor, Aunt Sophie. It 
 is not half so bad as people make out. Having 
 less fashionable clothes and a more meagre table 
 can't really affect one's peace of mind. We can 
 be quite happy together in some quiet little 
 place." Hilary delivered these sentiments with 
 the air of one who had tested the hollowness 
 of prosperity and yearned for the bracing at- 
 mosphere of adversity. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson regarded her with speechless 
 exasperation. 
 
 " Happy 1 living like rats in a hole ! " she 
 cried impatiently. "You do not know what 
 you are talking about, girl." She was still 
 keeping her room, more because it gave her a 
 legitimate excuse for refusing to see Chivers 
 Smith when he called, than because she was 
 actually ailing. 
 
 "I know what you are thinking of a 
 cottage in a wood and all that sort of thing 
 but undiluted country I never could nor will
 
 124 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 stand. I can't exist far away from the shops 
 and all that makes life worth anything. I should 
 lose health and spirits entirely. You must see 
 that, Hilary." 
 
 "Yes," Hilary said, looking as though she 
 did not see at all. 
 
 She was standing, her slight figure erect, 
 her chin uplifted, her eyes on the daffodils she 
 was arranging in a quaint brown jar on the 
 mantelshelf. There was something so uncom- 
 promising in her attitude and in the silence she 
 maintained that Mrs. Pederson frowned appre- 
 hensively. 
 
 "If you want to make a regular centurion's 
 servant of me, Hilary, to be at your beck and 
 call and to do just what pleases you, I would 
 rather go straight to the workhouse," she said, 
 her voice quavering ominously. "It's hard at 
 my time of life to be governed by a chit like 
 you. It isn't generous of you either, Hilary. 
 If you happened to be dependent on me, I 
 would not make it a handle to force you to 
 do things you did not like." 
 
 Hilary flushed and bit her lip. She re- 
 membered that she had used just those words 
 herself on the day on which her uncle's legacy 
 had been announced to her. She was doing
 
 A STEP DOWN IN THE WORLD. 125 
 
 the very thing she had declared then would be 
 altogether impossible to her. Though she felt 
 perfectly certain that what she purposed was 
 quite the best course, she was conscious that it 
 was not on that account any easier and pleasanter 
 for her aunt. She felt the humiliation of Mrs. 
 Pederson's position and the ungraciousness of 
 her own keenly. 
 
 She looked compunctorily at the querulous 
 face which had aged so much during the last 
 few weeks. 
 
 " Poor Aunt Sophie ! " she said gently. " You 
 shall go wherever you like. If you are anxious 
 to stay in London, I have no doubt it can be 
 managed." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson accepted Hilary's assurances 
 without any show of gratitude. Indeed, she saw 
 no need to be grateful. She regarded Hilary's 
 little income as a certainty which she had a 
 right to share. Since it had been left to the girl 
 by the Major, it had actually been taken from 
 herself. It was mere justice that in her ex- 
 tremity it should go to maintain her. 
 
 The six weeks that followed were wretched 
 ones. To Hilary they passed like a nightmare. 
 Mr. Kemsing came and went, settling affairs 
 with Chivers Smith, arranging for the sale of
 
 126 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECE. 
 
 the furniture and the disposal of the lease or 
 the house. There were still a thousand and 
 one anxieties and difficulties that Hilary and 
 Mantle had to face as best they might. Mrs. 
 Pederson refused to be consulted or to discuss 
 the smallest detail. 
 
 " Do just as you like ; I'm only a pensioner 
 on your bounty now, Hilary, and past caring," 
 she said, with a show of resignation. "If I 
 have to live in sordid poverty, the details do 
 not matter." 
 
 She reserved the right to criticise still, and 
 Hilary's good-temper was tried to the uttermost 
 by a continual fire of the most unreasonable 
 fault-finding. 
 
 " Mistress was always a hole-picker, and 
 trouble exaggerates a body's weak points," 
 Mantle said. "You just do as I do, Miss 
 Hilary : hear all she has to say without a word 
 and then do what you think best. She never 
 notices, and it saves a lot of argufying." 
 
 Mantle would gladly have gone with her 
 old mistress, but Hilary could not afford to 
 take her. The calculations she had gone into 
 with Cousin Paul had shown her the limits of 
 ninety pounds a year. The tiny house her in- 
 experience had pictured, or the still smaller flat,
 
 A STEP DOWN IN THE WORLD. 127 
 
 were quite beyond her means, and she wearied 
 herself vainly in viewing lodgings seductively 
 advertised in the daily papers. 
 
 At last she fell in with a suggestion 
 that she should go and see rooms in a cheap 
 boarding-house kept by a cousin of Mantle's. 
 Mrs. Bateson, the old servant assured Hilary, 
 was a kind-hearted woman and would do her 
 best for the ladies, though her best would be 
 very different to anything to which they had 
 been accustomed. 
 
 " I've spoken to her often about you, and I 
 know she would be willing to do things reason- 
 able for my sake," she said. " You won't get 
 anything cheaper in London with comfort, and 
 company will make it livelier for mistress. 
 She would be moped to death in lodgings." 
 
 Hilary went that afternoon to find " Bateson's 
 Select Boarding Establishment," and to arrange, 
 if possible, for their removal there. 
 
 It proved to be one of a row of dingy, 
 dilapidated houses in a dull street off the 
 Kennington Road. A flight of hollowed and 
 unwashed steps led to the door, and as Hilary 
 entered she was assailed by a pungent scent of 
 frying fish. 
 
 A sulky maid ushered her into a small sitting'
 
 128 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 room, which opened on a verandah crowded 
 with languid geraniums just recovering from a 
 winter's neglect and crushed-looking tulips in 
 fancy pots. 
 
 She was studying this well-meant attempt 
 at a winter garden when the door opened and 
 a smiling little woman, very stout and mani- 
 festly suffering from her rapid ascent of the 
 kitchen stairs, bustled into the room. She was 
 dressed in a black gown, with a startling 
 design of blue roses printed upon it, the 
 bodice of which creaked ominously as she settled 
 herself in a low chair and prepared to discuss 
 business with the young lady. 
 
 " You'll like to see the rooms ? " she said 
 gaily, after a little conversation, ostensibly de- 
 voted to Hilary's busin^-j, but into which she 
 had managed to import a large part of her 
 own family history and a eulogistic recommen- 
 dation of " Bateson's Select." 
 
 "Select it has always been and select it 
 is going to be so long as I hold the reins," 
 she said, nodding emphatically. " Bateson's last 
 words to me, poor man, were not to let the 
 house down whatever it cost me. Anyone can 
 let lodgings, said he, but it means talent and 
 selection to keep a boarding-house. Liberal
 
 A STEP DOWN IN THE WORLD. 129 
 
 table, the nicest company, quite the family life 
 that is what you will find here, my dear 
 quite the family life." 
 
 She conducted Hilary up two flights of stairs 
 and opened the door of a good-sized room, 
 rather meagrely furnished, but airy and facing 
 the south. It was far more comfortable than 
 Hilary had dared to expect from the condition 
 of the rest of the house. 
 
 She expressed her satisfaction, and followed 
 Mrs. Bateson, who insisted that she must see 
 the drawing-room or she would have no idea 
 of the pleasant family life the boarders lived. 
 
 "After dinner we always gather in the 
 drawing-room for a little music and conversation 
 so cosy and homely, you know," she said, 
 smiling expansively and furtively rubbing her 
 hot hands. " From what Miss Mantle tells me, 
 your aunt will be one to appreciate the flow of 
 wit and the social charm." 
 
 Hilary, with a little smile curving the corners 
 of her mouth, assented. The boarding-house 
 would at least afford a certain measure of 
 amusement. 
 
 The drawing-room was a large room, pre- 
 tentiously furnished, in which every article 
 seemed to be out of repair or crying out for
 
 130 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 renovation. Sentimental oleographs adorned 
 the discoloured walls, the blinds were torn 
 and dingy and the sofas were covered with a 
 worn rep, the dazzling blue of which had been 
 mercifully dimmed by time and the boarders 
 of many seasons. 
 
 Two or three elderly ladies were gathered 
 about a small table which was spread with a 
 much-chipped tea equipage, and at the piano an 
 angular, red-haired woman of thirty or so was 
 plaintively informing some "birdie" invisible 
 that she had a cage all ready for his occupancy. 
 
 On Mrs. Bateson's entrance she stopped 
 in her appeal for his immediate acceptance of 
 her offer and wheeled round on the music- 
 stool. 
 
 " Another boarder, Mrs. Bateson ? " she asked, 
 eyeing Hilary inquisitively. " Please introduce 
 me. I daresay Mrs. Bateson has told you that 
 we are quite one family," she said, turning to 
 Hilary with a little giggle. 
 
 "It's not quite settled, Miss Heckler," Mrs. 
 Bateson said impressively ; " I'm just showing 
 Miss Pederson the house, and hoping she will 
 decide to come to us. Miss Pederson and her 
 aunt will be quite acquisitions, if I may say so. 
 Miss Pederson has spent a lifetime abroad, and
 
 A STEP DOWN IN TUB WORLD. 131 
 
 is quite the travelled young lady, and used 
 to the best society, quite the best." 
 
 Hilary coloured at this advertisement of 
 her advantages and retreated to the door, 
 telling Mrs. Bateson she was pressed for time, 
 and would decide to take the rooms without 
 seeing anything further. 
 
 Away from Mrs. Bateson, with her fat, 
 shining lace, her odd manner, and her un- 
 mistakable kindness, it was not so easy for 
 Hilary to see the brighter side of this new 
 phase of existence upon which she was entering. 
 It seemed impossible that she, Hilary Pederson, 
 Madame Brun's favourite pupil, the idol of the 
 school, whose whole life and training had been 
 so alien to what was vulgar and commonplace, 
 should be going to form one of the " family " 
 under Mrs. Bateson's roof. It was an adjust- 
 ment of herself to circumstances which could 
 not be made all at once. 
 
 A few days later Mrs. Pederson and 
 Hilary left Markham Square. 
 
 At the last Mrs. Pederson became pleasantly 
 excited by the prospect Hilary's description 
 of the boarding-house presented to her imagina- 
 tion. She had been terribly afraid of life alone 
 with Hilary in small and third-rate lodgings. On
 
 132 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 a large stage it is possible to live one's life with- 
 out interfering with others ; but on a limited 
 one, community of interest is essential for 
 mutual comfort Mrs. Pederson sometimes felt 
 that Hilary was too uncompromising and 
 breathed an air too rarefied for her. 
 
 Hilary never forgot that first evening at 
 Mrs. Bateson's the overheated dining-room, the 
 clatter of plates, and the noise of many people 
 eating. She looked, with a sinking of heart, 
 down the long table with its soiled cloth, its 
 smeared glasses, its steaming joints, and turned 
 away with something like nausea from the great 
 plate of food thrust over her shoulder by an 
 awkward and ill-tempered maid who wore a 
 dirty cap and had an unpleasant habit of snort- 
 ing as she moved. 
 
 Her seat was next to Mrs. Bateson, whilst 
 opposite sat a young man, with a florid com- 
 plexion above an expansive shirt-front, in which 
 was embedded a huge imitation ruby. 
 
 He stared at her with manifest admiration, 
 endeavoured to set her at her ease by some 
 chaffing remark, and then continued his con- 
 versation with his neighbour. 
 
 " He's an insurance agent in quite a big 
 way," whispered Mrs. Bateson; "and quite
 
 A STEP DOWN IN THE WORLD. 133 
 
 the gentleman is Mr. Bradbrook, for all he is 
 so free. Miss Bird would not talk to him 
 if he were not vastly agreeable. She is a lady 
 journalist, immensely clever, I'm told, and very 
 exclusive." 
 
 Hilary nodded and scrutinised the exclusive 
 Miss Bird, who was certainly more interesting 
 than the insurance agent. She was a yellow- 
 haired, pale little woman, with a thin, mobile 
 face which reminded Hilary of Frances, and an 
 amusing way of expressing herself on the most 
 ordinary subjects. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson was already deep in con- 
 versation with a showily dressed elderly lady 
 with a Jewish cast of countenance, and was 
 evidently enjoying her position. Hilary blamed 
 herself for feeling forlorn and out of place, and 
 hoped that to-morrow would find her less 
 tired and captious. 
 
 The dinner ended at last, and with the 
 exception of Miss Bird, who had to report a 
 meeting in the West End, the whole party 
 trooped to the drawing-room, to wile away 
 the next hour with a great deal of loud music 
 and as much animated conversation. Each 
 member contributed his or her quota of gossip, 
 good-natured or otherwise, which was tossed
 
 134 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECE. 
 
 from one to another, mangled and patched and 
 worried, till its owner scarcely recognised it 
 as her own. 
 
 Hilary soon made her escape. 
 
 "It is quite clear/' she said as she climbed 
 the steep staircase, lit by a flaring gas-jet, 
 "that one has to become acclimatised to 
 'Bateson's Select Establishment.' I wonder 
 what Frances or Ursula would say if they 
 could see us at this stage of our fortunes."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 "BATESON'S SELECT BOARDING 
 
 ESTABLISHMENT." 
 
 IT was a strange kind of life Hilary lived for 
 the next few months under Mrs. Bateson's 
 roof. It was full of change and had its amusing 
 features, but Hilary soon found herself too 
 busy to notice peculiarities or to mind much 
 the things which had at first jarred upon her. 
 Mrs. Pederson made great demands upon her 
 time, and it was not long before Mrs. Bateson 
 and the boarders discovered that she was deft, 
 and willing to please them by the performance 
 of small services. 
 
 She was a favourite with them all, and in 
 her turn liked those with whom she was bound 
 to associate, though she might never have 
 chosen them as companions. There was nothing 
 mean and spiteful about them, and they were 
 kind to the girl, making much of her when she 
 came into the drawing-room or accepted an 
 invitation to their rooms to give her opinion 
 upon some point of private or personal interest.
 
 136 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 The young men called her "stand-off," and 
 were a little afraid of her. They could not 
 "chaff" her as they did Miss Heckler and the 
 knot of telegraph girls who had a corner table 
 to themselves at dinner and kept up a bubble 
 of laughter and shrill-voiced conversation. They 
 did not appear to mind in the least the smeary 
 silver and the stained knives which made Hilary 
 shudder, and treated a failure in the culinary 
 department as an excellent joke. 
 
 There had been efforts towards improvement 
 in many directions since the arrival of Mrs. 
 and Miss Pederson. Hilary never criticised, to 
 be sure, but her very difference from those 
 about her was a daily criticism, though she 
 was not the least conscious of it. 
 
 Somewhat to Hilary's surprise, Mrs. Pederson 
 was pleased with her new surroundings. There 
 were times when she lamented loudly the life 
 she had left behind her, when she was so irrit- 
 able that Hilary scarcely dared to address her, 
 yet she indubitably enjoyed the boarding-house 
 life which to Hilary seemed such a poor make- 
 shift for home. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson delighted in the distinction 
 she enjoyed as one who had descended from a 
 higher sphere than those about her ever dreamed
 
 "BATESON'S BOARDING ESTABLISHMENT" 137 
 
 of entering. She liked to entertain little groups 
 of ladies with stories of the luxuries and con- 
 veniences with which No. 10, Markham Square, 
 had been replete. Its charms gained enchant- 
 ment the farther they receded into the past, 
 till Hilary scarcely recognised in her aunt's 
 descriptions the dull, commonplace house in 
 which she had spent so many dull, common- 
 place months. 
 
 She was glad, however, that her aunt should 
 be happy and amused, though she might think 
 the method in the worst taste. It made her 
 own life decidedly easier. In a good humour, 
 Mrs. Pederson was kind-hearted and amusing, 
 but if anything put her out, the atmosphere 
 about her became electrical, and the most well- 
 meant efforts to propitiate her were apt to be 
 misconstrued. 
 
 There came a day when Hilary saw that 
 even boarding with Mrs. Bateson was a more 
 elaborate scheme of life than their scanty in- 
 come would stretch to. It became increasingly 
 difficult to meet Mrs. Bateson's modest weekly 
 bills, and the margin for absolute necessaries 
 grew smaller and smaller. Hilary's own gowns 
 were threadbare, and there seemed no prospect 
 of her being able to replace them. She pored
 
 138 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 over her little account book till her eyes and 
 her back ached, but the balance remained ob- 
 stinately on the wrong side. 
 
 It was futile to consult Mrs. Pederson. Dis- 
 cussions on financial matters always provoked 
 an attack of hysteria, in which Hilary's manage- 
 ment was wildly denounced and her own 
 economy pointed to as a burning example. 
 
 Hilary secretly regarded her aunt's economy 
 as a figment of her imagination ; it was built 
 upon a few axioms which Mrs. Pederson be- 
 lieved to be as infallible as truth itself. She 
 guided her own expenditure by them, and no 
 sage living would have convinced her that it was 
 not always "cheapest in the long run" to buy 
 the most expensive articles on the market. 
 
 "The best is always cheapest in the 
 long run," she would say firmly, when Hilary 
 tried to convince her that if you have only 
 ten shillings in hand, it was unwise to spend 
 seven of them on lavender gloves or a delicate 
 thing in chiffon boas. 
 
 If Hilary hinted that their purse was getting 
 empty Mrs. Pederson was always quick to 
 express her readiness to find money, a step 
 Hilary never failed to combat with all her force. 
 She knew what lay behind the suggestion.
 
 "BATESON'S BOARDING ESTABLISHMENT" 139 
 
 Mrs. Pederson had promised never again to 
 have any business relations with Chivers Smith, 
 and it was her way of asking her niece to 
 release her from that promise. Hilary told 
 herself that she would rather beg her bread in 
 the street than borrow money of Chivers Smith, 
 or consent to her aunt entering the dingy little 
 office in Chancery Lane. 
 
 Not that Hilary had lost faith in the world 
 or herself. She thought it would be a strange 
 thing if she could not find some means of 
 adding to her small income. 
 
 She sat at the table one May morning, 
 slowly disposing of a breakfast chilled by long 
 waiting. She was alone, for the boarders had 
 breakfasted half an hour before and gone their 
 several ways. The stillness of the house was 
 only broken by the tapping of Sarah's broom 
 as she swept the stairs, and the cheery voice 
 of Mrs. Bateson spurring the heavy and re- 
 luctant boot-boy to his duties. Hilary's own 
 breakfast was delayed by the necessity for 
 waiting upon her aunt, who took her matutinal 
 meal in her own room, and felt neglected unless 
 Hilary made frequent pilgrimages up the four 
 flights of steps to replenish her tray. 
 
 A newspaper was propped against the coffee-
 
 140 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 pot, and Hilary, whose meal was not of that 
 luxurious kind which demands the whole atten- 
 tion, divided hers impartially between its columns 
 and her cup of cold coffee. There was a 
 glimmer of a smile in her blue eyes as they 
 went steadily down the long list of advertise- 
 ments. So many things amused her which 
 other people found the grimmest commonplace. 
 
 "To reduce personal vanity, begin to 
 enumerate your capabilities and accomplishments 
 with a view to earning your daily bread," she 
 said aloud. "I give the recipe gratis to any- 
 one it may concern. If I were gifted with the 
 qualifications necessary to a thorough cook or 
 a scullery-maid, or a 'cutter/ whatever that 
 may be, I should find myself a pearl of great 
 price to some needy advertiser. As it is, I am 
 simply staggered by my own ineptitude." 
 
 She threw down the paper with a rueful 
 laugh and leaned her chin in the palms of her 
 hands. 
 
 "I'm determined to do something but 
 what ? " she said thoughtfully. " It ought to 
 be something which did not take me from 
 home very long, for Aunt Sophie would dislike 
 that awfully." 
 
 She pushed back her chair, and was folding
 
 *BATESON'S BOARDING ESTABLISHMENT? 141 
 
 the paper when Mrs. Bateson came into the 
 room. 
 
 "Don't you hurry over your breakfast, my 
 dear," she said. " It isn't the least bit of con- 
 sequence how long you sit if you don't mind 
 carrying your cup and plate down to the kitchen 
 when you have done. It's more than I dare ask 
 Sarah to clear the table twice in a morning." 
 She sat down in a chair and wiped her heated 
 brow with a not over-clean handkerchief. She 
 laboured under an unconquerable tendency to 
 get physically warm, and the climb from the 
 kitchen to the dining-room was a steep one. 
 
 "It is the stairs that try me, dear," she 
 said, fanning herself. "I hope you will never 
 get stout, though some people don't seem to 
 feel their fat like I do. I wanted to ask you 
 whether you would mind going round to the 
 butcher's for me this morning. Mrs. Moss has 
 sent down to say she feels a bit poorly, 
 and thinks a sweetbread for her lunch would 
 do her good. They are dreadfully expensive, 
 but I always like to please the boarders if it 
 lies in my power; it is only what one ought 
 to do, of course." Mrs. Bateson was one of 
 those kindly creatures who want everybody to 
 have the best of everything, and she did not
 
 142 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECE, 
 
 mind struggling and pinching herself to get it 
 for them. 
 
 " What have you been reading, my dear ? 
 Any news about the Royal family ? I seldom get 
 a minute to look at the papers, and the gentle- 
 men always expect you to be able to talk about 
 what is going on. I get Miss Heckler to give 
 me hints, for she just soaks herself in the 
 daily papers. It is about all she has to do, 
 poor thing. When I'm torn in two with work 
 I do envy her a bit ; but, after all, she has a 
 deal duller life than I have, when all's said and 
 done." 
 
 "And how much less useful, dear Mrs. 
 Bateson ! " Hilary said affectionately. She was 
 fond of the little, hardworked, ever-cheerful 
 landlady, who had been a good friend to her 
 during the past seven months. "I was not 
 reading the news this morning, but the dry 
 advertisement columns," she added, laughing. 
 " It has come to this, Mrs. Bateson : I must 
 try to earn a little money somehow." 
 
 Mrs. Bateson nodded. "To be sure, ladies 
 do it everywhere nowadays, and very wise they 
 are. I suppose you will look for some teaching, 
 my dear a morning's job that would give you 
 a bit of time to yourself ? "
 
 BOARDING ESTABLISHMENT" 143 
 
 Hilary shook her head. "I feel as though 
 I would rather do anything else." She moved 
 to the window and stood looking out. "I'm 
 not clever, you see, and I have no accom- 
 plishments. I can talk French and German 
 because I have been abroad so long, but no one 
 seems to crave for such services as I can render, 
 though I've searched the columns with the eyes 
 of a hawk." 
 
 " You have patience, my dear ; one paper is 
 nothing. I'll send William out for another 
 paper, and we will look through it together when 
 I have a moment to spare. I must go down 
 to the kitchen now and arrange about the dishes 
 for luncheon and dinner. What a comfort it is 
 to think that in heaven there won't be any eat- 
 ing and drinking." 
 
 Hilary laughed. "And I must run up to 
 Aunt Sophie, who will be waiting for her can 
 of hot water. Shall I dust the drawing-room for 
 you, and mend those tablecloths, when I come 
 down ? " 
 
 " My dear, you are too kind ! Sarah is no 
 good as a housemaid when it comes to darning. 
 I had to sit up till midnight last night mending, 
 for Mrs. Moss said that the place looked like a 
 ragbag."
 
 144 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 "Rude old creature!" cried Hilary. "Leave 
 the tablecloths to me, and woe betide her if she 
 finds fault with anything in my presence." 
 
 Mrs. Bateson thanked her gratefully, and went 
 off to discuss with the cook the simple dishes 
 which appeared on the menu-cards under highly 
 decorative names, spelt with a freedom which 
 was certainly more entertaining than informa- 
 tive.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 "WHAT BECAME OF THE SOVEREIGNS?" 
 
 MRS. PEDERSON had not been the same woman 
 since the change in her fortunes. The low fever 
 into which she had fretted herself, and which 
 clung to her for some weeks after she came 
 to Tozer Street, had left her weak and irritable. 
 She was subject to fits of nervous depression, 
 and had lost much of her vivacity. Her dark 
 eyes no longer flashed and glittered, and an 
 expression of peevishness and discontent had 
 settled upon her long, thin face, whilst her con- 
 versation, when alone with Hilary, was usually 
 made up of complaint and reproach. 
 
 She was moving about the bedroom restlessly 
 when her niece opened the door. Her hat and 
 coat lay on a chair, and she was stretching a 
 pair of white doeskin gloves as she walked up 
 and down. 
 
 "Why, Aunt Sophie, you are dressed an 
 hour before your usual time," Hilary said cheer- 
 fully. "Do you feel so much better this morn- 
 ing? I expected you would be still in bed."
 
 146 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 " Nonsense ! my watch points to ten o'clock, 
 and I never lie after that," Mrs. Pederson said 
 sharply. "You have been gossiping with Mrs. 
 Bateson, I suppose, and did not notice the 
 time. I had to ring and ask Sarah to bring 
 me up my hot water, and a great fuss she 
 made about it. As though we did not pay 
 for attention and that sort of thing ! " 
 
 "We pay very little, you know," Hilary 
 reminded her. "Mrs. Bateson naturally expects 
 us to give as little trouble as we can." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson shrugged her shoulders and 
 set her bangles jingling. 
 
 " I don't trouble myself about Mrs. Bateson's 
 expectations, and you need not do so either. 
 Wait till I can make a little money, and we 
 will leave her and find a more select place." 
 She stopped, and glanced furtively at Hilary. 
 The girl was looking at her with a little 
 perpendicular line between her dark eyebrows. 
 
 "For goodness' sake, don't stare at me as 
 though I were an antediluvian monster, girl," 
 she said tartly. "Help me into my coat. I 
 am going out to do some shopping before the 
 counters get crowded. Give me a couple of 
 pounds that will be as much as I shall need." 
 
 Hilary's lips tightened. She had only a
 
 "WHAT BECAME OF THE SOVEREIGNS?" 147 
 
 very few pounds in her purse, and it would be 
 many weeks before her dividends were due. 
 She would be obliged to refuse her aunt, and 
 it was a proceeding which past experience had 
 made her unwilling to repeat. 
 
 "Must you really have the money, Aunt 
 Sophie ? " she said hesitatingly. " We can spare 
 it very badly for anything but actual neces- 
 sities." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson turned from the glass where 
 she was arranging her veil over her grey fringe. 
 
 "Of course I must have it, or you may be 
 sure I should not ask," she said. " I'm sick of 
 having you hold the purse-strings, Hilary. It's 
 humiliating to me at my time of life. Next 
 quarter when the dividends come you must make 
 up your mind to hand them over to me. After 
 all, it is really my money, though your uncle, 
 for some silly reason, thought he must leave 
 you independent." 
 
 Hilary sighed impatiently. She was so tired 
 of this oft-repeated taunt, and if it had not 
 been that she had promised Cousin Paul to 
 keep her purse in her own hands, she would 
 long ago have allowed Mrs. Pederson to 
 manage or mismanage their joint income as she 
 pleased.
 
 148 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 "When the dividends come they will nearly 
 all have to go to Mrs. Bateson. We shall be 
 heavily in her debt," she said wearily. 
 
 " That woman is a regular leech 1 " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Pederson. "Seventy pounds a year for 
 the miserable meals and the dirty rooms she 
 gives us ! It's ridiculous. If I only had a 
 little capital I would start a boarding-house 
 myself and grow rich on it." 
 
 " Much or little, it is more than we shall be 
 able to continue to pay, Aunt Sophie," Hilary 
 replied, taking her purse out of her pocket and 
 emptying the contents on the dressing-table. 
 
 "That has to last us nearly three months," 
 she said, pointing to the three sovereigns, the 
 few shillings, and the pile of coppers. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson paused in the act of putting 
 on her hat and glanced at the small sum which 
 represented their available income. 
 
 "Gracious ! what a muddler you must be, 
 Hilary 1 " she ejaculated. 
 
 Hilary flushed. A sharp retort rose to her 
 lips, but she had learnt that the best defence at 
 such times was not to answer a word. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson watched her petulantly as she 
 moved about the room, making the bed, sweep- 
 ing the litter into the grate, and dusting the
 
 "WHAT BECAME OF THE SOVEREIGNS?" 149 
 
 ornaments. It was manifest that, as far as 
 Hilary was concerned, the conversation was 
 closed. 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Pederson dropped into a chair 
 and, after her wont when thwarted, began to 
 weep boisterously. 
 
 "It's hard, hard, hard to be brought to 
 poverty at my time of life. Nobody ever 
 guessed it would happen when I married your 
 Uncle Pederson, Hilary," she gasped between 
 her sobs. "There were many envied me that 
 day, I can tell you. I never knew what it was 
 to want a pound in my life, and now, to 
 think only a few paltry shillings stand between 
 me and want." 
 
 "It is not quite so bad as that," Hilary 
 said patiently. "We shall not want at all if 
 we are careful." She might have reminded this 
 victim of outrageous fortune that her woes 
 were of her own manufacture, and that foolish- 
 ness, and not misfortune, had brought her to her 
 present condition. 
 
 The torrent of Mrs. Pederson's woe was 
 soon assuaged. She remembered that she was 
 going out, and glanced furtively into the mirror 
 to see what ravages her tears had wrought on 
 her thin, grey face.
 
 150 MRS. PEDERSON s NIEC&. 
 
 "You mean well, Hilary," she said magnani- 
 mously. " I don't forget that you pulled me 
 through this trouble when Frances chose to 
 leave her sick mother to do the best she could. 
 We won't worry. Who knows how soon my 
 ship may come home and we shall have enough 
 to live comfortably on." She nodded signifi- 
 cantly, and wiped her eyes on a lace-edged 
 handkerchief which belonged to Hilary. 
 
 The girl stopped, duster in hand, and looked 
 at her aunt apprehensively. 
 
 " What do you mean, Aunt Sophie ? " she 
 asked quickly. "You have no ship to come 
 home, to use your own metaphor. You cannot, 
 you surely cannot have been letting Chivers 
 Smith persuade you to speculate again." Her 
 memory went swiftly back to various occasions 
 when her aunt had borrowed a pound or two 
 and gone out, ostensibly to shop, but had brought 
 nothing back with her for her outlay. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson flushed, and flung open the 
 window, saying that she was stifling for want 
 of space to breathe in. 
 
 "Why should you think I have been 
 speculating again ? " she asked sharply. " Isn't 
 there a proverb that the burnt child dreads the 
 fire ? Surely I may have reason to hope that
 
 "'Another boarder, Mrs. Bateson ? ' she asked, eyeing Hilary 
 
 inquisitively" (p. 130).
 
 "WHAT BECAME OF THE SOVEREIGNS?" 151 
 
 some of the money I sunk in that wretched 
 gold mine will come back some day ? Don't 
 harbour suspicions, Hilary ; only horrid people 
 are mistrustful. Now, run down and see if you 
 can get me a cup of tea, there's a good child. 
 All this excitement has given me a violent 
 headache." 
 
 Hilary departed somewhat unwillingly. 
 Mrs. Pederson's predilection for tea at un- 
 wonted hours was a bone of contention in the 
 kitchen. She went down the stairs thought- 
 fully. Her aunt's explanation had not con- 
 vinced her in the least, and she was certain 
 that Mrs. Pederson's promise not to dabble 
 again in business had been broken. 
 
 "It's no use asking Sarah for hot water 
 now, she will have the stove filled with 
 saucepans," she said aloud. " I will fetch a kettle, 
 and ask Mrs. Moss to let me boil some water 
 on her gas-stove." 
 
 Mrs. Moss was always pleased to grant the 
 girl this favour. It gave her a few minutes of 
 Hilary's company and made a spot of bright- 
 ness in a day that was uniformly drab. 
 
 This morning Hilary found her deep in the 
 consideration of a new cap, and her knock at 
 the door was hailed as most opportune. She
 
 152 MRS. PEDERSOrfs NlECE. 
 
 could give her advice whilst the kettle 
 boiled. 
 
 The purchase of a new cap was an event in 
 the life of Mrs. Moss, and the respective merits 
 of turquoise with pearl and old lace with 
 myrtle green velvet had to be carefully 
 weighed. 
 
 It was ten minutes before the girl could 
 make her escape without an appearance of 
 undue haste. 
 
 She hurried upstairs and entered the bed- 
 room with an apology for her tardiness on her 
 lips. 
 
 The room was empty. One glance towards 
 the wardrobe told her that Mrs. Pederson's 
 coat and sunshade were gone. 
 
 "How mean of her, after giving me the 
 trouble to make tea ! " she exclaimed hotly, 
 setting the tray down on the chest of drawers 
 and looking round her. 
 
 Then her colour faded, and she darted to 
 the table. She had left her little store of 
 money there, and the sovereigns were gone ! 
 
 She dropped into a chair, and leaning her 
 head on her hands shed the bitterest tears she 
 had shed in her young life. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson did not return until the gong
 
 "WHAT BECAME OF THE SOVEREIGNS?" 153 
 
 had sounded for dinner, and Hilary, ready 
 dressed, was coming down the stairs. 
 
 The girl passed her with the ghost of a 
 smile. She could not speak to her yet, though 
 had made up her mind not to allude to her 
 loss. She had thought the matter out as she 
 sat darning the tablecloths in Mrs. Bateson's 
 stuffy little back room. 
 
 She would find a situation somewhere in 
 the country, somewhere too far away from 
 town for Aunt Sophie to be tempted by Chivers 
 Smith to embark in wild speculations, and 
 where she would not be constantly reminded 
 of her lessened means. It would be hard 
 work to persuade her to leave London, but 
 Hilary meant to achieve it. She felt she was 
 right, and flattered herself that she could make 
 her aunt also see the wisdom of the step. 
 
 "And you will be doing the right thing, my 
 dear, I agree," said Mrs. Bateson, to whom she 
 expounded her views and laid bare her plans. 
 " London's a place full of temptations ir you have 
 not much money; but it will be like losing 
 the sunshine of the house to lose you. There's 
 never been such peace and harmony under this 
 roof as since you came. It is that knack you 
 have of making folks feel pleased with them-
 
 154 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 selves. The boarders don't grumble half so 
 much as they did; and as for Sarah, it's quite 
 comfortable to live with her. But there, I 
 shouldn't say a word; I'm a selfish woman 
 even to mention my own loss when it's clearly 
 for the best. We'll look in the paper for a 
 nice easy place in the country for you ; it'll 
 be time enough to upset Mrs. Pederson when 
 that's found" 
 
 As the girl was going up to her own room 
 later in the evening Mrs. Bateson opened the 
 sitting-room door and called her softly. 
 
 "Are you too tired to come in a minute, 
 my dear ? " she said, excitedly waving a copy 
 of a weekly literary paper to which Miss Bird 
 subscribed. " I believe there is something here 
 which would exactly suit you." 
 
 Hilary followed her into the back room and 
 Mrs. Bateson shut the door. 
 
 " I just took up Miss Bird's paper when she 
 went out to-night and caught my eye on this," 
 she said, pointing to a paragraph at the head 
 of the short column. "You're half a French 
 and German girl, and this ought to suit you to 
 the ground, as Mr. Bradbrook says." 
 
 Hilary took the paper and read the adver- 
 tisement carefully. A literary man, temporarily
 
 " WHAT BECAME OF THE SOVEREIGNS?" 155 
 
 forbidden to use his eyes, wanted a secretary 
 able to read French and German fluently, for 
 literary purposes. Further particulars were to 
 be had by applying personally to Mr. Hilder, 
 Fairmead, Meadham, Hertfordshire. 
 
 Nothing could have sounded more attractive 
 to the girl, and it was the first advertisement 
 she had seen which made her one qualification 
 a condition. 
 
 "It's the very thing I should like," she 
 said reflectively. 
 
 "Yes, the exact thing," nodded Mrs. 
 Bateson. "You must apply at once, my dear. 
 It's a pity they say 'apply personally,' for it 
 will be a journey, and a railway fare is ex- 
 pensive. For all that, you must go right 
 off to-morrow morning. I'll see that Mrs. 
 Pederson wants for nothing while you are 
 gone. I believe it will turn out the very thing, 
 or why should my eyes have lit on a paragraph 
 in a paper I don't look at once in a twelve- 
 month ? It's just a leading, Miss Hilary, and 
 you go to Meadham the first thing in the 
 morning." 
 
 "If I get the post I shall owe it to you, 
 dear Mrs. Bateson," Hilary said, putting her 
 arm affectionately round the stout shoulder,
 
 156 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 over which the smart gown strained ominously. 
 "I shall never forget what a friend you have 
 been to me all these months." 
 
 The kind little woman sniffed audibly and 
 wiped her damp forehead. 
 
 " Don't you say nothing of that, Miss Hilary. 
 I would gladly keep you and your aunt for 
 nothing if I could afford it. You're a real ray 
 of sunshine, and you give the air of distinction 
 to the table, too. If the boarders were all like 
 you it would be a pleasure to keep up the 
 establishment ; but there, if you want to find 
 politeness and consideration you must look for 
 them in a class above the Hecklers and 
 Mosses and such like who, poor things, don't 
 know any better. Bateson always voted 
 Conservative because, he said, the most tip-top 
 people he knew were the pleasantest to deal 
 with. As I often told him, the rest meant no 
 harm ; but if you are very near the mud, you 
 like to keep calling out you are not in it, or 
 how are folks to know ? My motto has 
 always been, take people as you find them and 
 believe that they mostly mean well."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAY. 
 
 VERY early next morning Hilary got up, 
 dressed herself carefully in a fresh white blouse, 
 brushed her shabby serge skirt, and ran down- 
 stairs. It was scarcely seven o'clock, and none 
 of the boarders were yet astir. Sarah was 
 sleepily sweeping the front steps, and stopped 
 with broom suspended to stare at the girl. 
 
 " My word 1 you're an early bird, miss," she 
 exclaimed. "I'm sure I would not leave my 
 bed an hour before I need, if I were in your 
 shoes." 
 
 " I'm going into the country this morning, 
 Sarah. It will be lovely there this fine day, 
 won't it ? I wonder if cook could give me a 
 cup of coffee at once if I went down to her. 
 I want to catch the 9.15 from St. Pancras." 
 
 "If you can wait till I've finished these 
 steps, miss, I'll go down and fetch it myself," 
 said Sarah. " I daresay cook will be preparing 
 our breakfasts." Sarah had a reputation among 
 the boarders for disobligingness, but she never
 
 1 58 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 hesitated to take a little trouble for Miss 
 Pederson. 
 
 "And if you would not mind taking my 
 aunt some hot water at nine o'clock, I should 
 have a heart at ease, Sarah," Hilary said 
 pleasantly. " She will be sure to miss me when 
 she wants to get up." 
 
 Sarah agreed, though without any enthusiasm. 
 She disliked waiting on Mrs. Pederson, who was 
 seldom satisfied with any service rendered her. 
 
 It was a brilliant May morning, with a fore- 
 taste of summer in the warm spring wind and 
 in the clear blue sky. Even in Tozer Street 
 the air was fresh, and the sickly plants on the 
 window-sills looked less depressed than was 
 their wont. 
 
 Hilary had seen nothing of rural England, 
 and as the train swept through the country, 
 leaving behind it the suburbs of the great city, 
 whirling past undulating meadows, wooded slopes, 
 cool and green in the early morning sunlight, 
 she looked from the window with unconcealed 
 delight. It was a little more than an hour's 
 run to Meadham, a tiny, sleepy village, nestling 
 amid stretches of farm-lands, seemingly un- 
 heedful of the bustle and business of the big 
 town scarcely a couple of miles away. The
 
 HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAY. 159 
 
 little wayside station was a mile from the 
 village, and the country folk were quite content 
 that it should be so. They did not want its 
 smoke and its shrill whistle breaking their 
 peace day and night. So long as the train was 
 there when they wanted to go into Bishop's 
 Merton, that was all they asked. What was 
 a mile to men and women who walked three 
 times that distance to their daily toil ? 
 
 How clean and sweet the whole neighbour- 
 hood seemed to Hilary as she left the station 
 and set out to walk to Meadham. In London 
 parks the first tiny leaves on the lime-trees 
 were just bursting their pointed sheaths. Here 
 the brown boughs were draped with greenery 
 and the hedgerows white with blackthorn. A 
 river gurgled somewhere out of sight, and there 
 was a hum of bees busy among the early wild 
 flowers. The air rang with innumerable bird- 
 notes, clear and cheery, and across the fields 
 some church bells, calling to early service, 
 sounded sweetly on the pleasant morning breeze. 
 
 Hilary had no difficulty in finding Fairmead, 
 for her first inquiry elicited the fullest informa- 
 tion. Fairmead was evidently a place of 
 importance in the neighbourhood. 
 
 It was a large and rambling old manor-house,
 
 160 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 set in its own well-wooded grounds, and old 
 enough to be picturesque without being pre- 
 tentious. A dark holly-hedge shut it in from the 
 gaze of the curious, and over this prickly boundary 
 the purple and white of lilac and " the dropping 
 wells" of golden laburnum nodded to the 
 admiring girl. 
 
 This May day, with its clear sky and sun- 
 shine, its fragrance of flowers and young foliage, 
 showed the place at its best. 
 
 Hilary found a gate in the hedge, and walked 
 up the path to the house. Not a sign of 
 human habitation encouraged her to mount the 
 broad flight of low steps which led to the 
 heavy, oak-bound door. Her knock re-echoed 
 through the silent house in the most dis- 
 concerting manner, and there was time for 
 her to feel oddly shy before footsteps were 
 heard and a prim, elderly servant opened the 
 door. 
 
 She looked surprised to see a visitor at this 
 early hour, and in reply to Hilary's request to 
 see Mr. Hilder, said that her master was not 
 seeing callers just now. 
 
 " I am scarcely a visitor," said Hilary frankly. 
 *'I come on a matter of business." 
 
 "Then perhaps you will walk in, and I
 
 HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAY. 161 
 
 will tell my mistress. I will ask her if she 
 can see you." 
 
 Hilary followed the maid across a wide, tiled 
 hall, and was ushered into a cool, shaded 
 drawing-room with many windows opened on a 
 lovely, old-fashioned garden which reminded her 
 of Madame Brun's garden in Paris. The room 
 itself was one of those quaint, old-world parlours 
 only seen in country houses which have been 
 lived in for generations by one family. There 
 was that mingling of shabbiness and comfort, that 
 apparent retention of this or that from affection 
 rather than utility or decoration, which no 
 upholsterer can give to a house " furnished 
 throughout on the most modern and artistic 
 scale." A few valuable Romneys and Reynolds 
 on the walls drew attention from the faded 
 draperies, and masses of golden daffodils in 
 costly jars lit up dark comers. There was a 
 little fine Chippendale furniture and a mantel- 
 piece carved by Grinling Gibbons, and though 
 Hilary's eyes were too untrained to gauge their 
 real merit, she approved their beauty. 
 
 She had plenty of time to study her sur- 
 roundings. An hour passed before the door 
 opened and there entered a little old lady, 
 for whom this charming room seemed the
 
 162 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 most appropriate setting. She was exceedingly 
 tiny, quite the smallest creature Hilary had 
 ever seen, with little white, blue-veined hands 
 , and dark, deep-set eyes, which flashed in quite 
 a youthful way from her faded old face. She 
 wore a long grey gown, clinging and unrustling, 
 and a black lace cap, coming to a point on her 
 abundant white hair. She must once have been 
 very beautiful ; even now there was an air ol 
 distinction and dignity about her, despite her 
 diminutive proportions. 
 
 She sat down in a high-backed chair and 
 motioned Hilary to sit near her. 
 
 "You inquired for Mr. Hilder, Miss Peder- 
 son. Just now I have to be the medium be- 
 tween him and callers. He is suffering from 
 an affection of the eyes and only sees strangers 
 on the most urgent business." 
 
 " I came in answer to the advertisement," 
 Hilary said, wishing she did not feel so shy 
 and awkward. "Mr. Hilder wants a secretary 
 who can read German and French. I have 
 lived so long abroad that I speak them almost 
 as freely as my native tongue. I am very 
 anxious to get some post which will bring in 
 a little money. I shall be most awfully glad 
 if Mr. Hilder will try me."
 
 HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAY. 163 
 
 The old lady looked at her with un- 
 mistakable surprise and some disapproval. She 
 was a very old-fashioned little lady, and the 
 boldness of the modern girl in entering the 
 arena and battling with her brothers for a live- 
 lihood was something she could not understand. 
 
 "You astonish me," she said, shaking her 
 head. " I am sure that Mr. Hilder never en- 
 tertained the idea of a lady secretary." 
 
 " Perhaps the idea of a girl doing what he 
 wants has not occurred to him, but it may not 
 be displeasing when it is suggested," urged 
 Hilary, gathering courage. "Many girls take 
 such posts, you know. I am ready to work 
 very hard to please him. I'm sure he will find 
 my German and French all right." 
 
 Mrs. Hilder leaned back in her chair, and a 
 faint smile crossed her faded old face. There 
 was something very attractive about this eager, 
 radiant young creature, but it seemed oddly in- 
 congruous to think of her earning her living. 
 
 "Tell me, is it necessary for you to earn 
 money, my child, or is it that you are bitten by 
 the modern notions concerning independence 
 and freedom to do as fancy dictates ? " she asked. 
 
 Hilary's colour rose. 
 
 " It is necessary, absolutely necessary," she
 
 104 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 replied quietly. Then something in the old 
 lady's pitiful ejaculation, in the sweet, old-world 
 haste with which she apologised for putting the 
 embarrassing question, moved the girl to tell 
 her the whole story. She found herself pouring 
 out the tale of Mrs. Pederson's losses, the 
 impossibility of their remaining at Mrs. Bateson's, 
 and her own determination to add to her 
 income and to save her aunt the discomforts 
 which were, for her, actually temptations. 
 
 "If you can do what Mr. Hilder requires 
 you shall come, my poor child," the old lady 
 said, feeling that she was about to pluck a brand 
 from the burning. " I will go up to him at 
 once. Perhaps he will be able to see you, and 
 the whole matter can be settled." 
 
 Left alone, Hilary went over the long inter- 
 view with interest. 
 
 "What a dear old ladyl And how well she 
 has mastered the art of growing old gracefully," 
 she thought. " If only Aunt Sophie would take 
 lessons from her I But that is past hoping for. 
 I am sure she will do her best to persuade 
 Mr. Hilder to try me. I hope he is not an 
 obstinate old gentleman, with prejudices against 
 employing what Mr. Bradbrook generically 
 terms ' female labour.' "
 
 HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAY. 165 
 
 She waited ten minutes, then the maid 
 who admitted her opened the door and requested 
 her to walk up to the library. 
 
 Hilary sprang to her feet with alacrity. It 
 was surely a good omen that Mr. Hilder had 
 consented to see her. She followed the maid 
 up the wide, polished staircase, along a corridor 
 hung with grim family portraits, and was 
 ushered into a large, sunny room, lined with 
 books. A writing-table stood in the great bow 
 window, and in an armchair before it sat a 
 man, who rose hastily to his feet as she 
 entered. 
 
 Hilary stared at him with a startled face 
 as she dropped into the chair Mrs. Hilder 
 pointed out to her. It was patent she had 
 mistaken the relation between the old lady and 
 the young man who now moved slowly across 
 the room, to anchor on the hearthrug. 
 
 " My son, this is the young lady of whom 
 I spoke to you," Mrs. Hilder said gently. 
 " You will be glad to know, Miss Pederson, that 
 my son has no prejudices against employing 
 a lady secretary, provided other things are 
 equal." She sat down as she spoke in the 
 chair Mr. Hilder had vacated, and smiled en- 
 couragingly at the girl.
 
 1 66 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Hilary expressed her pleasure rather nervously. 
 She was more anxious than ever to obtain this 
 post, and decided, in her impetuous way, that 
 she would love to work for the man, who now 
 began to question her concerning her various 
 qualifications. 
 
 She looked at him long and pitifully. 
 There was this sad privilege in being Max 
 Hilder's companion ; he could not know 
 however intently you studied him, however 
 sorrowful the gaze fixed on his face. He was 
 a tall, broadly built young Saxon, with a 
 quantity of light brown hair falling in loose waves 
 about his white and smooth forehead. A dis- 
 figuring shade hid the upper part of his face, 
 but the firm chin, the curve of the clean-shaven 
 cheek, suggested that it was strong and manly, 
 if not handsome. 
 
 "And you are ready to pity the sorrows of 
 a blind beggar, Miss Pederson ? " he said lightly. 
 "All other things being equal, I would rather 
 have a woman for my work than a man. He 
 would not be able to keep the insolence of 
 his own health and his ' thank-God-I-am-not-as- 
 this-other-man ' out of his tone and manner. 
 It is one thing to bear your infirmities and 
 quite another to have them thrust upon your
 
 HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAY. 167 
 
 notice." He ended with a laugh, which touched 
 Hilary more than bitterness could have done, 
 it was so frank and cheery. It was manifest 
 that however the world was darkened for the 
 man, he meant to show it an unruffled front 
 and meet the blows "with sword broken but 
 unbroken courage." She could imagine him 
 crying with Heine, "Let me grow old in body, 
 but let my soul stay young; let my voice 
 quaver and falter, but never my hope." 
 
 " I will do my very best ; I will work hard," 
 she said impulsively. "Will you explain what 
 the duties would be, and see if my knowledge 
 is up to your requirements, Mr. Hilder ? " 
 
 He smiled. "The duties are simple. I am 
 preparing a book on French and German folk- 
 tales, and your duties, put briefly, would be to 
 read to me, to write at my dictation, and to 
 look up points I want verified. I expect I 
 shall be an autocratic master, for I am not 
 accustomed to using anyone's brains but my own, 
 and one does not stop to measure the labour 
 of one's own hand and mind. By the way, you 
 might read me a page or two of German. 
 Since you have been in school in Paris your 
 French will be sure to be all right. There is 
 a copy of the 'Reise Bilder' on that small
 
 1 68 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 table. Open it where the marker is put and 
 read on." 
 
 Hilary found the book, and began to read in 
 in her clear, vibrant voice. The book was new 
 to her, and she soon became interested in it j 
 something in the bitter-sweet lines of the 
 German poet made her think of the blind 
 student who was listening to her; like Heine, 
 he was suffering under a heavy disability, and, 
 like the poet, he had set himself to bear it 
 with unfaltering courage and a mirthful spirit. 
 
 She read on, scarcely noting the time, till Mr. 
 Hilder stopped her. 
 
 " Thank you, that will do. You read 
 splendidly, Miss Pederson. I shall think myself 
 lucky to have your help with my work. Did 
 my mother tell you that the engagement was 
 really only a temporary affair ? I hope to be 
 a whole man again in the autumn, and the 
 engagement therefore can scarcely last more 
 than three months. Do you care to come to 
 me on such terms ? " 
 
 " Yes, I will come," said Hilary. " I gathered 
 from the advertisement that it was not per- 
 manent. I shall be glad to do what I can in 
 that time." 
 
 "Then it is settled. I can't talk more now.
 
 HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAY. 169 
 
 My mother will arrange with you about terms 
 and that kind of thing," he said. "Mother, 
 are you going to give Miss Pederson some lunch 
 now ? I see that it is time for Gregory to bring 
 mine, and fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind. 
 Don't you agree with the famous Mr. Pepys, 
 Miss Pederson, that one's amiability is apt to 
 suffer when one is ' empty ' ? " 
 
 Hilary laughed, and followed Mrs. Hilder 
 from the room. 
 
 " My dear, you are his first visitor, and he is 
 tired," the old lady said apologetically. "He 
 will not dismiss his visitors quite so abruptly in 
 a week's time." 
 
 " Has he been very ill ? " asked Hilary 
 sympathetically. 
 
 "Not perhaps as you would count illness, 
 my dear," Mrs. Hilder said, looking into the 
 radiant, healthy young face. "There are things 
 harder to bear and more truly wearing to the 
 system than bodily pain, though Max has had 
 his share of that also. Six months ago he 
 caught a fever in Perugia, and something went 
 wrong with his eyes. You can guess what that 
 meant to him. It threatened to blight his 
 whole literary career. He went to Wiesbaden 
 as soon as he was well enough to travel, to
 
 170 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 consult Pagenstecher, the famous oculist 
 Pagenstecher sent him home at once. He 
 could do nothing for him then ; he told him 
 to give the eyes complete rest and, in the 
 autumn, to go again to Wiesbaden for an 
 operation. Though the oculist is hopeful, he has 
 warned us that it may not be successful." 
 
 " If not oh, how sad I " said Hilary, tears 
 starting to her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Hilder smiled faintly. 
 
 "It almost broke my heart; but I have 
 compensations even in this trouble. No 
 sorrow is without its mitigations. The old 
 know it, though the young find it hard to 
 believe. They have no memory of outlived 
 sorrows to learn from, as we have. I have 
 my boy's company, which I had not in his 
 days of health and work. It has made me 
 very glad to find him anxious to take up again 
 the thread of his studies. It was terrible to 
 see him, in the first weeks of his darkness, 
 sitting idle, and almost speechless, after a life 
 so full and bright as his has been. He wa 
 heroically patient, but passive patience is a 
 dreary thing to watch. He is patient still, but 
 it is with that noble patience which is concen- 
 trated strength. He has adjusted himself to
 
 HILARY TAKES HER OWN WAV. 171 
 
 life as it is, and with your help, he may do his 
 best work this summer." 
 
 "I will do all I can," repeated Hilary, 
 feeling that the simple words only feebly 
 expressed all she meant to achieve.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A COTTAGE IN A WOOD. 
 
 OVER luncheon the details of Hilary's engage- 
 ment were arranged. She was to receive forty 
 pounds a year and to spend five hours each 
 day at Fairraead. Hilary decided that she 
 was singularly fortunate ; with this addition 
 to her income she could hope to make Aunt 
 Sophie more comfortable than she had been 
 since leaving Markham Square. 
 
 "There is the question of your lodgings, 
 Miss Pederson," Mrs. Hilder said, as they 
 rose from the table. "I have lived so long 
 in Meadham that no doubt I can help you." 
 
 " Lodgings ! " exclaimed Hilary, making a 
 wry face. "I have suffered so much in other 
 people's houses that I hoped it would be 
 possible to take a cottage, even if it were a very 
 small one." 
 
 " Possible, of course, but imprudent," said Mrs. 
 Hilder. " You see, my dear, your engagement is 
 actually only a temporary one. At the end 
 of three or four months Mr. Hilder will go to
 
 A COTTAGE IN A WOOD. 173 
 
 Germany, and on his return he may need 
 you no longer. I cannot buoy you up with 
 the faintest hope of finding another position in 
 this quiet neighbourhood." 
 
 Hilary laughed and nodded. " I always for- 
 get the poet's advice to 'look before and after. 
 Of course, it must be lodgings, though I say it 
 with keenest regret." 
 
 "That need not depress you, my dear. 
 Your experiences perhaps have been unpleasant," 
 said Mrs. Hilder. " I have something to 
 propose which I think will suit you." She 
 went to the window and drew back the lace 
 curtain. "Do you see that red roof peeping 
 from among the trees beyond the shrubbery ? 
 A niece of mine, the widow of a London 
 doctor, lives there. Her means are not large, 
 and the house is more roomy than she requires 
 for her own needs. I believe she would take 
 you and your aunt to board with her if I 
 suggested it. I could wish you no better 
 fortune than to live under Agnes Vision's roof. 
 To know her is a liberal education." 
 
 Hilary looked apprehensive. Such a re- 
 markable woman might be difficult to please ; 
 and how would she stand Aunt Sophie's many 
 eccentricities ?
 
 1/4 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Mrs. Hilder seemed to anticipate no 
 objections. "Suppose we go at once and see 
 her," she said. "She is leaving Meadham in 
 a day or two to visit some of her husband's 
 relatives in Russia, so that for a few weeks you 
 and your aunt might expect to have the house 
 to yourselves. You would have no trouble, 
 however, on that score, for Mrs. Vision's 
 servants thoroughly understand the care of 
 the house." 
 
 Evidently considering her small lace cap 
 sufficient head- covering for the short walk to 
 Mead Cottage, Mrs. Hilder stepped out on 
 the terrace, and with Hilary at her side went 
 down the large, well-kept garden. Near as the 
 cottage had appeared, it was five minutes' walk 
 from Fairmead. A rustic bridge crossed a 
 little stream which flowed beyond the belt 
 of firs, then a little spinney, carpeted with 
 primroses, had to be traversed before they 
 were at the gate of the quaint, red-roofed 
 cottage. 
 
 Mrs. Vision was in the porch nailing up a 
 climbing rose-bush when her visitors came up 
 the pebbled path. She put down her hammer 
 and came forward to meet them, glancing past 
 Mrs. Hilder's grey-clad figure to her tall
 
 A COTTAGE IN A WOOD. 175 
 
 companion with a faint expression of surprise. 
 It was seldom that visitors came to Fairmead, 
 and never once since its master's illness. 
 
 All Hilary's compunctions vanished as she 
 looked at Mrs. Vision. 
 
 "I'm like the Queen of Sheba, the half 
 was not told me," she said mentally. "I've 
 only seen three Meadham people, and each one 
 is a miracle of niceness. What a favoured spot 
 it must be 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Vision was a tall, fair woman, verging 
 on thirty. She was not handsome, for her 
 features were too heavily moulded for beauty, 
 but both her face and her amply proportioned 
 figure had that air of distinction which Balzac 
 declares the most precious gift that can be 
 bestowed upon a woman. She wore a loose, 
 graceful gown of some rich black material 
 hanging in large folds which reminded Hilary 
 of the drapery of a Greek statue she had seen 
 at the British Museum. 
 
 "How kind of you to come over to see 
 me, Aunt Lucia," she said in a low, musical 
 voice. "I am all alone. The maids have gone 
 to Bishop's Merton for a day's shopping." 
 
 "It is a business call, not a social function," 
 said Mrs. Hilder, introducing Hilary. "You
 
 176 MRS. PBDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 might be sure it was something more than 
 trivial which brought me out at this 
 hour." 
 
 In a few words she explained Hilary's 
 presence and what she hoped Mrs. Vision might 
 be able to do for her. 
 
 There was no small pride about Agnes Vision. 
 She thanked her aunt, and agreed that it would 
 be a pecuniary advantage to her to let some 
 of her rooms. She offered at once to show 
 the girl those at her disposal, and led the way 
 into the house. 
 
 Nothing could have been in greater contrast 
 to the "Select Establishment" under the roof 
 of which Hilary had spent the past seven 
 months than Mead Cottage. It showed in 
 every detail the influence of a refined and 
 cultured mistress. The furniture was simple, but 
 the best of its kind, and save for the ferns 
 and flowers on every side, there was that 
 absence of ornamentation which is often the 
 highest form of art 
 
 Two bedrooms and a pleasant little sitting- 
 room, looking out on the garden and the fir 
 wood beyond, were offered the girl at a price 
 so well within her means that she gladly agreed 
 to take them. Mrs. Vision promised that they
 
 A COTTAGE IN A WOOD. 177 
 
 should be ready for her at the end ol the 
 following week, when the girl's work with Mr. 
 Hilder began. 
 
 "I shall love to be here, Mrs. Vision," 
 Hilary said impulsively. "Your house seems 
 more like home to me than any place I have 
 been in since I left Madame Bran's. I feel" 
 she hesitated, and laughed shyly " I feel as 
 though I could breathe here. In London, it is 
 often so difficult to aspire and respire at the 
 same time." 
 
 "I know; I have felt that," said Mrs. 
 Vision, laying her large, shapely hand on 
 the girl's shoulder as they stood together 
 in the little square hall. Some women would 
 have kissed the frank, radiant face, but she 
 was not one who gave kisses readily, and dis- 
 liked people who used them, like asterisks, to 
 fill up awkward places in a conversation. "I 
 think we shall understand each other; though, 
 since I am going away and your engagement 
 is a short one, we may not see much of one 
 another. I am glad to think you are coming 
 under my roof" 
 
 "And I am more than glad," cried Hilary 
 impetuously. "It will make up for so much I 
 can never explain. There is something about
 
 178 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Meadham and the people in it that sweetens 
 the mind. I may hope now to keep my taste 
 for the best things; I used to think it was 
 impossible to lose it, but I know now it is 
 astonishingly easy." 
 
 Mrs. Vision looked at her intently. There 
 was something more behind that laughing face 
 and that frank, boyish manner than she had 
 suspected. 
 
 " The struggle repays, child, never doubt 
 that," she said quickly. "The most finely 
 tempered steel is that which passes the severest 
 tests. In the moral as well as the physical 
 world, the survival of the fittest is the law 
 upon which the whole fabric of ethics is 
 built." 
 
 Hilary sighed. So far from feeling that her 
 own afflictions had been a means of edification, 
 she had never seemed to herself so weak and 
 faulty as during the last few months. Emotions 
 and failings never suspected in serener days had 
 come to light and shamed her. She was too 
 young and too little given to introspection to 
 know that it was only through growth she had 
 come now to discover them. More light means 
 more revelatory power. Her character had 
 strengthened, and her moral fibre become finer
 
 A COTTAGE IN A WOOD. 179 
 
 through the troubles she had borne of late. 
 She saw things to which once her eyes were 
 holden. 
 
 As she travelled back to London, she began 
 to wonder how her aunt would regard the step 
 she had taken. It was impossible but that Mrs. 
 Pederson should object to leave town. Hilary, 
 however, hoped to convince her that it was the 
 wisest and indeed the only possible step. Her 
 taking of the sovereigns from Hilary's purse had 
 practically put it out of her power to refuse to 
 accompany her niece. 
 
 Hilary might leave her, and thereby give up 
 her right to the legacy left her by Major 
 Pederson, but no dividends were due for months, 
 and Mrs. Bateson would not consent to keep 
 Mrs. Pederson without any payments. Hilary 
 hoped and confidently believed that she could 
 persuade her aunt to come to Meadham, without 
 using her dependence as a handle, and she 
 meant to spare no pains to do it. Yet if Mrs. 
 Pederson absolutely refused to come, the girl 
 told herself that now she would be justified in 
 leaving her. The life at Mrs. Bateson's had 
 become impossible, and she was right in accept- 
 ing the clean and wholesome path of honour- 
 able work which was open to her. She would
 
 i8o MRS. PsDERSorfs NIECE. 
 
 certainly have Frances on her side, and she 
 resolved at the first opportunity to go to Skone 
 Street and tell her friend what she had 
 arranged.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A CADMEAN VICTORY. 
 
 IT was dusk when Hilary reached Tozer Street, 
 the dusk of a spring evening in town, grey and 
 dull. 
 
 Mrs. Bateson opened the door as though 
 she had been on the watch. 
 
 " It is all right ; I come home crowned with 
 success, so congratulate me, you dear woman,'" 
 Hilary cried, anticipating her eager question. 
 "No, I won't have any tea, thank you. I, 
 shall just have time to dress for dinner and 
 explain my absence to Aunt Sophie. I suppose 
 she is still upstairs." 
 
 Mrs. Bateson puckered her forehead and 
 looked worried. 
 
 "She has not come back yet, my dear 1 ; she 
 went out unbeknowst to me directly after 
 luncheon. A gentleman called twice this after- 
 noon to see her, and told Sarah he had an 
 appointment Miss Kemsing came a while ago, 
 too, and she is waiting upstairs in your room." 
 
 Hilary looked troubled as she ran upstairs.
 
 1 82 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECE. 
 
 She wished she had asked Mrs. Bateson for a 
 description of the visitor; she had a gloomy 
 conviction that it could be no other than Chivers 
 Smith. 
 
 Frances was sitting reading in the light of 
 a small fire she had lighted, though in the 
 Bateson establishment a fire in a bedroom was 
 a luxury only justified by dire extremity. 
 
 "Well, you and the mater are in festive 
 mood to-day, my good child," she said, 
 rising and saluting the newcomer. "I arrive 
 anxious to know how you are surviving the 
 barbarities of this place, and find that the mater 
 has not been home since luncheon and that no 
 one has seen you since the screech of dawn. It 
 was lucky I brought my anatomy books with me 
 or I could not have waited. Get a light, please, 
 before you disrobe. I know you have a weakness 
 for the gloaming, but I hate it. As Charles 
 Lamb once said, it's so inconvenient to have to 
 feel your companion's face for the responsive 
 smile." 
 
 Hilary laughed, but the laugh did not ring 
 so blithely as usual, and Frances looked up at 
 her sharply. 
 
 "What is the matter, Hilary? You look 
 tired, and you are positively getting thin.
 
 A CADMEAN VICTORY. 183 
 
 know man is born to trouble as the sparks fly 
 upward and that we girls cannot expect to es- 
 cape our share, but has anything fresh occurred ? " 
 
 Hilary shook her head as she stretched and 
 straightened her gloves thoughtfully. Suddenly 
 she looked at Frances with a whimsical smile 
 curving her mouth. 
 
 " Like Noph, I have distresses daily, but I 
 have taken desperate measures to escape them 
 altogether. I am going to surprise you, Frances." 
 
 "My dear child, it is the way of the foolish 
 to confound the wise," Frances said languidly. " If 
 you can explain your meaning without being 
 too oracular, please do so." 
 
 Hilary dropped on the hearthrug at Frances' 
 feet. 
 
 "I'll burst the fact on you without preface 
 or preamble. I have this day arranged to 
 leave 'Bateson's Select Establishment/ and to 
 take up my abode in a sleepy little village in 
 Hertfordshire, named Meadham." 
 
 "I always knew you hankered after fresh 
 fields and pastures new, but I thought it was 
 a question of pounds, shillings and pence," said 
 Frances. 
 
 " Yes, it could not be done on ninety pounds 
 a year, nor could we stay here under the same
 
 1 84 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECE. 
 
 luxurious conditions. I am going to add to 
 our fortune by my own exertions. Behold me 
 the secretary of a literary man, engaged to 
 assist in the production of an epoch-making 
 work on French and German folk-tales. The 
 whole business is settled, even to the secondary 
 matter of lodgings. The only detail to be filled 
 in is the breaking of the news to Aunt Sophie 
 and the gaining of her consent to this radical 
 change in our fortunes." 
 
 Frances leaned back in her chair and let her 
 beloved "Anatomy" slide unheeded to the floor. 
 
 ''Well, for independence and sheer audacity 
 commend me to Hilary Pederson 1 To go and 
 do such a thing without consulting a soul 1 
 Of course, I would not have allowed you to 
 do it. You should have had half my princely 
 income. I would even have extended to the 
 mater the shelter of my palatial roof, though 
 she would be a dreadful person to have about 
 one, when one happened to be undergoing a 
 mental strain. And, pray, what sort of a man 
 is this for whom you have agreed to drudge ?" 
 
 Hilary leaned back, her hands clasped behind 
 her head, pressing forward her loose wavy hair, 
 as she studied the cracked, discoloured ceiling. 
 
 "I can guess the sort of man you are pic-
 
 A CADMEAN VICTORY. 185 
 
 turing," she said gaily. "A wide experience 
 of learned professors has taught you to know 
 the type ; but you will be hopelessly at fault 
 on this occasion. My professor happens to be 
 a young man of thirty or so quite the most 
 charming age for a man, isn't it ? All men 
 ought to be thirty. I should say he was hand- 
 some, though when you are shown only the 
 lower part of a face it is rather difficult to 
 be sure. Did I tell you that he was suffering 
 with his eyes and remained hidden behind a 
 green shade ? Hence the need for my services." 
 She ended with a little laugh, in which Frances 
 could not help joining. 
 
 "Is there anything on earth you can be 
 serious about, Hilary ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 "If there is anything on earth the better 
 for being whined about, tell me/' Hilary re- 
 plied quickly. 
 
 Frances shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps 
 you are right. I learned long ago that the 
 things one cries over are seldom worth it 
 There's nothing satisfies like work." 
 
 At this moment a heavy step was heard 
 on the stairs, and a voice called Hilary A 
 minute later Mrs. Bateson opened the door and 
 looked in with an agitated face.
 
 1 86 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 "Please come down, my dears, do," she 
 said. " Mr. Bradbrook has brought poor Mrs. 
 Pederson home in a cab. He says he found 
 her in a faint somewhere up the Marble Arch 
 way. She had slipped getting off a bus, he 
 said, and the fright made her a bit queer. She 
 looks bad now, poor dear." 
 
 The girls flew down the stairs. Halfway they 
 met Mr. Bradbrook assisting the fainting woman 
 to her own room with a skill and kindliness which 
 made Hilary regret that she had constantly 
 snubbed his efforts towards friendliness. 
 
 "No cause for alarm, Miss Pederson," he 
 said cheerfully. "The old lady will be as right 
 as a trivet when you get her into her own bed. 
 A good meal and a night's rest will mend all 
 that's wrong. Slipping off a bus when you have 
 been trapesing about all day without a good 
 square meal, is apt to try the strongest of us." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson was too worn out to resent 
 these personalities on the part of a young man 
 she cordially detested. She allowed herself to 
 be half carried, half dragged up the steep stair- 
 case, and resigned herself unprotestingly into the 
 hands of Hilary and Frances. The younger girl 
 lingered a moment at the door to thank Mr. 
 Bradbrook for his kindness.
 
 A CADMEAN VICTORY. 187 
 
 "Don't mention it, please, Miss Hilary. 
 Isn't Mrs. Bateson always telling us we are 
 one family ? and relations are bound to stand 
 by one another in little mishaps," he said 
 airily. " I'd do a sight more to ease the 
 burdens on your shoulders. Sam Bradbrook 
 can see as far through a stone wall as most 
 people, and the old lady leans rather heavy on 
 you." 
 
 Hilary stiffened and her colour rose. Oh, 
 why could they not be kind without inter- 
 meddling in her private worries ? She opened 
 her lips to reply, then turned away quickly, 
 entered the room, and shut the door behind her. 
 
 The insurance agent stood for a minute look- 
 ing after her, whistling softly. 
 
 " Poor little girl ! it hurts her to be under an 
 obligation to a third-class fellow like Sam 
 Bradbrook," he said. "He ain't her sort, I 
 suppose. It must be a bit of a nuisance to 
 be poor and proud if you are forced to herd 
 with common mortals." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson had recovered somewhat when 
 Hilary entered. She was sitting before the fire, 
 stretching out her thin hands to the blaze. 
 
 "It's an attack of the heart, Miss Kemsing 
 says," whispered Mrs. Bateson sympathetically.
 
 1 88 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 " It's lucky Miss Kemsing was here, for she is 
 three parts a doctor and knows what to do. 
 I wish I could stay with you, but I must run 
 down and serve the dinner. Folks must feed 
 whatever happens. It's the one thing that never 
 stands aside for other people's troubles." 
 
 She bustled away, and Hilary came and 
 knelt down beside her aunt. " Do you feel 
 better, dear ? " she said gently. " You must have 
 gone far to tire yourself so much." 
 
 " Far I I don't remember," Mrs. Pederson 
 said dully. "It was something important took 
 me out. I had to go. I can't remember now 
 why I went" 
 
 " Don't try to remember, mother ; it is bad 
 for you to worry yourself," Frances said 
 soothingly. 
 
 " Why should you interfere ? " Mrs. Pederson 
 retorted sharply. "It is a matter which con- 
 cerns only Hilary and me, Frances. You have 
 no lot nor part in my private business." 
 
 Frances looked away quickly. She owned 
 that it was just for Hilary to take the first 
 place in her mother's confidences. She had 
 deliberately withdrawn herself from participa- 
 tion in them. Yet those few minutes spent 
 alone with her mother, using her skill to
 
 A CADMEAN VICTORY. 189 
 
 alleviate her mother's pain, had taught the girl 
 that she loved her better than she guessed. She 
 was honestly glad to make the discovery, and 
 would have rejoiced had Mrs. Pederson shown 
 any desire for her help and presence. Yet 
 it was to Hilary the invalid turned when she 
 recovered full consciousness, and for Hilary she 
 reserved her confidences. Well, it was best 
 so, perhaps ; she, Frances, had her own work to 
 do, work which taxed all her faculties, absorbed 
 all her thoughts, and demanded her whole 
 future. 
 
 It was not till an hour after, when Frances 
 had gone away and Hilary was seated by the 
 bed, bathing the invalid's forehead and fanning 
 her gently, that Mrs. Pederson told what had 
 taken her out that day. 
 
 "I'm a wicked woman, Hilary, and you had 
 better go away and leave me," she said 
 hysterically. "Paul Kemsing has offered you a 
 home, you had better go to him. I can't live 
 like this, and it is no use for me to try. I 
 can't live without money ; and I won't either, 
 when there's so many ways of making it. I 
 promised you that I would not go to Chivers 
 Smith again, but it was a stupid promise to 
 make. He says the Bultang Gold Mine is
 
 190 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 paying magnificent dividends, and I'm a fool not 
 to borrow a few hundreds of him and put in it." 
 
 "Surely you have not been borrowing 
 again, Aunt Sophie ? " Hilary asked, her heart 
 feeling like lead. "You promised me, you 
 know." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson plucked at the counterpane 
 nervously. " I went out to-day, Hilary, because I 
 wouldn't see Chivers Smith. I have put a little 
 money into one or two things of his a pound 
 or two, nothing much, but I haven't borrowed. 
 He was coming here to-day to arrange a loan." 
 
 Hilary frowned. "He did call. He came 
 twice, and seemed annoyed not to find you at 
 home." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson nodded drearily. " I had 
 written asking him to call. I was sick of 
 being without money, and the prospectus he 
 sent was splendid. You need not look at me. 
 as though I were not fit to breathe the same 
 air as you, girl. I broke my promise in writing 
 to him, but I did not see him, so no harm is 
 done." 
 
 "I'm not blaming you," Hilary said sadly. 
 W I can see it is hard for you. But we must 
 not borrow when we could never pay back, 
 and there are .other ways,"
 
 A CADMEAN VICTORY. 191 
 
 "Yes, you can leave me and go to Paul 
 Kemsing," said Mrs. Pederson slowly. " I don't 
 expect you to stay with me, Hilary. It is a 
 wretched life, and you are young. You will 
 have to give up your income, but Paul will 
 make it up to you. It is little enough, but I 
 daresay Mrs. Bateson will keep me here and I 
 shall manage. What does it matter how dull 
 and lonely a wrecked life like mine may be. 
 You had far better leave me to muddle along 
 by myself." 
 
 Hilary touched the claw-like hand on the 
 edge of the counterpane gently. 
 
 " No, no 1 I will not leave you," she said 
 soothingly. "All will come right if you keep 
 away from Chivers Smith and his horrid busi- 
 ness. We will go away, Aunt Sophie, and be 
 happy together. I have found a way ot making 
 it quite possible." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson lay back among the pillows 
 and stared at her curiously. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked querulously. 
 "I suppose the mystery has to do with your 
 absence to-day. Mrs. Bateson said you had 
 gone into the country." 
 
 Hilary nodded. "I wonder whether you are 
 well enough to hear my story now, or whether
 
 192 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 I had better reserve it till to-morrow," she said 
 meditatively. "Frances said you were not to 
 be worried about anything until you had had 
 a night's rest." 
 
 " I shall not sleep for hours, and it will 
 amuse me to hear," Mrs. Pederson insisted. 
 " What took you in the country ? " 
 
 Hilary hesitated, scarcely knowing where to 
 begin her story, and anxious to tell it in the 
 most propitious manner. 
 
 "I went to see a literary man who had 
 advertised for a secretary," she said cheerfully. 
 "Our money matters need instant adjustment, 
 you know, and I thought it would be easier to 
 earn a little than to retrench. I was engaged, 
 and I have promised to enter on my duties 
 next week." 
 
 " Well, of all the unheard-of projects ! And 
 to take such a step without saying a word to 
 me I You are a bold girl, Hilary Pederson. 
 May I ask how you propose to get to and 
 from vour work each day ? It seems to me 
 all your salary will be swallowed up in rail- 
 way fares. And what am I to do in your 
 prolonged absence, pray ? " 
 
 " Dear Aunt Sophie, Meadham is miles and 
 miles away. I could not possibly go daily. I
 
 A C ADM RAN VICTORY. 193 
 
 shall live there, and I hope you will promise 
 to come with me. It is the sweetest place, and 
 I have got charming rooms. We should be 
 tremendously happy, and quite out of the 
 reach of that odious man, Smith." 
 
 "Never! Nothing shall induce me to bury 
 myself alive in any country village," cried Mrs. 
 Pederson. "You may go if you like, Hilary, 
 but not one penny of your ninety pounds can 
 you touch unless you remain with me." 
 
 Hilary said nothing. She always found it 
 wisest to allow the torrent of her aunt's wrath 
 to roll on unchecked. To-night, physical 
 weakness soon reduced it to a purling stream of 
 complaint and protest. It occurred to Mrs. 
 Pederson, later, that her own indiscretion 
 in abstracting the sovereigns from Hilary's 
 purse had placed her in an awkward position 
 as regards the future. She was shrewd enough 
 to know that in Hilary's absence Mrs. Bateson 
 would not be willing to keep her unless she 
 could pay the weekly bill, and it was certain 
 that there would be no more dividends where- 
 with to pay that bill for many weeks. 
 
 " Don't ask me to decide to-night. I'm 
 worn out and sick of everything," she said at 
 last. "You can go away and leave me in
 
 194 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 peace. Yes, go away and talk to your Mrs. 
 Bateson, who always knows more of your plans 
 than your stupid old aunt does." 
 
 She turned her face to the wall and shut 
 her eyes. Hilary stood for a moment irresolute. 
 Though she was firmly convinced of her own 
 wisdom in this matter, she felt that she had 
 gained a Cadmean victory; the pain was equal 
 on each side. She stooped and kissed the grey, 
 wrinkled face. 
 
 " Poor Aunt Sophie ! I hate to do anything 
 you do not like," she said remorsefully. "Try 
 to sleep now, dear ; things always look brighter 
 in the morning." 
 
 Aunt Sophie did not deign to notice this 
 remark, and Hilary slipped quietly away.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 QUITE AN OCCASION. 
 
 MRS. PEDERSON had this redeeming quality, 
 she always resigned herself to the inevitable 
 with fairly good grace. She was clever enough 
 to see that Hilary had commonsense and right 
 on her side, and though she grumbled loudly 
 at circumstances, she recognised the wisdom of 
 submitting to them. She told Hilary next day 
 that she would go with her to Meadham, and 
 set herself to convince the boarders that failing 
 health and the third-rateness of "Bateson's 
 Select Establishment" had decided her to try 
 country air and more refined quarters. 
 
 " My health is not what it was," she in- 
 formed Miss Heckler languidly. "This place 
 was possible for a time when my affairs were 
 in disorder, but it has told upon me. And I 
 must think of Hilary, too ; a girl has no 
 chances in a place of this kind, you know." 
 
 "I quite agree with you, dear Mrs. 
 Pederson ; she has no chance at all," replied 
 Miss Heckler, with a toss of the head. "In
 
 196 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 London the labour market is quite overstocked, 
 I am told. Our dear little Hilary will do far 
 better in the provinces." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson coloured angrily. "Spiteful 
 thing 1 " she said to herself. " Hilary has not 
 the slightest idea of keeping her own counsel. 
 What need was there to tell these people that 
 she is going to take a situation. I shall be 
 glad to see the last of them all." 
 
 She spent most of her last week in Tozer 
 Street in her own room, appearing only at meals, 
 when she cloaked herself in dignity and gave 
 an undivided attention to the dishes. It was 
 fortunate that the preparations for departure 
 were few, for they fell entirely upon Hilary's 
 shoulders. 
 
 " It is your choice, not mine, this change of 
 quarters, so it is only fair that you should do 
 the packing," Mrs. Pederson said sulkily. 
 "Goodness knows there is little enough to 
 pack." 
 
 "It's an ill wind that blows no one any 
 good," laughed Hilary. "If I had a house to 
 dismantle I should have no time to do a dozen 
 things I have promised to do for the people 
 in the house." She held up a bodice she was 
 remodelling for Mrs. Bateson. "It will be one
 
 QUITE AN OCCASION. 197 
 
 of my comforting reflections when I get to 
 Meadham that dear little Mrs. Bateson is 
 looking nicer than she has done ever since I 
 knew her. This confection looks cosy and 
 elderly now, but its colour and scantiness have 
 assaulted my eyes for months." 
 
 " How can you tolerate these people or 
 bother about them ! " Mrs. Pederson said. 
 " Mrs. Bateson gets on my nerves with her 
 fussy, vulgar little ways." 
 
 Hilary lifted her head impatiently, then 
 she went on with her work without uttering 
 the indignant protest which rose to her lips. 
 
 "She is not vulgar, dear, only common- 
 place," she said quietly. " I always feel that 
 her real kindness to us covers a multitude of 
 social lapses, and I shall be very sorry to leave 
 her." 
 
 "She has been paid for all she has done," 
 Mrs. Pederson insisted. "You can't deny that 
 she is an atrocious manager and the service is 
 abominable. I hope to goodness our next land- 
 lady will know how to behave herself and to 
 keep her house." 
 
 Hilary laughed mischievously. In imagination 
 she saw Mrs. Vision's grave Madonna face, her 
 stately figure, and her graceful draperies. She
 
 1 98 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 would certainly know how to "behave herself," 
 but Hilary was not quite sure that she would 
 please Aunt Sophie any better than vulgar, 
 good-tempered little Mrs. Bateson had done. 
 
 Half an hour later she carried the finished 
 bodice down to Mrs. Bateson's room. 
 
 Mrs. Bateson was in the throes of menu 
 writing, and gladly relinquished the task to the 
 girl whilst she tried the effect of the new 
 "confection" and pronounced it "beautiful, if a 
 shade too high in the neck for the ways of the 
 house." 
 
 " I shall wear it to-night, for I've an idea 
 that the boarders are going to make this evening, 
 your very last evening, quite an occasion," she 
 said mysteriously. "No one is dining out, and 
 Mr. Bradbrook asked me to put a specially good 
 dinner on the table. It is to be quite an occa- 
 sion, I'm sure." 
 
 Hilary laughed merrily. " How alarming ! 
 But Aunt Sophie will be pleased, though it may 
 make her more and more disinclined for the 
 quietness of rural little Meadham." 
 
 As Mrs. Bateson had hinted, it was the 
 intention of the rest of the boarders to make 
 this last evening the Pedersons spent under the 
 roof of the boarding-house something of a
 
 QUITE AN OCCASION. 199 
 
 festival. There was not one who did not regret 
 Hilary's departure, and she forgave all the 
 queer little ways which had often jarred 
 for the sake of the sincere and hearty kindness 
 showered upon her now. Miss Heckler had 
 learned a new song, and Mr. Bradbrook an 
 absolutely new joke, whilst Miss Bird laid aside 
 her cynicism, and petted and made much of her 
 when they went up to the drawing-room. 
 
 "You will come and see us whenever you 
 are in town, Miss Pederson," she said, under 
 cover of the loud music which never impeded 
 conversation or seemed to ask for an audience. 
 "You will be sure to find me here. 'Men 
 may come and men may go, but I stay on for 
 ever.' It's a ridiculous place if you look at it 
 from some points, but it's convenient, and you 
 are never bothered about rules and conven- 
 tionalities. You might give me your address, 
 and if I am ever in your part of the country, 
 I will look you up. I expect you will be 
 dull enough after having lived in town. You 
 are going to do secretary's work, are you not ? 
 If you ever take to scribbling and nearly 
 everybody does some time or other nowadays 
 you just write to me. I'll do my best to get 
 you a column in one of the weeklies, for a
 
 2OO MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 start ; ' Hints to Mothers ' or ' How to Bring 
 up your Sons/ or something of that sort. I 
 know lots of girls who have begun like that and 
 are doing well in a small way." 
 
 Hilary laughed, and thanked her. She had 
 not the least intention of enlisting as an adviser 
 in matters of which she knew herself con- 
 spicuously ignorant, and she had absolutely no 
 literary ambitions. 
 
 "Well, if you change your mind, write to 
 me," replied Miss Bird, as Mr. Bradbrook came 
 up to claim Hilary's attention for a new puzzle 
 he had invented. 
 
 " It's too simple to engage you a couple of 
 minutes," he said jocosely. "I'm too distraught 
 at your desertion of us to originate anything 
 clever. I can't fancy 'Bateson's Select' without 
 you now, really I can't. You'll find me at Mead- 
 ham one morning begging you, in the name of the 
 assembled boarders, to come back to us. The 
 milkmaid there are always milkmaids in the 
 country, I believe will find me hanging ovei 
 the gate at the screech of dawn." 
 
 "You talk a lot of nonsense, Mr. Brad- 
 brook," Hilary said, severely. "Though, if ever 
 you come to Meadham, I am sure we shall 
 be pleased to see you," she added, smiling
 
 QutTE AN OCCASION. 201 
 
 "You need not make yourself conspicuous by 
 hanging, for an indefinite time, over the gate." 
 Hilary did not resent Mr. Bradbrook's familiarities 
 and his perpetual jokes, as she had once done. 
 It was as foolish to do so as to quarrel with 
 the shape of his nose or the commonplaceness 
 of his florid, good-tempered face. She had 
 learned the folly of insisting that everyone she 
 met should be a hero in embryo, and had come to 
 accept the fact that most were kindly, ordinary 
 creatures, anxious to do their work in the 
 world, with no desires which outstripped their 
 opportunities, and no cravings that went to ship- 
 wreck on the rocks of circumstance. She was 
 even glad it was so ; she had grown a little 
 afraid of the lives which threatened to run on 
 unconventional lines. 
 
 " I say, are you genuine in that ? You 
 wouldn't mind if I biked down some Bank 
 Holiday ? " the young man said, with evident 
 pleasure, tinged with surprise. " Mrs. P. won't 
 much like it, but if you give me a permit I'll 
 face her displeasure. Shall I make it the first 
 holiday that comes along ? " 
 
 Hilary nodded. "If Aunt Sophie's predic- 
 tions come true, long before then the stagnation 
 of Meadham will have reduced her to a con-
 
 2O2 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 dition of dulness when she will welcome her 
 worst enemy with effusion." 
 
 Bradbrook made his appearance next morning 
 as the luggage was being piled on a cab and 
 Mrs. Pederson was showering good-byes right 
 and left. They fell like the dew of heaven, 
 alike on those she liked and disliked; she was 
 too glad to turn her back on Tozer Street to 
 care to discriminate. Her effusiveness received 
 no check when Bradbrook presented himself at 
 the door of the cab and held out a bouquet of 
 phenomenal proportions. 
 
 "A small token of esteem and all that sort 
 of thing," he said airily, proffering the token. 
 " You can hold it out of the window if it gets 
 too whiffy, but don't refuse it, or you'll hurt the 
 sensitive feelings of S. J. B." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson accepted the offering with 
 becks and wreathed smiles. " How delightful of 
 you to think of such a thing, Mr. Bradbrook," 
 she said coquettishly. "Such a royal way of 
 setting anyone off!" 
 
 "Sweets to the sweet," replied the young 
 man, beaming expansively. "Tell me I may 
 come to see you in your new place and I'll 
 bring you a posy that will put that one in the 
 shade."
 
 QUITE AN OCCASION. 203 
 
 "Of course you may come. "We shall be 
 delighted to see you," Mrs. Pederson declared; 
 and then there was more waving of hand- 
 kerchiefs and last words to those gathered on 
 the steps. 
 
 Hilary leaned back in her corner of the cab 
 with eyes which were too dim to see much 
 that was going on. She had said her good- 
 byes earlier and her heart was too sore to go 
 over them again. It was characteristic of her 
 to give herself so unstintedly to those with 
 whom her lot was cast, that parting, after ever 
 so short a time, was like leaving something ot 
 herself behind. She watched Mrs. Pederson, and 
 marvelled at the effusiveness she expended on 
 those she openly declared herself glad to turn 
 her back upon. There was something in Hilary 
 which, then and always, revolted against the 
 least shadow of deceit, the making and acting 
 even of a social lie.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FAIRMEAD. 
 
 HILARY often said, and with justice, that she 
 had been specially favoured by fortune at this 
 crisis of her life. Her coming to Meadham 
 always glowed as a bright spot in a life in 
 which the sunshine far exceeded the cloud. It 
 was the point from which all that was happiest 
 in after days radiated. She entered upon her 
 duties with that enthusiasm which refuses to 
 see disagreeables, and took an interest in her 
 work which delighted her employer. 
 
 Max Hilder possessed the happy art of 
 infecting others with his own enthusiasms, and 
 Hilary was an apt pupil. Sometimes she told 
 herself that she did so little and learned so 
 much that it seemed ridiculous to take wages 
 and to pretend that she was earning her living. 
 She had never been so happy in her life as she 
 was when sitting at the table in the pleasant 
 sunshiny library at Fairmead, writing from 
 Mr. Hilder's dictation, or reading to him, or 
 even, as she gained courage and grew to know
 
 FAIRMEAD. 205 
 
 him better, discussing with him the details of 
 his work. 
 
 There were hours, certainly, which did 
 not pass smoothly. At times Hilder chafed 
 under his disability, and found Hilary's eyes 
 could not do all that his own might have done. 
 He grew inwardly depressed, and despaired 
 over a progress which seemed lamentably slow; 
 then the young secretary felt the sting of 
 sarcasm and the lash of an impatient spirit. As 
 the weeks slipped away these dark hours 
 became rarer; the girl did her work better, 
 and the man fell under the magic influence of 
 her generous warm-heartedness and her obvious 
 desire to please. 
 
 When her morning's work was done Hilary 
 always lunched in the pleasant morning-room with 
 Mrs. Hilder. Both enjoyed these little tdte-&-t$te 
 meals. They afforded Mrs. Hilder what seldom 
 had come into her life hitherto, an interested 
 and untiring listener. So few people cared 
 for long conversations on the only topic it 
 really pleased her to talk upon her son, his 
 charming childhood, the brilliance of his school 
 and college career, his manifold virtues and his 
 wonderful successes. 
 
 The greater part of the old lady's life had
 
 2o6 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 been spent in a loneliness which no one seemed 
 to have fathomed. Widowed after two years of 
 married life, she had lived ever since at Fair- 
 mead, absorbed at first in the growth of her 
 infant son, living later for the radiant intervals 
 of the schoolboy's holidays, then in the hope 
 that, when his terms at Oxford were over, he 
 would be with her altogether. That time never 
 came. Love of travel and a passion for 
 Teutonic folklore gripped the young man. 
 The months he spent at Fairmead became 
 fewer, whilst he passed his time wandering 
 among the less-known German villages and 
 mountain hamlets, gathering material for the 
 book which was beginning to engross his 
 thoughts. Some people blamed him roundly 
 for his neglect of his home and his mother, 
 and doubted his devotion to her. Mrs. Hilder 
 never did; she loved him and understood that, 
 to the young, it seems natural that the old 
 should bide at home. They had had their day 
 of storm and stress, and could desire nothing 
 more than to live monotonous lives in the 
 backwaters of existence. Only time teaches 
 the young that hearts ache and love demands 
 fulfilment, even though the hair be white and the 
 wrinkles of age are thick about the faded eyes.
 
 FAIRMEAD. 207 
 
 Max thought of it all later, when she became 
 the active and he the passive factor in their 
 life together. 
 
 From the first Mrs. Hilder had delighted 
 in Hilary's introduction into the quiet life at 
 Fairmead. There was nothing small or mean 
 about this simple, unconventional old gentle- 
 woman. She saw that the girl was bringing 
 a new element into her son's life, giving it a 
 sparkle and gaiety she was too old to give it 
 herself, and she was frankly glad. Being a 
 woman, she was bound to look forward at 
 times and wonder if this daily intercourse of 
 man and maid would make for their happiness 
 or sorrow. Would the autumn see Max a 
 whole man again and Hilary slipping out of 
 the life she did so much to brighten ? Im- 
 possible to forecast Mrs. Hilder shook her 
 head as she knitted in the twilight and decided 
 that such things gained nothing by the inter- 
 meddling of a third party. She was content to 
 wait and hope. Hilary was a daughter any mother 
 might be proud to claim, but if Max did not 
 find her dear and desirable, well, the gentle old 
 lady hoped that Providence would take care 
 of the young girl's heart and let the autumn 
 find her fancy-free.
 
 208 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Hilary would have been the first to own 
 that her happiest hours were spent at Fairmead. 
 At the Cottage she had plenty of that vexation 
 of spirit which is said to be excellent discipline 
 for heart and temper. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson never for a moment concealed 
 her dislike for Meadham, nor her sense of 
 the injustice of fortune which, by the hand 
 of Hilary, had transplanted her thither. The 
 change, indeed, fell more heavily upon her 
 than anyone stopped to consider. She missed 
 everything which used to give savour to her 
 days, and the long weeks stretched before her 
 in an unbroken vista of dulness. Even the 
 minor annoyances, which at least had given her 
 something to talk about, were taken from her. 
 
 In retrospect, life at "Bateson's Select 
 Establishment" was infinitely preferable, and 
 she entertained wild projects of returning, 
 whether Hilary consented or not. There was 
 never a moment when she would not willingly 
 have exchanged the beauty and freshness of 
 Meadham for the smuttiness of London squares. 
 
 Hilary's heart smote her sometimes when she 
 caught sight of the unhappy face and the limp, 
 depressed figure at the window, and would 
 coax her aunt to share some of her own
 
 FAIRMEAD. 209 
 
 amusements. But Mrs. Pederson declared 
 herself sick of aimless bicycle rides and purpose- 
 less walks along dreary lanes. She sighed for 
 the joys of Oxford Street, and the excitement 
 of capturing bargains in the autumn sales. 
 
 Hilary gave up the attempt to make 
 Meadham a joyous place to her, and was 
 thankful that she did not insist on going back 
 to a more congenial sphere, as it was clearly in 
 her power to do. Hilary herself had not a 
 dull or idle moment. When she was not at 
 Fairmead, she was out of doors, rowing on the 
 little river, flying along the leafy lanes on her 
 bicycle, or rambling in the woods with an escort 
 of village children. She had made a score of 
 friends among the cottagers, and tried to interest 
 Mrs. Pederson in their humble neighbours. 
 That lady absolutely refused to see anything 
 worthy ot attention in the old women, with 
 their dreary tales of their ailments, or in the 
 aged men whose reminiscences dated back to 
 days before she was born. She did not care a 
 rap, she said, for their sons and daughters who 
 had married and gone away, and wondered 
 what Hilary found to amuse her in their 
 tedious histories. Her eyes had never yet 
 grown dim over the annals of the poor, never
 
 2io MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECB. 
 
 had her heart swelled at the pitiful cry of the 
 obscure and suffering. Little as she knew it, 
 hers was a bitter loss, for the heart that cannot 
 ache for the woes of others misses, too, the 
 finest joys this world can give. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson deserved more pity than 
 anyone gave her in these days. Age can 
 seldom, like the olive, throw out young shoots 
 from the old bole, and hers had never been 
 a fertile or resourceful mind. To rob her of 
 accustomed duties and pleasures was to leave 
 her life empty and purposeless. She was 
 extremely and increasingly unhappy, and, in 
 consequence, extremely and increasingly irrit- 
 able. 
 
 Hilary was by nature so self-reliant and 
 contented that she seldom regretted any step 
 she took. If she had acted wisely, it was well ; 
 if she had made a mistake, it was of no use to 
 vex oneself about it afterwards. It was a 
 comfortable point of view, and saved much 
 vexation of spirit Yet, later, she wondered 
 if she had not been heedless and too much 
 taken up with her own doings at this time. 
 She had certainly been apt to overlook the 
 tediousness of Aunt Sophie's existence. It is so 
 easy, when we feel that we have done the right
 
 FAIRMEAD. 211 
 
 thing, to believe that all its consequences must 
 be of the pleasantest also. 
 
 Once Mr. Bradbrook cycled down to 
 Meadham and was received with an effusiveness 
 which surprised him. He did not know that 
 Mrs. Pederson's pleasure in seeing him was 
 mainly the backwash of her desire to see any 
 face that reminded her of London and the old 
 life.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 "LET us FORGET TO BE WISE." 
 
 To Hilary this was the shortest summer of her 
 life. The days slipped away, and she would 
 gladly have clogged the whetils of time had she 
 been able. It required more grace than she 
 possessed to welcome the golden and russet 
 beauty of the autumn. 
 
 She had been well aware, when she came 
 to Meadham, that her engagement was but a 
 temporary one, but she had never anticipated that 
 it would be such a grief to look forward to its 
 termination. She viewed her removal to some 
 other sphere of labour with a sinking of the heart 
 Mrs. Pederson would never have understood. 
 
 Hilary shared to the full Mrs. Hilder's 
 anxiety for the success of the operation for 
 which Mr. Hilder was going to Germany, but 
 she did not not let herself dwell on what that 
 success would mean to her. 
 
 She had promised to remain at Meadham 
 until they returned to Fairmead, but, after that, 
 life looked anything but roseate.
 
 "LET US FORGET TO BE W/SS." 21 3 
 
 On the evening of the day preceding that 
 fixed for the departure of mother and son 
 for Wiesbaden, Hilary was standing in the 
 drawing-room at Fairmead, dressed for dinner. 
 Mrs. Vision had returned unexpectedly from her 
 visit, and Mrs. Hilder had invited the little 
 party from the Cottage to dine. It was to be 
 what Mrs. Bateson termed "an occasion," and 
 the toast was to be " Success to the under- 
 taking," drunk in champagne Max had himself 
 brought from abroad. 
 
 Mrs. Vision and Aunt Sophie had not yet 
 arrived, and the girl moved about the room 
 restlessly, taking up a book or burying her 
 face in a bowl of fragrant roses, trying by one 
 means or another to forget that the occasion 
 wae one in which regret was mixed with her 
 
 joy. 
 
 "They ought to be here immediately," she 
 said absently. "It isn't like Aunt Sophie to be 
 late at an important function, and she regards 
 this as quite an event." 
 
 She went to the window and stepped out 
 on the terrace. As she crossed the sill she 
 started and the colour rushed to her cheeks. 
 Mr. Hilder was leaning against a pillar, and 
 looked up with a smile. Hilary might well be
 
 214 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 startled. For the first time since she came to 
 Meadham, she saw him without the disfiguring 
 bandage and the green shade. His eyes, a clear, 
 dark brown, in which she could detect no sign 
 ;of disease, looked straight into hers with a 
 steady, keen, and scrutinising gaze. 
 
 "Mr. Hilder, ought you to be here, and 
 without your shade ? " she exclaimed quickly. 
 " Is it wise ? Is it right ? Suppose you are 
 endangering the success of the operation." 
 
 He laughed softly. " Then you have learned 
 to ' look before and after,' " he said. " This is 
 my last evening. Who knows what may happen 
 before I stand here again ? Let us forget to be 
 wise for once." 
 
 Hilary shook her head. " I could have told 
 you that it is a golden evening, and that Mead- 
 ham looks lovely as ever. There is nothing so 
 unusual at home and abroad that you need risk 
 anything to see it," she said practically. " Please 
 let me arrange your shade." 
 
 He shook his head, and moved a step nearer 
 to the girl. 
 
 " Do you know, little comrade, what I was 
 thinking of as I stood here ? Not of the 
 long, strait road I shall have to tread if 
 Pagenstecher fails I can make up my mind to
 
 " LET US FORGET TO BE WlSE." 21$ 
 
 that I was thinking that there were a few 
 things I would, if I could, take with me into that 
 darkness. You have helped me so much, little 
 comrade, since you came into my life, that it 
 seemed ridiculous I should go down into the 
 valley of shadows and that you should be only 
 a voice to me. I told myself that, come what 
 might, I would see you once." He spoke 
 rapidly, as if he were almost afraid of himself, 
 taking in all the time the graceful young figure, 
 the clustering brown hair, and the starry eyes, 
 with a hungry, wistful look, which went to the 
 girl's heart. 
 
 "Whatever comes now, I shall know you 
 
 now as you are, child ; and who can tell what 
 
 may betide ? " 
 
 Hilary's heart beat fast and her lips trembled. 
 " It must be success it shall be I " she cried 
 
 under her breath. She was one of those to 
 
 whom hope is always so much easier than 
 
 despair. "Please don't be despondent, Mr. 
 
 Hilder ; Pagenstecher can't fail ; it would be too 
 
 cruel. Don't, don't give up hope." 
 
 " I will not," he said quietly. " At least, 
 
 one may as well hope to the end. I shall 
 
 find you here when I come back, you have 
 
 promised me ? "
 
 216 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Hilary nodded. Then a sound of voices 
 was heard in the room behind them, and Mrs. 
 Hilder's face was framed in the window. 
 
 The young man moved away quickly, and 
 when he appeared in the drawing-room the fc 
 familiar bandage had been readjusted. 
 
 Though the little dinner party passed off 
 without any mishap, and the meal was perfect, 
 a shadow was upon the five diners which no 
 efforts on their part could lift. Mrs. Pederson, 
 who had never dined before at Fairmead, and 
 had been filled with delight at the invitation, 
 voted the evening scarcely less dull than those 
 she passed at the Cottage, whilst Mrs. Vision 
 exerted herself in vain to entertain the rest with 
 reminiscences of her stay abroad. 
 
 All were glad when the hands of the clock 
 pointed to ten, and they could part without any 
 show of impolite haste. 
 
 For a moment, before starting for the cottage, 
 Hilary found herself alone in the hall with Max 
 Hilder. He could not see her, but his ears, 
 quickened because they had had to serve so 
 often for eye, told him that she was near, and he 
 held out his hand. 
 
 "This is good-bye in a sense that it seldom 
 is," he said, smiling faintly. "You will never
 
 " LET US FORGET TO BE WlSE." 2 1/ 
 
 meet the same Max Hilder, little comrade. I 
 shall come back in a few weeks' time, but 
 another man. I shall be a whole man, able to 
 take my place with my fellows and to enjoy the 
 birthright of a man, or I shall come home a 
 derelict, cut off from all that constitutes the chief 
 joy of life." 
 
 Hilary looked at him with trouble and a 
 little indignation in her face. "You used not 
 to talk like this, Mr. Hilder," she said wist- 
 fully. 
 
 "I used not to feel like this," he replied 
 bitterly. "Only living teaches one what one 
 wants and what one cannot have. If I come 
 back uncured, I shall have said good-bye to 
 what man prizes most; I shall be cut off 
 from what seems to me now the most desirable 
 thing in the world." 
 
 The girl frowned. She did not like this 
 bitter, despondent man, as she had done the 
 bright, brave, debonair Max, who had treated 
 his affliction as though it were not. He 
 seemed lowered, but he touched her heart none 
 the less deeply. 
 
 "I do not know what you mean," she said 
 wistfully. "Why dwell on that side of the 
 question ? Think of other things ; if you are
 
 218 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECB. 
 
 cut off from what seems dear and desirable, are 
 you not cut off too from troubles other men 
 suffer, troubles old as mankind : the unsparing 
 war of grinding poverty, the struggle for dearly 
 bought food, precarious honour, perils and pitfalls, 
 and the poor rewards of many ? In trouble it 
 helps, I think, to look at the troubles of others, 
 at horrors which can never come near us. I have 
 seen some sides of poverty which have made 
 me hot and ashamed. I have often thought it 
 was better to lose a limb or a sense than, 
 having all these, to sink into such sordid 
 poverty, meanness and disgrace as I have 
 seen." 
 
 "Little comrade, there are some things a 
 man cannot teach himself to relinquish with- 
 out long and bitter struggle," he said sadly. 
 "God grant that I come back a whole 
 man." 
 
 "Come back as you may, you will be the 
 same to me," Hilary said softly. "And in the 
 fight you will conquer; with sword broken, 
 but unbroken courage." 
 
 He touched her hand lightly with his lips, 
 and left her to join her aunt, whose voice was 
 heard on the staircase. 
 
 Next morning mother and son left Meadham,
 
 * LET US FORGET TO BE WlSB? 21 9 
 
 and a quietness settled on those left behind, 
 which Hilary found harder to bear than 
 anything she had yet been called to pass 
 through.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A DISASTER. 
 
 FRANCES, left behind in London, was working 
 hard for her final. She was working far too 
 hard, said her fellow-students, noting the colour- 
 less skin, the wrinkles about her mouth, and 
 the < unnatural brilliance of her dark eyes. They 
 read the meaning of these by the light of past 
 experience, and told each other that Frances 
 Kemsing was making a mistake, and that it 
 was a pity Ursula Grantham was away. It was 
 clear that Frances wanted someone to look after 
 her whose opinion she valued. 
 
 Frances was secretly glad that Ursula was 
 not at Skone Street just now. It would have 
 been tiresome to be compelled to leave her 
 work on this or that pretext, to be obliged 
 to take the meals her friend insisted on pre- 
 paring for her, or to be worried into retiring 
 for the night just when the brain was growing 
 hot and clear, and the work seemed most easy 
 to grapple with. The night Ursula went home 
 to nurse her dying father, Frances worked until
 
 A DISASTER. 221 
 
 the dawn crept in at the east window, and for 
 many a night after, the gas was not turned out 
 till far into the small hours. 
 
 She told herself exultingly that she was not 
 suffering in the least through these long hours. 
 Sleep was more and more easily banished, and 
 she felt no weariness in the day, though she had 
 closed her eyes only for a few hours. 
 
 All the knowledge she had, jktfquired con- 
 cerning brain and body had not taught the 
 eager student that everything in this life has 
 its price, and outraged nature will sooner or 
 later demand heavy compensation. 
 
 The evening before the examination one of 
 the students made up a little party in her 
 rooms, to celebrate the close of their long strain 
 and to wish success to those who were going 
 up on the morrow. She~ Basked Frances to join 
 them, but the girl refused with something like 
 horror. She thought it sheer madness to laugh 
 and frolic away this last evening, and told her 
 companions so; they might risk their chances 
 of success if they liked, but she could not 
 afford to do so. 
 
 She went home to her lonely lodgings and 
 worked till daybreak, reviewing and reassuring 
 herself on weak points, feeling herself keener to
 
 222 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 grasp difficult questions, cooler to differentiate, 
 than she had ever been, and gloriously sure of 
 success. 
 
 Day was breaking as she pushed together 
 her pile of books, and leaned back in her chair 
 to rest her cramped body. The clouds were 
 breaking up before the coming of the sun, and 
 a golden glow illumined the horizon. In the 
 smokeless air of the early morning, over the 
 sea of roofs, there was a strange, weird beauty 
 in the wide vista. Frances had never paid 
 much attention to natural beauties ; she had 
 never in her life given more than a passing 
 glance to sunrise or sunset, but as her tired eyes 
 looked out on this wonder of grey and gold, 
 a strange fascination and terror seized upon her. 
 She saw clearly, and knew what it was she 
 saw, and that there was nothing in the sight to 
 inspire terror, but none the less it filled her with 
 vague, awful horror, for which she could give no 
 cause or reason. 
 
 Only she knew that the sight unnerved her, 
 and she clung to the edge of the table for 
 support. She could not bear the dazzling sight, 
 nor had she strength to look away. 
 
 " Ursula I Hilary 1 My God 1 why am I 
 alone ? " she cried. " I cannot bear to be alone ! "
 
 A DISASTER. 223 
 
 At last she forced herself to move away, 
 mechanically put on her hat, fled downstairs 
 and into the street. Tottenham Court Road, 
 into which she wandered, had scarcely yet 
 awakened to the day's work. Silence reigned 
 in the sleeping houses, and, here and there, a 
 high window, caught by the sun, gleamed like 
 gold. The air, fresh and cool, fanned the girl's 
 cheek as she rambled on, anxious only to forget 
 that hour of dawn which had brought such 
 panic with it. She dared not return to her 
 lodging, though what it was she feared she 
 could not tell. When the city rose, with 
 cheerful bustle, she found a restaurant and 
 ordered breakfast. It was served with wonder- 
 ing looks by the waitress; but Frances 
 could not eat, though she felt faint and oddly 
 weak. 
 
 She knew that it was the day of the exam- 
 ination, and that she must be at the hall before 
 two o'clock, but all thought of the work, all 
 anxiety concerning her success, had slipped 
 away from her. She was taxing all her powers to 
 put from her the terror which had assailed her 
 at sight of the sunrise, and she longed with all 
 her heart for Hilary. She felt that she would 
 no longer be afraid if Hilary's young strong
 
 224 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 arms were round her, and Hilary's frank, smiling 
 eyes looking into hers. 
 
 She rested her chin on her hand and leaned 
 forward on the little marble-topped table. It 
 was such a white, pinched face, and such dark, 
 troubled eyes that stared from the corner, that 
 the waitresses gathered together and discussed 
 her in whispers. They let her sit there for an 
 hour, and then one, who could bear the sight 
 of the white, miserable face no longer, came 
 and asked her if she were ill, and if there were 
 anything she could do for her. 
 
 Frances started and looked about her 
 wonderingly, then got up and went away, leav- 
 ing her coffee untasted and unpaid for upon 
 the table. No one attempted to stop her. 
 There was something in her face which forbade 
 question and went to the hearts of those who 
 saw her. 
 
 She wandered about the city until the hour 
 approached for the examination. Then she went 
 to the hall and took her seat, without a word 
 of greeting for the little knot of her 
 acquaintances who stood together near the 
 doorway. 
 
 A few minutes later they too took their 
 seats, and the papers were distributed. Frances
 
 A DISASTER. 225 
 
 took up the sheet with trembling fingers. She 
 had worked so hard, she was so well prepared, 
 it was inevitable that she should pass 
 brilliantly. In thought she had often heard 
 herself spoken of as one who had brought 
 honour to the Hospital, and the next generation 
 of students would recall her work with bated 
 breath. She was going to take her place in the 
 world and force the sceptical to acknowledge 
 that there was a work for the woman-doctor 
 and that she did it well. 
 
 Vain hope, vain effort I The questions were 
 vague and meaningless to her. She neither 
 grasped their intent nor found the least glimmer- 
 ing of an answer to them in her mind. She 
 could only sit with the paper before her, 
 writing nothing, gradually comprehending the 
 dreadful truth that if she sat there for hours 
 she would write nothing. 
 
 Only at the last moment, when the bustle 
 of retiring students warned her that the time 
 allowed for the paper had expired, did she 
 accept defeat. She got up and stumbled 
 blindly from the room. As she went down 
 the staircase two or three girls, chatting 
 together, stopped and looked at her, startled by 
 the expression on the little white face. One
 
 226 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 touched her gently on the arm as she 
 passed. 
 
 " Our ways lie in the same direction, Miss 
 , Kemsing. I you can wait till I fetch my hat, 
 we might walk together," she said kindly. 
 
 Frances stared at her blankly. "Why 
 should you wish me to walk with you?" she 
 cried passionately. "Let me alone in my 
 misery." 
 
 She threw aside Mary Callender's detaining 
 hand, and ran down the stairs and out into 
 the afternoon sunshine. 
 
 Mary Callender drew back with a pale 
 face. She had worked with Frances for months, 
 and the two had been the best of friends. 
 
 "She has overworked. I knew she was 
 doing too much," she said, awe-struck. "She 
 looked at me as though I were the veriest 
 stranger. I don't believe she remembered ever 
 having seen one of us before." 
 
 Mona Smith nodded. "She sat near me, 
 and I saw that she did not write a line. Her 
 paper was clean as when it was given out, and 
 I know that she was awfully well up. Let us 
 go after her to her diggings. She doesn't look 
 fit to be alone, and Ursula Grantham is not in 
 London."
 
 A DISASTER. 227 
 
 But Frances had not gone back to Skone 
 Street. All that long and terrible day her 
 thoughts had gone insistently to Hilary, and 
 her desire to be with her became her crying 
 need. When she left the hall she had only one 
 idea, to go to her without delay. Mechanic- 
 ally her steps turned towards St. Pancras 
 Station. 
 
 She had enough money in her purse to pay 
 for her ticket, and sat down on the platform to 
 wait for a train. She never knew how long 
 she waited, but evening had fallen when she 
 alighted at the wayside station and set out to 
 walk to Meadham. 
 
 She went slowly, very slowly, for she was 
 dazed and weak with her long fast and the 
 horror of the day. Her progress was like that 
 of a child recovering from a long illness, a 
 hesitating and stumbling along the dusty lane. 
 She looked like a child, too, in the twilight, 
 with her small, wan face, her close-cropped 
 hair, her tiny figure in its dark, clinging gown. 
 
 She had asked for no directions, and walked 
 on blindly, scarcely conscious when, at a 
 bend in the lane, she left the beaten track 
 and plunged into a spinney of brush and 
 birches. In the dungeon-like darkness of the
 
 228 MRS. PEDERSOH'S NIECE. 
 
 wood she went, groping her way, stumbling 
 over tree roots, knocking herself against the 
 boles. Here and there, through rents in the 
 leafy roof, the glimmer of starlight reached her, 
 a dim shine which only exaggerated the dark- 
 ness of the wood beyond. 
 
 Presently the wind began to huddle the 
 birches and to murmur amongst them. Now 
 it sounded for a few minutes with a steady, 
 even rush, then it would swell and break like 
 a wave on the seashore. Frances was not 
 frightened as she had been by the glory of 
 the morning sunshine. She felt that nothing else 
 on earth could give her the pain of that hour 
 of dawn and her intolerable fear of it. 
 
 It was the first night she had ever spent under 
 the open sky, but no sense of alarm possessed 
 her. The darkness seemed to fold her round in a 
 close and comforting embrace. She sank down 
 at the foot of a tree and rested her aching 
 head against its bole. She had lost the power 
 of consecutive thought, and gradually the 
 wind acted as a lullaby and sleep took posses- 
 sion of her. 
 
 She woke chilled and stiff, to find the 
 world flooded with the faint blue light which 
 precedes the dawn and is never seen but as the
 
 A DISASTER. 229 
 
 herald of morning. The woods were sighing 
 and shivering in the cool, strong wind, and 
 the piping of birds only seemed to increase the 
 awesome stillness. 
 
 For a moment she was at a loss to account 
 for her presence in this strange place ; then 
 there came slowly back to her the recollection of 
 her flight from town and her impelling desire to 
 find Hilary. 
 
 She got up with difficulty, and shook the 
 forest-mast from her gown, which clung about 
 her damp and heavy. She saw now that 
 she had wandered from the lane, and that 
 she must retrace her steps if she would reach 
 the village. Looking through an opening made 
 by woodcutters in the thick tanglewood, she 
 could see the spire of Meadham Church, the 
 chimneys of the cottages, and the long roof 
 of a house which she guessed to be Fairmead. 
 She gathered up her skirts and walked on, 
 inquiring her way of a passing labourer, who 
 pointed out the little footpath which led along 
 the river bank to the cottage.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DARK DAYS AT THE COTTAGE. 
 
 EARLY that morning Hilary was up and out 
 of doors. She had, for once, slept ill, and rose 
 with an uncomfortable sense of having dreamed 
 bad dreams. 
 
 " Clearly I want something to do," she said, 
 as she dressed quickly. "I don't ask that life 
 shall be all rose-coloured, but I object to it 
 being uniformly drab. I must find work of 
 some kind, or I shall develop a fiendish 
 temper." 
 
 It was a fortnight since Mrs. Hilder and 
 her son left Fairmead, and though two or three 
 letters had passed between the Cottage and 
 Wiesbaden, Mrs. Hilder's had conveyed no 
 very definite news. Mr. Hilder had undergone 
 an examination, but the oculist had pronounced 
 no opinion, and the operation was postponed 
 from day to day. 
 
 For Hilary the weeks dragged wearily ; 
 anxiety made her restless, and she missed the 
 occupation which had been her chief pleasure.
 
 "'Well, for independence and sheer audacity, commend me to 
 Hilary Pederson!'" (p. 184).
 
 DARK DAYS AT THE COTTAGE. 231 
 
 " Now you can sympathise with me, Hilary," 
 Mrs. Pederson said. "You will be ready 
 to go back to town as soon as the Hilders 
 come home. You only agreed to stay until 
 then, and a silly thing it was to promise. I 
 think I will write to Mrs. Bateson at once and 
 ask her if she can take us in. It is all 
 nonsense about our not being able to afford 
 such accommodation as she can give." 
 
 Hilary shook her head. "Don't write yet, 
 please, Aunt Sophie," she said. "Wait until 
 Mr. Hilder comes back. It will be quite soon 
 enough." 
 
 Not even to Mrs. Pederson could she tell 
 what lay behind her reluctance to take any 
 steps towards leaving Meadham. If what they 
 hoped for never came to pass and Mr. Hilder still 
 needed her, nothing should persuade her to go 
 back to town. 
 
 It was barely six o'clock when Hilary 
 stepped out into the garden and ran quickly 
 across the lawn to the little gate which opened 
 on the path beside the river. This was a 
 favourite walk with her, and little frequented, 
 being a private footpath leading to the village 
 and to Fairmead. She was not likely to 
 meet anyone at this hour. Few people in
 
 232 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Meadhara shared her delight in early walks. 
 Mrs. Pederson always said she liked the world 
 well-aired, and it made her shiver to see the 
 mist lying over the fields and every twig with 
 its row of diamonds. This morning the birds 
 were yet drowsily stirring in their nests, and 
 across the fields came the lowing of cows at 
 the milking place. 
 
 Suddenly Hilary stopped in her brisk walk 
 and her heart beat faster than usual. Someone 
 was coming towards her swiftly, someone in a 
 soft, dark gown, clinging damply about her, 
 with face and hands gleaming white through 
 the morning mist. 
 
 She stood motionless for a moment as 
 though petrified. Then she sprang forward 
 quickly. 
 
 " Francie, Francie I can it be you ? " she 
 cried, throwing her strong young arms about 
 her cousin. It was Frances, to be sure. Those 
 were Frances' eyes which looked into Hilary's 
 with a weariness beyond description ; those 
 were Frances' hands which grasped her 
 shoulders with the clinging of one who has 
 nothing else to hold by ; that was Frances' 
 face, drawn and haggard as Hilary had never 
 seen it before.
 
 DARK DAYS AT THE COTTAGE. 233 
 
 "I want to be with you, Hilary," Frances 
 said weakly. "I have been coming to you 
 since yesterday. I have been out all night. 
 I think I slept in a wood, but my head hurts 
 so much that I cannot remember." 
 
 Hilary held her tightly. Something terrible 
 had happened, but it was plain that Frances 
 was in no condition to explain. 
 
 "But now you have found me, dear, you 
 need not worry any more," she said tenderly. 
 " Lean on me, and I will take you to the 
 Cottage. It is quite near." 
 
 Frances yielded herself passively into the 
 
 younger girl's care. She felt too weak and 
 
 weary to care for any external thing. Even 
 
 the panic of yesterday and her terrible failure 
 
 , were fading from her mind. 
 
 It was still so early that no one except old 
 Margaret was astir when the girls reached the 
 Cottage. In a few words Hilary explained 
 Frances' presence, and with the help of the 
 old servant carried her upstairs and got her 
 into bed. This was scarcely done before the 
 weary wanderer sank into a deep sleep which 
 was almost a stupor. 
 
 Leaving her with Margaret, Hilary went 
 to tell Mrs. Vision and her aunt what had
 
 234 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 happened and to find a maid who could fetch 
 a doctor. "Something dreadful has happened/' 
 she said, with quivering lip. "Thank God she 
 thought of coming straight to us." 
 
 The doctor's face was grave as he made his 
 examination and looked at the frail and over- 
 taxed little frame. It was undoubtedly a case 
 of high fever, and the patient had evidently 
 had a severe shock of some kind. Its effect 
 on a system strained to the utmost could not 
 fail to be disastrous, though with great care 
 and skilful nursing she might pull through. 
 
 There was no question now of Hilary's 
 sighing for lack of occupation. With Mrs. 
 Vision, she devoted herself to the nursing of 
 Frances, wondering many a time what was the 
 shock which had so shattered the girl's health. 
 One day she wrote to Mona Smith and asked 
 if Frances had sat for the examination, and 
 whether she had shown any signs ol break- 
 down before leaving town. 
 
 Mona answered the letter at once, telling 
 Hilary all she knew of Frances' odd bearing 
 in the examination hall and her absolute 
 failure. 
 
 "It was what Ursula Grantham feared," 
 Hilary said, showing the letter to Mrs. Vision.
 
 DARK DAYS AT THE COTTAGE. 235 
 
 "The string too tightly stretched is sure to 
 snap. Poor Frances 1 I dread the day when 
 she comes to remember. She once said that 
 she would never try again. If she failed, she 
 said, her career was closed." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson, in whom illness always 
 produced something like a panic, was of little use 
 in the sick-room. There was no doubting her 
 anxiety, however, and it was evident that she 
 suffered greatly in these sad, miserable weeks. 
 If Hilary had doubted that Mrs. Pederson had 
 much affection for her daughter, she did so no 
 longer. Nothing shows the strength of family 
 ties like the possibility of their being broken. 
 Many a day began with the uncertainty whether 
 Frances would see its sunset, and, at night, 
 Hilary often took her place beside the bed 
 wondering whether the patient's blank gaze 
 would open on another dawn. 
 
 Mrs. Pederson wandered about the house in 
 a state of conscious and wretched superfluous- 
 ness. She forgot that she had ever felt Frances 
 presence a vexation, and declared her own future 
 for ever begloomed if it had to be spent without 
 her. In the hour of possible parting, mother- 
 love sprang full-grown into life. Not mother-love 
 as many of us understand it, but the truest
 
 236 Mas. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 poor Mrs. Pederson's limited nature could 
 germinate. 
 
 Of Mrs. Vision and Hilary she was pro- 
 foundly and unreasonably jealous, envying 
 them the tasks she was herself incompetent 
 to perform. Hilary could not help pitying 
 her deeply, even when her own temper 
 was chafed by her aunt's stream of complaints 
 and her perpetual protest that Mrs. Vision and 
 her niece were bent on robbing her of Frances' 
 affection. 
 
 Hilary in these days was indeed "working 
 in the furrows," and had need of "joy to come 
 and sing to her." 
 
 It was well that she had Mrs. Vision to 
 lean upon. There are some women whose 
 mere presence is a rock for defence and shelter 
 in the time of stress, and Mrs. Vision was one 
 of these. In earlier and brighter days, the 
 drawing-room in her pleasant house in Gordon 
 Square had been, to a little band of workers 
 in all ranks, by turns a camp of refuge, a con- 
 fessional, and a shrine. Some kinds of philan- 
 thropy cannot be scheduled, and what Agnes 
 Vision did for her friends will never be known. 
 She would say laughingly that she had no time 
 for committees and leagues, and that she had
 
 DARK DAYS AT THE COTTAGE. 237 
 
 her own work, though it could not be tabulated. 
 While so many people were "doing," it was not 
 a small thing for the world that someone should 
 just " be" and it taxed all her powers merely 
 to live. 
 
 After all, hers was no mean task, if it 
 were only to hold the cup of refreshment to 
 the lips of some weary pilgrim, to buckle on 
 the armour of one going down into the battle. 
 She remembered the words of a modern writer, 
 that "always behind the flaming renown ot 
 some great man there is a woman's hand, 
 pouring unseen the nutritive oil of encourage- 
 ment and praise," and she was content if she 
 could but play this part well. She was all 
 this and more to our Hilary, travelling over one 
 of the roughest places in her young life. 
 
 At last there came a day when the weight 
 of depressing anxiety began to slip from the 
 shoulders of the watchers at the Cottage. It 
 was possible to hope, though even yet only 
 faintly. Frances' tireless babbling ceased, the 
 hectic flush faded from the thin little face, and 
 the doctor's eyes smiled as he looked across the 
 bed at Mrs. Vision. 
 
 "We shall pull her through now, if all goes 
 well," he said. "She'll owe her life to you
 
 238 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 and that bonny Miss Hilary. It has been a 
 hand-to-hand fight, and so there's some credit 
 in winning." 
 
 Mrs. Vision called Margaret to take her place, 
 and went downstairs at once to tell Hilary. 
 The girl was walking in the garden, where 
 the trees were fast losing their leaves, and 
 the shrubs had begun to look black and 
 shrivelled. 
 
 She was pacing slowly to and fro, reading 
 a letter she held in her hand. When she 
 turned to meet Mrs. Vision, there was a light 
 in her eyes which had not been there for 
 weeks. 
 
 "Your face says Francie is better," she said 
 brightly. "This is indeed a red-letter day. I 
 have just had a note from Mrs. Hilder, and 
 there is one in the hall for you. They are com- 
 ing home the week after next When I stopped 
 the doctor at the gate and heard that Francie 
 was going to recover, I thought the world was 
 beginning to go well with us again. It is 
 strange that Mrs. Hilder says nothing about the 
 operation, but surely no news is good news. 
 If things had gone badly her heart would be 
 so broken that she could not have written of 
 anything else."
 
 DARK DAYS AT THE COTTAGE. 239 
 
 Mrs. Vision nodded absently. Though she 
 said nothing to damp Hilary's expectancy, , she 
 feared the more because of this silence. She 
 had something of Mrs. Hilder's spirit, and knew 
 the instinct which bids the heart hide its 
 agony and show to the world an unruffled 
 front. 
 
 "Frances is sleeping now, so, if you like, 
 you may go up to her room," she said. 
 "When she wakes I expect she will know us 
 all." 
 
 Hilary's eyes shone. "God is very good," 
 she said softly. "I must go and tell Aunt 
 Sophie. She will be so glad, poor dear. It has 
 been such a trial to her not to be able to 
 nurse Francie, but there will be much she can 
 do now." 
 
 She went off to the dining-room, where Mrs. 
 Pederson was nodding drowsily over a news- 
 paper. Hilary's news banished all sleepiness in 
 a moment, and the paper dropped from her 
 trembling fingers. She tried to speak, but words 
 failed, and tears rolled down her wrinkled 
 cheeks. 
 
 "I never knew how I loved that child till 
 she seemed slipping away from me," she said, 
 wiping her eyes. " Never love too little, Hilary ;
 
 240 MRS. PEDEKSON'S NIECE. 
 
 nothing hurts more when you think it's too late 
 to make up for your coolness. I've thought a 
 lot since I've had so much time on my hands. 
 I've thought of Frances, baby, child and 
 woman, till I can't for the life of me see why 
 we never got on together. If she had been 
 more like you, Hilary, perhaps we should have 
 cared for one another more. She was always 
 too clever for me, and little good her clever- 
 ness has done her, after all. It's going to be 
 different altogether that is, if Frances does not 
 keep up old grievances, and I don't think she 
 will. A girl cannot go down to the gates of 
 death, surely, and be no better. Anyhow, I am 
 going to nurse her now. There is nothing I 
 can't do for a convalescent as well as Mrs. 
 Vision, though Dr. Maydew says she has a genius 
 for nursing." 
 
 It was only to be expected that Frances' 
 recovery should be slow and gradual. She 
 seemed to lack all that desire for life which is 
 one of the greatest aids to restoration. She lay 
 day after day, languid and speechless, staring 
 out of the window, thinking, dreaming, yet 
 never speaking of the disappointment and failure 
 which filled her mind and brought the furrow 
 of pain into her white forehead. She submitted
 
 DARK DAYS AT THE COTTAGE. 241 
 
 to be petted with the listless languor of a 
 spoiled child in the early stages of convalescence, 
 and received the attentions of her nurses with 
 a sullen apathy quite foreign to her. Self- 
 absorbed Frances might be, but she had never 
 been ungrateful. 
 
 On the day fixed for the return or the 
 Hilders to Fairmead, she was well enough to 
 be carried to a sofa near the fire in Mrs. 
 Pederson's sitting-room. Hilary sat at the 
 window, listening for the barking of the dogs 
 which would announce the arrival of the 
 travellers. 
 
 Frances watched her indolently. 
 
 " You will begin work again now ? " she 
 said. "I shall miss you, for convalescence is a 
 thousand times duller than illness. How many 
 days will your master allow you before you go 
 into harness again ? " 
 
 Hilary frowned. "Don't, Francie," she 
 said, in a strangled voice. "Do you forget 
 that if he wants me at all, it will be because 
 the operation has failed ? I'm waiting to know. 
 I wish I were not so horribly afraid for him. 
 Mrs. Vision will harbour no doubts ; she thinks 
 Mrs. Hilder would have told her if it had 
 failed, but the letters have said nothing about it"
 
 242 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECB. 
 
 "'No news, good news/ says the proverb/' 
 Frances replied lazily. " If you are so anxious, 
 why don't you go down to Fairmead and see 
 for yourself? It's worrying to see you sit 
 there, looking like Patience on a monument, 
 concealing a preying anxiety." 
 
 Hilary coloured and bit her lip. Not so 
 long ago she would have needed no telling; 
 she would have snatched up her hat and have 
 been at the gate to meet the travellers. To- 
 day, some odd shyness, to which she could not 
 give a name, held her back*
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. 
 
 HILARY was going up to her room that night 
 when Mrs. Vision entered the hall from the 
 garden, a shawl thrown over her fair hair. 
 
 "Yes, I have been up to Fairmead," she 
 said, answering the question in Hilary's eyes. 
 There was a note of sadness in her vibrant 
 voice, and her face wore a grave expression. 
 rt I did not see Max ; he had gone out to 
 smoke a cigar. It was all of no use, Hilary. 
 Mrs. Hilder says that Pagenstecher gave only 
 the faintest hope, and even that was elusive. 
 Poor Max may have to walk in darkness all 
 the days of his life." 
 
 The girl's face paled, and she clung to the 
 rail of the banister. She did not know till 
 then how much she had actually hoped for 
 Mr. Hilder' s recovery, and how truly she 
 suffered for him. 
 
 "How can he bear it?" she said, through 
 her clenched teeth. 
 
 Mrs. Vision lifted her heafi with that pride
 
 244 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 she never failed to feel in any form of human 
 courage and heroism. 
 
 " Mrs. Hilder says he bears it wonderfully. 
 She has never heard one word of complaint. 
 He accepts his cross without a shadow of 
 repining. He is even full of the tlan of youth 
 and life. He regrets his loss on his mother's 
 account, while she, poor thing, says that even 
 in the midst of the sorrow, she feels there are 
 compensations. He will never leave her now. 
 Once his work took him away often; he 
 travelled greatly. He will travel no more 
 without her, and she cannot help feeling that 
 his presence compensates her a little, though she 
 blames herself for the feeling." 
 
 " Nothing can compensate him" Hilary said 
 sadly. Yet as she went up to her room, one 
 thought came again and again to her mind; 
 she had her compensation. He would need 
 her still. Her work at Meadham was not 
 done, and she would not be called to leave it. 
 
 She pulled up the blind and looked out 
 into the night. The full moon stood over the 
 fir wood, painting the autumn landscape with its 
 silvery beams. It brightened copse and river 
 bank and the riband of pathway which led 
 from the Cottage to Fairmead. The trees had
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. 245 
 
 lost their wealth of foliage, and Hilary could see 
 the dark mass of the old house and its stacks 
 of chimneys ink-black in the moonlit landscape. 
 Half gazing at the beautiful scene, half dreaming 
 of what Mrs. Vision had told her, Hilary 
 became suddenly aware of a figure, moving 
 hesitatingly and uncertainly in the shadow of 
 the wood. Near the Cottage garden it stopped 
 and turned, stretching the arms out with the 
 gesture of one in dire distress. Hilary stood 
 riveted to the spot, straining her eyes to dis- 
 cover who it might be wandering along the 
 private path so near to the Cottage. As she 
 watched, the figure emerged into the moonlight, 
 and she recognised Max Hilder. 
 
 For a moment she stood motionless. Then 
 she pulled down the blind and moved quickly 
 from the window. There was that in his gait 
 and bearing that told her he was weary and 
 heart-sick, and, for the moment, had thrown off 
 the armour he wore before others. Even 
 she who understood and pitied him from the 
 bottom of her warm, generous young heart, 
 would not look upon his struggle. 
 
 Yes, the full moon which brightened copse 
 and field could not brighten the future, which 
 stretched dark and empty before the master ot
 
 246 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Fairmead. Though he might show an unruffled 
 front to the world, he had his dark hours, and 
 one was upon him now. 
 
 He knew that everyone wondered at his 
 courage and praised his gallant bearing ; the 
 recollection brought a bitter smile to his face. 
 If they but knew how desperately hard it was at 
 times to let ambition, youthful daring, and 
 hopes of love go by, and to piece together 
 the broken potsherds of life which were all that 
 were left to him 1 
 
 He stumbled along the river path till he 
 reached Mrs. Vision's boundary, and leaned on 
 the rustic fence. He had expected to find 
 Hilary at the house when he returned, and 
 Mrs. Vision's explanation of Frances Kemsing's 
 illness and the necessity of the girl's attendance 
 upon her, scarcely satisfied him. He knew 
 that the thought ot Hilary had been with him 
 constantly since he had settled for ever in the 
 valley of shadows, and he congratulated himself 
 that for once his folly had been wisdom. He 
 rejoiced that he had had one glimpse of that 
 radiant girlish face, since the sight must last 
 him a lifetime. 
 
 He was thinking of Hilary as he paced to 
 and fro slowly. She had counted for much both
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. 247 
 
 with his mother and himself since she danced 
 into their life so prosaically, in answer to an 
 advertisement. He recalled her clear, gay 
 voice, her little bursts of laughter, her frank, 
 direct views upon one and every subject which 
 came under discussion, her sudden enthusiasms 
 and her innocently severe judgments. 
 
 And what a worker she was ! Surely a man 
 never had a more energetic and whole-hearted 
 secretary, given even to works of supereroga- 
 tion, as though her hours were not long and 
 tedious enough. 
 
 There was no question now of her leaving 
 Meadham ; he could do without her less than 
 ever. Yet as this thought flashed across his 
 mind he recalled something Mrs. Vision had 
 said. The old aunt was getting restless, and had 
 announced her intention of returning to town 
 as soon as Hilary's engagement was fulfilled. 
 Perhaps arrangements had already been made 
 and Hilary's failure to meet her friends arose 
 from a dislike to tell them that they must 
 part. 
 
 He threw his cigar into the grass, where it 
 glowed a moment like a tiny spark of fire. 
 That possibility opened a chamber in the young 
 man's heart, the existence of which he had only
 
 248 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 vaguely suspected. He was startled, displeased, 
 aghast at the sorrow he was preparing for him- 
 self. 
 
 What was this wild dream he was cherish- 
 ing ? Like a chill wind, stern reality smote him 
 in the face, and he turned away, whispering 
 that he must cure himself of this folly. 
 
 There was much left, even to a man blind 
 and helpless, but he must not ask for brightness 
 and youth to link themselves with his dark- 
 ness. He could dream of woman's love, but he 
 might never ask for it. 
 
 Next day Hilary went up to Fairmead. 
 She was shown at once to the library, where 
 mother and son were sitting together. Some- 
 thing in the aspect of the room and the 
 attitudes of the two struck a chill to the girl's 
 heart She told herself, afterwards, that it was 
 the atmosphere of accepted trouble, the sitting 
 down, as it were, to bear it, that hurt her. 
 It was always Hilary's way to fight a trouble, 
 to say to climbing sorrow, " Thy element's 
 below," and she had expected Max to share 
 her feeling. She did not think that she 
 admired him in the attitude of resignation. 
 
 She looked round the room quickly. Mrs. 
 Hilder sat in a high-backed chair in the
 
 THE VALLEY OP SHADOWS. 249 
 
 window, her white hands lying idle in her 
 silken lap ; Max stood propping his broad 
 back against the mantelshelf The table was 
 swept clear of the litter of papers it always 
 bore, and books were stacked neatly on 
 the shelves. Surely this did not mean 
 that work was to be put aside from to- 
 day, and that the epoch-making book was 
 never to be finished 1 Mrs. Vision's account 
 of Max's mood had not suggested this, and 
 Hilary resolved with girlish confidence that 
 it should not last if she could help it. 
 
 Mrs. Hilder smiled faintly as the girl crossed 
 the room and uttered her name in a tone of 
 affectionate welcome. 
 
 "You see, we are home again, my dear," 
 she said gently. "I suppose Agnes has told 
 you that our journey was fruitless. Even hope 
 is no longer left us. But Max refuses to be 
 crushed; he is brave as ever." 
 
 Hilary looked from mother to son with 
 dim eyes. In the presence of trouble she 
 always forgot self and circumstance, in an 
 overwhelming desire to help and comfort. " I 
 am so sorry, so unspeakably sorry 1 " she 
 cried. 
 
 Max Hilder felt, though he could not see,
 
 250 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 the pitying gaze she turned upon him, and he 
 smiled. 
 
 "It is no use denying that this has been 
 the going down of a great hope, Miss Hilary. 
 Pagenstecher's verdict leaves the future pretty 
 blank." 
 
 Hilary shook her head. "The future may 
 still be just as full and bright as you care to 
 make it, Mr. Hilder," she cried eagerly. "You 
 have not got your breath yet, you know ; 
 things will look quite different by-and-bye. 
 There was Homer, and Milton, you know," she 
 went on with cheerful irrelevance. " They 
 did lots of work under just the same dis- 
 advantages. And you have me. I am not 
 humble enough to think myself a nonentity. 
 Surely you are not going to tell me that my 
 eyes are not good enough to be supplementary 
 to yours, and that even with my help you 
 cannot finish the book. I will do all I possibly 
 can, if you will let me." 
 
 Hilder's lips twitched as he listened to this 
 impetuous, warm-hearted speech. He was 
 glad from the bottom of his heart that he had 
 seen Hilary once, though for such a brief 
 space of time. He knew just how she was 
 looking at him now, the grey eyes shining,
 
 THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. 251 
 
 the mobile face upturned, and the sweet lips 
 apart. 
 
 He was silent for a moment, and then he 
 laughed the pleasantest laugh his mother had 
 heard since they had left Germany. 
 
 "It were a shame to despond with such a 
 comrade," he said lightly. "I accept your 
 help, Miss Hilary, though I dare not hope 
 that, even backed up by you, I shall make a 
 trio with Homer and Milton." 
 
 He went to the table and swept a pile of 
 manuscript from a drawer. "Why shouldn't we 
 set things in order at once for a start ? " he said. 
 " I have wasted enough time already, and I am 
 sick of idleness. There ought to be some notes 
 which a fellow-student took for me when we 
 were in Wiesbaden, among this batch of papers. 
 Look them out, and we will fit them into their 
 place in the manuscript." 
 
 Hilary threw off her hat and set to work, 
 whilst her employer roughly sketched a new 
 development of the book he had decided upon. 
 
 Mrs. Hilder watched them with a happy 
 light in her dark eyes. She had no fears for 
 Max now. He would take up his work again, 
 and she would not have to sit by and watch 
 the epicurean patience which had tried her
 
 2$ 2 MRS. PEDER SON'S NIECE. 
 
 sorely once before. She blessed Hilary in her 
 heart, and felt that it was a happy day for 
 Fairmead and its master when she came across 
 its threshold. 
 
 She had come among them without flourish 
 of trumpets. She had just slipped into her 
 place and set herself to do the work required 
 of her, as though it were what she had been 
 born to do. But once she was settled there, 
 it seemed as though they had got something 
 they had wanted all their lives. Mrs. Hilder 
 knew that if Hilary left Meadham, she would 
 miss her as she would miss the swallows which 
 came to make their nests under the eaves every 
 year, or the primroses which bloomed in the 
 south border every March, or any other sweet 
 familiar thing. 
 
 But what of Max ? Was he, too, beginning 
 to turn to the girl in the way which meant 
 that he would miss her irreparably if she went 
 out of his life ? Mrs. Hilder wondered some- 
 times, and scarcely knew whether she hoped 
 or feared most
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IN THE FURROWS. 
 
 WINTER came early that year, and passed 
 quietly for the party at the Cottage. Frances 
 still lingered in a state of semi-invalidism, and 
 neither mentioned her work nor said anything 
 about returning to the hospital. Ambition and 
 energy seemed to lie dormant, and when Hilary 
 ventured to speak of them, Frances would 
 merely shrug her shoulders. 
 
 "Am not I providing the mater with 
 occupation, which by your own showing, my 
 good girl, she needed greatly ? " she would say. 
 " While she has me to fuss over she won't want 
 to leave Meadham, which I suppose is the last 
 thing you desire." 
 
 Mrs. Pederson was indeed happier than she 
 had been for months, and seemed to have for- 
 gotten her restless desire to get back to town. 
 Mrs. Vision had gone on another long visit to 
 her friends, and the care of the convalescent 
 devolved upon Mrs. Pederson. She was im- 
 mensely busy, concocting little messes upon an
 
 254 MRS. PEDERSON'S N/ECE. 
 
 oil-stove, with which she provided herself when 
 Margaret absolutely forbade her the kitchen, 
 and fussing round Frances in a way which 
 would have driven the girl frantic, if she had 
 cared about anything enough to be worried by 
 it. 
 
 For Hilary the days passed heavily, and 
 that brightness and buoyancy of spirit which Paul 
 Kemsing had once said was her richest endow- 
 ment, were only kept by a determined effort. She 
 was oppressed by an intangible trouble to which 
 she could not give a name and of which she 
 could never have spoken to anyone. A trouble 
 she could not share always weighed most 
 heavily on Hilary ; it was her nature to be frank 
 and outspoken, and she chafed under any sense 
 of separation between herself and those she 
 lived with, were it only one of thought and 
 feeling. 
 
 Though she had taken up the thread of life 
 without any outward difference when the Hilders 
 returned from Wiesbaden, there was a very real 
 change in it. Max had been right when he 
 said she would never again see the same Max 
 Hilder. Without in the least understanding how 
 it had come about, Hilary felt that a barrier 
 had risen between her and her employer, and
 
 IN THE FURROWS. 255 
 
 she could no longer ask him frankly, as she 
 once would have done, in what she had offended. 
 She was no longer "little comrade," and her 
 heart grew sore as the relations between them 
 became more and more formal. She did her 
 work patiently and without stint of labour, 
 but she missed the old enthusiasm of mutual 
 interest, which had once given zest to the 
 weariest task. 
 
 It was not possible for Max Hilder to feel 
 as he did towards the girl, and for the know- 
 ledge to have no effect upon his bearing 
 towards her. Awake to his weakness and the 
 necessity for conquering it, he placed the sternest 
 guard upon himself. It never for a moment 
 occurred to him that Hilary might suffer from 
 a change of front she could scarcely, without 
 vanity, ascribe to its right source. 
 
 Mrs. Hilder looked on, wondering whether 
 the policy of letting Providence manage such 
 affairs without human intervention might not 
 be carried too far. She could see that Hilary 
 was not altogether happy, though her smile 
 was as frequent and her bearing as blithe as 
 ever. 
 
 She proposed, as the spring advanced, that 
 the girl should learn to drive the little dogcart
 
 256 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 used by herself and Max, and that every day 
 she should take them into the country. 
 
 "A new duty for secretaries," laughed Max. 
 "Mind, I shall talk German folklore all the 
 time, Miss Hilary. This mother of mine seems 
 to have no idea of the importance of time to 
 a literary man." 
 
 " You may talk of what you like ; the con- 
 venience of driving is that at any moment I 
 can become so absorbed in my task as to be 
 excusably inattentive," laughed Hilary, to whom 
 the prospect of this new diversion was pleasantly 
 exciting. She could not help hoping that the 
 intimacy of driving together might bring back 
 some of the camaraderie which had once made 
 her position at Fairmead so delightful. 
 
 " I never knew what real dependence and 
 working for one's living meant until this winter," 
 she said to herself. " I used to think Dante 
 stupid when he said that the savour of other 
 people's bread was salt, but it can be bitter as 
 Marah water. Work, like everything in the 
 world, is horrid if it is not sweetened by some 
 gleam of liking, not to say love, on the part ot 
 those you work for." 
 
 She did not doubt that Mr. Hilder had some 
 " gleam of liking " for her as the spring months
 
 IN THE FURROWS. 257 
 
 slipped away, and some of the old freedom of 
 intercourse was recovered. They were soon 
 even on quarrelling terms, falling out about a 
 great many things in a light-hearted way 
 which is always a sign of a good understanding. 
 Max told himself that he had learnt his lesson 
 and might hold himself in check less sternly. 
 He knew that while life lasted he should love 
 the girl who brightened his dark life with the 
 radiance of her strong and vivid personality, but 
 he would keep his secret. He hugged to him- 
 self the thought that he had never betrayed 
 it, and imagined that even his mother did not 
 guess how he suffered in private and ached 
 with nostalgia for his lost sense. The young 
 so seldom guess the keenness of sight love 
 gives the old, and that to have suffered and 
 loved and lost in the past is a key which 
 opens the hidden chambers in the hearts of 
 others. 
 
 Mrs. Hilder knew well that Max loved 
 Hilary, and she watched the girl, with yearning 
 to see some signs of affection on her part. 
 She did not share in the least her son's belief 
 that his affliction shut him off forever from 
 winning love or asking for it. Being a woman, 
 she knew that to some it would be an added
 
 258 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 claim, and believed that Hilary would only love 
 the more because the man she loved needed 
 her sorely. There are some women who care 
 so much to give, that what they gain sinks 
 into the background. Their love has most of 
 the divine in it, and it makes the world 
 a good place for the weak. We wonder some- 
 times to see a sweet, strong woman expending 
 the wealth of a noble heart upon one we deem 
 utterly unworthy of her. Yet why should we 
 wonder ? Is not such love strengthening, up- 
 holding, giving itself for the betterment of the 
 weak, a far-off copy of the divine love, and a fair 
 reading of the old truth, "it is more blessed to 
 give than to receive"? 
 
 Mrs. Hilder knew that Hilary, in the dawn 
 of her womanhood, was one of these, and she 
 prayed with her whole heart and soul that 
 she might be to Max "as sunshine in a shady 
 place," and that to him should be given the 
 desire of his heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE AWAKENING OF FRANCES. 
 
 THERE is a limit even to the deepest sense of 
 disappointment and failure. So long as the sun 
 shines and the earth awakes each year to new- 
 ness, hope and eagerness to take one's place in 
 the battle of life must stir the hearts of the 
 young. 
 
 Such an awakening came to Frances. She 
 opened her eyes one morning to see the April 
 sun streaming across her bed and to hear the 
 birds twittering under the eaves, and knew that 
 the hateful apathy which had succeeded her illness 
 had slipped from her. She saw herselt, as it 
 were, from outside, and felt that she was play- 
 ing a pitiful and cowardly part. To accept 
 failure and to sit down calmly under it was a 
 part she would have despised in anyone else, 
 and she would no longer deal softly with her- 
 self. 
 
 "I am strong again, strong enough for any- 
 thing," she said, springing out of bed and 
 stretching her thin little arms. "It is six
 
 260 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 months since I came down here. Six months 1 
 I have dared to waste six precious months 1 " 
 
 She ran across the room and knelt down by 
 the box which held the books Mona Smith had 
 sent to her. Mona had been so sure that she 
 would ask for them in the first days of 
 convalescence. She had neither asked for nor 
 desired to see them till this morning. She 
 turned them over with eager fingers the 
 dear old Anatomy, the worn notebooks, the 
 digests of lectures ; the mere touch of the 
 pages sent a thrill through the girl. 
 
 "What a fool I have been!" she said. "I 
 thought I had ceased to care. I told Hilary 
 that one failure had blotted out the past. 
 Nothing can efface the past ; it must and does 
 live on into the present, and it is just for us 
 to decide whether it lives as a curse or a 
 blessing. I made a stupid, hideous mistake, and 
 the sting lies in the fact that mere stupidity 
 kept me from finding it out. I had plenty of 
 warnings, but I thought myself wiser. It is 
 bitter to imagine that you outshine others in 
 brilliance, and discover you are ridiculously 
 dense. As a matter of fact, I was the only 
 egregious failure the Hospital sent up last 
 half-year."
 
 THE A WAKENING OF FRANCES. 261 
 
 She sat on the floor, staring at the sunbeam, 
 with her hands clasped round her knees. She 
 had had so much time for thinking during the 
 past few weeks ; it seemed to her as though 
 she had done nothing but think in a circle, and 
 her thoughts had resulted in nothing. Now she 
 saw them all at once crystallised into a plan 
 for the future. 
 
 The past had been a pitiful mistake ; she 
 had tried to fashion a life which should touch 
 no other, and which should recognise no call 
 so important as that of her own intellect and 
 her own success. The secret of her failure lay 
 there, just as the secret of Ursula's success lay in 
 taking an opposite course. Frances had resolved 
 to be a law unto herself, and she had recognised 
 no other, moral or divine. She had leaned only 
 on her own feeble strength, and it had failed 
 her. 
 
 "Let me never lose my hold on Thee again, 
 Great Power above us all," she said aloud. 
 "Let me trust Thy strength, and I shall not 
 fail. I've got the ability; where I failed 
 was in thinking that it was everything ; that 
 there was no Power above everything, moving 
 and directing affairs." 
 
 She would, she told herself, turn her back
 
 262 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 on that pitiful past, and trust the future to 
 make up for its poverty. The future must con- 
 tain good, if she willed it so, and a few duties 
 she had hitherto neglected stared her in the 
 face as a beginning. 
 
 She was still dreaming and planning, when 
 Hilary opened the door and came in. 
 
 "My dear Frances, are you mad ? " she cried. 
 "You will catch an awful cold sitting there in 
 that thin dressing-gown. Get into bed at once 
 and let me fetch you some breakfast. Aunt 
 Sophie will never forgive me if I have to report 
 a relapse." 
 
 Frances sprang to her feet with a laugh. 
 
 "I'm not mad, I have come to my senses 
 at last, Hilary," she said, facing her cousin with 
 a light in her dark eyes Hilary had never seen 
 there before. "I have done with invalidism. 
 I'm coming down to the parlour, and I shall 
 eat a huge breakfast. I am going to work 
 again as soon as ever I can arrange things. I 
 shall go back to town and work in earnest for 
 the next exam. I never felt so fit in my life." 
 
 Hilary sat down on the bed, and regarded her 
 cousin with some apprehension. 
 
 " Of course, I knew the reaction would 
 come," she said. " You were not such a coward
 
 THE A WAKENING OF FRANCES. 263 
 
 as to let one failure spoil all your life. But you 
 won't overdo it again, will you ? " 
 
 Frances' lips twitched, and she did not answer 
 for a moment. 
 
 "Do you think, dear, I have not learned 
 anything from my disappointment and from 
 being with you ? " she said, in a softer tone than 
 was usual with her. "You know what old 
 Carlyle says, ' Experience is a good schoolmaster.' 
 I shall try again, and I hope I shall pass. I 
 want to get qualified more than I ever did; I 
 have got glimpses of work I can do afterwards 
 which I had not before. I knew all that 
 Ursula said about our opportunities was true, 
 but I have only felt it lately. Till you feel a 
 thing, it is never really true to you." 
 
 "You mean you will go into the slums 
 with Ursula ? " Hilary cried eagerly. 
 
 Frances shook her head. "I don't know 
 yet; I can't tell whether other things may not 
 clash. I shall not decide yet." 
 
 "I wonder what Aunt Sophie will say when 
 she hears you are going back to town," Hilary 
 said. "All her occupation will be gone." 
 
 Frances laughed softly. "I'm going to take 
 her with me, Hilary. 'Open your eyes and die 
 of surprise/ as the Irish song says. I have got
 
 264 MRS. PEDERSON' s NIECE. 
 
 used to her dear old fussing ways, and they 
 won't interfere with my work now. You know 
 Ursula is qualified, and gone to her sister who 
 lives in Cross Street. I should be alone in my 
 diggings, and, you know, I have never had to 
 attend to my creature comforts, so I shouldn't 
 take to it readily. I should go without my 
 meals out of sheer disinclination to prepare 
 them. Mother will be perfectly happy ruling 
 over the kingdom of my three rooms." 
 
 Hilary nodded with a pleased smile. It did 
 not occur to her to regret for a moment the 
 little income Frances was blithely and all un- 
 consciously planning to take from her. She was 
 only too glad that a right and happy relation- 
 ship between mother and daughter should be 
 established. She knew that Frances' influence 
 over her mother was strong, and that, with her, 
 Mrs. Pederson would be quite safe from the 
 temptations of Chivers Smith. 
 
 It was Mrs. Pederson who first thought 
 what the parting meant for her niece. She 
 had hailed with delight the idea of going back 
 to town with Frances, but she was very un- 
 willing to leave Hilary behind. She only con- 
 sented when, to Hilary's firm refusal to leave 
 Meadham so long as Mr. Hilder needed her,
 
 THE AWAKENING OF FRANCES. 265 
 
 Mrs. Vision added her assurance that the girl 
 should be to her as a daughter. The Cottage 
 must be Hilary's home as long as she remained 
 in the country. 
 
 One April day found Frances back in 
 London. She had settled, with her mother, not 
 in the old lodgings, but on a large, comfortable 
 top-floor in an old-fashioned house in John 
 Street. The rooms had been to let unfurnished, 
 and Mrs. Pederson found unending pleasure in 
 haunting second-hand shops in search of bargains 
 and speeding from one spring sale to another 
 in pursuit of cheap draperies. It was a return 
 to her old habits which was like the savour of 
 life to her. 
 
 At the hospital Frances had been welcomed 
 by her old friends with open arms. They 
 crowded round her at her first appearance, 
 asking her plans, telling her all that had 
 happened in her absence, and looking at her 
 with eyes full of curiosity. Was she indeed 
 the Frances upon whom they had built such 
 high hopes six months ago, and to whom 
 they had looked to bring glory to the 
 Hospital, and who had failed them so incom- 
 prehensibly? Yes, she was still the brilliant, 
 passionate worker, who had had such scanty
 
 266 MRS. PEDERSON'S Nmca. 
 
 patience with half-hearted students, and openly 
 scoffed at those who gave thought to other 
 pursuits. There was no doubting her eager- 
 ness to take up her work again and her 
 determination to pass her finals with honour, 
 but there was a difference. Without knowing 
 how or why, each felt that, during her absence, 
 Frances had gained something she had hitherto 
 lacked. She would never again scoff at the 
 student who loved friends and pretty clothes, 
 or sneer at the dullard. They had always 
 been proud of her, now they began to love her 
 also.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 IN THE HOUR OF PERIL. 
 
 ONE afternoon in early June, Bradbrook was 
 cycling into Meadham, for he generally made 
 Mead Cottage the goal of his country rides. 
 It was some time since he had last visited it, 
 and he was unaware of the changes that 
 had taken place and that Mrs. Pederson was 
 in London with Frances. 
 
 Not that this fact would have disturbed him 
 greatly. He would have told himself that her 
 value in his eyes depended mainly on her 
 relationship to Miss Hilary, and that for 
 Hilary's sake he would have travelled farther 
 and endured unlimited fatigue. 
 
 At a turn in the road he branched off to 
 the left and shot down a steep incline known 
 among Meadham people as the "gulley," a 
 rough track, barely wide enough for a waggon 
 to pass along it, with sheer, bare banks on 
 either side. It was a strange, wild spot, 
 seldom used except by foot passengers, and 
 had been made many years ago for some
 
 268 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 purpose no one in the district could now 
 remember. 
 
 Bradbrook had discovered it on one of his 
 cycling expeditions, and used it as a short 
 by-way to the Cottage. It cut off a long 
 stretch of the high road, besides affording an 
 opportunity for that careful riding which is meat 
 and drink to the enthusiastic cyclist. 
 
 He had been riding some hours, and the day 
 was hot. He decided, therefore, to dismount 
 near the head of the gulley, wheel his machine 
 into a field, and take a rest before presenting 
 himself at the Cottage. He must have fallen 
 asleep, for a sound close behind him, a sten- 
 torian shout and the grinding and growling 
 of some heavy body moving, roused him with 
 a start. 
 
 "A confounded traction engine," he said. 
 "There ought to be a law compelling them to 
 move in the small hours. They are dangerous 
 to the common weal, and especially to the 
 cycle-wheel if you happen to be caught in a 
 trap like this. I'll stay where I am till the 
 monster has passed." 
 
 He was establishing himself for another 
 nap when there rose such a babel of shouts, 
 mingled with the snortings of the agricultural
 
 IN THE HOUR OF PERIL. 269 
 
 monster, as made him spring to his feet and 
 run to a gap in the hedge which commanded a 
 view down the gulley. He stood for a moment 
 grasping the rail of the fence, his heart beating 
 wildly with horror and alarm. 
 
 It was a terrible sight, and there seemed no 
 hope of its ending in anything but a tragedy. 
 The engine had passed down the hill below 
 the point upon which he stood. Down, down 
 it went, slowly, relentlessly, like some awful, 
 unwieldy force no human power could stay. 
 It had either got beyond the management 
 of the men upon it, or, like Bradbrook, 
 they were so overcome with fright that 
 action was impossible. Below was a little 
 dogcart which had been crawling up the 
 gulley, unconscious of the danger ahead until 
 a sharp turn brought its occupants face to face, 
 at close quarters, with the engine. 
 
 At the moment Bradbrook reached the 
 scene, the owners of the cart had become aware 
 of their danger, and the mare had discovered 
 what lay ahead of her. A horse of iron nerve 
 would have been difficult to manage at such a 
 crisis; the graceful creature below was high- 
 bred and nervous. Bradbrook watched with 
 breathless anxiety to see what would happen.
 
 2/o MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 The dogcart had two occupants, a tall, broad- 
 shouldered man who sat with folded arms and 
 appeared to be taking merely a spectacular 
 interest in the events which clearly endangered 
 his life, and a tall, slender girl who was trying 
 with all her might to coax the frightened 
 animal to back down the gulley. 
 
 All in vain I The horse was beyond the 
 influence of coaxing voice or firm hand. It 
 plunged wildly to right and left, struggled to 
 get a foothold in the right bank which 
 happened at this point to be more shallow 
 and sloping. Bradbrook saw the light cart tilt 
 perilously on the bank, then the mare turned 
 wildly and tore down the incline, leaving the 
 man and the girl on the roadside. 
 
 At that moment Bradbrook uttered a shout, 
 and, springing over the fence, rushed to the 
 scene of disaster. 
 
 "Stop that thing you must," he shouted to 
 the men as he passed the engine. " You have 
 done damage enough already with your infernal 
 engine. Don't risk taking more life. Reverse 
 the thing, run it into the bank, do something 
 for Heaven's sake, it you would not be hung 
 for murder." 
 
 The moment the mare plunged, he had
 
 IN THE HOUR OP PERIL. 271 
 
 seen the girl's white upturned face. It was 
 Hilary, and the man who sat at her side 
 must be the master of Fairmead, going to 
 his death, poor fellow, blind as to how the 
 blow fell. 
 
 Mr. Hilder escaped as by a miracle, falling 
 against the sloping bank without ever losing his 
 footing. When Bradbrook came up he was 
 moving here and there with a face more white 
 and set in misery than Bradbrook had ever 
 seen a human face. 
 
 " Hilary 1 ... Hilary ! . . . Little comrade ! " 
 he was crying, " Good Heavens ! to think I 
 cannot find her, and that she may be dead ! " 
 There was something in this futile searching, 
 this agonised protest against his disability, which 
 touched the kind-hearted insurance agent to the 
 quick. In the flash of a moment he knew 
 that Hilder loved the girl he was seeking, and 
 that they two were rivals. Yet no one could 
 have been jealous who saw that futile energy, 
 that pathetic groping, or heard that heart- 
 broken cry. He made all the haste pos- 
 sible to the spot and touched Hilder on the 
 arm. 
 
 "This a bad business, but I'm here to help 
 you. You don't know me : I'm a friend of
 
 272 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Miss Pederson's. Don't you worry she isn't 
 dead. She's lying just where the turn of the 
 cart threw her ; but she had a soft bed. 
 The clay is pretty thick, and there happened 
 to be a ledge with grass over it handy. I've 
 a bit or experience in dealing with fainting folks, 
 for I'm an ambulance man. She will come 
 round in a few minutes when I've given her a 
 few drops out of my flask. I always carry a 
 flask ; you never know what may happen. Not 
 that one often gets jobs like this." 
 
 He talked fast and cheerfully as he knelt 
 beside the ledge on which the girl lay, 
 treating her with that skill and deftness she 
 had admired on a former occasion. He guided 
 the blind man to the spot, and with a delicacy 
 no one would have expected in him, allowed 
 him to hold the girl's unconscious form 
 supported against his knee. 
 
 Bradbrook felt sure no bones were broken ; 
 both occupants of the dogcart had had a 
 miraculous escape. Hilary had been badly 
 shaken by the fall, and the horror of the 
 danger had caused her to faint; but, so far 
 as Bradbrook could discover, she was not other- 
 wise hurt. 
 
 He watched her closely for a few minutes,
 
 IN THE HOUR OF PERIL. 273 
 
 and then looked at his companion with a 
 gratified smile. 
 
 " She will do now. Can't you hear her sigh ? 
 In a minute she will open her eyes and wonder 
 where she is. There, she is getting a little 
 colour. She will be herself directly. If you do 
 not mind being left a moment, I will go up and 
 ask those rascally engine-men where we can get 
 a trap to carry her home. I have a bicycle in 
 the field, too, which I don't want to leave to 
 the mercies of vagabonds." 
 
 He ran up the gulley, and Max Hilder was 
 left alone with the unconscious Hilary. Never 
 before or since did he long for his lost eyesight 
 as he did that moment. For knowledge of 
 how this terrible accident had injured her, for 
 information as to how she was bearing it, he 
 had to depend on a stranger, whose very voice 
 warned Hilder that he was a kindly soul, who 
 sympathised with his misfortune, and might be 
 inclined to say what was soothing rather than 
 what was strictly true. 
 
 Suppose Hilary were dead ? Suppose this 
 stillness meant that the radiant young spirit 
 was gone for ever, and that never again would 
 she brighten his path as he trod the long valley 
 of shadows.
 
 274 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 " Hilary, Hilary ! come back to me ! * he 
 cried, with an exceeding bitter cry, as he drew 
 her closer to him. "Have I killed you, little 
 comrade ? It was my wish, not yours, that we 
 should drive on this dangerous path ! My love, 
 my love ! come back 1 life will be too hard and 
 dark wanting you." 
 
 He scarcely knew that he spoke aloud. In 
 the bitterness of his anxiety, shut out in his 
 darkness, he uttered his thought, all unconscious 
 that it reached the heart of the girl and recalled 
 her to what was passing around her. She 
 opened her eyes, and her breath came with a 
 little gasping sigh. 
 
 " Hilary, little love, say that you live," Hilder 
 whispered, feeling her face with gentle, reverent 
 hand. 
 
 " Max, Max 1 " she whispered, the colour flood- 
 ing her white cheeks. " I am quite safe. I 
 suppose I fainted ; but I am in no pain. Tell 
 me, you are not hurt ? I thought it so terrible 
 that you should be thrown without being able 
 to see your danger." 
 
 "No, I am not hurt; everything is well if 
 you are safe, child. Little comrade, life would 
 have been a sorry place for me if you had 
 gone."
 
 Iff THE HOUR OF PERIL. 275 
 
 Hilary could not speak; she clung to the 
 arm that supported her, until Bradbrook's 
 footsteps were heard and he came up, pushing 
 his bicycle. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Hilary 1 you are all right again, I 
 see. Lucky escape you've had, I can tell you ; 
 but Providence watches over us all, and knew 
 we could not spare one of your sort. I'm 
 going to leave you while I go down to the village 
 and fetch some sort of a trap to take you 
 home. By the way, the driver of that engine 
 of destruction says that if you will step a 
 yard or two down the lane, there is an opening 
 into a field where you might shelter while 
 he gets by. I pointed out to him that 
 to ask the smallest concession of you was 
 distinctly out of place on his part, but he 
 belongs to that order of the human family 
 which considers number one first, and he declares, 
 with the bluntness of his class, that he has 
 wasted enough time already. I have taken his 
 number and his employer's address, in case you 
 wish to take steps, Mr. Hilder, to recover 
 damages. Now, if you please, we will proceed 
 to this convenient slope and see the clouds 
 of smoke roll by. You won't mind me leaving 
 you while I fetch the conveyance ? "
 
 276 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 Hilary and the master of Fairmead did not 
 mind at all. In that moment, when Hilary 
 opened her eyes, a new life had begun for 
 them both. Nothing could ever be the same 
 again now they knew that they loved one 
 another, and that the future held no joy like 
 being together. 
 
 When Max told the girl how, on the night 
 of his return from Wiesbaden, he had resolved 
 to conquer his love for her and never to 
 hope to link her youth and brightness 
 with his maimed manhood, she stopped him 
 with a laugh which ended in something like 
 a sob. 
 
 "Did you never think I should wonder why 
 you had changed to me ? " she said softly. 
 " Ah ! and how could you doubt me so ? You 
 needed me the more. Surely, you must have 
 known that I should love you better for that 
 reason." 
 
 " I did not know it, and I don't see why 
 even now," Max said quietly. "I wonder if 
 you realise all that you are pledging yourself 
 to, child. I'm more than ten years older than 
 you, Hilary, and you have known me scarcely 
 a twelvemonth. I'm a cross-grained fellow at 
 heart even when I manage to show the world
 
 IN THE HOUR OF PERIL. 277 
 
 an unruffled front. I'm not patient, and I rebel 
 a hundred times at the affliction which has 
 been given me to bear. I'm a student, too, and 
 times without number I shall seem to care 
 more for my work than for your company. 
 You deserve better, dear, than to be tied to a 
 blind beggar like me." 
 
 Hilary looked up at him ; she never taught 
 herself that the clear brown eyes could not see 
 the look on her face, and she believed Max knew 
 when she looked at him. 
 
 "To me you are just you" she said 
 softly. "And if you had not loved me, I 
 think I should have gone wanting you all 
 my days." 
 
 When Bradbrook came back, leading a 
 little farmer's cart he had borrowed, he 
 looked at the girl's radiant face and whistled 
 softly. 
 
 "You don't look as though you ailed mucn 
 now, Miss Hilary," he said genially. "A boy is 
 coming up to drive you, so I'll say good-bye. 
 Some day soon I'll be down again. No, thank 
 you, Miss Hilary ; I won't go on to the Cottage 
 now. There isn't time, and I want to get back 
 to town." 
 
 He watched the two get into the cart and
 
 278 MRS. PEDERSON'S NIECE. 
 
 drive away, then jumped on his bicycle and 
 rode off. 
 
 "It was a clear case for congratulations," 
 he said, with an odd roughness in his voice. 
 " But for the life of me I couldn't have worked 
 myself up to the pitch of congratulating. It 
 takes a deuce of a time for a man to cure 
 himself of the dog-in-the-manger spirit. She 
 wasn't for me, so why should I begrudge her 
 to another chap ? I wish that she had chanced 
 to fancy a perfect specimen, though. Good Lord ! 
 Hilder needs some special bit of good fortune 
 to compensate for his blindness. There must 
 be something out of the common about him, too, 
 for a girl like that to love him in spite of his 
 drawback." 
 
 Which shows that a man may hopelessly 
 mistake the working of a girl's heart. 
 * * * 
 
 Thus Hilary's dark days came to an 
 end. She had no longer to work "in the 
 furrows," struggling for that blitheness of 
 spirit which was once so easy to capture. She 
 came to Fairmead as its master's wife when 
 autumn dropped into winter, and, through 
 the happy years that followed, still kept "that 
 comely fashion" which had supported her
 
 IN THE HOUR OP PERIL. 279 
 
 when she trod difficult paths ; which had won for 
 her the love of a man who knew her first 
 through this capacity for "making sunshine in 
 a shady place."
 
 THE CREAM OF JUVENILE FICTION 
 
 BOYS' OWN 
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 Adventures of a Telegraph Boy Mark Stanton 
 
 Dean Dunham Ned Newton 
 
 Erie Train Boy, The New York Boy 
 
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 C. B. ASHLEY. 
 
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 Gilbert, the Boy Trapper 
 
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 A1VNI13 A8HMORE. 
 
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 F. BRUNS. 
 
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 In the Sunk Lands 
 
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 GBORGB H. COOMER. 
 
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 Arthur Helmuth Perils of the Jungle 
 
 Check No. 2134 On the Trail of Geronimo 
 
 From Tent to "White House "White Mustang 
 
 GEORGB MANVIULE FBTTO. 
 
 For the past fifty years Mr. Fenn has been writing books for boys 
 and popular fiction. His books are justly popular throughout the 
 English-speaking world. We publish the following select list of his 
 boys' books, which we consider the best he ever wrote. 
 
 Commodore Junk Golden Magnet 
 
 Dingo Boys Grand Chaco 
 
 "Weathercock 
 
 BPtSIG!* CLARKE FITCH, V. S. X. 
 
 A graduate of the U. S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, and tho- 
 roughly familiar with all naval matters. Mr. Fitch has devoted him- 
 self to literature, and has written a series of books for boys that every 
 
 DAVID McKAY, Publisher, Philadelphia. 
 
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 young American should read. His stories are full of very interesting 
 information about the navy, training ships, etc. 
 
 Bound for Annapolis Cruise of the Training Ship 
 
 Clif, the Naval Cadet From Port to Port 
 
 Strange Cruise, A 
 
 WILLIAM MURRAY <iRAYI>OX. 
 
 An author of world-wide popularity. Mr. Graydon is essentially a 
 friend of young people, and we offer herewith ten of his best works, 
 wherein he relates a great diversity of interesting adventures in various 
 parts of the world, combined with accurate historical data. 
 
 Butcher of Cawnpore, The In Barracks and Wigwam 
 
 Camp in the Snow, The In Fort and Prison 
 
 Campaigning with Braddock Jungles and Traitors 
 
 Cryptogram, The Rajah's Fortress, The 
 
 From Lake to "Wilderness White King of Africa, The 
 
 LIEUT. FREDERICK G ARRISOX , U. S. A. 
 
 Every American boy takes a keen interest in the affairs of West 
 Point. No more capable writer on this popular subject could be found 
 than Lieut. Garrison, who vividly describes the life, adventures and 
 unique incidents that have occurred in that great institution in these 
 famous West Point stories. 
 
 Off for West Point On Guard 
 
 Cadet's Honor, A West Point Treasure, The 
 
 West Point Rivals, The 
 
 HEADOX HILL. 
 
 The hunt for gold has always been a popular subject for considera- 
 tion, and Mr. Hill has added a splendid story on the subject in this 
 romance of the Klondyke. 
 
 Spectre Gold 
 
 HEXRY HARRLSOX LEWIS. 
 
 Mr. Lewis is a graduate of the Naval Academy at Annapolis, and 
 has written a great many books for boys. Among his best works are 
 the following titles the subjects include a vast series of adventures 
 in all parts of the world. The historical data is correct, and they 
 should be read by all boys, for the excellent information they contain. 
 
 Centreboard Jim Ensign Merrill 
 
 King of the Island Sword and Pen 
 
 Midshipman Merrill Valley of Mystery, The 
 
 Yankee Boys in Japan 
 
 McKAY, Publisher, Philadelphia. 
 
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 LIEUT. LIONEL LOUNSBERRY. 
 
 A series of books embracing many adventures under our famous 
 naval commanders, and with our army during the War of 1812 and 
 the Civil War. Founded on sound history, these books are written 
 for boys, with the idea of combining pleasure with profit ; to cutivate 
 a fondness for study especially of what has been accomplished by 
 our army and navy. 
 
 Cadet Kit Carey Bandy, the Pilot 
 
 Captain Carey Tom Truxton's School Days 
 
 Kit Carey's Protege Tom Truxton's Ocean. Trip 
 
 Lieut. Carey's Luck Treasure of the Golden Crater 
 
 Out "With Commodore Decatur Won at West Point 
 
 BROOKS McCORMICK. 
 
 Four splendid books of adventure on sea and land, by this well- 
 known writer for boys. 
 
 Giant Islanders, The Nature's Young Nobleman 
 
 How He Won Kival Battalions 
 
 WALTER MORRIS. 
 
 This charming story contains thirty-two chapters of just the sort of 
 school life that charms the boy readers. 
 
 Bob Porter at Lakeviow Academy 
 
 STANLEY NORRIS. 
 
 Mr. Norris is without a rival as a writer of "Circus Stories" for 
 boys. These four books are full of thrilling adventures, but good, 
 wholsome reading for young Americans. 
 
 Phil, the Showman Young Showman's Pluck, The 
 
 Young Showman's Rivals, The Young Showman's Triumph 
 
 LIEUT. JAMES K. ORTON. 
 
 When a boy has read one of Lieut. Orton's books, it requires no 
 urging to induce him to read the others. Not a dull page in any of 
 them. 
 
 Beach Boy Joe Secret Chart, The 
 
 Last Chance Mine Tom Havens with the White 
 
 Squadron 
 
 DAVID McKAY, Publisher, Philadelphia. 
 
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 JAMBS OTIS. 
 
 Mr. Otis is known by nearly every American boy, and needs no in- 
 troduction here. The following copyrights are among his best : 
 
 Chased Through Norway Unprovoked Mutiny 
 
 Inland Waterways "Wheeling for Fortune 
 
 Heuben Green's Adventures at Yale 
 
 GILBERT PATTEN. 
 
 Mr. Patten has had the distinction of having his books adopted by 
 the U. S. Government for all naval libraries on board our war ships. 
 While aiming to avoid the extravagant and sensational, the stories 
 contain enough thrilling incidents to please the lad who loves action 
 and adventure. In the Kockspur stories the description of their Base- 
 ball and Football Games and other contests with rival clubs and teams 
 make very exciting and absorbing reading ; and few boys with warm 
 blood in their veins, having once begun the perusal of one of these 
 books, will willingly lay it down till it is finished. 
 
 Boy Boomers Jud and Joe 
 
 Boy Cattle King Bockspur Nine, The 
 
 Boy from the "West Bockspur Eleven, The 
 
 Don Kirke's Mine Bockspur Bivals, The 
 
 ST. GEORGE RATHBORT9E. 
 
 Mr. Kathborne's stories for boys have the peculiar charm of 
 dealing with localities and conditions wi.h which he is thoroughly 
 familiar. The scenes of these excellent stories are along the Florida 
 coast and on the western prairies. 
 
 Canoe and Camp Fire Chums of the Prairie 
 
 Paddling Under Palmettos Young Bange Biders 
 
 Bival Canoe Boys Gulf Cruisers 
 
 Sunset Banch Shifting "Winds 
 
 ARTHUR 
 
 An American story by an American author. It relates how a 
 Yankee boy overcame many obstacles in school and out. Thoroughly 
 interesting from start to finish. 
 
 Gay Dashleigh's Academy Days 
 
 DAVID McKAY, Publisher, Philadelphia. 
 
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 CAJPT. DAVID SOUTHWICK. 
 
 An exceptionally good story of frontier life among the Indians in 
 the far West, during the early settlement period. 
 
 Jack "Wheeler 
 
 The Famous Frank Merriwell Stories. 
 
 BURT I*. STAKDISH. 
 
 No modern series of tales for boys and youths has met with any- 
 thing like the cordial reception and popularity accorded to the Frank 
 Merriwell Stories. There must be a reason for this and there is. 
 Frank Merriwell, as portrayed by the author, is a jolly whole-souled, 
 honest, courageous American lad, who appeals to the hearts of the 
 boys. He has no bad habits, and his manliness inculcates the idea 
 that it is not necessary for a boy to indulge in petty vices to be a hero. 
 Frank Merriwell' s example is a shining light for every ambitious lad 
 to follow. Six volumes now ready : 
 
 Frank MerriwelFs School Days Frank Merriwell's Bravery 
 Frank Merriwell's Chums Frank Merriwell's Hunting Tour 
 
 Frank Merriwell's Foes Frank Merriwell's Races 
 
 Frank Merriwell's Trip "West Frank Merriwell's Sports Afield 
 Frank Merriwell Down South Frank Merriwell at Yale 
 
 VICTOR ST. CLAIR. 
 
 These books are full of good, clean adventure, thrilling enough to 
 please the full-blooded wide-awake boy, yet containing nothing to 
 which there can be any objection from those who are careful as to the 
 kind of books they put into the hands of the young. 
 
 Cast Away in the Jungle From Switch to Lever 
 
 Comrades Under Castro Little Snap, the Post Boy 
 
 For Home and Honor Zig-Zag, the Boy Conjurer 
 
 Zip, the Acrobat 
 
 MATTHEW 'WHITE, JR. 
 
 Good, healthy, strong books for the American lad. No more in- 
 teresting books for the young appear on our lists. 
 Adventures of a Young Athlete My Mysterious Fortune 
 
 Eric Dane Tour of a Private Car 
 
 Guy Hammersley Young Editor, The 
 
 ARTHUR M. WINFIEI^D. 
 
 One of the most popular authors of boys' books. Here are three 
 of his best. 
 
 Mark Dale's Stage Venture Young Bank Clerk, The 
 
 Young Bridge Tender, The 
 
 DAVID McKAY, Publisher, Philadelphia. 
 
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 GAYLE WINTBRXON. 
 
 This very interesting story relates the trials and triumphs of a 
 Young American Actor, including the solution of a very puzzling 
 mystery. 
 
 Young Actor, The 
 
 A. YOUNG. 
 
 This book is not a treatise on sports, as the title would indicate, hut 
 relates a series of thrilling adventures among boy campers in the 
 woods of Maine. 
 
 Boats, Bats and Bicycles 
 
 DAVID McKAY, Publisher, Philadelphia. 
 
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 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 769 841 8