BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 IN UNIFORM STYLE 
 
 MARRIAGE OF ELINOR 
 
 WHITELADIES 
 
 THE MAKERS OP" VENICE 
 
 CHICAGO 
 W. B. CONKEY COMPANY
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. OLIPHANT 
 
 CHICAGO 
 W. B. CON KEY COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 8^t, 
 
 BY 
 UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 
 
 [Ail rights rtservtd.'l
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JOHN TATHAM, barrister-at-law, received one summer 
 morning as be sat at breakfast the following letter. It 
 was written in what was once known distinctively as a 
 lady's hand, in pointed characters, very fine and deli- 
 cate, and was to this effect : 
 
 JOHN, Have you heard from Elinor of her 
 new prospects and intentions? I suppose she must 
 have written to you on the subject. Do you know any- 
 thing of the man ? . . . You know how hard it is to 
 convince her against her will of anything, and also how 
 poorly gifted I am with the power of convincing any 
 one. Aud I don't know him, therefore can. speak with 
 no authority. If you can do anything to clear things 
 up, come and do so. I am very anxious and more than 
 doubtful ; but her heart seems set upon it. 
 
 "Your affect. 
 
 "M. S. D." 
 
 Mr. Tatham was a well-built and vigorous man of 
 five-aud-thirty, with health, good behaviour, and well- 
 being in every line of his cheerful countenance and 
 every close curl of his brown hair. His hair was very 
 curly, and helped to give him the cheerful look which 
 was one of his chief characteristics. Nevertheless, 
 when these innocent seeming words, " Do you know 
 the tuan ? " which was more certainly demonstrative of 
 
 2137511 |
 
 6 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 certain facts than had those facts been stated in the 
 fullest detail, met his eye, Mr. Tathain paused and laid 
 down the letter with a start. His ruddy colour paled 
 for the moment, and he felt something which was like 
 the push or poke of a blunt but heavy weapon some- 
 where in the regions of the heart. For the moment he 
 felt that he could not read any more. "Do you know 
 the man ? " He did not even ask what man in the mo- 
 mentary sickness of his heart. Then he said to him- 
 self, almost angrily, " Well ! " and took up the letter 
 again and read to the end. 
 
 Well ! of course it was a thing that he knew might 
 happen any day, and which he had expected to happen 
 for the last four or five years. It was nothing to him 
 one way or another. Nothing could be more absurd 
 than that a hearty and strong young man in the full 
 tide of his life and with a good breakfast before him 
 should receive a shock from that innocent little letter 
 as if he had been a sentimental woman. But the fact 
 is that he pushed his plate away with an exclamation of 
 disgust and a feeling that everything was bad and un- 
 eatable. He drank his tea, though that also became 
 suddenly bad too, full of tannin, like tea that has stood 
 too long, a thing about which John was very particu- 
 lar. He had been half an hour later than usual this 
 morning consequent on having been an hour or two 
 Liter than usual last night. These things have their 
 reward, and that very speedily ; but as for the letter, 
 Avhat could that have to do with the bad toasting of the 
 bacon and the tannin in the tea ? " Do you know the 
 man ? " There was a sort of covert insult, too, in the 
 phraseology, as if no explanation was needed, as if he 
 must know by instinct what she meant he who knew 
 nothing about it, who did not know there was a man at 
 all! 
 
 After a while he began to smile rather cynically to 
 himself. He had got up from the breakfast table, 
 where everything was so bad, and had gone to look out 
 of one of the windows of his pleasant sitting-room. It 
 was in one of the wider ways of the Temple, and looked
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF KLIXOIl. 1 
 
 out upon various houses with a pleasant misty light 
 upon the redness of their old brickwork, and a stretch 
 of green grass and trees, which were scanty in foliage, 
 yet suited very well with the bright morning sun, 
 which was not particularly warm, but looked as if it 
 were a good deal for effect and not so very much for 
 use. Tiiat thought floated across his mind with others, 
 and was of the same cynical complexion. It was very 
 well for the sun to shine, making the glistening poplars 
 and plane-trees glow, and warming all the mellow 
 ness of the old houses, but what did he mean by it ? 
 
 rmth to speak of, only a fictitious gleam a ; 
 got up for effect. And so was the affectionateness of 
 woman meaning nothing, only an effect of warmth 
 and geniality, nothing beyond that. As a matter of 
 fact, he reminded himself after a while that he had 
 never wanted anything beyond, neither asked for it, nor 
 wished it. He had no desire to change the conditions 
 of his life : women never rested till they had done so, 
 manufacturing a new event, whatever it might be, 
 pleased even when they were not pleased, to have a 
 novelty to announce. That, no doubt, was the state of 
 mind in which the lady who called herself his aunt was : 
 pleased to have something to tell him, to fire off her 
 big guns in his face, even though she was not at all 
 pleased with the event itself. Bat John Tatham. on the 
 other hand, had desired nothing to happen ; things 
 were very well as they were. He liked to have a place 
 where he could run down from Saturday to Monday 
 whenever he pleased, and where his visit was always a 
 cheerful event for the womankind. He had liked to 
 take them all the news, t.o carry the picture-papers, 
 quite a load ; to take down a new book for Elinor ; to 
 taste doubtfully his aunt's wine, and tell her she had 
 better let him choose it for her. It was a very pleasant 
 state of affairs : he wanted no change ; not, certainly, 
 above everything, the intrusion of a stranger whose 
 very existence had been unknown to him until he was 
 thus asked cynically, almost brutally, " Do you know 
 the man ? *
 
 8 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 The hour came when John had to assume the cos- 
 tume of that order of workers whom a persistent popu- 
 lar joke nicknames the " Devil's Own : " that is, he 
 had to put on gown and wig- and go off to the courts, 
 where he \vas envied of all the briefless as a man who 
 for his age had a great deal to do. He "devilled " for 
 Mr. Asstewt, the great Chancery man, which w;; 
 
 excellent beginning : and he was getting into a 
 little practice of his own which was not to be sneezed 
 at. Bui he did not find himself in a satisfactory frame 
 of mind to-day. He found himself asking the judge, 
 ''Do you know anything of the man V" when it was his 
 special business so to bewilder that potentate with 
 elaborate arguments that he should not have time to 
 consider whether he had ever heard of the particular 
 man before him. Thus it was evident that Mr. Tatham 
 \\as completely //o/-x <l<- son assiette, as the French say; 
 upset and " out of it/' according to the equally vivid 
 imagination of the English manufacturer of slang. 
 John Tatham was a very capable young lawyer on 
 ordinary occasions, and it was all the more remarkable 
 that he should have been so confused in his mind to- 
 day. 
 
 "When he went back to his chambers in the evening, 
 which was not until it was time to dress for dinner, he 
 saw a bulky letter lying on his table, but avoided it as 
 if it had been an overdue bill. He was engaged to dine 
 out, and had not much time : yet all the way, as he 
 drove along the streets, just as sunset was over and a 
 subduing shade came over the light, and that half -holi- 
 day look that, comes with evening he kept thinking of 
 the fat letter upon his table. Do you know anything 
 of the man ? That would no longer be the refrain of 
 his correspondent, but some absurd strain of devotion 
 and admiration of the man whom John knew nothing 
 of, not even his name. He wondered as he went along 
 in his hansom, and even between the courses at dinner, 
 while he listened with a smile, but without hearing a 
 word, to what the lady next him was saying what she 
 would tell him about this man ? That he was every-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 9 
 
 thing that was delightful, no doubt ; handsome, of 
 course ; probably clever ; and that she was fond of him, 
 confound the fellow ! Elinor ! to think that she should 
 come to that a girl like her to tell him, as if she was 
 saying that she had caught a cold or received a present, 
 that she was in love with a man ! Good heavens ! when 
 one had thought her so much above anything of that 
 kind a woman, above all women that ever were. 
 
 "Not so much as that," John said to himself as he 
 walked home. He always preferred to walk home in 
 the evening, and he was not going to change his habit 
 now out of any curiosity about Elinor's letter. Oh, not 
 so much as that ! not above all women, or better than 
 the rest, perhaps but different. He could not quite 
 explain to himself how, except that he had always 
 known her to be Elinor and not another, which was a 
 quite sufficient explanation. And now it appeared that 
 she was not different, although she would still profess 
 to be Elinor a curious puzzle, which his brain in its 
 excited state was scarcely able to tackle. His thoughts 
 got somewhat confused and broken as he approached 
 his chambers. He was so near the letter now a few 
 minutes and he would no longer need to wonder or 
 speculate about it, but would know exactly what she 
 said. He turned and stood for a minute or so at the 
 Temple gates, looking out upon the busy Strand. It 
 was still as lovely as a summer night could be overhead, 
 but down here it was well, it was London, which is 
 another thing. The usual crowd was streaming by, 
 coming into bright light as it streamed past a brilliant 
 shop window, then in the shade for another moment, 
 and emerging again. The faces that were suddenly lit 
 up as they passed some handsome faces, pale in the 
 light ; some with heads hung down, either in bad health 
 or bad humour ; some full of cares and troubles, others 
 airy and gay caught his attention. Did any of them all 
 know anything of this man, he wondered knowing how 
 absurd a question it was. Had any of them written to- 
 day a letter full of explanations, of a matter that could 
 not be explained? There were faces with far more
 
 10 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 tragic meaning in them than could be so easil; 
 plained as that the faces of men, alas ! and women too, 
 who were going to destruction as fast as their hurrying 
 feet could carry them : or else were languidly dri. 
 no one knew where out of life altogether, out of all 
 that was good in life. John Tat ham knew this very 
 well too, and had it in him to do anything a man < 
 to stop the wanderers in their downward career. But 
 to-night he was thinking of none of these things. He 
 was only wondering how she would explain it, how she 
 could explain it, what she would say ; and lingering to 
 prolong his suspense, not to know too soon what it 
 
 At last, however, as there is no delay but must come 
 to an end one time or another, he found himself n' 
 in his room, in his smoking-coat and slippers, divested 
 of his stiff collar at his ease, the windows open upon 
 the quiet of the Temple Gardens, a little fresh air 
 breathing in. He had taken all this trouble to secure 
 ease for himself, to put off a little the reading of the 
 letter. Now the moment had come when it would be 
 absurd to dela} r any longer. It was so natural to see 
 her familiar handwriting not a lady's hand, angular 
 and pointed, like her mother's, but the handwriting of 
 her generation, which looks as if it were full of charac- 
 ter, until one perceives that it *x the writing of the gen- 
 eration, and all the girls and boys write much the same. 
 He took time for this reflection still as he tore open the 
 envelope. There were two sheets very well filled, and 
 written in at the corners, so that no available spot was 
 lost. " My dear old John," were the first words he 
 saw. He put down the letter and thought over the 
 address. "Well, she had always called him so. He was 
 old John when he was fourteen, to little Elinor. They 
 had always known each other like that like brother 
 and sister. But not particularly like brother and sis- 
 ter like cousins twice removed, which is a more inter- 
 esting tie in some particulars. And now for the letter. 
 
 ' MY DEAR OLD JOHN : I want to tell you myself of a 
 great thing that has happened to me the very greatest
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 11 
 
 thing that could happen in cue's life. Oh, John, dear 
 old John, I feel as if I had nobody else I could open 
 my heart to ; for mamma well, mamma is mamma, a 
 dear mother and a good one ; but you know she has 
 her o\vn ways of thinking " 
 
 He put down the letter again with a rueful little 
 laugh. "And have not I my own ways of thinking, 
 too f" he said to himself. 
 
 'Jack dear," continued the letter, "you must give 
 me your sympathy, all your sympathy. You never 
 were in love, I suppose (oh, what an odious way that 
 is of putting it ! but it spares one's feelings a little, for 
 even in writing it is too tremendous a thing to say 
 quite gravely and seriously, as one fee-Is it). Dear 
 John, I know you never were in love, or you would 
 have told me ; but still " 
 
 " Oh," he said to himself, with the merest suspicion 
 of a little quiver in his lip, which might, of course, 
 have been a laugh, but, on the other hand, might have 
 been something else, "I never was or I would have 
 told her That's the way she looks at it." Then he 
 took up the letter again. 
 
 " Because I see nothing but persecution before me. 
 It was only a week ago that it happened, and we wanted 
 to keep it quiet for a time ; but things get out in spite 
 of all one can do things of that sort, at least. And, 
 oh, dear Jack, fancy ! I have got three letters already, 
 all warning me against him ; raking up trifling things 
 that have occurred long ago, long before he met me, 
 and holding them up before me like scarecrows tell- 
 ing me he is not worthy of me, and that I will be 
 wretched if I marry him, and other dreadful lies like 
 that, which show me quite plainly that they neither 
 know him nor me, and that they haven't eyes to see 
 what he really is, nor minds to understand. But 
 though I see the folly of it and the wickedness of it, 
 mamma does not. She is ready to take other people's
 
 12 THE MARRIAGE OF KLIN OR. 
 
 words ; indeed, there is this to be said for her, that 
 she does not know him yet, and thei-efore cannot be 
 expected to be ready to take his own word before all. 
 Dear Jack, iny heart is so full, and I have so much to 
 tell you, and such perfect confidence in your sympathy, 
 and also in your insight and capacity to see through 
 all the lies and wicked stories which I foresee are going 
 to be poured upon us like a flood that I don't know 
 how to begin, I have so many things to say. I know 
 it is the heart of the season, and that you are asked out 
 every night in the week, and are so popular every- 
 where ; but if you could but come down from Saturday 
 to Monday, and let me tell you everything and show 
 you his picture, and read you parts of his letters, I 
 know you would see how false and wrong it all is, and 
 help me to face it out with all those horrid people, and 
 to bring round mamma. You know her dreadful way 
 of never giving an opinion, but just saying a great deal 
 worse, and leaving you to your own responsibility, 
 which nearly drives me mad even in little things so 
 you may suppose what it does in this. Of course, she 
 must see him, which is all I want, for I know after she 
 has had a half-hour's conversation with him that she 
 will be like me and will not believe a word not one 
 word. Therefore, Jack dear, come, oh, come ! I have 
 always turned to you in my difficulties, since ever I 
 have known what it was to have a difficulty, and you 
 have done everything for me. I never remember any 
 trouble I ever had but you found some means of clear- 
 ing it away. Therefore my whole hope is in you. I 
 know it is hard to give up all your parties and things : 
 but it would only be two nights, after all Saturday 
 and Sunday. Oh, do come, do come, if you ever cared 
 the least little bit for your poor cousin ! Come, oh, 
 come, dear old John ! 
 
 " Your affect. 
 
 " Is that all ? " he said to himself ; but it was not all, 
 for there followed a postscript all about the gifts and
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 13 
 
 graces of the unknown lover, and how he was the victim 
 of circumstances, and how, while other men might steai 
 the horse, he dared not look over the waD, and other 
 convincing pleadings such as these, till John's head be- 
 gan to go round. When he had got through this post- 
 script John Tatham folded the letter and put it away. 
 He had a smile on his face, but he had the air of a man 
 who had been beaten about the head and was confused 
 with the hurry and storm of the blows. She had al- 
 ways turned to him in all her difficulties, that was 
 true : and he had always stood by her, and often, in 
 the freemasonry of youth, had thought her right and 
 vindicated her capacity to judge for herself. He had 
 been called often on this errand, and he had never re- 
 fused to obey. For Elinor was very wilful, she had 
 always been wilful " a rosebud set about with wilful 
 thorns, But sweet as English air could make her, she." 
 He had- come to her aid many a time. But he had 
 never thought to be called upon by her in such a way 
 as this. He folded the letter up carefully and put it in 
 a drawer. Usually when he had a letter from Elinor 
 he put it into his pocket, for the satisfaction of read- 
 ing it over again : for she had a fantastic way of writ- 
 ing, adding little postscripts which escaped the eye at 
 first, and which it was pleasant to find out afterwards. 
 But with this letter he did not do so. He put it in a 
 drawer of his writing-table, so that he might find it 
 again when necessary, but he did not put it in his 
 breast pocket And then he sat for some time doing 
 nothing, looking before him, with his legs stretched 
 out and his hand beating a little tattoo upon the table. 
 " Well : well ? well ! " That was about what he said 
 to himself, but it meant a great deal : it meant a vague 
 but great disappointment, a sort of blank and vacuum 
 expressed by the first of these words and then it 
 meant a question of great importance and many divis- 
 ions. How could it ever have come to anything? Am 
 I a man to marry ? What could I have done, just get- 
 ting into practice, just getting a few pounds to spend 
 for myself ? And then came the conclusion. Sine* 1
 
 14 TUB MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 can't do anything else for her ; since she's done it for 
 herself shall I be a beast and not help her, because it 
 puts my own nose out of joint? Not a bit of it ! The 
 reader must remember that in venturing to reflect a 
 young man's sentiments a dignified style is scarce- 
 ly possible ; they express themselves sometimes with 
 much force in their private moments, but not as Dr. 
 Johnson would have approved, or with any sense of 
 elegance ; and one must try to be truthful to nature. 
 He knew very well that Elinor was not responsible for 
 his disappointment, and even he was aware that if 
 she had been so foolish as to fix her hopes upon him, 
 it would probably have been she who would have been 
 disappointed, and left in the lurch. But still 
 
 John had gone through an interminable amount of 
 thinking, and a good deal of soda-water (with or with- 
 out, how should I know, some other moderate ingredi- 
 ent), and a cigar or two not to speak of certain hours 
 when he ought to have been in bed to keep his head 
 clear for the cases of to-morrow : when it suddenly 
 flashed upon him all at once that he was not a step fur- 
 ther on than when he had received Mrs. Dennistoun's 
 letter in the morning, for Elinor, though she had said 
 so much about him, had given no indication who her 
 lover was. Who was the man ? 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IT was a blustering afternoon when John, with his bag 
 in his hand, set out from the station at Hurrymere for 
 Mrs. Dennistoun's cottage. Why that station should 
 have had "mere " in its name I have never been ab^ to 
 divine, for there is no water to be seen for miles, scarcely 
 so much us ;i diirkpond : but, perhaps, there are two 
 meanings to the words. It was a steep walk up a sue- 
 n of slopes, and the name of the one upon which 
 the cottage stood was Windykill, not an encouraging
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 15 
 
 title on such a day, but true enough to the character of 
 the place. The cottage lay, however, at the head of a 
 combe or shelving irregular valley, just sheltered from 
 the winds on a little platform of its own, and command- 
 ing a view which was delightful in its long sweeping 
 distance, and varied enough to be called picturesque, 
 especially by those who were familiar with nothing 
 higher than the swelling slopes of the Surrey hills. It 
 was wild, little cultivated, save in the emerald green of 
 the bottom, a few fields which lay where a stream ought 
 to have been. Nowadays there are red-roof ed houses 
 peeping out at every corner, but at that period fashion 
 had not even heard of Hurrymere, and, save for a farm- 
 house or two, a village alehouse and posting-house at a 
 corner of the high-road, and one or two great houses 
 within the circuit of sis or seven miles, retired within 
 their trees and parks, there were few habitations. Mrs. 
 Pennistoun's cottage was red-roofed like the rest, but 
 much subdued by lichens, and its walls were covered by 
 climbing plants, so that it struck no bold note upon the 
 wild landscape, yet was visible afar off in glimpses, from 
 the much-winding road, for a mile or two before it could 
 be come at. There was, indeed, a nearer way, necessi- 
 tating a sharp scramble, but when John came just hi 
 sight of the house his heart failed him a little, and, not- 
 withstanding that his bag had come to feel very heavy 
 by this time, he delibei*ately chose the longer round to 
 gain a little time as we all do sometimes, when we are 
 most anxious to be at our journey's end, and hear what 
 has to be told us. It looked very peaceful seated in 
 that fold of the hill, no tossing of trees about it, though 
 a little higher up the slim oaks and beeches of the copse 
 were flinging themselves about against the grey sky in 
 a kind of agonised appeal. John liked the sound of the 
 wind sweeping over the hills, rending the trees, and 
 filling the horizon as with a crowd of shadows in pain, 
 twisting and bending with every fresh sweep of the 
 breeze. Sometimes such sounds and sights give a relief 
 to the mind. He liked it better than if all had been 
 undisturbed, lying in afternoon quiet as might have been
 
 16 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 expected at the crown of the year but the winds had 
 always to be taken into account at Windyhill. 
 
 When he came in sight of the gate, John was aware 
 of some one waiting for him, walking up and down the 
 sandy road into which it opened. Her face was turned 
 the other way, and she evidently looked for him by way 
 of the combe, the scrambling steep road which he had 
 avoided in despite : for why should he scramble and 
 make himself hot in order to hear ten minutes sooner 
 what he did not wish to hear at all ? She turned round 
 suddenly as he knocked his foot against a stone upon 
 the rough, but otherwise noiseless road, presenting a 
 countenance flushed with sudden relief and pleasure to 
 John's remorseful eye. " Oh, there you are ! " she said ; 
 "I am so glad. I thought you could not be coming. 
 You might have been here a quarter of an hour ago by 
 the short road." 
 
 "I did not think there was any hurry," said John, 
 ungraciously. " The wind is enough to carry one 
 off one's feet ; though, to be sure, it's quiet enough 
 here." 
 
 " It's always quiet here," she said, reading his face 
 with her eyes after the manner of women, and wonder- 
 ing what the harassed look meant that was so unusual 
 in John's cheerful face. She jumped at the idea that 
 he was tired, that his bag was heavy, that he had been 
 beaten about by the wind till he had lost his temper, 
 always a possible thing to happen to a man. Elinor 
 flung herself upon the bag and tried to take possession 
 of it. "Why didn't you get a boy at the station to 
 carry it ? Let me carry it," she said. 
 
 "That is so likely," said John, with a hard laugh, 
 shifting it to his other hand. 
 
 Elinor caught his arm with both her hands, and looked 
 up with wistful eyes into his face. " Oh, John, you are 
 angry," she said. 
 
 "Nonsense. I am tired, buffeting about with this 
 wind." Here the gardener and man-of-all-work about 
 the cottage came up and took the bag, which John parted 
 with with angry reluctance, as if it had been a sort of
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF KLIXOR. 17 
 
 weapon of offence. After it was gone there was nothing 
 for it but to walk quietly to the house through the flowers 
 with that girl hanging on his arm, begging a hundred 
 pardons with her eyes. The folly of it ! as if she had 
 not a right to do as she pleased, or he would try to pre- 
 vent her ; but finally, the soft, silent apology of that 
 clinging, and the look full of petitions touched his surly 
 heart. " Well Nelly," he said, with involuntary soften- 
 ing. 
 
 " Oh, if you call me that I am not afraid ! " she cried, 
 with an instant upleaping of pleasure and confidence in 
 her changeable face, which (John tried to say to himself) 
 was not really pretty at all, only so full of expression, 
 changing with every breath of feeling. The eyes, which 
 had only been brown a moment before, leaped up into 
 globes of light, yet not too dazzling, with some liquid 
 medium to soften their shining. Even though you know 
 that a girl is in love with another man, that she thinks 
 of you no more than of the old gardener who has just 
 hobbled round the corner, it is pleasant to be able to 
 change the whole aspect of affairs to her and make her 
 light up like that, solely by a little unwilling softening 
 of your gruff anil sui'lv tone. 
 
 'You know, John," she said, holding his arm tight 
 with her two hands, " that nobody ever calls me Nelly 
 except you." 
 
 " Possibly I shall call you Nelly no longer. Why ? 
 Why, bo.'-iuse that fellow will object." 
 
 " That-fellow ! Oh, he .' " Elinor's face grew very red 
 all over, from the chin, which almost touched John's 
 arm, to the forehead, bent back a little over those eyes 
 suffused with light which were intent upon all the 
 changes of John's face. This one was, like the land- 
 scape, swept by all the vicissitudes of sun and shade. 
 It w.-is radiant now with the unexpected splendour of the 
 sudden gleam. 
 
 " Oh, John, John, I have so much to say to you ! He 
 will object to nothing. He knows very well you are 
 like my brother almost more than my brother for you 
 could help it, John. You almost chose me for your
 
 18 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 friend, which a brother would not. He says, 'Get him 
 to be our friend and all will be well ! ' 
 
 He had not said this, but Elinor had said it to him, 
 and he had assented, which was almost the same in 
 the way of reckoning of a girl, at least. 
 
 "He is very kind, I am sure," said John, gulping 
 down something which had almost made him throw off 
 Elinor's arm, and fling away from her in indignation. 
 
 Her brother ! ! But there was no use making any 
 
 row, he said to himself. If anything were to be done 
 for her he must put up with all that. There had sud- 
 denly corne upon John, he knew not how, as he scanned 
 her anxious face, a conviction that the man was a scamp, 
 from whom at all hazards she should be free. 
 
 Said Elinor, unsuspecting, "That is just what he is, 
 John ! I knew you would divine his character at once. 
 You can't think how kind he is kind to everybody. 
 He never judges anyone, or throws a stone, or makes an 
 insinuation." (" Probably because he knows he cannot 
 bear investigation himself," John said, in his heart.) 
 "That was the thing that took my heart first. Every- 
 body is so censorious always something to say against 
 their neighbours ; he, never a word." 
 
 "That's a very good quality," said John, reluctantly, 
 " if it doesn't mean confounding good with bad, and 
 thinking nothing matters." 
 
 Elinor gave him a grieved, reproachful look, and 
 loosened the clasping of her hands. " It is not like you 
 to imagine that, John ! " 
 
 " Well, what is a man to say ? Don't you see, if you 
 do nothing but blow his trumpet, the only thing left for 
 me to do is to insinuate something against him ? I 
 don't know the man from Adam. He may be an angel, 
 for anything I can say." 
 
 "No ; I do not pretend he is that," said Elinor, with 
 impartiality. " He has his faults, like others, but they 
 are nice faults. He doesn't know how to take care of 
 his money (but he hasn't got very much, which makes 
 it the less matter), and he is sometimes taken in about 
 his friends. Anybody almost that appeals to his kind
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 19 
 
 ness is treated like a friend, which makes precise people 
 
 think but, of course, I don't share that opinion in 
 
 the very least." 
 
 ("A very wasteful beggar, with a disreputable set," 
 was John's practical comment within himself upon this 
 speech.) 
 
 " And he doesn't know how to curiy favour with peo- 
 ple who can help him on ; so that though he has been 
 for years promised something, it never turns up. Oh, 
 I know his faults very well indeed," said Elinor ; " but 
 a woman can do so much to make \ip for faults like that. 
 We're naturally saving, you know, and we always keep 
 those unnecessary friends that were made before our 
 time at a distance ; and it's part of our nature to coax 
 a patron that is what Mariamue says." 
 
 "Mariamne?" said John. 
 
 " His sister, who first introduced him to me ; and 
 I am very fond of her, so you need not say anything 
 against her, John. I know she is fashionable, but 
 that's no harm." 
 
 "Mariamne," he repeated; "it is a very uncommon 
 name. You don't mean Lady Mariamne Prestwich, do 
 
 you? and not not Eliuor! not Phil Compton, for 
 
 goodness' sake ? Don't tell me he's the man ? " 
 
 Elinor's hands dropped from his arm. She drew her- 
 self up until she seemed to tower over him. "And why 
 should I say it is not Mr. Compton," she asked, with a 
 scarlet flush of anger, so different from that rosy red of 
 love and happiness, covering her face. 
 
 " Phil Compton ! the efts-Honourable Phil ! Why, 
 Elinor ! you cannot mean it ! you must not mean it ! " 
 he cried. 
 
 Elinor said not a word. She turned from him with 
 a look of pathetic reproach but with the air of a queen, 
 and walked into the house, he following in a ferment of 
 wrath and trouble, yet humbled and miserable more 
 than words could say. Oh, the flowery, peaceful house ! 
 jasmine and rose overleaping each other upon the porch, 
 honeysuckle scenting the air, all manner of feminine 
 contrivances to continue the greenness and the sweet-
 
 -JO THE MARiUACK OF 
 
 ness into the little bright hall, into the open drawing- 
 room, where flowers stood on every table amid the hun- 
 dred pretty trifles of a woman's house. There was no 
 one in this room where she led him, and then turned 
 round confronting him, taller than he had ever seen 
 her before, pale, with her nostrils dilating and her lips 
 trembling. "I never thought it possible that you of 
 all people in the world, you, John my stand-by since 
 
 ever I was a baby my Oh ! what a horrid thing 
 
 it is to be a woman," cried Elinor, stamping her foot, 
 " to be ready to cry for everything ! you, John ! that I 
 always put my trust in that you should turn against 
 me and at the very first word ! " 
 
 " Elinor," he said, " my dear girl ! not against you, 
 not against you, for all the world ! " 
 
 "And what is me?" she said, with that sudden turn- 
 ing of the tables and high scorn of her previous argu- 
 ment which is common with women ; "do I care what 
 you do to me ? Oh, nothing, nothing ! I am of no ac- 
 count, you can trample me down under your feet if you 
 like. But what I will not bear," she said, clenching her 
 hands, " is injustice to him : that I will not bear, neither 
 from you, Cousin John, who are only my distant cousin, 
 after all, and have no right to thrust your advice upon 
 me or from any one in the world." 
 
 " What you say is quite true, Elinor, I am only a dis- 
 tant cousin after all : but 
 
 "Oh, no, no," she cried, flying to him, seizing once 
 more his arm with her clinging hands, " I did not mean 
 that you know I did not mean that, my more than 
 brother, my good, good John, whom I have trusted all 
 my life ! " 
 
 And then the poor girl broke out into passionate 
 weeping with her head upon his shoulder, as she might 
 have leant upon the handy trunk of a tree, or on the 
 nearest door or window, as John Tatham said in his 
 heart. He soothed her as best he could, and put her 
 in a chair and stood with his hand upon the back of it, 
 looking down upon her as the fit of crying wore itself 
 out. Poor little girl ! he had seen her cry often enough
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 21 
 
 before. A girl cries for anything, for a thorn in her 
 finger, for a twist of her foot. He had seen her cry and 
 laugh, and dash the tears out of her eyes on such occa- 
 sions, oh ! often and often : there was that time when 
 lie rushed out of the bushes unexpectedly and frightened 
 her pony, and she fell among the grass and vowed, sob- 
 bing and laughing, it was her fault ! and once when she 
 : little tot, not old enough for boy's play, when she 
 fell upon her little nose and cut it and disfigured her- 
 self, and held up that wounded little knob of a feature 
 to have it kissed and made well. Oh, why did he think 
 of that now ! the little thing all trust and simple con- 
 fidence ! There was that time too when she jumped up 
 to get a gun and shoot the tramps who had hurt some- 
 body, if John would but give her his hand ! These 
 things came rushing into his mind as he stood watch- 
 ing Elinor cry, with his hand upon the back of her 
 chair. 
 
 She wanted John's hand now when she was going 
 forth to far greater dangers. Oh, poor little Nelly ! 
 poor little thing ! but he could not put her oil his 
 shoulder and carry her out to face the foe now. 
 
 She jumped up suddenly while he was thinking, with 
 the tears still wet upon her cheeks, but the paroxysm 
 mastered, and the light of her eyes coming out doubly 
 bright like the sun from the clouds. " "We poor women," 
 she said with a laugh, " are so badly off, we are so handi- 
 capped, as you call it ! We can't help crying like fools ! 
 We can't help caring for what other people thiuk, trying 
 to conciliate and bring them round to approve us 
 when we ought to stand by our own conscience and 
 judgment, and sense of what is right, like independent 
 beings." 
 
 "If that means taking your own way, Elinor, what- 
 ever any one may say to you, I think Avomen do it at 
 least as much as men." 
 
 " No, it does not mean taking our own way, "she cried, 
 "and if you do not understand any better than that, 
 
 why should I But you do understand better. John," 
 
 he said, her countenance again softening : "you kno\r
 
 22 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 I want, above everything in the world, that you should 
 approve of me and see that I am right. That is what I 
 want ! I will do what I think right ; but, oh, if I could 
 only have you with me in doing it, and know that you 
 saw with me that it was the best, the only thing to do ! 
 Happiness lies in that, not in having one's own way." 
 
 "My dear Elinor," he said, "isn't that asking a great 
 deal ? To prevent you from doing what you think right 
 is in nobody's power. You are of age, and I am sure 
 my aunt will force nothing ; but how can we change 
 our opinions, our convictions, our entire points of view ? 
 There is nobody in the world I would do so much for as 
 you, Elinor : but I cannot do that, even for you." 
 
 The hot tears were dried from her cheeks, the passion 
 was over. She looked at him, her efforts to gain him at 
 an end, on the equal footing of an independent individ- 
 ual agreeing to differ, and as strong in her own view as 
 he could be. 
 
 " There is one thing you can do for me," she said. 
 " Mamma knows nothing about fashionable gossip. 
 She is not acquainted with the wicked things that are 
 said. If she disapproves it is only because Oh, I 
 suppose because one's mother always disapproves a 
 thing that is done without her, that she has no hand in, 
 what she calls pledging one's self to a stranger, and not 
 knowing his antecedents, his circumstances, and so 
 forth ! But she hasn't any definite ground for it as 
 you think you have, judging in the uncharitable way 
 of the world not remembering that if we love one 
 another the more there is against him the more need 
 he has of me ! But all I have to ask of you, John, is 
 not to prejudice my mother. I know you can do it if 
 you please a hint would be enough, an uncertain 
 word, even hesitating when you answer a question 
 that would be quite enough ! John, if you put things 
 into her head " 
 
 " You ask most extraordinary things of me," said John, 
 turning to bay. " To tell her lies about a man whom 
 everybody knows to pretend I think one thing when I 
 think quite another, Not to say that my duty is to in-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 23 
 
 form her exactly what things are said, so that she may 
 judge for herself, not let her go forth in ignorance 
 that is my plain duty, Elinor." 
 
 "But you won't do it; oh, you won't do it!" she 
 said. "Oh, John, for the sake of all the time that you 
 have been so good to Nelly your own little Nelly, no- 
 body else's ! Remember that I and everybody who 
 loves him know these stories to be lies and don't, 
 don't put things into my mother's head ! Let her 
 judge for herself don't, don't prejudice her, John. 
 It can be no one's duty to repeat malicious stories 
 when there is no possibility of proving or disproving 
 
 them. Don't make her think Oh, mamma ! we 
 
 couldn't think where you had gone to. Yes, here is 
 John." 
 
 "So I perceive," said Mrs. Dennistoun. It was get- 
 ting towards evening, and the room was not very light. 
 She could not distinguish their looks or the agitation 
 that scarcely could have been hidden but for the dusk. 
 "You seem to have been having a very animated con- 
 versation. I heard your voices all along the garden 
 walk. Liet me have the benefit of it, if there is anything 
 to tell." 
 
 ' You know well enough, mamma, what we must have 
 been talking about," said Elinor, turning half angrily 
 away. 
 
 "To be sure," said the mother, "I ought to have 
 known. There is nothing so interesting as that sort of 
 thing. I thought, however, you would probably have 
 put it off a little, Elinor." 
 
 " Put it off a little when it is the thing that concerns 
 us more than anything else in the world ! " 
 
 " That is true," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with a sigh. 
 " Did you walk all the way, John ? I meant to have 
 sent the pony-cart for you, but the man was too late. 
 It is a nice evening though, and coming out of town it 
 is a good thing for you to have a good walk," 
 
 "Yes, I like it more than anything/' said John, "but 
 the evening ia not eo very fine. The wind if high, aud 
 I shouldn't wonder if we had rain."
 
 24- THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "The wind is always high here," said Mrs. Deunis- 
 toun. " We don't have our view for nothing ; but the 
 sky is quite clear in the west, and all the clouds blow- 
 ing away. I don!t think we shall have more than a 
 shower." 
 
 Elinor stood listening to this talk with restrained im- 
 patience, as if waiting for the moment when they 
 should come to something worth talking about. Then 
 she gave herself a sort of shake half weary, half in- 
 dignant and left the room. There was a moment's 
 silence, until her quick step was heard going to the 
 other end of the house and upstairs, and the shutting 
 of a door. 
 
 " Oh, John, I arn very uneasy, very uneasy," said 
 Mrs. Dennistoun. "I scarcely thought she would have 
 begun to you about it at once ; but then I am doing the 
 very same. We can't think of anything else. I arn not 
 going to worry you before dinner, for you must be tired 
 with your walk, and want to refresh yourself before we 
 enter upon that weary, weary business. But my heart 
 misgives me dreadfully about it all. If I onty had gone 
 with her ! It was not for want of an invitation, but 
 just my laziness. I could not be troubled to leave my 
 own house." 
 
 "I don't see what difference it would have made had 
 you been with her, aunt." 
 
 " Oh, I should have seen the man : and been able to 
 judge what he was and his motive, John," 
 
 "Elinor is not rich. He could scaicely have had an 
 interested motive." 
 
 " There is some comfort in. that. I have said that to 
 myself again and again. He. could not have an interested 
 motive. But, oh ! I am uneasy ! There is the clress- 
 iug-bell. I will not keep you any longer, John ; but in 
 the evening, or to-morrow, when we can get a quiet 
 moment " 
 
 The dusk, was now pervading all the house that 
 summer dusk which there is a natural prejudice every- 
 where against cutting short by lights. He could not 
 see her face, nor she his, as they went out of the draw-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 25 
 
 ing-room together and along the long passage, which 
 led by several arched doorways to the stairs. Johu had 
 a room ou the ground floor which was kept for gentle- 
 men visitors, and in which the candles were twinkling 
 on the dressing-table. He was more than ever thank- 
 ful as he caught a glimpse of himself in the vague re- 
 flected world of the mirror, with its lights standing up 
 reflected too, like inquisitors spying upon him, that 
 there had not been light enough to .show how he was 
 looking : for though lie was both a lawyer and a man 
 of the world, John Tatham had not been able to keep 
 the trouble which his interview with Elinor had caused 
 him out of his face. 
 
 CHAPTER IH. 
 
 THE drawing-room of the cottage was large and low, 
 and had that /(/</./ air of being old-fashioned which is 
 dear to the hearts of superior people generally. Mrs. 
 Deunistoun and her daughter scarce!}* belonged to that 
 class, yet they were, as ladies of leisure with a liitle 
 taste for the arts are bound to be, touched by all the 
 fancies of their time, which was just beginning to adore 
 Queen Anne. There was still, however, a mixture of 
 luxury with the square settees and spindle-legged cabi- 
 nets which wore "the fashion:" and partly because 
 that was also ''the fashion," and partly because on 
 "Wiudyhill even a July evening was sometimes a little 
 chill, or looked so by reason of the great darkness of 
 the silent, little-inhabited country outside there was a 
 log burning on the fire-dogs (the newest thing in 
 furnishing in those days though now so common) on 
 the hearth. The log burned as little as possible, being, 
 perhaps, not quite so thoroughly dry and serviceable as 
 it would have been in its proper period, and made a 
 faint hissing sound in the silence as it burned, and dif- 
 fused its pungent odour through the house. The bow 
 window was open behind its white curtains, and it was
 
 26 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 there that the little party gathered out of reach of the 
 unnecessary heat and the smoke. There was a low sofa 
 on either side of this recess, and in the centre the 
 French window opened into the garden, where all the 
 scents were balmy in the stillness which had fallen upon 
 the night. 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun was tall and slim, a woman with a 
 presence, and sat with a sort of dignity on her side of 
 the window, with a little table beside her covered with 
 her little requirements, the properties, so to speak, 
 without which she was never known to be a book for 
 moments when there was nothing else to interest her, a 
 case for work should there arise any necessity for put- 
 ting in a stitch in time, a bottle of salts should she or 
 any one else become suddenly faint, a paper cutter in 
 cases of emergency, and finally, for mere ornament, two 
 roses, a red and a white, in one of those tall old- 
 fashioned glasses which are so pretty for flowers. I do 
 wrong to dismiss the roses with such vulgar qualifica- 
 tions as white and red the one was a Souvenir de 
 
 Malmaison, the other a General something or other. 
 
 If you spoke to Mrs. Denuistoun about her flowers she 
 said, "Oh, the Malmaison," or "Oh, the General So- 
 and-so." Rose was only the family name, but happily, 
 as we all know, under the other appellation they smelt 
 just as sweet. Mrs. Deunistoun kept up all this little 
 state because she had been used to do so ; because it 
 was part of a lady's accoutrements, so to speak. She 
 had also a cushion, which Avas necessary, if not for com- 
 fort, yet for her sense of being fully equipped, placed 
 behind her back when she sat down. But with all this 
 she was not a formal or prim person. She was a woman 
 who had not produced a great deal of effect in life ; one 
 of those who are not accustomed to have their advice 
 taken, or to find that their opinion has much weight 
 upon others. Perhaps it was because Elinor resembled 
 her father that this peculiarity which had affected all 
 Mrs. Dennistoun's married life should have continued 
 into a sphere where she ought to have been paramount. 
 But she was with her daughter as she had been with
 
 THE KARRI AQB OF ELiyOK. 27 
 
 her husband, a person of an ineffective character, tak- 
 ing refuge from the sensation of being unable to in- 
 fluence those about her whose wills were stronger than 
 her own, by relinquishing authority, and in her most 
 decided moments offering an opinion only, no more. 
 This was not because she was really undecided, for on 
 the contrary she knew her own mind well enough ; but 
 it had become a matter of habit with her to insist upon 
 no opinion, knowing, as she did, how little chance she 
 had of imposing her opinion upon the stronger wills 
 about her. She had two other children older than 
 Elinor : one, the eldest of all, married in India, a woman 
 with many children of her own, practically altogether 
 severed from the maternal nest ; the other an adventur- 
 ous son, who was generally understood to be at the 
 emls of the earth, but seldom or never had any more 
 definite address. This lady had naturally gone through 
 many pangs and anxieties on behalf of these children, 
 who had dropped away from her side into the unknown ; 
 but it belonged to her character to have said very little 
 about this, so that she was generally supposed to take 
 things very easily, and other mothers were apt to ad- 
 mire the composure of Mrs. Dennistoun, whose sou 
 might be being murdered by savages at any moment, 
 for anything she knew or minded, apparently. " NO\Y 
 it would have driven //ta out of my senses ! " the other 
 ladies said. Mrs. Dennistoun perhaps did not feel the 
 back so well fitted to the burden as appeared but she 
 kept her own sentiments on this subject entirely to 
 herself. 
 
 (I may say too but this, the young reader may skip 
 without disadvantage by way of explanation of a 
 peculiarity which has lately been much remarked as 
 characteristic of those records of human history con- 
 temptuously called fiction, i.e., the unimportance, or ill- 
 report, or unjust disapproval of the mother in records 
 of this description that it is almost impossible to main- 
 tain her due rank and character in a piece of history, 
 which has to be kept within certain limits and where 
 her daughter the heroine must have the first place. To
 
 28 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 lessen her pre-eminence by dwelling at length upon the 
 mother, unless that mother is a fool, or a termagant, or 
 something thoroughly contrasting with the beauty and 
 virtues of the daughter would in most 'cases be a 
 mistake in art. For one thing the necessary incidents 
 are wanting, for I strongly object, and so I think do 
 most people, to mothers who fall in love, or think of 
 marriage, or any such vanity in their own person, and 
 unless she is to interfere mischievously with the young 
 lady's prospects, or take more or less the part of the 
 villain, how is she to be permitted any importance at 
 all? For there cannot be two suns in one sphere, or 
 two centres to one world. Thus the mother has to be 
 sacrificed to the daughter : which is a parable ; or else 
 it is the other way, which is against all the principles 
 and prepossessions of life.) 
 
 Elinor did not sit up like her mother. She had flung 
 herself upon the opposite sofa, with her arms flung be- 
 hind her head, supporting it with her fingers half buried 
 in the twists of her hair. She was not tall like Mis. 
 Dennistoun, and there was far more vivid colour than 
 had ever been the mother's in her brown eyes and 
 bright complexion, which was milk-white and rose-red 
 after an old-fashioned rule of colour, too crude perhaps 
 for modern artistic taste. Sometimes these delightful 
 tints go with a placid soul which never varies, but in 
 Elinor's case there was a demon in the hazel of the 
 eyes, not dark enough for placidity, all fire at the best 
 of times, and ready in a moment to burst into flame. 
 She it was who had to be in the forefront of the inter- 
 est, and not her mother, though for metaphysical, or 
 what I suppose should now be called psychological in- 
 terests, the elder lady was probably the most interesting 
 of the two. Elinor beat her foot upon the carpet, out 
 of sheer impatience, while John lingered alone in the 
 dining-room. What did he stay there for ? When there 
 are several men together, and they drink wine, the thing 
 is comprehensible ; but one man alone who takes his 
 claret with his dinner, and cares for nothing more, why 
 should he stay behind when there was so much to say
 
 THE MAUIUA'-E OF ELINOR. 29 
 
 to him, and not one minute too much time till Monday 
 morning, should the house be given up to talk not only 
 l>y day but by night? But it was no use beating one's 
 foot, for John did not come. 
 
 ' You spoke to your cousin, Elinor, before dinner? " 
 her mother said. 
 
 "Oh, yes. I spoke to him before dinner. What did 
 he come here for but that ? I sent for him on yurpose, 
 you know, mamma, to hear what he would say." 
 
 '' And what did he say ?" 
 
 This most natural question produced a small convul- 
 sion once more on Eliuor's side. She loosed the hands 
 that had been supporting her head and Hung them out 
 in front of her. " Oh, mamma, how can you be so ex- 
 asperating ! What did he say ? What was he likely to 
 say? If the beggar maid that married King Cophetua 
 had a family it would have been exactly the same thing 
 though in that case siirely_the advantage was all on 
 the gentleman's side." 
 
 "We know none of the particulars in that case," said 
 Mrs. Dennistoun, calmly. " I have always thought it 
 quite possible that the beggar maid was a princ- 
 an old dynasty and King Cophetua a parvenu. But in 
 your case, Elinor " 
 
 "You know just as little," said the girl, impetuously. 
 
 " That is what I say. I don't know the man who has 
 possessed himself of my child's fancy and heart. I 
 want to know more about him. I want " 
 
 "For goodness' sake, whatever you want, don't be 
 sentimental, mamma ! " 
 
 "Was I sentimental? I didn't mean it. He has 
 got your heart, my dear, whatever words may be 
 used." 
 
 " Yes and for ever ! " said the girl, turning round 
 upon herself. " I know you think I don't know my own 
 mind ; but there will never be any change in me. Oh, 
 what does John mean, sitting all by himself in that 
 stuffy room ? He has had time to smoke a hundred 
 cigarettes ! " 
 
 " Elinor, you must not forget it is rather hard upon
 
 30 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 John to be brought down to settle your difficulties for 
 you. What do you want with him ? Only that he 
 should advise you to do what you have settled upon 
 doing. If he took the other side, how much attention 
 would you give him ? You must be reasonable, my 
 dear." 
 
 " I would give him every attention," said Elinor, " if 
 he said what was reasonable. You don't think mere 
 blind opposition is reasonable, I hope, mamma. To 
 say Don't, merely, without saying why, what reason is 
 there in that?" 
 
 "My dear, when you argue I am lost. I am not 
 clever at making out my ground. Mine is not mere 
 blind opposition, or indeed opposition at all. You 
 have been always trained to use your own faculties, and 
 I have never made any stand against you." 
 
 "Why not? why not?" said the girl, springing to 
 her feet. " That is just the dreadful, dreadful part of 
 it ! Why don't you say straight out what I am to do 
 and keep to it, and not tell me I must make use of 
 my own faculties ? When I do, you put on a face and 
 object. Either don't object, or tell me point-blank 
 what I am to do." 
 
 " Do you think for one moment if I did, you would 
 obey me, Elinor ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know what I might do in that case, for 
 it will never happen. You will never take that respon- 
 sibility. For my part, if you locked me up in my room 
 and kept me on bread and water I should think that 
 reasonable ; but not this kind of letting I dare not wait 
 upon I would, saying I am to exercise my own faculties, 
 and then hesitating and finding fault." 
 
 " I daresay, my dear," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with 
 great tolerance, " that this may be provoking to your 
 impatient mind : but you must put yourself in my 
 place a little, as I try to put myself in yours. I have 
 never seen Mr. Compton. It is probable, or at least 
 quite possible, that if I knew him I might look upon 
 him with your eyes " 
 
 "Probable! Possible! What words to use! when
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 31 
 
 all my happiness, all my life, everything I care for is in 
 it : and my own mother thinks it just possible that she 
 might be able to tolerate the man that the man 
 who " 
 
 She flung herself clown on her seat again, panting 
 and excited. " Did yon wear out Adelaide like that," 
 she cried, " before she married, papa and you " 
 
 " Adelaide was very different, Elinor. She married 
 nal'jH le* r>:'j^'-< a man whom we all knew. There was 
 no trouble about it. Your father was the one who was 
 impatient then. He thought it too well arranged, too 
 commonplace and satisfactory. You may believe he 
 did not object to that in words, but he laughed at them 
 and it worried him. It has done very well on the 
 whole, 5 ' said Sirs. Deuuistoun, with a faint sigh. 
 
 " You say that and then you sigh. There is always 
 a little reserve. You are never wholly satisfied." 
 
 " One seldom is in this world," said Mrs. Dennistoun, 
 this time with a soft laugh. " This world is not very 
 satisfactory. One makes the best one can of it." 
 
 " And that is just what I hate to hear," said Elinor, 
 " what I have always heard. Oh, yes, when you don't 
 say it you mean it, mamma. One can read it in the 
 turn of your head. You put up with things. You 
 think perhaps they might hare been worse. In everj 
 way that's your philosophy. And it's killing, killing to 
 all life ! I would rather far you said out, ' Adelaide's 
 husband is a prig and I hate him.' " 
 
 " There is only one drawback, that it would not be 
 true. I don't in the least hate him. I am glad I was 
 not called upon to marry him myself, I don't think I 
 should have liked it. But* he makes Adelaide a very 
 good husband, and she is quite happy with him as far 
 as I know." 
 
 " The same thing again never more. I wonder, I 
 wonder after I have been married a dozen years what 
 you will say of me ? " 
 
 " I wonder, too ; if we could but know that it would 
 solve the question," the mother said. Elinor looked at 
 her with a provoked and impatient air, which softened
 
 ol' THE MMtlUAVE OF ELINOR. 
 
 off after a moment partly because she beard the door 
 of the dining-room open into a smile 
 
 "I try you in every way," she said, half laughing. 
 " I do everything to beguile you into a pleasanter 
 speech. I thought you must at least have said then 
 that you hoped you would have nothing to say but 
 happiness. No ! you are not to be caught, however 
 one tries, mamma." 
 
 John came in at this moment, not without a 
 whiff about him of the cigarette over which lie had 
 lingered so. It relieved him to see the two ladies 
 seated opposite each other in the bow window, and to 
 hear something like a laugh in the air. Perhaps they 
 were discussing other things, and not this momen- 
 tous marriage question, in which certainly no laughter 
 was. 
 
 " You have your usual tire," he said, " but the wind 
 has quite gone down, and I am sure it is not wanted 
 to-night." 
 
 "It looks cheerful always, John." 
 
 " Which is the reason, I suppose, why you carefully 
 place yourself out of sight of it one of the prejudices 
 of English life." 
 
 And then he came forward into the recess of the 
 window, which was partly separated from the room by 
 a table with flowers on it, and a great bush in a pot, of 
 .delicate maiden-hair fern. It was perhaps significant, 
 though he did not mean it for any demonstration of 
 partisanship, that he sat down on Elinor's side. Both 
 the ladies felt it so instinctively, although, on the 
 contrary, had the truth been known, all John's real 
 agreement was with the mother ; but in such a con- 
 juncture it is not truth but personal sympathy that 
 carries the day. "You are almost in the dark here," 
 he said. 
 
 " Neither of us is doing anything. One is lazy on a 
 summer night." 
 
 "There is a great deal more in it than that," said 
 Elinor, in a voice which faltered a little. "You talk 
 about summer nights, and the weather, and all manner
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF EL1XOR. 33 
 
 of indiftei'ent tilings, but you know all the time there is 
 but one real subject to talk of, and that we are all 
 thinking of that." 
 
 "That is ray line, aunt," said John. "Elinor is 
 right. We might sit and make conversation, but of 
 course this is the only subject we are thinking of. It's 
 very kind of you to take me into the consultation. Of 
 course I am in a kind of way the nearest in relation, 
 and the only man in the family except my father 
 and I know a little about law, and all that. Now let 
 me hear formally, as if I knew nothing about it (and, 
 in fact, I know very little), what the question is. Eli- 
 nor has met someone who who has proposed to her 
 not to put too fine a point upon it," said John, with a 
 smile that was somewhat ghastly " and she has ac- 
 cepted him. Congratulations are understood, but here 
 there arises a hitch." 
 
 " There arises no hitch. Mamma is dissatisfied 
 (which mamma generally is) chiefly because she does 
 not know Mr. Compton ; and some wretched old 
 woman, who doesn't know him either, has written to 
 her to her and also to me telling us a pack of lies," 
 said Elinor, indignantly, "to which I do not give the 
 least credence for a moment not for a moment ! " 
 
 "That's all very well for you," said John, "it's quite 
 simple ; but for us, Elinor that is, for your mother 
 and me, as you are good enough to allow me to have a 
 say in the matter it's not so simple. We feel, you 
 know, that, like Caesar's wife, our Elinor's husband " 
 he could not help making a grimace as he said that 
 word, but no one saw or suspected it "should be 
 above suspicion." 
 
 " That is exactly what I feel, John." 
 
 "Well, we must do something about it, don't you 
 see ? Probably it will be as easy as possible for him 
 to clear himself." (The dis-Honourable Phil ! Good 
 heavens ! to think it was a man branded with such a 
 name that was to marry Elinor ! For a moment he was 
 silenced by the thought, as if some one had given him 
 a blow.) 
 3
 
 34: TUE MAUHIAVE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " To clear himself ! " said Eliuor. " And do you 
 think I will permit him to be asked to clear himself? 
 Do you think I will allow him to believe for a moment 
 that / believed anything against him ? Do you think I 
 will take the word of a spiteful old woman ? " 
 
 " Old women are not always spiteful, and they are 
 sometimes right." John put out his hand to prevent 
 Mrs. Denuistoun from speaking, which, indeed, she had 
 no intention of doing. " I don't mean so, of course, in 
 Mr. Compton's case and I don't know what has been 
 said." 
 
 " Things that are very uncomfortable very inconsist- 
 ent with a happy life and a comfortable establish- 
 ment," said Mrs. Deunistoun. 
 
 " Oh, if you could only hear yourself, mamma ! 
 You are not generally a Philistine, I must say that for 
 you ; but if you only heard the tone in which you said 
 ' comfortable establishment ! ' the most conventional 
 match-making in existence could not have done it 
 better ; and as for what has been said, there has noth- 
 ing been said but what is said about everybody what, 
 probably, would be said of you yourself, John, for you 
 play whist sometimes, I hear, and often billiards, at the 
 club." 
 
 A half-audible " God forbid ! " had come from John's 
 lips when she said, " What would probably be said of 
 yourself " audible that is to Elinor, not to the mother. 
 She sprang up as this murmur came to her ear : " Oh, 
 if you are going to prejudge the case, there is nothing 
 for me to say ! " 
 
 "I should be very sorry to prejudge the case, or to 
 judge it all," said John. " I am too closely interested to 
 be judicial. Let somebody who knows nothing about it 
 be your judge. Let the accusations be submitted to 
 your Rector, say ; he's a sensible man enough, and 
 knows the world. He won't be scared by a rubber at 
 the club, or that sort of thing. Let him inquire, and 
 then your mind will be at rest." 
 
 " There is only one difficulty, John," said Mrs. Den- 
 uistoun. " Mr. Hudson would be the best man in the
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. o5 
 
 world, only for one thing that it is from his sister and 
 his wife that the warning came." 
 
 " Oh ! " said John. This fact seemed to take him 
 aback in the most ludicrous way. He sat and gazed 
 at them, and had not another word to say. Perhaps 
 the fact that he- himself who suggested the inquiry was 
 still better informed of the true state of the case, and 
 of the truth of the accusation, than were those to 
 whom he might have submitted it, gave him a sense of 
 the hopelessness and also absurdity of the attempt 
 more than anything else could have done. 
 
 " And that proves, if there was nothing else," said 
 Elinor, " how false it JLS : for how could Mrs. Hudson 
 and Mary Dale know ? They are not fashionable 
 people, they are not in society. How could they or 
 any one like them know anything of Phil " she stopped 
 quickly, drew herself up, and added "of Mr. Comp- 
 ton, I mean ? " 
 
 " They might not know, but they might state their 
 authority," Mrs. Dennistouu said ; " and if the Rector 
 cannot be used to help us, surely, John, you are a man 
 of the world, you are not like a woman, unacquainted 
 with evidence. Why should not you do it, though you 
 are, as you kindly say, an interested party ? " 
 
 " He shall not do it. I forbid him to do it. If he 
 takes in hand anything of the kind he must say good- 
 by to me." 
 
 "You hear?" said John ; " but I could not do it m 
 any case, my dear Elinor. I am too near. I never 
 could see this thing all round. Why not your lawyer, 
 old Lynch, a decent old fellow " 
 
 " I will tell him the same," cried Elinor ; " I will 
 never speak to him again." 
 
 " My dear," said her mother, " you will give every- 
 body the idea that you don't want to know the truth." 
 
 " I know the truth already," said Elinor, rising with 
 great dignity. " Do you think that any slander would 
 for a moment shake my faith in you or you ? You 
 don't deserve it, John, for you turn against me you 
 that I thought were going to take my part ; but do you
 
 THE MA'&RlAGg OF ELINOR. 
 
 think if all the people in London set up one story that 
 I would believe it against you? And how should I 
 against him?" she added, with an emphasis upon the 
 word, as expressing something immeasurably more to 
 be loved and trusted than either mother or cousin, by 
 which, after having raised John up to a sort of heaven 
 of gratified affection, she let him down again to the 
 ground like a stone. Oh, yes ! trusted in with perfect 
 faith, nothing believed against him, whom she had 
 known all her life but yet uot to be mentioned in the 
 same breath with the ineffable trust she reposed in the 
 man she loved whom she did not know at all. The 
 lirst made John's countenance beam with emotion and 
 pleasure, the second brought a cold shade over his face. 
 For a moment he could scarcely speak. 
 
 " She bribes us," he said at last, forcing a smile. 
 " She flatters us, but only to let us drop again, Mrs. 
 Dennistoun ; it is as good as saying, ' What are we to 
 him ? ' " 
 
 " They all do so," said the elder lady, calmly ; " I am 
 used to it." 
 
 "But, perhaps, I am not quite used to it," said 
 John, with something in his voice which made them 
 both look at him Elinor only for a moment, care- 
 lessly, before she swept away Mrs. Dennistoun with a 
 more warmly awakened sensation, as if she had made 
 some discovery. " Ah ! " she said, with a tone of pain. 
 But Elinor did not wait for any further disclosures. 
 She waved her hand, and went off with her head high, 
 carrying, as she felt, the honours of war. They might 
 plot, indeed, behind her back, and try to invent some 
 tribunal before which her future husband might be 
 arraigned ; but John, at least, would say nothing to 
 make things worse. John would be true to her he 
 would not injure Phil Compton. Elinor, perhaps, 
 guessed a little of what John was thinking, and felt, 
 though she could scarcely have told how, that it 
 would be a point of honour with him not to betray her 
 love. 
 
 He sat with Mrs. Dennistoun in partial silence for
 
 TSS MAftRIAGS OF ELINOR. 37 
 
 some time after this. He felt as if he had been partially 
 discovered partially, aud yet more would be dis- 
 covered than there was to discover ; for if either of them 
 believed that he was in love with Elinor, they were mis- 
 taken, he said to himself. He had been annoyed by 
 her engagement, but he had never come to the point 
 of asking her that question in his own person. No, 
 nor would not, he said to himself certainly would not 
 not even to save her from the clutches of this gambler 
 aud adventurer. No ; they might think what they 
 liked, but this was the case. He never should have 
 done it never would have exposed himself to refusal 
 never besought this high-tempered girl to have the 
 control of his life. Poor Nelly all the same ! poor 
 little thing ! To think she had so little judgment as to 
 ignore what might have been a great deal better, and 
 to pin her faith to the dis-Honourable Phil. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN the morning John accompanied Elinor to church. 
 Mrs. Dennistoun had found an excuse for not going, 
 which I am sorry to say was a way she had. She ex- 
 pressed (and felt) much sorrow for it herself, saying, 
 which was quite true, that not to go was a great distress 
 to her, and put the household out, aud was a custom 
 she did not approve of. But somehow it had grown 
 upon her. She regretted this, but did it, saying that 
 everybody was illogical, and that when Elinor had some 
 one to go with she thought herself justified at her age 
 in this little indulgence. Neither Elinor nor John 
 objected to the arrangement. There are things that 
 can be said in a walk while both parties are in motion, 
 and when it is not necessary to face each other and to 
 be subjected each to the other's examination of feature 
 and expression. It is easier in this way to say many 
 things, to ask questions which might be embarrassing,
 
 38 TIIK MA1UUAGK OF ELIXOR. 
 
 to receive the fire of tin examination which it might be 
 otherwise difficult to meet. Thus the two had not 
 walked above half the way to church, which was on the 
 other edge of the combe, and stood, a lovely old place 
 but not the trim and restored and well-decorated 
 edifice it is nowadays tinkling its little bells into the 
 sweet moorland air, amid such a hum of innumerable 
 bees as seemed to make the very sunshine a vehicle 
 for sound before John began to perceive that he was 
 being ingeniously driven to revelations which he had 
 never intended, by a process for which he was not at all 
 prepared. She who had been so indignant last night 
 and determined not to allow a word to be said 
 against the immaculate honour of the man she loved, 
 was now was it possible? straining all her faculties 
 to obtain from him. whom she would not permit to be 
 Phil Cornpton's judge, such unguarded admissions as 
 would enlighten her as to what Phil Compton was 
 accused of. It was some time before John perceived 
 her aim ; he did not even grasp the idea at first that 
 this girl whose whole heart was set upon marrying 
 Phil Compton, and defying for his sake every proph- 
 ecy of evil and all the teachings of prudence, did not 
 indeed at all know what it was which Phil had been 
 supposed to have done. Had she been a girl in society 
 she could scarcely have avoided some glimmerings of 
 knowledge. She would have heard an unguarded word 
 here and there, a broken phrase, an expression of 
 scorn or dislike, she might even have heard that 
 most unforgettable of nicknames, the dis-Houourable 
 Phil. But Elinor, who was not in society, heard none 
 of these things. She had been warned in the first 
 fer.our of her bethrotlml that he was not a man she 
 ought to marry, but why ? nobody had told her ; 
 how was she to know ? 
 
 " You don't like Lady Mariamue, John ? " 
 " It matters very little whether I like her or not : we 
 don't meet once in a year." 
 
 " It will matter if you are to be in a kind of way 
 connected. What has she ever done that you shouldn't
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 39 
 
 like her ? She is very nice at home ; she has three 
 nice little children. It's quite pretty to see her with 
 them." 
 
 " Ah, I daresay ; it's pretty to see a tiger with her 
 cubs, I don't doubt." 
 
 " What do you mean, John ? What has she ever 
 done ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you, Elinor ; nothing perhaps. She 
 does not take my fancy : that's all." 
 
 "That's not all; you could never be so unjust and 
 so absurd. How dreadful you good people are ! Pre- 
 tending to mean kindness," she cried, "you put the 
 mark of your dislike upon people, and then you won't 
 say why. What have they done?" 
 
 It was this " they " that put John upon his guard. 
 Hitherto she had only been asking about the sister, 
 who did not matter so very much. If a man was to be 
 judged by his sister ! but " they " gave him a new light. 
 
 "Can't you understand, Elinor," he said, "that 
 without doing anything that can be built upon, a 
 woman may set herself in a position of enmity to the 
 world, her hand against every one, and every one's 
 hand against her ? " 
 
 "I know that well enough generally because she 
 does not comply with every conventional rule, but does 
 and thinks what commends itself to her ; I do that my- 
 self so far as I can with mamma behind me." 
 
 " You ! the question has nothing to do with you." 
 
 " Why not with me as much as with another of my 
 family ?" said Elinor, throwing back her head. 
 
 He turned round upon her with something like a 
 snort of indignation : she to be compared but Elinor 
 met his eyes with scornful composure and defiance, and 
 John was obliged to calm himself. " There's no anal- 
 ogy," he said ; " Lady Mariamne is an old campaigner. 
 She's up to everything. Besides, a sister-in-law if it 
 comes to that is not a very near relation. No one 
 will judge you by her." He would not be led into any 
 discussion of the other, whose name, alas ! .Elinor in- 
 tended to bear.
 
 40 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "If it cornea to that. Perhaps you think," said El- 
 inor, with a sruile of tine scorn, " that yon will prevent 
 it ever coming to that ? " 
 
 "Oh, no," he said, " I'm very humble; I don't think 
 much of my own powers in that way : nothing that I 
 can do will affect it, if Providence doesn't take it in 
 hand." 
 
 " You really think it's a big enough thing to invoke 
 Providence about ? " 
 
 " If Providence looks after the sparrows as we are 
 told," said John, " it certainly may be expected to step 
 in to save a nice girl like you, Nelly, from from con- 
 nections you'll soon get to hate and and a shady 
 man ! " 
 
 She turned upon him with sparkling eyes in a sudden 
 blaze of indignation. " How dare you ! how dare you ! " 
 
 "I dare a great deal more than that to save" you. 
 You must hear me, Nelly : they're all badly spoken of, 
 not one, but all. They are a shad} 7 lot excuse a man's 
 way of talking. I don't know what other words to use 
 partly from misfortune, but more from - Nelly, 
 Nelly, how could you, a high-minded, well-brought-up 
 girl like you, tolerate that ? " 
 
 She turned upon him again, breathing hard with re- 
 strained rage and desperation ; evidently she was at a 
 loss for words ta convey her indignant wrath : and at 
 last in sheer inability to express the vehemence of her 
 feelings she fastened on one word and repeated " well- 
 brought-up ! " in accents of scorn. 
 
 " Yes," said John, " my aunt and you may not always 
 understand each other, but she's proved her case to 
 every fair mind by yourself, Elinor. A girl could not 
 be better brought up than you've been : and you could 
 not put up with it, not unless you changed your nature 
 as well as your name." 
 
 " With what ? " she said, " with what ? " They had 
 gone up and down the sloping sides of the combe, 
 through the rustling copse, sometimes where there was 
 a path, sometimes whei'e there was none, treading over 
 the big bushes of ling and the bell-heather, all burst-
 
 TUX MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 41 
 
 ing into bloorn, past groups of primeval firs and seed- 
 ling beeches, self-sown, over little hillocks and hollows 
 formed of rocks or big old roots of trees covered with 
 the close glittering green foliage and dark blue clusters 
 of the dewberry, with the hum of bees filling the air, 
 the twittering of the birds, the sound of the church 
 bells nothing more like the heart of summer, more 
 peaceful, genial, happy than that brooding calm of 
 nature amid all the harmonious sounds, could be. 
 
 But as Elinor put this impatient question, her coun- 
 tenance all ablaze with auger and vehemence and reso- 
 lution, yet with a gleam of anxiety in the puckers of 
 her forehead and the eyes which shone from beneath 
 them, they stepped out upon the road by which other 
 groups were passing, all bound towards the centre of 
 the church and its tinkling bells. Elinor stopped, and 
 drew a longer panting breath, and gave him a look of 
 fierce reproach, as if this too were his fault : and then 
 she smoothed her ruffled plumes, after the manner of 
 women, and replied to the Sunday-morning salutations, 
 with the smiles and nods of use and wont. She knew 
 everybody, both the rich and the poor, or rather I 
 should say the well-off and the less-well-off, for there 
 were neither rich nor poor, formally speaking, on 
 Windy hill. John did not find it so easy to put his 
 emotions in his pocket. He cast an admiring glance 
 upon her as with heightened colour and a little panting 
 of the breath, but no other sign of disturbance, she 
 made her inquiries after this one's mother and that one's 
 child. It was wonderful to him to see how the storm 
 was got under in a moment. An occasional glance 
 aside at himself from the corner of her eye, a sort of 
 dart of defiance as if to bid him remember that she was 
 not done with him, was shot at John from time to time 
 over the heads of the innocent country people in whom 
 she pretended to be so much interested. Pretended ! 
 was it pretence, or was the one as real as the other ? 
 He heard her promising to come to-morrow to see an 
 invalid, to send certain articles as soon as she got home, 
 to look up certain books. Would she do so? or was
 
 42 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 all this a mere veil to cover the other which engaged 
 all her soul ? 
 
 And then there came the service that soothing 
 routine of familiar prayers, which the lips of men and 
 women absorbed in the violence and urgency of life 
 murmur over almost without knowing, with now and 
 then an awakening to something that touches their 'own 
 aspirations, to something that offers or that asks for 
 help. "Because there is none other that fighteth for 
 us but only Thou, O God." That seems to the careless 
 soul such a non sequitur, as if peace was asked for, only 
 because there was none other to fight ; but to the man 
 heavily laden, what a cry out of the depths ! Because 
 there is none other all resources gone, all possibilities : 
 but one that fighteth for us, standing fast, always the 
 champion of the perplexed, the overborne, the weak. 
 John was a little careless in this respect, as so many 
 young men are. He thought most of the music when 
 he joined the fashionable throng in the Temple Church. 
 But there was no music to speak of at Wiudyhill. 
 There was more sound of the bees outside, and the 
 birds and the sighing bass of the fir-trees than of any- 
 thing more carefully concerted. The organ was played 
 with a curious drone in it, almost like that of the prim- 
 itive bagpipe. But there was that one phrase, a strong 
 strain of human appeal, enough to lift the world, nay, 
 to let itself go straight to the blue heavens : "Because 
 there is none other that fighteth for us but only Thou, 
 O God." 
 
 Mr. Hudson preached his little sermon like a discord 
 in the midst. What should he have preached it for, 
 that little sermon, which was only composed because he 
 could not help himself, which was about nothing in 
 heaven or earth ? John gave it a sort of partial atten- 
 tion because he could not help it, partly in wonder to 
 think how a sensible man like Mr. Hudson could ac- 
 count to himself for such strange little interruption of 
 the natural sequence of high human emotion. "NVhat 
 theory had he in his mind ? This was a question John 
 was fund of putting to himself, with perhaps an idea
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 43 
 
 peculiar to a lawyer, that every man must be thinking 
 what he is about, and be able to produce a clear reason, 
 and, as it were, some theory of the meaning of his own 
 actions which everybody must know is nonsense. For 
 the Rector of course preached just because it was in 
 his day's work, and the people Would have been much 
 surprised, though possibly much relieved, had he not 
 done so feeling that to listen was in the clay's work 
 too, and to be gone through doggedly as a duty. John 
 thought how much better it would be to have some man 
 who could preach now and then when he had something 
 to say, instead of troubling the Rector, who, good man, 
 had nothing. But it is not to be supposed that he was 
 thinking this consecutively while the morning went on. 
 It flitted through his mind from time to time among 
 his many thinkings about the Compton family and El- 
 inor ; poor Nelly, standing upon the edge of that pre- 
 cipice and the helplessness of every one to save her, and 
 the great refrain like the peal of an organ going through 
 everything, " None other that fighteth for us but only 
 Thou, O God." Surely, surely to prevent this sacritice 
 He would interfere. 
 
 She turned to him the moment they were out of the 
 church doors with that same look of eager defiance yet 
 demand, and as soon as they left the road, the first step 
 into the copse, putting out her hand to call his atten- 
 tion : " You said I could not put up with it, a girl so 
 well-brought-up as I am. What is it a well-brought-up 
 girl can't put up with ? A disorderly house, late hours, 
 and so forth, hateful to the well-brought-up ? What is 
 it, what is it, John ? " 
 
 " Have you been thinking of that all through the 
 morning prayers ? " he said. 
 
 "Yes, I have been thinking about it. What did you 
 expect me to think about ? Is there anything else so 
 important ? Mr. Hudson's sermon, perhaps, Avhich I 
 have heard before, which I suppose you listened to," 
 she said, with a troubled laugh. 
 
 "I did a little, wondering how a good man like that 
 could go on doing it ; and there were other things '
 
 44 THE MARRIAGE OF SLINOR. 
 
 John did not like to say what it was which was still 
 throbbing through the air to him, and through his own 
 being. 
 
 "Nothing that is of so much moment to me : come 
 back, John, to the well-brought-up girl." 
 
 " You think that's a poor sort of description, Elinor ; 
 so it is. You are of course a great deal more than that. 
 Still it's what one can turn to most easily. You don't 
 know what life is in a sort of fast house, where there is 
 nothing thought of but amusement or where it's a con- 
 stant round of race meetings, yachting, steeplechases 
 I don't know if men still ride steeplechases I mean 
 that sort of thing : Monte Carlo in the winter : betting 
 all the year round if not on one thing then on another ; 
 expedients to raise money, for money's always wanted. 
 You don't know how can you know ? what goes on in 
 a fast life." 
 
 " Don't you see, John," she cried, eagerly, " that all 
 that, if put in a different way not to their prejudice, if 
 put in the right way would sound delightful ? There 
 is no harm in these things at all. Betting's not a sin 
 in the Bible any more than races are. Don't you see 
 it's only the abuse of them that's wrong? One might 
 ruin one's health, I believe, with tea, which is the most 
 righteous thing ! I should like above all things a yacht, 
 say in the Mediterranean, and to go to Monte Carlo, 
 which is a beautiful place, and where there is the best 
 music in the world, besides the gambling. I should liko 
 even to see the gambling once in a way, for the fun of 
 the thing. You don't frighten me at all. I have been 
 a fortnight at Lady Mariamue's, and the continual ' go' 
 was delightful; there was never a dull moment. As for 
 expedients to raise money, there " 
 
 "To be sure old Prestwich is as rich as Croesus or 
 was," said John, with significance, " but you are not 
 going to live with Lady Mariamne, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, John ! " she cried, " oh, John ! " suddenly seiz- 
 ing him by the arm, clasping her hands on it in the 
 pretty way of eai'nestness she had, though one hand 
 held her parasol, which was inconvenient. The soft
 
 THE MARRIAGE <)!' EL1XOK. 45 
 
 face was suffused with rosy colour, so different from the 
 angry red, the flush of love and tenderness her eyes 
 swam in liquid light, looking up with mingled happiness 
 and entreaty to John's face. "Fancy what he says, 
 that he will not object to come here for half the year to 
 let me be with my mother ! Remember what be is, a 
 man of fashion, and fond of the world, and of going out 
 and all that. He has consented to come, nay, he almost 
 offered to come for six months in the year to be with 
 mamma." 
 
 " Good heavens," cried John to himself, " he must 
 indeed be down on his luck ! " but what he said was, 
 " Does your mother know of this, Elinor ?" 
 
 " I have not told her yet. I have reserved it to hear 
 first what you had to say : and so far as I can make out 
 you have nothing at all to say, only general things, 
 disapproval in the general. What should you say if I 
 told you that he disapproves too ? He said himself 
 that there had been too much of all that that he had 
 backed something isn't that what you say? backed it 
 at odds, and stood to win what he calls a pot of money. 
 But after that was decided for he said he could not be 
 off bets that were made never any more. Now that I 
 know you have nothing more to say my heart is free, 
 and I can tell you. He has never really liked that sort 
 of life, but was led into it when he was very young. 
 And now as soon as we are together, you know "- 
 she looked so bright, so sweet in the happiness of her 
 love, that John could have flung her from his arms, 
 and felt that she insulted him by that clinging hold 
 " he means to turn entirely to serious things, and to go 
 into politics, John." 
 
 " Oh, he is going into politics ! " 
 
 "Of course, on the people's side to do everything 
 for them Home Rule, and all that is best : to see that 
 they are heard in Parliament, and have their wants at- 
 tended to, instead of jobs and corruption everywhere. 
 So you will see, John, that if he has been fast, and gone 
 a little too far, and been very much mixed up in the 
 Turf, and all that, it was only in the exuberance of
 
 46 THE MARRIAGE OF EL1SOR. 
 
 youth, liking the fun of it, as I feel I should myself. 
 But that now, now all that is to be changed when he 
 steps into settled, responsible life. I should not have 
 told you if YOU had repeated the lies that people say. 
 But as you did not, but only found fault with him for 
 being fast " 
 
 " Then you have heard what people say ? " He 
 shifted his arm a little, so that she instinctively per- 
 ceived that the affectionate clasp of her hands was no 
 longer agreeable to him, and his face seemed suddenly 
 to have become a blank page, absolutely devoid of all 
 expression. He kicked vigorously at one of the hil- 
 locks he had stumbled against, as if he thought he 
 could dislodge it and get it out of his way. 
 
 " Mariamne told me there was a lot of lies that 
 people said I am so glad, John, oh ! so thankful, that 
 you have not repeated any of them ; for now I can feel 
 you are my own good John, as you always were, not a 
 slanderer of any one, and we can go on being fond of 
 each other like brother and sister. I have told him you 
 have been the best of brothers to me." 
 
 "Oh," said John, without a sign of wonder or ad- 
 miration in him, with a dead blank in his face. 
 
 " And what do you think he said ? 'Then I know Le 
 must be a capital fellow, Ne 
 
 "Not Nell}'," said poor John, with a foolish pang 
 that seemed to rend his heart, Oh, if that scamp, 
 that cheat, that low betting, card-playing rascal wore 
 but here ! he would capital-fellow him. To take not 
 herself only, but the dear pet name that she had said 
 was only John's 
 
 "He says Nell sometimes, John. Oh, not Nelly- 
 Nelly is for you only. I would never let him call me 
 that. But they are all for short names, one syllable 
 he is Phil, and Mariamne, well at home they call her 
 Jew horrible, isn't it? because she was called after 
 some Jewess ; but somehow it seems queer when you 
 see her, so fair and frizzy, like anything but a Jew." 
 
 " So I have got one letter to myself," said John. "I 
 don't know that I think that worth very much, however.
 
 THE MAUPJAGE OF ELIXOR. 47 
 
 And so far as I can see, you seem to think everything 
 very fine the bets, perhaps, and the rows and all." 
 
 ' Well they are, you know," said Elinor, -with a laugh, 
 " to a little country mouse like me that has never seen 
 anything. There is always something going on, and 
 their slang way of speaking is certainly very amusing if 
 it is not at all dignified, and they have such droll ways 
 of looking at things. All so entirely different ! Don't 
 you know, John, sometimes in one's life one longs for 
 something to be quite different. A complete change, 
 any tiling new." 
 
 " If that is what you long for, no doubt you will get 
 it, Elinor." 
 
 " Well ! " she cried, "I have had the other for tliree- 
 and-twenty years, long enough to have exhausted it, 
 don't you think ? but I don't mean to throw it over, oh, 
 no ! Coming back to mamma makes the arrangement 
 perfect. Probably in the end it is the old life, the life 
 I was brought up in that I shall like best in the long 
 run. That is one thing of being well brought up. 
 Phil will laugh till he cries when I tell him of your 
 description of me as a well-brought-up girl." 
 
 John set his teeth as he walked or rather stumbled 
 along by her side, catching in the roots of the trees as 
 he had never done before, and swearing under his 
 breath. Her flutter of talk running on, delighted, full of 
 laughter and softness, as if he had fully declared his 
 satisfaction and was interested in every detail, kept 
 John in a state of suppressed fury which made his 
 countenance dark, and almost took the sight from his 
 He did not know ho\v to escape from that false 
 position, nor did she give him time, she had so much 
 to say. Mrs. Dennistoun looked anxiously at the pair 
 as they came up through the copse to the level of the 
 cottage. There were no enclosures in that primitive 
 place. From the copse you came straight into the 
 garden with its banks of flowers. She was seated near 
 the cottagte door in a corner sheltered from the sun, 
 with a number of books about her. But I don't think 
 she had read anything except some portions of the les-
 
 48 THE XM;I;IA<;I-; OF ELINOR. 
 
 eons in the morning service. She had been sitting 
 with her eyes vaguely fixed upon the horizon and her 
 hands clasped iu her l;ip, and ;i heavy shadow like an 
 overhanging cloud upon her mind. But when she heard 
 Elinor's voice approaching so gay and tuneful her 
 heart rose a little. John evidently could have had 
 nothing' very bad to say. Elinor had been satisfied 
 with the morning. Mrs. Denuistoun had expected to 
 see them come back estranged and silent. The con- 
 clusion she drew was entirely satisfactory. After all 
 John must have been moved solely by general disap- 
 proval, which is so very different from the dreadful 
 hints and warnings that might mean any criminality. 
 Elinor was talking to him as freely as she had done 
 before this spectre rose. It must, Mrs. Dennistoun 
 concluded, be all right. 
 
 It was not till he was going away that she had an op- 
 portunity of talking with him alone. Her satisfaction, 
 it must be allowed, had been a little subdued by John's 
 demeanour during the afternoon and evening. But Mrs. 
 Denuistoun had said to herself that there might be 
 other ways of accounting for this. She had long had a 
 fancy that John was more interested in Elinor than he 
 had confessed himself to be. It had been her convic- 
 tion that as soon as he felt it warrantable, as soon as he 
 was sufficiently well-established, and his practice se- 
 cured, he would probably declare himself, with, she 
 feared, no particular issue so far as Elinor was con- 
 cerned. And perhaps he was disappointed, poor fellow, 
 which was a very natural explanation of his glum looks. 
 But at breakfast on Monday Elinor announced her in- 
 tention of driving her cousin to the station, and went 
 out to see that the pony was harnessed, an operation 
 which took some time, for the pony was out in the field 
 and had to be caught, and the man of all work, who 
 had a hundred affairs to look after, had to be caught 
 too to perform this duty ; which sometimes, however, 
 Elinor performed herself, but always with some ex- 
 penditure of time. Mrs. Dennistoun seized the oppor- 
 tunity, plunging at once into the all-important subject.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 49 
 
 " You seemed to get on all right together yesterday, 
 John, so I suppose you found that after all there was 
 not very much to say." 
 
 "I was not allowed to say anything. You 
 
 mean " 
 
 " Oh, John, Johu, do you mean to tell me after 
 all " 
 
 "Aunt Ellen," he said, " stop it if you can ; if there 
 is any means in the world by which you can stop it, do 
 so. I can't bring accusations against the man, for I 
 couldn't prove them. I only know what everybody 
 knows. He is not a man fit for Elinor to marry. He 
 is not fit to touch the tie of her shoe." 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble me with your superlatives, John. 
 Elinor is a good girl and a clever girl, but not a lady of 
 romance. Is there anything really against him ? Tell 
 me, for goodness' sake ! Even with these few words you 
 have made me very unhappy," Mrs. Dennistoun said, in 
 a half resentful tone. 
 
 " I can't help it," said the unfortunate man, " I can't 
 bring accusations, as I tell you. He is simply a scamp 
 that is all I know." 
 
 " A scamp ! " said Mrs. Dennistoim, with a look of 
 alarm. " But then that is a word that has so many 
 meanings. A scamp may be only a careless fellow, nice 
 in his way. That is not enough to break off a marriage 
 for. And, John, as you have said so much, } T OU must 
 say more." 
 
 "I have no more to say, that's all I know. Inquire 
 what the Hudsons have heard. Stop it if you can." 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear, here is Elinor back already," Mr*. 
 Dennistoun said.
 
 50 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 THE next time that John's presence was required at 
 the cottage was for the signing of the very simple set- 
 tlements ; which, as there was nothing or next to noth- 
 ing in the power of the man to settle upon his wife, 
 were easy enough. He met Mr. Lynch, who was Mrs. 
 Dennistoun's " man of business," and a sharp London 
 solicitor, who was for the husband. Elinor's fortune 
 was five thousand pounds, no more, not counting her 
 expectations from him, which were left out of the ques- 
 tion. It was a very small matter altogether, and one 
 which the smart solicitor who was in Mr. Compton's 
 interest spoke of with a certain contempt, as who 
 should say he was not in the habit of being disturbed 
 and brought to the country for any such trifle. It was 
 now August not a time when any man was supposed 
 to be available for matters like these. Mr. Lynch was 
 just about starting for his annual holiday, but came, at 
 no small personal inconvenience, to do his duty by the 
 poor girl whom he had known all his life. John and 
 he travelled to the cottage together, and their aspect 
 was not cheerful. "Did you ever hear," said Mr. 
 Lynch, " such a piece of folly as this a man with no 
 character at all ? This is what it is to leave a girl in 
 the sole care of her mother. What does a woman 
 know about such things ? " 
 
 "I don't think it was her mother's fault," said John, 
 anxious to do justice all round. " Elinor is very head- 
 strong, and when she has made up her mind to a 
 thing " 
 
 " A bit of a girl ! " said Mr. Lynch, contemptuously. 
 He was an old bachelor and knew nothing about the 
 subject, as the reader will perceive. " Her mother 
 ought never to have permitted it for a moment. She 
 should have put down her foot : and then Miss Elinor 
 would soon have come to reason. What I wonder is 
 the ruffian's own motives? for it can't be a little bit of
 
 THE MARRIAGE 'OF ELINOR. 51 
 
 money like that. Five thousand's a mere mouthful to 
 such a man as he is. He'll get rid of it all in a week." 
 
 " It must be tied up as tight as possible," said 
 John. 
 
 Here Mr. Lynch faltered a little. " She has got an 
 idea into her head, with the intention, I don't doubt, 
 of defrauding herself if she can. He has got some in- 
 vestment for it, it appears. He is on the board of 
 some company a pretty board to take in such a fel- 
 low? But the Honourable is always something, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 John did not say the (/^-Honourable, though it trem- 
 bled on the edge of his tongue. " But you will not 
 permit that ? " he said. 
 
 ' ; No, no ; we will not permit it," said Mr. Lynch, 
 with an emphasis on the negative which sounded like 
 failing resolution. 
 
 " That would be giving the lamb to the wolf with a 
 vengeance." 
 
 " Exactly what I said ; exactly what I said. I am 
 very glad. Mr. Tatham,' that yon take the same view." 
 
 "There is but one view to be taken," said John. 
 " He must not have the slightest power over her 
 money. It must be tied up as tight as the law can do 
 it; not that I think it of the least consequence," he 
 added. " Of course, he will get it all from her one 
 way or another. Law's but a poor barrier against a 
 determined man." 
 
 "I'm glad you see that too," said Mr. Lynch, "and 
 you might say a determined woman : for she has set 
 her mind on this, and we'll have a nice business with 
 her, I can see." 
 
 "A bit of a girl ! " said John, with a laugh, echoing 
 the previous sentiment. 
 
 " That's very true," said the old lawyer ; " and still 
 I think her mother but I don't put any great confi- 
 dence in my own power to resist Elinor. Poor little 
 thing, I've known her since she was that high ; indeed, 
 I may say I knew her before she was born. And you 
 are a relation, Mr. Tatham ? "
 
 52 THE MARRIAGE OF SLWOtt. 
 
 "'Third or fourth cousin." 
 
 " But still, more intimate than a person unconnected 
 with them, and able to speak your 'mind more freely. 
 I wonder now that you never said anything. But in 
 family masters sometimes one is very reluctant to in- 
 terfere." 
 
 " I said everything I could say, not to offend them 
 mortally ; but I could only tell them the common talk 
 of society. I told my aunt he was a scamp : but after 
 the first shock I am not sure that she thought that was 
 any such bad thing. It depended upon the sense you 
 put upon the word, she said." 
 
 " Oh, women, women ! " said Mr. Lynch. " That's 
 their way a reformed rake makes the best husband. 
 It's an old-fashioned sentiment, but it's in the back- 
 ground of their minds, a sort of tradition that they 
 can't shake off or else the poor fellow has had so 
 many disadvantages, and they think they can make it 
 all right. It's partly ignorance and partly vanity. But 
 they are all the same, and their ways in the matter of 
 marriage are not to be made out." 
 
 "You have a great deal of experience." 
 
 " Experience oh, don't speak of it ! " said the old 
 gentleman. "A man has a certain idea of the value of 
 money, however great a fool he may be, but the 
 women " 
 
 " And yet they are said to stick to money, and to 
 be respectful of it beyond anything but a miser. I 
 have myself remarked 
 
 "In small matters," said Mr. Lynch, " in detail six- 
 pences to railway portei'S and that sort of thing so 
 people say at least. But a sum of money on paper 1ms 
 no effect on a woman, she will sign it away with a wave 
 of her hand. It doesn't touch their imagination. Five 
 pounds in her pocket is far more than five thousand on 
 paper, to Elinor, for instance. I wish," cried the old 
 gentleman, with a little spitefulness, " that this Mar- 
 ried Women's Property Bill would push on and get itself 
 made law. It would save us a great deal of trouble, and 
 perhaps convince the world at the last how little able
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 53 
 
 they are to be trusted with property. A nice mess they 
 will make of it, and plenty of employment for young- 
 solicitors," he said, rubbing his hands. 
 
 For this was before that important bill was passed, 
 which has not had (like so many other bills) the disas- 
 trous consequences which Mr. Lynch foresaw. 
 
 They were met at the station by the pony carriage, 
 and at the door by Elinor herself, who came flying out 
 to meet them. She seized Mr. Lynch by both arms, 
 for he was a little old man, and she was bigger than he 
 was. 
 
 "Now you will remember what I said," she cried in 
 his ear, yet not so low but that John heard it too. 
 
 " You are a little witch ; you mustn't insist upon any- 
 thing so foolish. Leave all that to me, my dear," said 
 Mr. Lynch. "What do you know about business? 
 You must leave it to me and the other gentleman, who 
 I suppose is here, or coming." 
 
 " He is here, but I don't care for him. I care only 
 for you. There are such advantages : and I do know a 
 great deal about business ; and," she said, with her 
 mouth close to the old lawyer's ear, " it will please Phil 
 so much if I show my confidence in him, and in the 
 things with which he has to do." 
 
 " It will not please him so much if the thing bursts, 
 and you are left without a penny, my dear." 
 
 Elinor laughed. " I don't suppose he will mind a 
 bit : he cares nothing for money. But I do," she said. 
 "You know you always say women love acquisition. 
 I want good interest, and of course with Phil on it, it 
 must be safe for me." 
 
 '' Oh, that makes it like the Bank of England, you 
 think ! but I don't share your confidence, my pretty 
 Elinor. I'm an old fellow. No Phil in the world has 
 any charm for me. You must trust me to do what I 
 feel is best for you. And Mr. Tatham here is quite of 
 my opinion." 
 
 " Oh, John ! he is sure to be against me," said Eli- 
 nor, with an angry glimmer in her eyes. She had not 
 as yet taken any notice of him while she welcomed with
 
 54 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 such warmth his old companion. And John had stood 
 by offering no greeting, with his bag in his hand. But 
 when she said this the quick feeling girl was seized 
 with compunction. She turned from Mr. Lynch and 
 held out both her hands to her cousin. "John, I 
 didn't mean that ; it is only that I am excited and 
 cross. And don't, oh, don't go against me," she cried. 
 
 " I never did, and never will, Elinor," he said 
 gravely. Then he asked, after a moment, "Is Mr. 
 Compton here ? " 
 
 "No ; how could he be here ? Three gentlemen in 
 the cottage is enough to overwhelm us already. Mr. 
 Sharp, fortunately, can't stay," she added, lowering her 
 voice ; "he has to be driven back to the station to 
 catch the last express. And it is August," she said 
 with a laugh ; " you forget the 15th. Now, could Phil 
 be anywhere but where there is grouse ? You shall 
 have some to dinner to-night that fell by his gun. 
 That should mollify you, for I am sure you never got 
 grouse at the cottage before in August. Mamma 
 would as soon think of buying manna for you to eat." 
 
 " I think it would have been more respectful, Eli- 
 nor, if he had been here. What is grouse to you ? " 
 
 " Then I don't think anything of the kind," cried 
 Elinor. " He is much better away. And I assure you, 
 John, I never mean to put myself in competition with 
 the grouse." 
 
 The old lawyer had gone into the drawing-room, 
 where Mrs. Dennistoun was holding parley with Mr. 
 Sharp. Elinor and John were standing alone in the 
 half light of the summer evening, the sun down, the 
 depths of the combe below falling into faint mist, but 
 the sunset-tinted clouds still floating like a vapor made 
 of roses upon the clearness of the blue above. " Come 
 and take a turn through the copse," said John. " They 
 don't want either of us indoors." 
 
 She went with a momentary reluctance and a glance 
 back at the bow-window of the drawing-room, from 
 which the sound of voices issued. " Don't you think I 
 should be there to keep them up to the mark ? " she
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 55 
 
 said, half laughing. And then, " Well, yes as you 
 are going to Switzerland too. I think you might have 
 stayed and seen nae married after all, and made acquaint- 
 ance with Phil." 
 
 " I thought I should have met him here to-day, 
 Elinor." 
 
 "Now, how could you ? You know the accommoda- 
 tion of the cottage just as well as I do. We have two 
 spare rooms, and no more." 
 
 " You could have sent me out somewhere to sleep. 
 That has been done before now." 
 
 " Oh, John, how persistent you are, and worrying ! 
 When I tell you that Phil is shooting, as everybody of 
 his kind is do you think I want him to give up all the 
 habits of his life ? He is not like us : we adapt our- 
 selves: but these people parcel out their time as if they 
 were in a trade, don't you know ? So long in London, 
 so long abroad, and in the Highlands for the grouse, 
 and somewhere else for the partridges, or they would 
 die." 
 
 " I think he might have departed from that routine 
 once in a way, Elinor, for you." 
 
 " I tell you again, John, I shall never put myself in 
 competition " Elinor stopped abruptly, with perhaps, 
 he thought, a little glimmer of indignation in her eyes. 
 "I hate women who do that sort of thing," she cried. 
 " 'Give up your cigar or me,' as I've heard girls say. 
 Such an unworthy thing ! When one accepts a man 
 one accepts him as he stands, with all his habits. 
 What should I think of him if he said, ' Give up your tea 
 or me ! ' I should laugh in his face and throw him 
 overboard without a pause." 
 
 " You would never look at tea again as long as you 
 lived if he did not like it ; I suppose that is what you 
 mean, Elinor ? " 
 
 "Perhaps if I found that out, afterwards ; but to be 
 given the choice beforehand, never! After all, you 
 don't half know me, John." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he said, gravely, They had left the 
 garden behind in its blaze of flowers, and strayed oft
 
 56 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 into the subdued twilight of the copse, where every- 
 thing was in a half tone of greenness and shadow and 
 waning light. " There are always new lights arising on 
 a many-sided creature like you and that makes one 
 think. Do you know you are not at all the person to 
 take a great disappointment quietly, if that should 
 happen to come to you in your life ? " 
 
 "A great disappointment? " she said, looking up at 
 him with a wondering glance. Then he thought the 
 color paled a little in her face. "No," she said, " I 
 don't suppose I should take it quietly. Who does ? " 
 
 " Oh, many people people with less determination 
 and more patience than you. You are not very patient 
 by nature, Elinor." 
 
 "I never said I was." 
 
 " And though no one would give up more generously, 
 as a voluntary matter, you could not bear being made 
 a nonentity of, or put in a secondary place." 
 
 "I should not like it, I suppose." 
 
 "You would give everything, flinging it away ; but 
 to have all your sacrifices taken for granted, your tastes 
 made of no account 
 
 There was no doubt now that she had grown pale. 
 " May I ask what all these investigations into my char- 
 acter mean? I never was so anatomized before." 
 
 "It was only to say that you are not a good subject 
 for this kind of experiment, Elinor. I don't see you 
 putting up with things, making the best of everything, 
 submitting to have your sense of right and wrong out- 
 raged perhaps. Some women would not be much dis- 
 turbed by that. They would put off the responsibility 
 and feel it their duty to accept whatever was put be- 
 fore them. But you it would be a different matter 
 with you." 
 
 "I should hope so, if I was ever exposed to such 
 dangers. But now may I know what you are driving 
 at, John, for you have some meaning in what you say ! " 
 
 He took her hand and drew it through his arm. He 
 was more moved than he wished to show. " Only this, 
 Elinor " he said.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 57 
 
 "Ob, John, will you never call me Nelly any more?" 
 
 " Only this, Nelly, my little Nelly, never mine again 
 and that never was mine, except in my silly thought. 
 Only this : that if you have the least doubt, the smallest 
 flutter of ail uncertainty, just enough to make you hold 
 your breath for a moment, oh, my dear girl, stop ! 
 Don't go on with it ; pause until you can make sure." 
 
 " John ! " she forced her arm from his with an in- 
 dignant movement. " Oh, how do you dare to say it ? " 
 she said. " Doubt of Mr. Compton ! Uncertainty 
 about Phil ! " She laughed out, and the echo seemed 
 to ring into all the recesses of the trees. " I would be 
 much more ready to doubt myself," she said. 
 
 " Doubt yourself ; that is what I mean. Think if 
 you are not deceiving yourself. I don't think you are 
 so very sure as you believe you are, Nelly. You don't 
 feel so certain " 
 
 "Do you know that you are insulting me, John? 
 You say as much as that I am a fool carried away by a 
 momentary enthusiasm, with no real love, no true feel- 
 ing in me, tempted, pei'haps, as Mrs. Hudson thinks, by 
 the Honourable ! " Her lip quivered, and the fading- 
 colour came back in a rush to her face. " It is hard 
 enough to have a woman like that think it, who ought 
 to know better, who has always known me but you, 
 John ! " 
 
 " You may be sure, Elinor, that I did not put it on 
 that ground." 
 
 "No, perhaps: but on ground not much more re- 
 spectful to me perhaps that I have been fascinated by 
 a handsome man, which is not considered derogatory. 
 Oh, John, a girl does not give herself away on an argu- 
 ment like that. I may be hasty and self-willed and 
 impatient, as you say ; but when you love ! " Her 
 face flushed like a rose, so that even in the grey of the 
 evening it shone out like one of the clouds full of sun- 
 set that still lingered on the sky. A few quick tears 
 followed, the natural consequence of her emotion. 
 And then she turned to him with the ineffable conde- 
 scension of one farther advanced in life stooping sweetly
 
 -^ THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 to his ignorance. " You have not yet come to the 
 moment in your experience when you can understand 
 that, dear John." 
 
 Oh, the insight and the ignorance, the knowledge 
 and the absence of all perception ! He, too, laughed 
 out, as she had done, with a sense of the intolerable 
 ridicule and folly and mistake. "Perhaps that's how 
 it is," he said. 
 
 Elinor looked at him gravely, in an elder-sisterly, 
 profoundly-investigating way, and then she took his 
 arm quietly and turned towards home. " I shall forget 
 what you have said, and you will forget that you ever 
 said it; and now we will go home, John, and be just 
 the same dear friends as before."* 
 
 "Will you promise me," he said, "that whatever 
 happens, without pride, or recollection of what I've 
 been so foolish as to say, in any need or emei-gency, or 
 whenever you want anything, or if you should be in 
 trouble trouble comes to everybody in this life you 
 will remember what you have said just now, and send 
 for your cousin John? " 
 
 Her whole face beamed out in one smile, she clasped 
 her other hand round his arm ; "I should have done 
 it without being asked, without ever doubting for a 
 moment, because it was the most natural thing in the 
 world. Whom should I turn to else if not to my di-ar 
 old But call me Nelly, John." 
 
 " Dear little Nelly ! " he said with faltering voice, 
 " then that is a bargain." 
 
 She held up her cheek to him, and he kissed it 
 solemnly in the shadow of the little young oak that 
 fluttered its leaves wistfully in the breeze that was get- 
 ting up and then very soberly, saying little, they 
 walked back to the cottage. He was going abroad lor 
 his vacation, not saying to himself even that he pre- 
 ferred not to be present at the wedding, but resigning 
 himself to the necessity, for it was not to be till the 
 middle of September, and it would be breaking up his 
 holiday had he to come back at that time. So this 
 little interview was a leave-taking as well as a solemn
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 59 
 
 engagement for all the risks and dangers of life. The 
 pain in it, after that very sharp moment in the copse, 
 was softened down into a sadness not unsweet, as they 
 came silently together from out of the shadow into the 
 quiet hemisphere of sky and space, which was over the 
 little centre of the cottage with its human glimmer of 
 fire and lights. The sky was unusually clear, and 
 among those soft, rose-tinted clouds of the sunset, which 
 were no clouds at all, had risen a young crescent of a 
 moon, just about to disappear, too, in the short course 
 of one of her earliest nights. They lingered for a mo- 
 ment before they went indoors. The depth of the 
 combe was filled with the growing darkness, but the 
 ridges above were still light and softly edged with the 
 silver of the moon, and the distant road, like a long, 
 white line, came conspicuously into sight, winding for 
 a little way along the hill-top unsheltered, before it 
 plunged into the shadow of the trees the road that 
 led into the world, by which they should both depart 
 presently to stray into such different ways. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE drawing-room after dinner always looked cheer- 
 ful. Perhaps the fact that it was a sort of little oasis 
 in the desert, and that the light from those windows 
 shone into three counties, made the interior more cosy 
 and bright. (There are houses now upon every knoll, 
 and the wind cannot blow on Wiudyhill for the quantity 
 of obstructions it meets with.) There was the usual 
 log burning on the hearth, and the party in general 
 kept away from it, for the night was warm. Only Mr. 
 Sharp, the London lawyer, was equal to bearing the 
 heat. He stood with his back to it, and his long legs 
 showing against the glow behind, a sharp-nosed, long 
 man in black, who had immediately suggested Meph- 
 istopheles to Elinor, even though he was on the
 
 60 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 Compton side. He had taken his coffee after dinner, 
 and now he stood over the fire slowly sipping a cup of 
 tea. There was a look of acquisitiveness about him 
 which suggested an inclination to appropriate anything 
 from the unnecessary heat of the fire to the equally 
 unnecessary tea. But Mr. Sharp had been on the 
 winning side. He had demonstrated the superior- 
 sense of making the money which was not large 
 enough sum to settle of real use to the young pair by 
 an investment which would increase Mr. Compton 's 
 importance in his company, besides producing very 
 good dividends much better dividends than would be 
 possible if it were treated in the old-fashioned way by 
 trustees. This was how the bride wished it, which was 
 the most telling of arguments: and surely, to insure 
 good interest and art increase of capital to her, through 
 her husband's hands, was better than to secure some 
 beggarly hundred and fifty pounds a year for her por- 
 tion, though without any risks at all. 
 
 Mr. Sharp had also taken great pains to point out 
 that there were only three brothers one an invalid and 
 the other two soldiers between Mr. Phil and the title, 
 and that even to be the Honourable Mrs. Compton was 
 something for a young lady, who was, if he might vent- 
 ure to sfiv so, nobody not to say a word against her 
 charms. Lord St. Serf was hourly getting an old man, 
 and the chances that his client might step over a heca- 
 tomb of dead relations to the height of fortune was a 
 thing quite worth taking into account. It was a much 
 better argument, however, to return to the analogy of 
 other poor young people, where the bride's little fort- 
 une would be put into the husband's business, and 
 thus their joint advantage considered. Mr. Sharp, at 
 the same time, did not hesitate to express politely his 
 opinion that to call him down to the country for a dis- 
 cussion which could have been earned on much better 
 in one or other of their respective offices was a most 
 uncalled for proceeding, especially as even now the 
 other side was wavering, and would not consent to con- 
 clude matters, and make the signatures that were ueces-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXQR. 61 
 
 sary at once. Mr. Lynch, it must be allowed, was of 
 the same opinion too. 
 
 "Your country is a little bleak at uight/' said Mr. 
 Sharp, partially mollified by a good dinner, but begin- 
 ning to remember unpleasantly the cold drive in a rat- 
 tletrap of a little rustic pony carriage over the hills and 
 hollows. " Do you really remain here all the year '? 
 How wonderful? Not even a glimpse of the world in 
 summer, or a little escape from the chills in winter ? 
 How brave of you ! What patience and powers of en- 
 durance must be cultivated in that way ! " 
 
 "One would think Windyhill was Siberia at least," 
 said Mrs. Dennistoun, laughing ; " we do not give our- 
 selves credit for all these fine qualities." 
 
 "Some people are heroes or heroines without 
 knowing it," said Mr. Sharp, with a bow. 
 
 " And yet," said the mother, with a little indignation, 
 " there was some talk of Mr. Compton doing me the 
 honour to share my hermitage for a part of the year." 
 
 " Mr. Comptou ! my dear lady ! Mr. Compton 
 would die of it in a week," said Mr. Sharp. 
 
 "I am quite well aware of it," said Mrs. Denuistoun ; 
 and she added, after a pause, ' : so should I." 
 
 " What a change it will be for your daughter," said 
 Mr. Sharp. "She will see everything- that is worth see- 
 ing. More in a month than she would see here in a 
 dozen years. Trust Mr. Compton for knowing all that's 
 worth going after. They have all an instinct for life 
 that is quite remarkable. There's Lady Mariamne, 
 who has society at her feet, and the old lord is a most 
 remarkable old gentleman. Your daughter, Mrs. Deu- 
 nistouu, is a very fortunate young lady. She has my 
 best congratulations, I am sure." 
 
 " Sharp," said Mr. Lynch from the background, 
 " you had better be thinking of starting, if you want to 
 catch that train." 
 
 " I'll see if the pony is there," said John. 
 
 Mr. Sharp put down his teacup with precipitation. 
 " Is it as late as that ? " he cried. 
 
 "It is the last train," said Mrs. Deunistoun, with
 
 62 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 great satisfaction. " And I am afraid, if you missed it, 
 as the house is full, there would be nothing but a bed 
 at the public-house to offer 
 
 "Oh, not another word," the lawyer said: and fortu- 
 nately he never knew how near that rising young man 
 at the bar, John Tatham, who had every object in con- 
 ciliating a solicitor, was to a charge of manslaughter, if 
 killing an attorney can thus be called. But the feelings 
 of the party were expressed only in actions of the great- 
 est kindness. They helped him on with his coat, and 
 covered him with rugs as he got in, shivering, to the 
 little pony carriage. It was a beautiful night, but the 
 wind is always a thing to be considered on Windyhill. 
 
 "Well, that's a good thing over," said Mr. Lynch, 
 going to the fire as he came in from the night air at 
 the door and rubbing his hands. 
 
 " It would have been a relief to one's feeling to have 
 kicked that fellow all the way down and up the other 
 side of the combe, and kept him warm," said John, 
 with a laugh of wrath. 
 
 " It is a pity a man should have so little taste," said 
 Mrs. Deunistoun. 
 
 Elinor still stood where she had been standing, with 
 every feeling in her breast in commotion. She had not 
 taken any part in the insidious kindnesses of speeding 
 the parting guest ; and now she remembered that he 
 was her Phil's representative : whatever she might her- 
 self think of the man, how could she join in abuse of 
 one who represented Phil ? 
 
 "He is no worse, I suppose, than others," she said. 
 "He was hound to stand up for those in whose interest 
 he was. Mr. Lynch would have made himself quite as 
 disagreeable for me." 
 
 " Not I," said the old gentleman ; " for what is the 
 good of standing up for you ? You would throw me 
 over on the first opportunity. You have taken all the 
 force out of my sword-arm, 1113' dear, as it is. How 
 can I make myself disagreeable for those who won't 
 stand up for themselves ? I suppose you must have it 
 your own way."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 63 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it will be the best," said Mrs. Den- 
 nistouti, in subdued tones. 
 
 "It would come to about the same thing, however 
 you settled it," said John. 
 
 Elinor looked from one to another with eyes that be- 
 gan to glow. "You are a cheerful company," she 
 said. "You speak as if you were arranging my funeral. 
 On the whole I think I like Mr. Sharp best ; for if he 
 was contemptuous of me and my little bit of money, he 
 was at all events cheerful about the future, and that is 
 always something ; whereas you all " 
 
 There was a little pause, no one responding. There 
 was no pleasant jest, no bright augury for Elinor. The 
 girl's heart rose against this gloom that surrounded 
 her. <; I think," she said, with an angry laugh, " that 
 I had better run after Mr. Sharp and bring him back, 
 for he had at least a little sympathy with me ! " 
 
 "Don't be too sure of that," said Mr. Lynch, "for 
 if we think you are throwing yourself away, Elinor, so 
 does he on his side. He thinks the Honourable Mr. 
 Compton is going dreadfully cheap for five thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 " Elinor need not take any of us au pied de la lettre 
 of course we are all firm for our own side," said 
 John. 
 
 Elinor turned her head from one to another, growing 
 pale and red by turns. There was a certain surprise 
 in her look, as she found herself thus at bay. The tri- 
 umph of having got the better of their opposition was 
 lost in the sense of isolation with which the gii'l, so 
 long the first object of everybody about her, felt herself 
 thus placed alone. And the tears were very ready to 
 start, but were kept back by jealous pride which rose 
 to her help. Well ! if they put her outside the circle 
 she would remain so ; if they talked to her as one no 
 longer of them, but belonging to another life, so be it ! 
 Elinor determined that she would make no further ap- 
 peal. She would not even show how much it hurt her. 
 After that pale look round upon them all, she went into 
 the corner of the room where the piano stood, and
 
 64 THE MAURI A<>E 01'' K/JXOR. 
 
 where there was little light. She was too proud ' 
 out of the room, lest they should think she was going 
 to cry. She \veut with a sudden, quick movement to 
 the piano instead, where perhaps she might cry too, 
 but where nobody should see. Poor Elinor ! they had 
 made her feel alone by their words, and she made her- 
 self more alone by this little instinctive withdrawal. 
 She began to play softly one thing after another. She 
 was not a great performer. Her little "tunes" were 
 of the simplest no better indeed than tunes, things 
 that every musician despises : they made a little atmos- 
 phere round her, a voluntary hermitage which separated 
 her as if she had been a hundred miles away. 
 
 " I wish you could have stayed for the marriage," 
 Mrs. Denuistoun said. 
 
 "My dear lady, it would spoil my holiday the 
 middle of September. You'll have nobody except, of 
 course, the people you have always. To tell the truth/' 
 John added. "I don't care tuppence for my holiday. 
 I'd have come like a shot : but I don't think I could 
 stand it. She has always been such a pet of mine. I 
 don't think I could bear it, to tell the truth." 
 
 "I shall have to bear it, though she is more than a 
 pet of mine," said Mrs. Dennistoun. 
 
 "I know, I know! the relatives cannot be let off 
 especially the mother, who must put up with every- 
 thing. I trust," said Mr. Lynch, with a sigh, " that it 
 may all turn out a great deal better than we hope. 
 Where are they going after the marriage ? " 
 
 " Some one has lent them a place a very pretty 
 place on the Thames, where they can have boating 
 and all that Lord Sudbury, I think. And later they 
 are going on a round of visits, to his father, Lord St. 
 Serf, and to Lady Mariamne, and to his aunt, who is 
 Countess of something or other." Mrs. Deunistoun's 
 voice was not untouched by a certain vague pleasure 
 in these fine names. 
 
 "Ah," said the old lawyer, nodding his head at each, 
 " all among the' aristocracy , I see. "Well, my dear lady, 
 I hope you will be able to find some satisfaction in
 
 THE MARKIAHK <Jl'' ELINOR. 66 
 
 that ; it is better than to fall among nobodies at 
 least." 
 
 " I hope so," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with a sigh. 
 
 They were speaking low, and fondly hoped that they 
 were not heard ; but Elinor's ears and every faculty 
 were quickened and almost every word reached her. 
 But she was too proud to take any notice. And per- 
 haps these dreary anticipations, on the whole, did her 
 good, for her heart rose against them, and any little 
 possible doubts in her own mind were put to sudden 
 flight by the opposition and determination which 
 flooded her heart. This made her playing a little more 
 unsteady than usual, and she broke down several times 
 in the middle of a "tune;" but nobody remarked 
 this: they were all fully occupied with their own 
 thoughts. 
 
 All, at least, except John, who wandered uneasily 
 about the room, now studying the names of the books 
 on the bookshelves which he knew by heart, now pull- 
 ing the curtain aside to .look out at the moonlight, now 
 pulling at the fronds of the great maidenhair in his dis- 
 traction till the table round was scattered with little 
 broken leaves. He wanted to keep out of that atmos- 
 phere of emotion which surrounded Elinor at the 
 piano. But it attracted him, all the same, as the light 
 attracts a moth. To get away from that, to make the 
 severance which so soon must be a perfect severance, 
 was the only true policy he knew ; for what was he to 
 her, and what could she be to him ? He had already 
 said everything which a man in his position ought to 
 say. He took out a book at last, and sat down dog- 
 gedly by the table to read, thus making another circle 
 of atmosphere, so to speak, another globe of isolated 
 being in the little room, while the two elder people 
 talked low in the centre, conventionally inaudible to 
 the girl who was playing and the young man who was 
 reading. But John might as well have tried to solve 
 some tremendous problem as to read that book. He 
 too heard every word the elders were saying. He heard 
 them with his own ears, and also he heard them 
 o
 
 66 THE MARRIAUE OF ELINOR. 
 
 through the ears of Elinor, gauging the effect which 
 every word would have upon her. At last he could 
 bear it no longer. He was driven to her side to bear a 
 part of her burden, even to prevent her from hearing, 
 which would be something. He resisted the impulse to 
 throw down his book, and only placed it very quietly 
 on the table, and even in a deliberate way, that there 
 might be no appearance of feeling about him and 
 made his way by degrees, pausing now and then to 
 look at a picture, though lie knew them all by heart 
 Thus he arrived at last at the piano, in what he flut- 
 tered himself was an accidental way. 
 
 " Elinor, the stars are so bright over the combe, do 
 come out. It is not often they are so clear." 
 
 " No," she said, more with the movement of her lips 
 than with any sound. 
 
 " Why not ? You can't want to play those old 
 pieces just at this moment. You will have plenty of time 
 to play them to-morrow." 
 
 She said " No " again, with a little impatient move- 
 ment of her hands on the keys and a look towards the 
 others. 
 
 " You are listening to what they are saying ? Why 
 should you? They don't want you to hear. Come 
 along, Elinor. It's far better for you not to listen to 
 what is not intended " 
 
 " Oh, go away, John." 
 
 " I must say no in my turn. Leave the tunes till to- 
 morrow, and come out with me." 
 
 " I thought," she said, roused a little, " that you 
 were fond of music, John." 
 
 This brought John up suddenly in an unexpected 
 way. " Oh, as for that," he said, in a dubious tone. 
 Poor Elinor's tunes were not music in his sense, as she 
 very well knew. 
 
 She laughed in a forlorn way. " I know what you 
 mean ; but this is quite good enough for what I shall 
 want. I am going down, you know, to a different level 
 altogether. Oh, you can hear for yourself what mamma 
 and Mr. Lynch are saying."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 67 
 
 " Going up you mean, Elinor. I thought them both 
 very complaisant over all those titles." 
 
 "Ah," she said, "they say that mocking. They 
 think I am going down ; so do you, too, to the laud of 
 mere fast people, people with no sense. Well ; there is 
 nothing but the trial will teach any of us. We shall 
 see." 
 
 "It is rather a dreadful risk to run, if it's only a 
 trial, Elinor." 
 
 " A trial for you, not for me lam not the one that 
 thinks so, except so far as the tunes are concerned," 
 she said with a laugh. "I confess so far as that Lady 
 M.iriamne is fond of a comic song. I don't think she 
 goes any further. I shall be good enough for them in 
 the way of music." 
 
 "I should be content never to hear another note of 
 music all my life, Elinor, if " 
 
 ' ; Ah, there you begin again. Not you, John, not 
 you ! I can't bear any more. Neither stars, nor walks, 
 nor listening ; no more ! This rather," and she 
 brought down her hands with a great crash upon the 
 piano, making every one start. Then Elinor rose, hav- 
 ing produced her effect. " I think it must be time to go 
 to bed, mamma. John is talking of the stars, which 
 means that he wants his cigar, and Mr. Lynch must 
 want just to look at the tray in the dining-room. And 
 you are tired by all this fuss, all this unnatural fuss 
 
 about me, that am not worth Come, mother, to 
 
 bed." 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 THE days in the cottage were full of ezcitement and 
 of occupation during the blazing August weather, not 
 so much indeed as is common in many houses in which 
 the expectant bridegroom is always coming and going ; 
 though perhaps the place of that exhilarating commo- 
 tion was more or less filled by the ever-present diver-
 
 68 THE XARXtlAGU OF tiLINOK. 
 
 sity of opinion, the excitement of a subdued but never- 
 ended conflict in which one was always on the defens- 
 ive, and the other covertly or openly attacking, or at 
 least believed to be so doing, the distant and unseen 
 object to which all their thoughts turned. Mrs. Den- 
 nistoun, indeed, was not always aggressive, her opposi- 
 tion was but in fits and starts. Often her feelings of pain 
 and alarm were quiescent in that unfeigned and salu- 
 tary interest in clothes and necessities of preparation 
 which is almost always a resource to a woman's mind. 
 It is wrong to undervalue this possibility which com- 
 pensates a woman in a small degree for some of her 
 special troubles. When the mother's heart was very 
 heavy, it was often diverted a little by the discussion of 
 a dinner dress, or made to forget itself for the moment 
 in a question about the cut of a sleeve, or which would 
 be most becoming to Elinor of two colours for a ball 
 gown. But though Mrs. Dennistoun forgot often, 
 Elinor never forgot. The dresses and " things " gener- 
 ally occupied her a great deal, but not in the form of 
 the anodyne which they supplied to her mother. Her 
 mind was always on the alert, looking out for those fry- 
 ing arrows of warfare which your true fighter lets fly in 
 the most innocent conversation at the most unexpected 
 moments. Elinor thus flung her shield in her mother's 
 face a hundred times when that poor lady was thinking 
 no evil, when she was altogether occupied by the ques- 
 tion of frills and laces, or whether tucks or flounces 
 were best, and she was startled many times by that un- 
 necessary rattle of Elinor's arms. "I was not thinking 
 of Mr. Compton," she would sometimes be driven to 
 say ; " he was not in my head at all. I was thinking of 
 nothing more important than that walking dress, and 
 what you had best wear in the afternoon when you are 
 on those grand visits." 
 
 There was one thing which occasioned a little discus- 
 sion between them, and that was the necessary civility 
 of asking the neighbours to inspect these " tilings " when 
 they were finally ready. It was only the argument, that 
 these neighbours would be Mrs. Denmstoun's sole re-
 
 THE jri7,'/?.U /-'A' OF ELINOR. 
 
 source when she was left alone that made Elinor assent 
 at last. Perhaps, however, as she walked quickly along 
 towards the moorland Rectory, a certain satisfaction in 
 showing them how little their hints had been taken, 
 mingled with the reluctance to admit those people who 
 had breathed a doubt upon the sacred name of Phil, to 
 such a sign of intimacy. 
 
 "I have been watching you along the side of the 
 combe, and wondering if it was you such a threatening 
 day," said Alice Hudson, coming to the door to meet 
 her. How nice of you to come, Elinor, when you must 
 be so busy, and you have not been here since I don't 
 know how long ago ! " 
 
 "No, I have not been here," said Elinor with a grav- 
 ity worthy the bride of a maligned man. " But the 
 time is so near when I shall not be able to come at all 
 that I thought it was best. Mamma wishes you to 
 come over to-morrow, if you will, to see nay things." 
 
 " Oh ! " the three ladies said together ; and Mrs. 
 Hudson came forward and gave Elinor a kiss. ' My 
 dear," she said, "I take it very kind you coming your- 
 self to ask us. Many would not have done it after what 
 
 we felt it our duty But you always had a beautiful 
 
 spirit, Elinor, bearing no malice, and I hope with all 
 my heart that it will have its reward." 
 
 " Well, mother," said Alice, ' ; I don't see how Elinor 
 could do anything less, seeing we have been such 
 friends all our lives as girls, she and I, and I am sure I 
 have always been ready to give her patterns, or to show 
 her how a thing was done. I should have been very 
 much disappointed if she had not asked me to see her 
 things." 
 
 Mary Dale, who was Mrs. Hudson's sister, said noth- 
 ing at all, but accepted the visit as in the course of 
 nature. Mary was the one who really knew something 
 about Phil Gompton : but she had been against the re- 
 monstrance which Mrs. Hudson thought it her duty to 
 make.. What was the good ? Miss Dale had said ; and 
 sue had refrained from telling two or titree stories 
 about the Comptons which would have made the hair
 
 70 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 
 
 stand upright on the heads of the Rector and the Rector- 
 ess. She did not even now say that it -was kind, but 
 met Elinor in silence, as, in her position as the not im- 
 portant member of the family, it was quite becoming 
 for her to do. 
 
 Then the Rector came in and took her by both hands, 
 and gave her the most friendly greeting. " I heard 
 Elinor's voice, and I stopped in the middle of my 
 sermon," he said. " You will remark in church on 
 Sunday a jerky piece, which shows how I stopped to 
 reflect whether it could be you and then went on for 
 another sentence, and then decided that it must be 
 you. There is a big Elinor written across my sermon 
 paper." He laughed, but he was a little moved, to see, 
 after the "coolness," the little girl whom he had 
 christened come back to her old friends again. 
 
 "She has come to ask us to go and see her things, 
 papa," said Mrs. Hudson, twinkling an eye to get rid 
 of a suspicion of a tear. 
 
 "Am I to come, too?" said the Rector ; and thus 
 the little incident of the reconciliation was got over, to 
 the great content of all. 
 
 Elinor reflected to herself that they were really kind 
 people, as she went out again into the grey afternoon 
 where evei'ything was getting up for rain. She made 
 up her mind she would just have time to run into the 
 Hills', at the Hurst, and leave her message, and so get 
 home before the storm began. The clouds lay low 
 like a dark grey hood over the fir-trees and moorland 
 shaggy tops of the downs all round. There was not a 
 break anywhere in the consistent grey, and the air, 
 always so brisk, had fallen still with that ominous lull 
 that comes over everything before a convulsion of 
 nature. Some birds were still hurrying home into the 
 depths of the copses with a frightened straightuess of 
 flight, as if they were afraid they would not get back in 
 time, and all the insects that are so gay with theiv hum- 
 ming and booming had disappeared under leaves and 
 stones and grasses. Elinor saw a bee burrowing deep 
 in the waxen trumpet of a foxglove, as if taking shelter,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 71 
 
 as she walked quickly past. The Hills thei'e were 
 two middle-aged sisters of them, with an old mother, 
 too old for such diversion as the inspection of wedding- 
 clothes, in the background would scarcely let Elinor 
 go out again after they had accepted her invitation with 
 rapture. "I was just wondering where I should see the 
 new fashions," said Miss Hill, " for though we are not 
 going to be married we must begin to think about our 
 winter things " " And this will be such an oppor- 
 tunity," said Miss Susan, " and so good of you to come 
 yourself to ask us." 
 
 " What has she come to ask you to," said old Mrs. 
 Hill ; " the wedding? I told you girls, I was sure you 
 would not be left out. Why, I knew her mother be- 
 fore she was married. I have known them all, man 
 and boy, for nearer sixty than fifty years before her 
 mother was born ! To have left } r ou out would have 
 been ridiculous. Yes, yes, Elinor, my dear ; tell your 
 mother they will come delighted ! They have been 
 thinking for the last fortnight what bonnets they would 
 wear " 
 
 "Oh, mother! " and " Oh, Elinor! " said the "girls," 
 you must not mind what mother says. W T e know 
 very well that you must have worlds of people to ask. 
 Don't think, among all your new connections, of such 
 little country mice as us. We shall always just take 
 the same interest in you, dear child, whether you find 
 you can ask us or not." 
 
 "But of course you are asked," said Elinor, in gaiftv 
 de costir, not reflecting that her mother had begun to 
 be in despair about the number of people who could be 
 entertained in the cottage dining-room, "and you must 
 not talk about my new grand connections, for nobody 
 will ever be like my old friends." 
 
 " Deai' child ! " they said, and " I always knew that 
 dear Elinor's heart was in the right place." But it was 
 all that Elinor could do to get free of their eager affec- 
 tion and alarm lest she should be caught in the rain. 
 Both of the ladies produced waterproofs, and one a 
 large pair of goloshes to fortify her, when it was found
 
 72 THE MARRIAGE Or EIJNOR. 
 
 that, she would go ; and they stood in the porch watch- 
 ing her as she went along into the darkening afternoon, 
 without any of their covers and shelters. The Miss 
 Hills were apt to cling together, after the manner of 
 those pairs of sweet sisters in the "Books of Beauty " 
 which had been the delight of their youth ; they stood, 
 with arms intertwined, in their porch, watching Elinor 
 as she hurried home, with her light half-flying step, 
 like the belated birds. "Did you hear what she said 
 about old friends, poor little thing?" "I wonder if 
 she is finding out already that her new grand connec- 
 tions are but vanity ! " they said, shaking their heads. 
 The middle-aged sisters looked out of the sheltered 
 home, which perhaps they had not chosen for them- 
 selves, with a sort of wistful feeling, half pity, perhaps 
 half envy, upon the "poor little thing" who was run- 
 ning out so light-hearted into the storm. They had 
 long ago retired into waterproofs and goloshes, and had 
 much unwillingness to wet their feet which things are 
 a parable. They went back and closed the door, only 
 when the first flash of lightning dazzled them, and they 
 remembered that an open door is dangerous during a 
 thunderstorm. 
 
 Elinor quickened her pace as the storm began and 
 got home breathless with running, shaking 'off the first 
 big drops of thunder-rain from her dress. But she did 
 not think of any danger, and sat out in the porch watch- 
 ing how the darkness cainefdowu on the combe; how 
 it was met with the jagged gleam of the great white 
 flash, and how the thunderous explosion shook the 
 earth. The combe, with its hill-tops on either side, be- 
 came like the scene of a battle, great armies, invisible 
 in the sharp torrents of rain, meeting each other with 
 a fierce shock and recoil, with now and then a trumpet- 
 blast, and now the gleam that lit up tree and copse, 
 and anon the tremendous artillery. When the light- 
 ning came she caught a glimpse of the winding line of 
 the white road leading away out of all this leading 
 into the world where she was going and for a mom' -nt 
 escaped by it, even amid the roar of all the elements :
 
 THE MARRIAGE or i: I. IX OR. 73 
 
 then came back, alighting again with a start in the fa- 
 miliar porch, amid all the surroundings of the familiar 
 life, to feel her mother's hand upon her shoulder, and 
 her mother's voice saying, " Have you got wet, my dar- 
 ling ? Did you get much of it ? Come in, come in 
 from the storm ! " 
 
 "It is so glorious, mamma!" Mrs. Deunistoun 
 stood for a few minutes looking at it, then, with a shud- 
 der, withdrew into the drawing-room. "I think I have 
 seen too many storms to like it," she said. But Elinor 
 had not seen too many storms. She sat and watched it, 
 now rolling away towards the south, and bursting again 
 as though one army or the other had got reinforce- 
 ments ; while the flash of the explosions and the roar 
 of the guns, and the white blast of the rain, falling like 
 a sheet from the leaden skies, wrapped everything in 
 mystery. The only thing that was to be identified from 
 time to time was that bit of road leading out of it 
 leading her thoughts away, as it should one day lead 
 her eager feet, from all the storm and turmoil out into 
 the bright and shining world. Elinor never asked her- 
 self, as she sat there, a spectator of this great conflict 
 of nature, whether that one human thing, by which 
 her swift thoughts traversed the storm, carried any 
 other suggestion as of coming back. 
 
 Perhaps it is betraying feminine counsels too much 
 to the modest public to narrate how Elinor's things 
 were all laid out for the inspection of the ladies of the 
 parish, the dresses in one room, the "under things " in 
 another, and in the dining-room the presents, which 
 everybody was doubly curious to see, to compare their 
 own offerings with those of other people, or else to 
 note with anxious eye what was wanting, in order, if 
 their present had not yet been procured, to supply the 
 gap. How to get something that would look well 
 among the others, and yet not be too expensive, was 
 a problem which the country neighbours had much and 
 painfully considered. The Hudsous had given Elinor 
 a little tea-kettle upon a stand, which they were pain- 
 fully conscious was only plated, and sadly afraid would
 
 74 TI7E MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 not look well among all the gorgeous articles with which 
 no doubt her grand new connections had loaded her. 
 The Hector came himself, with his ladies to see how the 
 kettle looked, with a great line of anxiety between his 
 brows ; but when they saw that the revolving dishes 
 beside it, which were the gift of the wealthy Lady 
 Mariainne, were plated too, and not nearly such a pretty 
 design, their hearts went up in instant exhilaration, fol- 
 lowed a moment after by such indignation as they could 
 scarcely restrain. " That rich sister, the woman who 
 married the Jew " (which was their very natural expla- 
 nation of the lady's nickname), " a woman who is rolling 
 in wealth, and who actually made up the match ! " This 
 was crescendo, a height of scorn impossible to describe 
 upon a mere printed page. " One would have thought 
 she would have given a diamond necklace or something 
 of consequence," said Mrs. Hudson in her husband's 
 ear. "Or, at least silver," said the Rector. "These 
 fashionable people, though they give themselves every 
 luxury, have sometimes not very much money to spend ; 
 but silver, at least, she might have been expected to 
 give silver." "It is simply disgraceful," said the 
 Rector's wife. " I am glad, at all events, my dear," 
 said he, " that our little thing looks just as well as 
 any." "It is one of the pretties*" things she has got," 
 said Mrs. Hudson, with a pro-id heart. Lord St. Serf 
 sent an old-fashioned little ring in a much worn velvet 
 case, and the elder brother, Lord Lomond, an alburn 
 for photographs. The Rector's wife indicated these 
 gifts to her husband with little shrugs of her shoulders. 
 " If that's all the family can do ! " she said : "why Alice's 
 cushion, which was worked with floss silks upon satin, 
 was a more creditable present than that." The Miss 
 Hills, who as yet had not had an opportunity, as they 
 said, of giving their present, roamed about, curious, in- 
 specting everything. " What is the child to do with a 
 kettle, a thing so difficult to pack, and requiring spirit 
 for the lamp, and all that and only plated ! " the 
 Hills said to each other. "Now, that little teapot of 
 ours," said Jane to Susan, "if mother would only con-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 75 
 
 sent to it, is no use to us, and would look very hand- 
 some here." " Real silver, and old silver, which is so 
 much the rage, arid a thing she could use eveiy day 
 when she has her visitors for afternoon tea," said Susan 
 to Jane. "It is rather small," said Miss Hill, doubt- 
 fully. "But quite enough for two people," said the 
 other, forgetting that she had just declared that the 
 teapot would be serviceable when Elinor had visitors. 
 But that was a small matter. Elinor, however, had 
 other things better than these a necklace, worth half 
 a year's income, from John Tatham, which he had 
 pinched himself to get for her that she might hold up 
 her head among those great friends ; and almost all 
 that her mother possessed in the way of jewellery, 
 which was enough to make a show among these simple 
 people. " Her own family at least have done Elinor 
 justice," said the Rector, going again to have a look at 
 the kettle, which was the chief of the display to him. 
 Thus the visitors made their remarks. The Hills did 
 nothing but stand apart and discuss their teapot and 
 the means by which " mother " could be got to assent. 
 The Rector took his cup of tea, always with a side 
 glance at the kettle, and cut his cake, and made his 
 gentle jest. " If Alick and I come over in the night and 
 carry them all off you must not be surprised," he said ; 
 " such valuable things as these in a little poor parish 
 are a dreadful temptation, and I don't suppose you 
 have much in the way of bolts and bars. Alick is as 
 nimble as a cat, he can get in at any crevice, and I'll 
 bring over the box for the collections to carry off the 
 little things." Tliis harmless wit pleased the good 
 clergyman much, and he repeated it to all the ladies. 
 " I am coming over with Alick one of these dark nights 
 to make a sweep of everything," he said. Mr. Hudson 
 retired in the gentle laughter that followed this, feeling 
 that he had acquitted himself as a man ought who is 
 the only gentleman present, as well as the Rector of the 
 parish. "I am afraid I would not be a good judge of 
 the ' things,' " he said, " and for anything I know there 
 may be mysteries not intended for men's eyes. I like
 
 76 THE MMUU.\<:K OF I'.UXOR. 
 
 to see your pretty dresses when you are wearing them, 
 but I can't judge of their effect in the gross." He was 
 a man who had a pleasant wit. The ladies all agreed 
 that the Rector was sure to make you Inugh whatever 
 was the occasion, and he walked home very briskly, 
 pleased with the effect of the kettle, and saying to him- 
 self that from the moment he saw it in Mappin's window 
 he had felt sure it was the very thing. 
 
 The other ladies were sufficiently impressed with the 
 number and splendour of Elinor's gowns. Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun explained, with a humility which was not, I fear, 
 untinctured by pride, that both number and variety 
 were rendered necessary by the fact that Elinor was 
 going upon a series of visits among her future husband's 
 great relations, and would have to be much in society 
 and among fine people who dressed very much, and 
 would expect a great deal from a bride. " Of course, in 
 ordinary circumstances the half of them would have been 
 enough : for I don't approve of too many dresses." 
 
 " They get old-fashioned/' said Mrs. Hudson, gravely, 
 "before they are half worn out." 
 
 " And to do them up again is quite as expensive as 
 getting new ones, and not so satisfactory," said the Miss 
 Hills. 
 
 The proud mother allowed both of these drawbacks. 
 " But what could I do ? " she said. " I cannot have my 
 child go away into such a different sphere unprovided. 
 It is a sacrifice, but we had to make it, I wish," she 
 said, looking round to see that Elinor was out of hear- 
 ing, " it was the only sacrifice that had to be made." 
 
 "Let us hope," said the Rector's wife, solemnly, 
 " that it will all turn out for the best." 
 
 " It will do that however it turns out," said Miss 
 Dale, who was even more serious than it was incumbent 
 on a member of a clerical household to be, " for we all 
 know that troubles are sent for our advantage as well as 
 blessings, and poor dear Elinor may require much dis- 
 cipline " 
 
 " Oh, goodness, don't talk as if the poor child was 
 going to be executed," said Susan Hill.
 
 THE 1IAR1UA'.: X 01-' ELlXOn. 
 
 " I am not at all alarmed," said Mrs. Deunistoun. It 
 was unwise of her to have left an opening for any such 
 remark. " My Elinor has always been surrounded by 
 love wherever she has been. Her future husband's 
 family are already very fond of her. I am not at all 
 alarmed on Elinor's account." 
 
 She laid the covering wrapper over the dresses with 
 an air of pride and confidence which was remembered 
 long afterwards as the pride that goeth before a fall by 
 some, but by others with more sympathy, who guessed 
 the secret workings of the mother's heart. 
 
 CHAPTER VHL 
 
 TIME went on quickly enough amid all these prepara- 
 tions and the little attendant excitements of letters, 
 congratulations, and presents which came in on every 
 sHe. Elinor complained mildly of the fuss, but it was 
 a new and far from unpleasant experience. She liked 
 to have the packets brought in by the post, or the 
 bigger boxes that arrived from the station, and to open 
 them and produce out of the wadding or the saw-dust 
 one pretty thing after another. At first it was alto- 
 gether fresh and amusing, this new kind of existence, 
 though after a while she grew blasee, as may be sup- 
 posed. Lady Mariainne's present she was a little 
 ashamed of : not that she cared much, but because of 
 the look on her mother's face when those inferior arti- 
 cles were unpacked ; and at the ring which old Lord 
 St. Serf sent her she laughed freely. 
 
 "I will put it with my own little old baby rings in 
 this little silver tray, and they will all look as if they 
 were antiques, or something worth looking at." said 
 Elinor. Happily there were other people who endowed 
 her more richly with rings fit for a bride to wear. The 
 relations at a distance were more or less pleased with 
 Elinor's prospects. A few, indeed, from different parts
 
 78 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 of the world wrote iu the vein of Elinor's home-ad- 
 visers, hoping that it was not the Mr. Compton who was 
 so well known as a betting man whom she was going 
 to marry ; but the fact that she was marrying into a no- 
 ble family, and would henceforward be known as the 
 Honourable Mrs. Comptou, mollified even these critics. 
 Only three brothers one a great invalid, and two sol- 
 diers between him and the title. Elinor's relations 
 promptly inaugurated in their imaginations a great war, 
 in which two noble regiments were cut to pieces, to dis- 
 pose of the two Captains Comptou ; and as for the in- 
 valid, that he would obligingly die off was a contin- 
 gency which nobody doubted and behold Elinor 
 Dennistoun Lady St. Serf ! This greatly calmed criti- 
 cism among her relations, who were all at a distance, 
 and whose approval or disapproval did not much affect 
 her spirits anyhow. John Tatham's father, Mrs. Den- 
 nistoun's cousin, was of more consequence, chiefly as 
 being John's father, but also a little for himself, and it 
 was remarked that he said not a word against the 
 marriage, but sent a very handsome present, and many 
 congratulations chiefly inspired (but this Elinor did 
 not divine) by an unfeigned satisfaction that it was not 
 his son who was the bridegroom. Mr. Tatham, senr., 
 did not approve of early marriages for young men push- 
 ing their way at the bar, unless the bride was, so to 
 speak, in the profession and could be of use to her hus- 
 band. Even iu such cases, the young man was better 
 off without a wife, he was of opinion. How could he 
 get up his cases properly if he had to drag about in 
 society at the tail of a gay young woman ? Therefore 
 he sent Elinor a very nice present in gratitude to her 
 and providence. She was a danger removed out of his 
 boy's way. 
 
 All this kept a cheerful little commotion about the 
 house, and often kept the mother and daughter from 
 thinking more than was good for them. These extra- 
 neous matters did not indeed preserve Elinor altogether 
 from the consciousness thut her fiance's letters were very 
 short and a little uncertain in their arrival, sometimes
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR, T' 
 
 missing several days together, and generally written in 
 a hurry to catch the post. But they kept Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun from remarking that fact, as otherwise she would 
 have been sure to do. If any chill of disappointment 
 was in Elinor's mind, she said to herself that men were 
 generally bad correspondents, not like girls, who had 
 nothing else to do, and other consolations of this kind, 
 which to begin with beg the question, and show the 
 beginning of that disenchantment which ought to be re- 
 served at least for a later period. Elinor had already 
 given up a good deal of her own ideal. She would not, 
 as she said, put herself in competition with the grouse, 
 she would not give him the choice between her and a 
 cigar ; but already the consciousness that he preferred 
 the grouse, and even a cigar, to her society, had come an 
 unwilling intruder into Elinor's mind. She would not 
 allow to herself that she felt it in either case. She sai 1 
 to herself that she was proud of it, that it showed the 
 freedom and strength of a man, and that love was only 
 one of many things which occupied his life. She re- 
 belled against the other deduction that "'tis woman's 
 sole existence," protesting loudly (to herself) that she 
 too had a hundred things to do, and did not want him 
 always at her apron-strings like a tame curate. But aa 
 a matter of fact, no doubt the girl would have been 
 flattered and happy had he been more with her. The 
 time was coming very quickly in which they should be 
 together always, even when there was grouse in hand, 
 when his wife would be invited with him, and all things 
 would be in common between them ; so what did it 
 matter for a few days ? The marriage was fixed for 
 the 16th of September, and that great date was now 
 scarcely a fortnight off. The excitement quickened n? 
 everything grew towards this central point, Arrange 
 ments had to be made about the wedding breakfast and 
 where the guests were to be placed. The Hudsons had 
 put their spare rooms at the disposition of the Cottage, 
 and so had the Hills. The bridegroom was to stay at 
 the Rectory. Lady Mariamne must of course, Mrs. 
 Denui.stoun felt, be put up at the Cottage, where the two
 
 80 THE MMililAKE OF ELINOR. 
 
 rooms on the ground floor what were called the gentle- 
 men's rooms had to be prepared to receive her. It 
 was with a little awe indeed that the ladies of the Cot- 
 tage endeavoured, by the aid of Elinor's recollections, to 
 come to ;iu understanding of what a fine lady would want 
 even for a single night. Mrs. Dennistoun's experiences 
 were all old-fashioned, and of a period when even great 
 ladies were less luxurious than now ; and it made her a 
 little angry to think how much more was required for 
 her daughter's future sister-in-law than had been nec- 
 essary to herself. But after all, what had herself to do 
 with it ? The thing was to do Elinor credit, and make 
 the future sister-in-law perceive that the Cottage was 
 no rustic establishment, but one in which it was known 
 what was what, and all the requirements of the most re- 
 fined life. Elinor's bridesmaid, Mary Tatham, was to 
 have the spare room up-stairs, and some other cousins, 
 who were what Mrs. Deunistoun called "quiet people," 
 were to receive the hospitalities of the Hills, whose 
 house was roomy and old-fashioned. Thus the arrange- 
 ments of the crisis were more or less settled and eveiy- 
 thing made smooth. 
 
 Elinor and her mother were seated together in the 
 drawing-room on one of those evenings of which Mrs. 
 Demiistoiin desired to make the most, as they would be 
 the last, but which, as they actually passed, were if 
 not occupied with discussions of how everything was 
 to be arranged, which they went over again and again 
 by instinct as a safe subject heavy, almost dull, and 
 dragged sadly over the poor ladies whose hearts were 
 so full, but to whom to be separated, though it would 
 be bitter, would also at the same time almost be a re- 
 lief. They had been silent for some time, not because 
 they had not plenty to say, but because it was so diffi- 
 cult to say it without awaking too much feeling. How 
 could they talk of the future in which one of them 
 would be away in strange places, exposed to the risks 
 and vicissitudes of a new life, and one of them be left 
 alone in the unbroken silence, sitting over the lire. 
 with nothing but that blaze to give her any comfort ?
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXUR. *1 
 
 It was too much to think of, much more to talk about, 
 though it need not be said that it was in the minds of 
 both with a difference, for Elinor's imagination was 
 most employed upon the brilliant canvas where she her- 
 self held necessarily the first place, with a sketch of her 
 mother's lonely life, giving her heart a pang, in the dis- 
 tance ; while Mrs. Dennistoun could not help but see 
 the lonely figure in her own foreground, against the 
 brightness of all the entertainments in which Elinor 
 should appear as a queen. They were sitting thus, the 
 mother employed at some fine needlework for the 
 daughter, the daughter doing little, as is usual nowa- 
 days. They had been talking over Lady Marianme and 
 her requirements again, and had come to an end of that 
 subject. What a pity that it was so hard to open the 
 door of their two hearts, which were so close together, 
 so that each might see all the tenderness and compunc- 
 tion in the other ; the shame and sorrow of the mother 
 to grudge her child's happiness, the remorse and 
 trouble of the child to be leaving that mother out in 
 all her calculations for the future ! How were they to 
 do it on either side ? They could not talk, these poor 
 loving women, so they were mostly silent, saying a word 
 or two at intervals about Mrs. Denuistoun's work (which 
 of course, was for Elinor), or of Elinor's village class 
 for sewing, which was to be transferred to her mother, 
 skirting the edges of the great separation which could 
 neither be dismissed nor ignored. 
 
 Suddenly Elinor looked up, holding up her finger. 
 "What was that?" she said. "A step upon the 
 gravel ? " 
 
 " Nonsense, child. If we were to listen to all these 
 noises of the night there would always be a step 
 upon Oh ! I think I did hear something." 
 
 "It is someone coming to the door," said Elinor, 
 rising up with that sudden prevision of trouble which 
 is so seldom deceived. 
 
 " Don't go, Elinor ; don't go. It might be a tramp ; 
 wait at least till they knock at the door." 
 
 " I don't think it can be a tramp, mamma. It
 
 82 THE MARBI AGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 may be a telegram. It is coming straight up to the 
 door." 
 
 " It will be the parcel porter from the station. He 
 is always coming and going, though I never knew him 
 so late. Pearson is in the house, you know. There is 
 not any cause to be alarmed." 
 
 " Alarmed ! " said Elinor, with a laugh of excite- 
 ment ; " but I put more confidence in myself than in 
 Pearson, whoever it may be." 
 
 She stood listening with a face full of expectation, 
 and Mrs. Dennistoun put down her work and listened 
 too. The step advanced lightly, scattering the gravel, 
 and then there was a pause as if the stranger had 
 stopped to reconnoitre. Then came a knock at the 
 window, which could only have been done by a tall 
 man, and the hearts of the ladies jumped up, and then 
 seemed to stop beating. To be sure, there were bolts 
 and bars, but Pearson was not much good, and the 
 house was full of valuables and very lonely. Mrs. Den- 
 nistoun rose up, trembling a little, and went forward 
 to the window, bidding Elinor go back and keep quite 
 quiet. But here they were interrupted by a voice 
 which called from without, with another knock on the 
 window, " Nell ! Nell ! " 
 
 " It is Phil," said Elinor, flying to the door. 
 
 Mrs. Dennistouu sat down again and said nothing. 
 Her heart sank in her breast. She did not know what 
 she feared ; perhaps that he had come to break off the 
 marriage, perhaps to hurry it and carry her child away. 
 There Avas a pause as was natural at the door, a mur- 
 mur of voices, a fond confusion of words, which made 
 it, clear that no breach was likely, and presently after 
 that interval, Elinor came back beaming, leading her 
 lover. " Here is Phil," she said, in such liquid tones 
 of happiness as filled her mother with mingled pleas- 
 ure, gratitude, and despite. "He has found he had a 
 day or two to spare, and he has rushed down here, fancy, 
 with an apology for not letting us know ! " 
 
 " She thinks everyone is like herself, Mrs. Denuis- 
 touu, but I am aware that I uui not such a popular per-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. S3 
 
 sonage as she thinks me, and you have least reason of 
 all to approve of the man who is coming to carry her 
 away." 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Mr. Compton," she said, 
 gravely, giving him her hand. 
 
 The Hon. Philip Compton was a very tall man, with 
 very black hair. He had fine but rather hawk-like 
 features, a large nose, a complexion too white to be 
 agreeable, though it added to his romantic appearance. 
 There was a furtive look in his big dark eyes, which 
 had a way of surveying the country, so to speak, before 
 making a reply to any question, like a man whose re- 
 sponse depended upon what he saw. He surveyed Mrs. 
 .Dennistoun in this way while she spoke; but then he 
 took her hand, stooped his head over it, and kissed it, 
 not without grace. " Thank you very much for that," 
 he said, as if there had been some doubt on his mind 
 about his reception. " I was glad enough to get the 
 opportunity, I can tell you. I've brought you some 
 birds, Mrs. Dennistoun, and I hope you'll give me some 
 supper, for I'm as hungry as a hawk. And now, Nell, 
 let's have a look at you," the lover said. He was 
 troubled by no false modesty. As soon as he had paid 
 the required toll of courtesy to the mother, who natu- 
 rally ought to have at once proceeded to give orders 
 about his supper, he held Elinor at arm's length before 
 the lamp, then, having fully inspected her appearance, 
 and expressed by a " Charming, by Jove I " his opinion 
 of it, proceeded to demonstrations which the presence 
 of the mother standing by did not moderate. There 
 are few mothers to whom it would be agreeable to see 
 their child engulfed in the arms of a large and strong 
 man, and covered with his bold kisses. Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun was more fastidious even than most mothers, and 
 to her this embrace was a sort of profanation. The 
 Elinor who had been guarded like a flower from every 
 contact to see her gi'ipped in his arms by this stran- 
 ger, made her mother glow with an indignation which 
 she knew was out of the question, yet felt to the bottom 
 of her soul. Elinor was abashed before her mother,
 
 84 THE MAltlUAiJL ()!' ELI50H. 
 
 but she was not angry. She forced herself from his 
 embrace, but her blushing countenance was full of hap- 
 piness. What a revolution had thus taken place in a 
 few minutes! They had been so dull sitting there 
 alone ; alone, though each with the other who had 
 filled her life for more than twenty years ; and now all 
 was lightened, palpitating with life. " Be good, sir," 
 said Elinor, pushing him into a chair as if he bad been 
 a great dog, " and quiet and well-behaved ; and then 
 you shall have some supper. But tell us first where 
 you have come from, and what put it into your head to 
 come here." 
 
 "I came up direct from ray brother Lomond's shoot- 
 ing-box. Reply No. 1. What put it into my head to 
 come ? Love, I suppose, and the bright eyes of a cer- 
 tain little witch called Nell. I ought to have been in 
 Ireland for a sort of a farewell visit there ; but when I 
 found I could steal two days, you may imagine I knew 
 very well what to do with them. Eh ? Oh, it's mamma 
 that frightens you, I see." 
 
 " It is kind of you to give Elinor two days when you 
 have so many other engagements," said Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun, turning away. 
 
 But he was not in the least abashed. " Yes, isn't it V " 
 he said ; "my last few days of freedom. I consider I 
 deserve the prize for virtue to cut short my very last 
 rampage ; and she will not as much as give me a kiss ! 
 I think she is ashamed before you, Mrs. Dennistoun." 
 
 " It would not be surprising if she were," said Mrs. 
 Dennistoun, gravely. " I am old-fashioned, as you may 
 perceive." 
 
 "Oh, you don't need to tell me that," said he ; "one 
 can see it with half an eye. Come here, Nell, you little 
 coquette : or I shall tell the Jew you were afraid of 
 mamma, and you will never hear an end of it as long as 
 you live." 
 
 " Elinor, I think you had better see, perhaps, what 
 there is to make up as good a meal as possible for Mr. 
 Compton," said her mother, sitting down opposite to 
 the stranger, whose long limbs were stretched over half
 
 THE llMU'JAGi: <>!' //A/L 
 
 the floor, with the intention of tripping up Elinor, it 
 seemed ; but she glided past him and went on her way 
 not offended, oh, not at all waving her hand to him 
 as she avoided the very choice joke of his stretched-out 
 foot. 
 
 " Mr. Compton," said Mrs. Dennistoun, " you will be 
 Elinor's husband in less than a fortnight." 
 
 "I hope so," he said, displaying the large cavern of a 
 yawn under his black moustache as he looked her in the 
 face. 
 
 " And after that I will have no right to interfere ; but, 
 in the meantime, this is my house, and I hope you will 
 remember that these ways are not mine, and that I am 
 too old-fashioned to like them. I prefer a little more 
 respect to your betrothed." 
 
 "Oh, respect," he said. "I have never found that 
 girls like too much respect. But as you please. Well, 
 look here, Nell," he said, catching her by the arm as she 
 came back and swinging her towards him, "your mother 
 thinks I'm too rough with you, my little dear." 
 
 " Do you, mamma ? " said Elinor, faltering a little ; 
 but she had the sweetest rose-flush on her cheeks and 
 the moisture of joy in her eyes. In all her twenty-three 
 years she had never looked as she looked now\ Her 
 life had been a happy one, but not like this. She had 
 been always beloved, and never, had known for a day 
 what it was to be neglected ; yet love had never appeared 
 to her as it did now, so sweet, nor life so beautiful. 
 What strange delusion ! what a wonderful incomprehen- 
 sible mistake ! or so at least the mother thought, looking 
 at her beautiful girl with a pang at her heart. 
 
 " It is only his bad manners," said Elinor, in a voice 
 which sounded like a caress. " He knows very well 
 how to behave. He can be as nice as any one, and as 
 pretty spoken, and careful not to offend. ' It is only ar- 
 riving so suddenly, and not being expected or that lie 
 has forgotten his nice manners to-night. Phil, do you 
 hear what I say ? " 
 
 Phil made himself into the semblance of a dog, and 
 sat up and begged for pardon. It was a trick which
 
 Sfi THE CARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 made people " shriek with laughing ; " but Mrs. Dennis- 
 touu's gravity remained unbroken. Perhaps her ex- 
 treme seriousness had something in it that was rather 
 ridiculous too. It was a relief when he went off to his 
 supper, attended by Elinor, and Mrs. Dennistouu was 
 left alone over her fire. She had a slight sense that she 
 had been absurd, as well as that Philip Compton had 
 lacked breeding, which did not make her more comfort- 
 able. Was it possible that she would be glad when it 
 was all over, and her child gone her child gone, and 
 with that man ! Her child, her little delicately bred, 
 finely nurtured girl, who had been wrapped in all the 
 refinements of life from her cradle, and had never heard 
 a rough word, never been allowed to know anything that 
 would disturb her virginal calm ! yet now in a moment 
 passed away beyond her mother to the unceremonious 
 wooer who had no reverence for her, none of the wor- 
 ship her mother expected. How strange it was ! Yet 
 a thing that happened every day. Mrs. Dennistoun sat 
 over the fire, though it was not cold, and listened to the 
 voices and laughter in the next room. How happy they 
 were to be together ! She did not, however, dwell upcm 
 the fact that she was alone and deserted, as many women 
 would have clone. She knew that she would have plenty 
 of time to dwell on this in the lonely days to come. 
 What occupied her was the want of more than manners, 
 of any delicate feeling in the lover who had seized with 
 rude caresses upon Elinor in her mother's presence, and 
 the fact that Elinor did not object, nor dislike that 
 it should be so. That she should feel forlorn was 
 no wonderful thing ; that did not disturb her mind. 
 It was the other matter about Elinor that pained 
 and horrified her, she could not tell why ; which, per- 
 haps, was fantastic, which, indeed, she felt sure must 
 be so. 
 
 They were so long in the dining-room, where Compton 
 had his supper, that when that was over it was time to 
 go to bed. Still talking and laugHng as if they could 
 never exhaust either the fountain of talk or the mirth, 
 which was probably much more sheer pleA<s.ve ''u their
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 87 
 
 meeting than genuine laughter produced by any wit or 
 bon mot, they came out into the passage, and stood by 
 Mrs. Dennistoun and the housemaid, who had brought 
 her the keys and was now fastening the hall door. A 
 little calendar hung on the wall beneath the lamp, and 
 Phil Compton walked up to it and with a laugh read 
 out the date. "Sixth September," he said, and turned 
 round to Elinor. "Only ten days more, Nell." The 
 housemaid stooping down over the bolt blushed and 
 laughed too under her breath in sympathy ; but Mrs. 
 Dennistoun turning suddenly round caught Compton'a 
 eye. Why had he given that keen glance about him ? 
 There was nothing to call for his usual survey of the 
 company in that sentiment. He might have known well 
 enough what were the feelings he was likely to call forth. 
 A keen suspicion shot through her mind. Suspicion of 
 what ? She could not tell. There was nothing that was 
 not most natural in his sudden arrival, the delightful 
 surprise of his coining, his certainty of a good reception. 
 The wonder was that he had come so little, not that he 
 should come now. 
 
 The next morning the visitor made himself very agree- 
 able : his raptures were a little calmed. He talked over 
 all the arrangements, and entered into everything with 
 the interest of a man to whom that great day approach- 
 ing was indeed the greatest day in his life. And it 
 turned out that he had something to tell which was of 
 ical importance. "I may relieve your mind about 
 Nell's money," he said, " for I believe my company is 
 going to be wound up. We'll look out for another in- 
 vestment which will pay as well and be less risky. It 
 has been found not to be doing quite so well as was 
 thought, so we're going to wind up." 
 
 "I hope you have not lost anything," said Mrs. Deu- 
 nistoun. 
 
 "Oh, nothing to speak of," he said, carelessly. 
 
 " I am not fond of speculative companies. I am glad 
 you are done with it," Mrs. Deunistoun said. 
 
 >; And I'm glad t' )je done with it. 1 snail look 
 out for something permanent and decline joint- stock
 
 THE MARRTAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 companies. I thought you would like to know. But 
 that is the last word I shall say about business. Come, 
 Nell, I have only one day ; let's spend it in the 
 woods." 
 
 Elinor, who felt that the day in the woods was far 
 more important than any business, hurried to get her 
 hat and follow him to the door. It chanced to her to 
 glance at the calendar as she passed hastily out to where 
 he stood awaiting her in the porch. Why that should 
 have happened to anyone in the Cottage twice in the 
 twenty-four hours is a coincidence which I cannot ex- 
 plain, but so it was. Her eye caught the little white 
 plaque in passing, and perceived \\ ith surprise that it 
 had moved up two numbers, and that it was the figure 
 8 which was marked upon it now. 
 
 "We cannot have slept through a day and night," she 
 said, laughing as she joined him. " The calendar says 
 the eighth September now." 
 
 "But I arrived on the sixth," he said. "Mind that, 
 Nell, whatever happens. You saw it with your own 
 eyes. It may be of consequence to remember." 
 
 " Of what consequence could it be ? " said Elinor, 
 wondering. 
 
 " One can never tell. The only thing is I arrived on 
 the sixth that you know. And, Nell, my darling, sup- 
 posing any fellow should inquire too closely into my 
 movements, you'll back me up, won't you, and agree in 
 everything I say '? " 
 
 " Who should inquire into your movements ? There 
 is no one here who would be so impertinent, Phil." 
 
 " Oh," he said, " there is never any telling how im- 
 pertinent people may be." 
 
 " And what is there in your movements that any one 
 dare inquire about ? I hope you are not ashamed of 
 coming to see me." 
 
 " That is just what is the saving of me, Nell. I can't 
 oxpl:iin what I mean now, but I will later on. Only 
 mind you don't contradict me if we should meet any in- 
 quisitive person. I arrived on the sixth, and you'll back 
 me like my true love in everything I say."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 89 
 
 "As far as as I know, Phil." 
 
 "Oh, we must have no conditions. You must stand 
 by me in everything I say." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THIS day in the copse was one that Elinor never for- 
 got. At the moment it seemed to her the most blissful 
 period of all her life. There had been times in which 
 she had longed that Phil knew more and cared more 
 for the objects which had always been most familiar, 
 and told for most in her own existence although it is 
 true that at first his very ignorance, real or assumed, 
 his careless way of treating all intellectual subjects, his 
 indifference to books and pictures, and even nature, 
 had amused and pleased her, giving a piquancy to the 
 physical strength and enjoying manhood, the perpetual 
 activity and state of doing something in which he was. 
 It was not a kind of life which she had ever known be- 
 fore, and it dazzled her with its apparent freedom and ful- 
 ness, the variety in it, the constant movement, the crowd 
 of occupations and people. To her who had been used to 
 finding a great deal of her amusement in reading, in 
 sketching (not very well), in playing (tunes), and generally 
 practising with very moderate success arts for which she 
 had no individual enthusiasm, it had seemed like a new 
 life to be plunged into the society of horses and dogs, 
 into the active world which was made up of a round of 
 amusements, race meetings, days on the river, follies of 
 every conceivable kind, exercise, and air, and movement. 
 The ignorance of all these people dazzled her as if it had 
 been a new science. It had seemed something wonder- 
 ful and piquant to Elinor to find people who knew so 
 much of subjects she had never heard of, and nothing 
 at all of those she. had been trained to know. And then 
 there had come a moment when she had begun to sigh 
 under her breath, as it were, and wish that Phil would
 
 00 TTTE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 sometimes open a book, that when he took up the 
 newspaper he would look at something more than the 
 sporting news and the bits of gossip, that he would talk 
 now and then of something different from the racings 
 and the startings, and the odds, and the scrapes other 
 men got into, and the astonishing "frocks" of the Jew 
 ^ -those things, so wonderful at first, like a new lan- 
 guage, absurd, yet amusing, came to be a little tiresome, 
 especially when scraps of them made up the bulk of the 
 very brief letters which Phil scribbled to his betrothed. 
 But during this day, after his unexpected arrival, the joy 
 of seeing him suddenly, the pleasure of feeling that he 
 had broken through all his engagements to come to her, 
 and the fervour of his satisfaction in being with her again 
 i that very fervour which shocked her mother), Elinor's 
 first glow of delight in her love came fully back. And as 
 they wandered through the pleasant paths of the copse, 
 his very talk seemed somehow changed, and to have 
 gained just that little mingling of perception of her 
 tastes and wishes which she had desired. There was a 
 little autumnal mist about the softening haze which 
 was not decay, but only the " mellow fruitfulness " of 
 the poet ; and the day, notwithstanding this, was as 
 warm as June, the sky blue, with only a little white 
 puff of cloud here and there. Phil paused to look down 
 the combe, with all the folds of the downs that wrappec? 
 it about, going off in blue outlines into the distance, 
 and said it was "a jolly view " which amused Elinor 
 more than if he had used the finest language, and 
 showed that he was beginning (she thought) to care a 
 lif tie for the things which pleased her. "And I suppose 
 you could see a man coming by that bit of road." 
 
 "Yes," said Elinor, "you could see a man coming 
 or going : but, unless you were to make believe very 
 strong, like the Marchioness, you could not make out 
 who the man was." 
 
 "What Marchioness?" said Phil. "I didn't know 
 you had anybody with a title about here. I say, Noll, 
 it's a very 'jolly view, but hideously dull for you, niy 
 pet, to have lived so long here."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELTXOP. 01 
 
 "I never found it in the least dull/' she said. 
 
 " Why, there is nothing to do ! I suppose you rea, 7 . 
 books, eh ? That's what you call amusing yourself. 
 You ought to have made the old lady take you about a 
 deal, abroad, and all over the place : but I expect you 
 have never stood up for yourself a bit. Nell." 
 
 " Dou't call mamma the old lady, Phil' She is not 
 old, and far prettier than most people i know." 
 
 " Well, she should have done it for herself. Might 
 have picked up a good match, eh ? a father-in-law that 
 would have left }'ou a pot of money. You don't mean 
 to say you wouldn't have liked that ? " 
 
 " Oh, Phil, Phil ! I wish you could understand." 
 
 " Well, well, I'll let the old girl alone." And then 
 came the point at which Phil improved so much. "Tell 
 me what you've been reading last," he said. "I should 
 like to know what you are thinking about, even if I 
 don't understand it myself. I say, Nell, who do you 
 think that can be dashing so fast along the road ? " 
 
 " It is the people at Reddown," she said. " I know 
 their white horses. They always dash along as if they 
 were in the greatest hurry. Do you really want to 
 know what I have been reading, Phil ? though it is very 
 little, I fear, because of the dressmakers and all the 
 other things." 
 
 "You see," he said, "when you have lots to do you 
 can't keep up with your books : which is the reason 
 why I never pretend to read I have no time." 
 
 " You might find a little time. I have seen you look 
 vcrv much bored, and complain that there was nothing 
 to do." 
 
 'Never when you were there, Nell, that I'll answer 
 for but of course there are tmr:- when a fellow isn't 
 doing anything much. What would you have me read ? 
 There's always the Sporting and Dramatic, you know, 
 the Pink 'un, and a few more." 
 
 "Oh, Phil! you don't call them literature, I hope." 
 
 ' ' I don't know much about what you call literature. 
 There's Ruff, and Hoyle, and I say, Nell, there's a dog- 
 cart going a pace! Who can that be, do you suppose?"
 
 09 THE. MARRIAGE Or KLINOR. 
 
 " I don't know all the dog-carts about. I should 
 think it was some one coming from the station." 
 
 "Oh! " he said, and made a long pause. "Driving 
 like that, if they don't break their necks, they should 
 be here in ten minutes or so." 
 
 " Oh, not for twice that time- the road makes such 
 a round but there is no reason to suppose that any 
 dog-cart from the station should be coming here." 
 
 " Well, to return to the literature, as you call it. I 
 suppose I shall have to get a lot of books for you to 
 keep you amused eh, Nell? even in the honeymoon." 
 
 " We shall not have time to read very much if we are 
 moving about all the time." 
 
 " Not me, but you. I know what you'll do. You'll 
 go and leave me planted, and run up-stairs to read your 
 book. I've seen the Jew do it with some of her con- 
 founded novels that she's always wanting to turn over 
 to rue." 
 
 "But there are souse novels that you would like to 
 read, Phil." 
 
 " Not a bit. Why, Nell, I know far better stories of 
 fellows in our own set than any novel these writing men 
 ever can put on paper : fellows, and women, too stories 
 that would make your hair stand on end, and that would 
 make you die with laughing. You can't think what lots 
 I know. That cart would have been here by this time 
 if it had been coming here, eh ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, not yet the road makes such a long round. 
 Do you expect any one, Phil ? " 
 
 " I don't quite know ; there's something on at that 
 confounded office of ours ; everything, you know, has 
 gone to smash. I didn't think it well to say too much 
 to the old lady last night. There's been a regular row, 
 and the manager's absconded, and all turns on whether 
 they can find some books. I shouldn't wonder if one 
 of th,e fellows came down here, if they find out where I 
 am. I say, Nell, mind you back me up whatever I say." 
 
 "But I can't possibly know anything about it," said 
 Elinor, astonished. 
 
 "Never mind about dates and that if you don't
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 93 
 
 stand by me, there may be a fuss, and the wedding de- 
 layed. Remember that, my pet, the wedding delayed 
 that's what I want to avoid. Now, come, Nell, let's 
 have another go about the books. All English, mind 
 you. I won't buy you any of the French rot. They're 
 too spicy for a little girl like you." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean, Phil. I hope you 
 don't thinK that I read nothing but novels," Elinor 
 said. 
 
 " Nothing but novels ! Oh, if you go in for mathe- 
 matics and that sort of thing, Nell ! the novels are too 
 deep for me. Don't say poetry, if you love me. I could 
 stand most things from you, Nell, you little darling 
 but, Nell, if you come spouting verses all the time 
 
 His look of horror made Elinor laugh. " You need 
 not be afraid. I never spout verses," she said. 
 
 " Come along this way a little, where we can see the 
 road. All women seem to like poetry. ' There's a few 
 fellows I don't mind myself. Ingoldsby, now that's 
 something fine. We had him at school, and perhaps 
 it was the contrast from one's lessons. Do you know 
 Ingoldsby, Nell ? " 
 
 "A little I have read some " 
 
 " Ah, you like the sentimental best. There's "NVhyte 
 Melville, then, there's always something melancholy 
 about him ' When the old horse died,' and that sort of 
 tiling makes you cry, don't you know. You all like 
 that. Certainly, if that dog-cart had been coming here 
 it must have come by this time." 
 
 "Yes, it must have come," Elinor admitted, with a 
 little wonder at the importance which he gave to this 
 possible incident. " But there is another train at two 
 if you are very anxious to see this man." 
 
 " Oh, I'm not anxious to see him," said Mr. Compton, 
 with a laugh, " but probably he will want to see me. 
 No. Nell, you will not expect me to read poetry to you 
 while we're away. There's quite a library at Lomond's 
 place. You can amuse yourself there when I'm shoot- 
 ing ; not that I shall shoot much, or anything that takes 
 me away from my Nell. But you must come out with
 
 4 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 us. There is no such fun as stumping over the moors 
 the Jew has got all the turn-out for that sort of thing 
 short frocks and knickerbockers, and a duck of a little 
 breech-loader. She thinks she's a great shot, poor 
 thing, and rnen are civil and let her imagine that she's 
 knocked over a pheasant or a hare, now and then. As for 
 the partridges, she lets fly, of course, but to say she hits 
 anything " 
 
 " I should not want to hit anything," said Elinor. 
 " Oh, please Phil ! I will try anything else you like, 
 but don't make me shoot." 
 
 " You little humbug ! See what you'll say when you 
 get quite clear of the old lady. But I don't want you 
 to shoot, Nell. If you don't get tired sitting at home, 
 with all of us out on the hill, I like to come in for my 
 part and find a little duck all tidy, not blowzy and 
 blown about by the wind, like the Jew with her ridicu- 
 lous bag, that all the fellows snigger at behind her 
 back." 
 
 " You should not let any fellow laugh at your sister, 
 Phil " 
 
 " Oh, as for that! they are all as thick with her as I 
 am, and why should I interfere ? But I promise you 
 nobody shall cut a joke upon my Nell." 
 
 "I should hope not, indeed, "said Elinor, indignant ; 
 " but as for your ' fellows,' Phil, as you call them, you 
 mustn't be angry with me, but I don't much like those 
 gentlemen ; they are a little rude and rough. They 
 shall not call me by my Christian name, or anything 
 but my own formal " 
 
 " Mrs. Compton," he said, seizing her in his arms, 
 " you little duck ! they'll be as frightened of you as 
 if you were rifry. But you mustn't spoil good company, 
 Nell. I shall like you to keep them at a distance, but 
 you mustn't go too far ; and, above all, my pet, you 
 mustn't put out the Jew. I calculate on being a lot 
 there ; they have a nice house and a good table, and all 
 that, and Prestwich is glad of somebody to help about 
 his horses. You mustn't set up any of your airs with 
 the Jew."
 
 TUB MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 95 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by my airs, PhiL" 
 
 " Oh, but I do, and they're delicious, Nell : half like 
 a little girl and half like a queen : but it will never do 
 to make the Jew feel small in her own set. Hallo ! 
 there's some one tumbling alone over the stones on that 
 precious road of yours. I believe it's that cart from the 
 station after all." 
 
 " No," said Elinor, " it is only one of the tradespeople. 
 You certainly are anxious about those carts from the 
 station, Phil." 
 
 " Not a bit ! " he said, and then, after a moment, he 
 added, " Yes, on the whole, I'd much rather the man 
 came, if he's coming while I'm here, and while you are 
 with me, Nell ; for I want you to stick to me, and back 
 me up. They might think I ought to go after that 
 manager fellow and spoil the wedding. Therefore mind 
 you back me up." 
 
 " I can't think, dear Phil, what there is for me to do. 
 I know nothing about the business nor what has hap- 
 pened. You never told me anything, and how can I 
 back you up about things I don't know ? " 
 
 " Oh, 3 r es, you can," he said, " you'll soon see if the 
 fellow comes ; just you stand by me, whatever I say. 
 You mayn't know or even I may seem to make a mis- 
 take ; but you know me if you don't know the circum- 
 stances, and I hope you can trust me, Xell, that it will 
 be all right." 
 
 " But " said Elinor, confused. 
 
 " Don't go on with your buts ; there's a darling, 
 don't contradict me. There is nothing looks so silly to 
 strangers as a woman contradicting every word a fellow 
 .says. I only^want you to stand by me, don't you know, 
 t hat's all ; and I'll tell you everything about it after, 
 when there's time." 
 
 "Tell me about it now," said Elinor; "you may 
 be sure I shall be interested ; there's plenty of tirna 
 now." 
 
 " Talk about busino>> to you ! when I've only a single 
 
 .n d not half time enough, you little duck, to tell 
 
 you what a darling you are, and how I count every
 
 96 TUti MAURI ALiE OF ELINOtf. 
 
 hour till I can have you all to myself. Ah, Nell, Nell, 
 if that clay were only here " 
 
 And then Phil turned to those subjects and those 
 methods which cast so much confusion into the mind of 
 Mrs. Dennistoun, when practised under her sedate and 
 middle-aged eyes. But Elinor, as has been said, did 
 not take exactly the same view. 
 
 Presently they went to luncheon, and Phil secured 
 himself a place at table commanding the road. "I 
 never knew before how jolly it was," he said, " though 
 everything is jolly here. And that peep of the road 
 must give you warning when any invasion is coming." 
 
 "It is too far off for that," said Mrs. Dennistoun. 
 
 " Oh, no, not for sharp eyes. Nell there told me who 
 several people were those white horses the people at 
 where did you say, Nell ? " 
 
 " Reddown, mamma the Philistines, as you call 
 them, that are always dashing about the country 
 nouveaux riches, with the finest horses in the county." 
 
 "I like the noui-eaux riches for that," said Phil (he 
 did not go wrong in his French, which was a great con- 
 solation to Elinor), " they like to have the best of every- 
 thing. Your poor swell has to take what he can get, 
 but the parvenu's the man in these days ; and theu 
 there was a dog-cart, which she pronounced to be from 
 the station, but which turned out to be the butcher, or 
 the baker, or the candle-stick maker 
 
 " It is really too far off to make sure of anything, ex- 
 cept white horses." 
 
 "Ah, there's no mistaking them. I see something 
 sweeping along, but that's a country wagon, I suppose. 
 It gives me a great deal of diversion to see the people 
 : on the road which perhaps you will think a vulgar 
 amusement." 
 
 "Not at all," said Mrs. Dennistoun, politely, but she 
 thought within herself how empty the brain must be 
 which sought diversion from the distant carriages pass- 
 ing two mil^s off: to be sure across the combe, as the 
 crow flies, it was not a quarter part so far as that. 
 
 " Phil thinks some one may possibly come to him on
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. ',7 
 
 business to explain things," said Elinor, anxious on 
 her part to make it clear that it was not out of mere 
 vacancy that her lover had watched so closely the car- 
 riages on the road. 
 
 " Unfortunately, there is something like a smash," he 
 said ; " they'll keep it out of the papers if they can, but 
 you may see it in the papers ; the manager has run 
 away, and there's a question about some books. I don't 
 suppose you would understand they may come to me 
 here about it, or they may wait till I go back to town." 
 
 "I thought you were going to Ireland, Phil." 
 
 " So I shah 1 , probably, just for three days to fill up 
 the time. One wants to be doing something to keep 
 one's self down. You can't keep quiet and behave your- 
 self when you are going to be married in a week : un- 
 less you're a little chit of a girl without any feelings," 
 he said with a laugh. And Elinor laughed too ; while 
 Mrs. Deunistouu sat as grave as a judge at the head of 
 the table. But Phil was not daunted by her serious 
 face : so long as the road was quite clear he had all the 
 appearance of a perfectly easy mind. 
 
 " We have been talking about literature," he said. 
 " I am a stupid fellow, as perhaps you know, for that 
 sort of thing. But Nell is to indoctrinate me. "We 
 mean to take a big box of books, and I'm to be made to 
 read poetry and all sorts of fine things in my honey- 
 moon." 
 
 " That is a new idea," said Mrs. Dennistoun. " I 
 thought Elinor meant to give up reading, on the other 
 hand, to make things square." 
 
 There was a little breath of a protest from Elinor. 
 " Oh, mamma! " but she left the talk (he could do it so 
 much better) in Compton's hand. 
 
 " I expect to figure as a sort of prodigy in my fami- 
 ly," he said ; " we're not bookish. The Jew goes in for 
 French novels, but I don't intend to let Nell touch 
 them, so you may be easy in your mind." 
 
 " I have no doubt Lady Mariamne makes a good se- 
 lection," said Mrs. Dennistoun. 
 
 " Not she ! she reads whatever comes, and the more
 
 98 THE MARRIAGE OF fttl 
 
 salt the better. The Jew is quite an emancipated per- 
 son. Don't you think she'll bore you rather in this 
 little house? She carries bales of rubbish with her 
 wherever she goes, and her maid, and her dog, and I 
 don't know what. If I were you I'd write, or better 
 wire, and tell her there's a capital train from Victoria 
 will bring her here in time for the wedding, and that 
 it's a thousand pities she should disturb herself to come 
 for the night." 
 
 "If your sister can put up with rny small accommo- 
 dation, I shall of course be happy to have her, what- 
 ever she brings with her," Mrs. Deunistoun said. 
 
 " Oh ! it's not a question of putting up she'd be 
 delighted, I'm sure : but I think you'll find her a great 
 bore. She is exceedingly fussy when she has not all 
 her things about her. However, you must judge for 
 yourself. But if you think better of it, wire a few 
 words, and it'll be all right. I'm to go to the old Rec- 
 tory, Nell says." 
 
 "It is not a particularly old Rectory ; it is a very 
 nice, pleasant house. I .think you will find yourself 
 <juite comfortable you and the gentleman 
 
 " Dick Bolsover, who is going to see me through it : 
 and I daresay I should not sleep much, if I were in the 
 most luxurious bed in the world. They say a man who 
 is going to be hanged sleeps like a top, but I don't 
 think I shall ; what do you say, Nell ?" 
 
 "Elinor, I should think, could have no opinion on 
 the subject," said Mrs. Deuuistouu, pale with anger. 
 " You will all dine here, of course. Some other friends 
 are coming, and a cousin, Mr. Tatham, of Tatham's 
 Cross." 
 
 "Is that," said Phil, " the Cousin John ? " 
 
 "John, I am sorry to say, is abroad; the long vaca- 
 tion is the worst time. It is his father who is coming, 
 and his sister, Mary Tatham, who is Elinor's brides- 
 maid she and Miss Hudson at the Rectory." 
 
 " Only two ; and very sensible, instead of the train 
 one sees, all thinking ho\v best to show themselves oil'. 
 Dick Bolsover is man enough to tackle them both. He
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 99 
 
 expects some fun, I can tell you. What is there to be 
 after we are gone, Nell?" He stopped aud looked 
 round with a laugh, " Kather close quarters for a ball," 
 he said. 
 
 " There will be no ball. You forget that when you 
 take Elinor away I shall be alone. A solitary woman 
 living in a cottage, as you remark, does not give balls. 
 I am much afraid that there will be very little fun for 
 your friend." 
 
 " Oh, he'll amuse himself well enough ; he's the sort 
 of fellow who always makes himself at home. A Rec- 
 tory will be great fun for him ; I don't suppose he was 
 ever in one before, unless perhaps when he was a boy 
 at school. Yes, as you say what a lot of trouble it 
 will be for you to be sure : not as if Nell had a sister 
 to enjoy the fun after. It's a thousand pities you did 
 not decide to bring her up to town, and get us shuffled 
 off there. You might have got a little house for next 
 to nothing at this time of the year, and saved all the 
 row, turning everything upside down in this nice little 
 place, and troubling yourself with visitors and so forth. 
 But one always thinks of that sort of thing too late." 
 
 "I should not have adopted such an expedient in any 
 case. Elinor must be married among her own people, 
 wherever her lot may be cast afterwards. Everybody 
 here has known her ever since she was born." 
 
 " Ah, that's a thing ladies think of, I suppose," said 
 Compton. He had stuck his glass into his eye and was 
 gazing out of the window. " Very jolly view," he con- 
 tinued. "And what's that, Nell, raising clouds of dust? 
 I haven't such quick eyes as you." 
 
 "I should think it must be a circus or a menagerie, 
 or something, mamma." 
 
 " Very likely," said Mrs. Denuistouu. " They some- 
 times come this way on the road to Portsmouth, and 
 give little representations in all the villages, to the 
 great excitement of the country folk." 
 
 " We are the country folk, and I feel quite excited," 
 said Phil, dropping his glass. "Nell, if there's a repre- 
 sentation, you and I will go to-night."
 
 100 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " Oh, Phil, what " Elinor was about to say folly : 
 
 but she paused, seeing a look in his eye which she had 
 already learned to know, and added "fun," in a voice 
 which sounded almost like an echo of his own. 
 
 "There is nothing like being out iu the wilderness 
 like this to make one relish a little fun, eh ? I daresay 
 you always go. The Jew is the one for every village 
 fair within ten miles when she is in the country. She 
 says they're better than anv play. Hallo ! what is 
 that?" 
 
 " It is some one coming round the gravel path." 
 
 A moi-e simple statement could not be, but it made 
 Compton strangely uneasy. He rose up hastily from 
 the table. " It is, perhaps, the man I am looking for. 
 If you'll permit me, I'll go and see." 
 
 He went out of the room, calling Elinor by a look 
 and slight movement of his head, but when he came 
 out into the hall was met by a trim clerical figure and 
 genial countenance, the benign yet self-assured looks 
 of the Rector of the Parish : none other could this 
 smiling yet important personage be. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE Rector came in with his smiling and rosy face. 
 He was, as many of his parishioners thought, a picture 
 of a country clergyman. Such a healthy colour, as clear 
 as a girl's, limpid blue eyes, with very light eyelashes 
 and eyebrows; a nice round face, "beautifully mod- 
 elled," according to Miss Sarah Hill, who did a little in 
 that way herself, and knew how to approve of a Higher 
 Sculptor's work. And then the neatest and blackest of 
 coats, and the whitest and stiffest of collars. Mr. Hud- 
 son, I need scarcely say, was not so left to himself as to 
 permit his clerical character to be divined by means of 
 a white tie. He came in, as was natural among coun- 
 try neighbours, without thinking of any bell or knocker
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 101 
 
 ou the easily opened door, and was about to peep into 
 the drawing-room with "Anybody in?" upon his smil- 
 ing lips, when he saw a gentleman approaching, picking 
 up his hat as he advanced. Mr. Hudson paused a mo- 
 ment in uncertainty. "Mr. Compton, I am sure," he 
 said, holding out both of his plump pink hands. "Ah, 
 Elinor too ! I was sure I could not be mistaken. And 
 I am exceedingly glad to make your acquaintance." 
 He shook Phil's hand up and down in a sort of see- 
 saw. " Very glad to make your acquaintance ! though 
 you are the worst enemy Windyhill has had for many a 
 day carrying off the finest lamb in all the fold." 
 
 "Yes, I'm a wolf, I suppose," said Phil. He went to 
 the door and took a long look out while Elinor led the 
 Rector into the drawing-room. Then Mr. Compton 
 lounged in after them, with his hands iu his pockets, 
 and placed himself in the bow-window, where he could 
 still see the white line across the combe of the distant 
 road. 
 
 " They'll think I have stolen a march upon them all, 
 Elinor," said the Rector, " chancing upon Mr. Comp- 
 ton like this, a quite unexpected pleasure. I shall keep 
 them on the tenterhooks, asking them whom they sup- 
 pose I have met ? and they will give everybody but the 
 right person. What a thing for me to have been the 
 fii-st person to see your intended, my dear ! and I con- 
 gratulate you, Elinor," said the Rector, dropping his 
 voice ; " a tine handsome fellow, and such an air! You 
 are a lucky girl " he paused a little and said, with a 
 slight hesitation, in a whisper, " so far as meets the 
 eye." 
 
 " Oh, Mi\ Hudson, don't spoil everything," said Eli- 
 nor, in the same tone. 
 
 " Well, I cannot tell, can I, my dear? the first peep 
 I have had." He cleared his throat and raised his 
 voice. " I believe we are to have the pleasure of enter- 
 taining you, Mr. Compton, on a certain joyf ul occasion 
 (joyful to you, not to us). I need not say how pleased 
 my wife and I and the other members of the family will 
 be. There are not very many of us we are only five
 
 102 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 in number my son, and my daughter, and Miss Dale, 
 my wife's sister, but much younger than Mrs. Hudson 
 who has done us the pleasure of staying with us for 
 part of the year. I think she has met you somewhere, 
 or knows some of your family, _>r something. She is 
 a great authority on noble families. I don't know 
 whether it is because she has been a good deal in so- 
 ciety, or whether it is out of Debrett " 
 
 "Nell, come and tell me what this is," Compton 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, Phil! it is nothing, it is a carriage. I don't 
 know what it is. Be civil to the Rector, please." 
 
 "So I am, perfectly civil." 
 
 " You have not answered a single word, and he has 
 been talking to you for ten minutes." 
 
 "Well, but he hasn't said anything that I can answer. 
 He says Miss Something or other knows my family. 
 Perhaps she does. Well, much good may it do her ! 
 but what can I say to that ? I am sure I don't know 
 hers. I didn't come here to be talked to by the Rec- 
 tor. Could we slip out and leave him with your 
 mother ? That would suit his book a great deal better. 
 Come, let's go." 
 
 " Oh ! he is speaking to you, Phil." 
 
 Compton turned round and eyed the Rector. "Yes?" 
 he said in so marked an interrogative that Mr. Hudson 
 stopped short and flushed. He had been talking for 
 some time. 
 
 " Oh ! I was not precisely asking a question," he 
 said, in his quiet tones. " I was saying that we believe 
 and hope that another gentleman is coming with you 
 for the occasion." 
 
 "Dick Bolsover," said Compton, "a son of Lord 
 Freshfield's ; perhaps Miss , the lady you were talk- 
 ing of, may know his family too. His brother got a 
 little talked of in that affair about Fille d'Or, don't you 
 know, at Newmarket. But Dick is a rattling good 
 fellow, doesn't race, and has no vices. He is coming to 
 stand by me and see that all's right." 
 
 " We shall be happy to see Mr. Bolsover, I am sure."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 The Rector rubbed his hands and said to himself with 
 pleasure that two Honourables in his quiet house was 
 something to think of, and that he hoped it would riot 
 turn the heads of the ladies, and make Alice expect 
 one couldn't tell what. And then he said, by way of 
 changing yet continuing the subject, "I suppose you've 
 been looking at the presents. Elinor must have shown 
 you her presents." 
 
 "By Jove, I never thought of the presents. Have 
 you got a lot, Nell ? " 
 
 " She has got, if I may be allowed to answer for her, 
 having known her all her life, a great many pretty 
 things, Mr. Compton. We are not rich, to be sure, her 
 old friends here. We have to content ourselves with 
 but a small token of a great deal of affection ; but still 
 there are a number of pretty things. Elinor, what were 
 you thinking of, my dear, not to show Mr. Compton 
 the little set out which you showed us? Come, I 
 should myself like to look them over again." 
 
 Phil gave another long look at the distant road, and 
 then he thrust his arm into Elinor's and said, " To be 
 sure, come along, Nell. It will be something to do." 
 He did not wait for the Rector to pass first, which Eli- 
 nor thought would have been better manners, but 
 thrust her before him quite regardless of the older peo- 
 ple. ' Let's see the trumpery," he said. 
 
 " Don't use such a word, Phil : the Rector will be 
 so hurt." 
 
 " Oh, will he ? did he work you an antimacassar or 
 something ? " 
 
 "Phil, speak low at least. No, but his daughter 
 did ; and they gave me " 
 
 " I know : a cardcase or a button-hook, or something. 
 And how many biscuit-boxes have you got, and clocks, 
 and that sort of thing ? I advise you to have an auc- 
 tion as soon as we get away. Hallo ! that's a nice little 
 thing ; look pretty on your pretty white neck I should 
 say, Nell. Who gave you that ? " He took John's 
 necklace out of its box where it had lain undisturbed 
 until now, and pulled it through his fingers. " Cost 3
 
 10-1- THE MARRIAGE OF 
 
 pretty bit of money that, I should say. You can raise 
 the wind on it when we're down on our luck, Nell." 
 
 " My cousin John, whom you have heard me speak 
 of, gave me that, Phil," said Elinor, with great gravity. 
 She thought it necessary, she could scarcely tell why, 
 to make a stand for her cousin John. 
 
 " Ah, I thought it was one of the disappointed ones," 
 said Phil, flinging it back carelessly onto the bed of 
 white velvet where it had been fitted so exactly. 
 "That's how they show their spite; for of course I 
 can't give you anything half as good as that." 
 
 il There was no disappointment in the matter," said 
 Elinor, almost angry witk the misconceptions of her 
 lover. 
 
 "You are a nice one," said Compton, taking her by 
 the chin, " to tell me ! as if I didn't know the world a 
 long sight better than you do, my little Nell." 
 
 The Rector, who was following slowly, for he did not 
 like to go up-stairs in a hurry, saw this attitude and 
 drew back, a little scandalized. " Perhaps we were in- 
 discreet to to follow them too closely," he said, dis- 
 concerted. "Please to go in first, Mrs. Dennistouu 
 the young couple will not mind you." 
 
 Mr. Hudson was prim,, but he was rather pleased to 
 see that " the young couple " were, as he said, so fond 
 of each other. He went into the room under the pro- 
 tection of the mother blushing a little. It reminded 
 him, as he said afterwards, of his own young days ; but 
 it \vus only natural that he should walk up direct to the 
 place where his kettle stood conspicuous, waiting only 
 the spark of a match to begin to boil the water for the 
 first conjugal ten. It appeared to him a beautiful idea 
 as he put his head on one side and looked at it. It 
 was like the inauguration of the true British fireside, 
 the cosy privacy in which, after the man had done his 
 work, the lady awaited him at home, with the tea-kettle 
 steaming. A generation before Mr. Hudson there 
 would have been a pair of slippers airing beside the 
 fire. But neither of these preparations supply the 
 ideal of perfect happiness now.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 105 
 
 " I say, where did you get these hideous things?" 
 said Compton, approaching the table on which " the 
 silver " was laid out. By a special dispensation it was 
 Lady Marianme's dishes which caught Phil's attention. 
 "Some old grandmother, I suppose, that had 'em in 
 the house. Hallo ! if it isn't the Jew ! Nell, you don't 
 mean to tell me you got these horrors from the Jew? " 
 
 "They are supposed to be quite handsome," said 
 Elinor, with a suppressed laugh. " We must not criti- 
 cise. It is very kind of people to send presents at all. 
 We all know it is a very severe tax to those who have 
 a great many friends " / 
 
 " The stingy old miser," said Compton. " Boiling in 
 money, and to send you these ! By Jove ! there's a 
 neat little thing now that looks what it is ; probably 
 
 one of your nice country friends, Nell " (It was the 
 
 kettle, as a kind Providence decreed ; and both the 
 ladies breathed an internal thanksgiving.) "Shows 
 like a little gem beside that old, thundering, mean- 
 spirited Jew ! " 
 
 "That," said the Rector, bridling a little and pink 
 with pleasure, " is our little offering : and I'm delighted 
 to think that it should please so good a judge. It was 
 chosen with great care. I saw it first myself, and the 
 idea flashed upon me quite an inspiration that it 
 was the very thing for Elinor ; and when I went home 
 I told my wife the very thing for her boudoir, 
 should she not be seeing company or just for your 
 little teas when you are by yourselves. I could at 
 once imagine the dear girl looking so pretty in one of 
 those wonderful white garments that are in the next 
 room." 
 
 " Hallo ! " said Compton, with a laugh, " do you 
 show off your things in this abandoned way, Nell, to 
 the killingest old cov " 
 
 She put her hand up to his mouth with a cry of dis- 
 may and laughter, but the Rector, with a smile and an- 
 other little blush, discreetly turned his back. He was 
 truly glad to see that they were so fond of each other, 
 !m.l thought it was pretty and innocent that they should
 
 10G THE MARJIIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 not mind showing it but it was a little embarrassing 
 for an old and prim clergyman to look on. 
 
 ""What a pleasure at must be to you, my dear lady," 
 he said when the young couple had gone : which took 
 place very soon, for Phil soon grew tired of the pres- 
 ents, and he was ill at ease when there was no window 
 from which he could watch the road " Vhat a pleasure 
 to see them so much attached ! Of course, family ad- 
 vantage and position is always of importance but 
 when you get devoted affection, too : 
 
 " I hope there is devoted affection," said Mrs. Den- 
 nistoun ; " at all events, there is what we are all united 
 in calling ' love,' for the present. He is in love with 
 Elinor I don't think there can be much doubt of 
 that." 
 
 " I did not of course know that he was here," said 
 the Rector, with some hesitation. " I came with the 
 intention of speaking I am very sorry to see in the 
 papers to-day something about that Joint-Stock Com- 
 pany of which Mr. Compton was a director. It's rather 
 a mysterious paragraph : but it's something about the 
 manager having absconded, and that some of the direc- 
 tors are said to be involved." 
 
 "Do you mean my future son-in-law?" she said, 
 turning quickly upon him. 
 
 " Good heavens, no ! I wouldn't for the world insin- 
 uate It was only that one felt a desire to know. Just 
 
 upon the eve of a marriage it's it's alarming to hear 
 of a business the bridegroom is involved in being 
 what you may call broken up." 
 
 " That was one of the things Mr. Comptou came to 
 tell us about," said Mrs. Dennistoun. "He said he 
 hopc;l it might be kept out of the papers, but that 
 some of the books have got lost or destroyed. I am 
 afraid I know very little about business. But he has 
 lost very little nothing to speak of which was all 
 that concerned me." 
 
 " To be sure," said the Rector, but in a tone not so 
 assured as his words. "It is not perhaps quite a nice 
 thing to be director of a company that that collapses
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 107 
 
 in this way. I fear some poor people will lose their 
 money. 1 fear there will be things in the papers." 
 
 "On what ground?" she said. "Oh, I don't deny 
 there may be some one to blame ; but Mr. Compton 
 was, I suspect, only on the board for the sake of his 
 name. He is not a business man. He did it, as so 
 many do, for the sake of a pretence of being in some- 
 thing. And then, I believe, the directors got a little 
 by it ; they had a few hundreds a year." 
 
 "To be sure," said Mr. Hudson, but still doubtfully; 
 and then he brightened up. "For my part, I don't 
 believe there is a word of truth in it. Since I have 
 seen him, indeed, I have quite changed my opinion 
 a fine figure of a man, looking an aristocrat every inch 
 of him. Such a contrast and complement to our dear 
 Elinor and so fond of her. A man like that would 
 never have a hand in any sham concern. If it was really 
 a bogus company, as people say, he must be one of the 
 sufferers. That is quite my decided opinion ; only the 
 ladies, you know the ladies who have not seen him, 
 and who are so much more saspicious by nature (I 
 don't know that you are, my dtar Mrs. Dennistoun), 
 would give me no rest. They thought it was my 
 duty to interfere. But I am sure they are quite 
 wrong." 
 
 To think that it was the ladies of the Rector's family 
 who were interfering made Mrs. Dennistoun very wroth. 
 " Next time they have anything to say, you should 
 make them come themselves," she said. 
 
 " Oh, they would not do that. They say it is the 
 clergyman's business, not theirs. Besides, you know, I 
 have not time to read all the papers. We get the TV///?.*, 
 and* Mary Dale has the Morning Poxt, and another thing 
 thai is all about stocks and shares. She has such a 
 head for business far more than I can pretend to. She 
 thought " 
 
 " Mr. Hudson, I fear I do not wish to know what 
 was thought by Miss Dale." 
 
 ""Well, you are, perhaps, right, Mis. Dennistoun. 
 She is only a woman, of course, and she ma,y make
 
 108 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 mistakes. It is astonishing, though, how often she is 
 right. She has a head for business that might do for a 
 Chancellor of the Exchequer. She made me sell out 
 my shares iu that Red Gulch those American invest- 
 ments have most horrible names just a week before 
 the smash came, all from what she had read in the 
 papers. She knows how to put things together, you 
 see. So I have reason to be grateful to her, for my 
 part." 
 
 " And what persuaded you, here at Windyhill, a 
 quiet clergyman, to put money in any Red Gulch ? It 
 is a horrible name ! " 
 
 "Oh, it was Mary, I suppose," said Mr. Hudson. 
 " She is always looking out for new investments. She 
 said we should all make our fortunes. "We did not, 
 unfortunately. But she is so clever, she got us out of 
 it with only a very small loss indeed." 
 
 " No doubt she is very clever. I wish, though, that 
 she would let us know definitely ori what ground 
 
 "Oh, there is no ground," cried the Rector. " Now 
 that I have seen Mr. Compton I am certain of it. I 
 said to her before I left the Rectory, 'Now, my dear 
 Mary, I am going like a lamb to the slaughter. I have 
 no reason to give if Mrs. Dennistoun should ask me, 
 and you have no reason to give. And she will probably 
 put me to the door.' If I said that before I started, 
 you may fancy how much more I feel it now, when I 
 have made Mr. Compton's acquaintance. A fine aristo- 
 cratic face, and all the ease of high breeding. There 
 are only three lives and those not very good ones 
 between him and the title, I believe?" 
 
 "Two robust brothers, and an invalid who will prob- 
 ably outlive them all ; that is, I believe, the state of the 
 case." 
 
 " Dear me, what a pity ! " said the Rector, " for our 
 little Elinor would have made a sweet little Countess. 
 She would grow a noble lady, like the one in Mr. Tenny- 
 son's poem. Well, now I must be going, and I am ex- 
 tremely glad to have been so lucky as to come in just 
 in time. It has been the greatest pleasure to me to see
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 10U 
 
 them together such a loving couple. Dear me, like 
 what one reads about, or remembers in old days, not 
 like the commonplace pairs one has to do with now." 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun accompanied the Rector to the 
 garden gate. She was half inclined to laugh aud half 
 to be angry, and in neither mood did Mr. Hudson's in- 
 sinuations which he made so innocently have much 
 effect upon her mind. But when she took leave of him 
 at the gate and came slowly back among her brilliant 
 flower-beds, pausing here and there mechanically to 
 \ pick off a withered leaf or prop up the too heavy head 
 of a late rose,- her mind began to take another turn. 
 She had always been conscious of an instinctive sus- 
 picion in respect to her daughter's lover. Probably 
 only, she said to herself, because he was her daughter's 
 lover, and she was jealous of the new devotion that 
 withdrew from her so completely the young creature 
 who had been so fully her own. That is a hard trial 
 for a woman to undergo. It is only to be borne when 
 she, too, is fascinated by her future son-in-law, as hap- 
 pen's in some fortunate cases. Otherwise, a woman 
 with an only child is an alarming critic to encounter. 
 She was not fascinated at all by Phil. She was disap- 
 pointed in Elinor, and almost thought her child not so 
 perfect as she had believed, when it proved that she 
 could be fascinated by this man. She disliked almost 
 everything about him his looks, the very air which the 
 Rector thought so aristocratic, his fondness for Elinor, 
 which was not reverential enough to please the mother, 
 and his indifference, nay, contempt, for herself, which 
 was not calculated to please any woman. She had been 
 roused into defence of him in anger at the interference, 
 and at the insinuation which had no proof ; but as that 
 anger died away, other thoughts came into her mind. 
 She began to put the broken facts together which al- 
 ready had roused her to suspicion : his sudden arrival, 
 so unexpected ; walking from the station a long, very 
 long walk carrying his own bag, which was a thing 
 John Tatham did, but not like Phil Compton. And 
 then she remembered, suddenly, his anxiety about the
 
 110 THE MARR1AOE OF ELINOR. 
 
 carriage on the distant road, bis care to place himself 
 where he could see it. She had thought with a little 
 scorn that this was a proof of his frivolity, of the neces- 
 sity of seeing people, whoever these people might be. 
 But now there began to be in it something that could 
 have a deeper meaning. For whom was he looking? 
 Who might be coming? Stories she had heard of 
 fugitives from justice, of swindlers taking refuge in the 
 innocence of "their families, came up into her mind. 
 Could it be possible that Elinor's pure name could be 
 entangled in such a guilty web as this ? 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " FUNNY old poop ! " said Compton. " And that is 
 your Rector, Nell. I shall tell Dick there's rare fun to 
 be had in that house : but not for me. I know what I 
 shall be thinking of all the time I'm there. Odious 
 little Nell! to interfere like this with a fellow's fun. 
 But I say, who's that woman who knows me or my 
 family? much good may it do her, as I said before. 
 Tell me, Nell, did she speak ill of me? " 
 
 "Oh, Phil, how could you ask? or what would it 
 matter if she spoke ever so ill ?" 
 
 "She did then," he said with a graver face. "Some- 
 body was bound to do it. And what did she say ? " 
 
 " Oh, what does it matter, Phil? I don't remember ; 
 nothing of any consequence. We paid no attention, of 
 course, neither mamma nor I." 
 
 " That was plucky of the old girl," said Compton. 
 " I didn't suppose you would give ear, my Nell. Ain't 
 BO sure about her. If I'd been your father, my pet, I 
 should never have given you to Phil Compton. And 
 that's the fact : I wonder if the old lady would like to 
 reconsider the situation now." 
 
 " Phil ! " said Elinor, clinging to his arm. 
 
 " Perhaps it would be best for you if you were to do
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. Ill 
 
 so, Xell, or if she were to insist upon it. Eh ! You 
 don't know ine, my darling, that's the fact. You're too 
 good to understand us. We're all the same, from the 
 old governor downwards a bad lot. I feel a kind of 
 remorseful over you, child, to-day. That rosy old bloke, 
 though he's a snob, makes a man think of innocence 
 somehow. I do believe you oughtn't to marry me, 
 Xell." 
 
 "Oh, Phil ! what do you mean? You cannot mean 
 what you say." 
 
 "I suppose I don't, or I shouldn't say it, Nell. I 
 shouldn't certainly, if I thought you were likely to take 
 my advice. It's a kind of luxury to tell you we're a 
 bad lot, and bid you throw me over, when I know all 
 along you won't." 
 
 " I should think not indeed," she said, clinging to 
 him and looking up in his face. "Do you know what 
 ous I mean a friend, said to me on that sub- 
 ject? " 
 
 " You mean your cousin John, whom you are always 
 quoting. Let's hear what the fellow said." 
 
 " He said that I wasn't a girl to put up with much, 
 l r uil. That I wasn't one of the patient kind, that I 
 
 would not bear I don't know what it was I would 
 
 not bear ; but you see you must consider my defects, 
 which you can understand well enough, whether I can 
 understand yours or not." 
 
 " That you could not put up with that you could 
 not bear ? that meant me, XelL He had been talking 
 to you on the same subject, me and my faults. Why 
 didn't you listen to him ? I suppose he wanted you to 
 have him instead of me." 
 
 " Phil ! how dare you even think of such a thing ? It 
 is not true." 
 
 " Wasn't it ? Then he is a greater fool than I took 
 him for, and his opinion's no good. So you're a spit- 
 fire, are you? Can't put up with anything that doesn't 
 suit you ? I don't know that I should have found that 
 out." 
 
 'I am afraid though that it is true," she said, haL-
 
 Jl'J THE MMililAOE OF 
 
 laughingly looking up at him. " Perhaps you will 
 want to reconsider too." 
 
 "If you don't want it any more than I want it, 
 
 Nell What's that?" he cried hastily, changing his 
 
 expression and attitude in a moment. " Is that one of 
 your neighbours at the gate ? " 
 
 Elinor looked round, starting away a little from his 
 side, and saw some one a man she had never seen be- 
 fore approaching along the path.* She was just about 
 to say she did not know who it. was when Phil, to her 
 astonishment, stepped past her, advancing to meet the 
 newcomer. But as he did so he put out his hand and 
 caught her as he passed, leading her along with him. 
 
 "Mind what I said, and stick to me," he said, in a 
 whisper ; then 
 
 " Stanfield ! " he cried with an air of perfect ease and 
 cordiality, yet astonishment. "I thought it looked like 
 you, but I could not believe my eyes." 
 
 " Mr. Compton ! " said the other. " So you are here. 
 I have been hunting after you all over the place. I 
 heard only this morning this was a likely spot." 
 
 "A very likely spot !" said Phil. "I suppose you 
 know the good reason I have for being in these parts. 
 Elinor, this is Mr. Staufield, who has to do with our 
 company, don't you know. But I say, Stanfield, what's 
 all this row in the papers? Is it true that Brown's 
 bolted ? I should have taken the first train to see if I 
 could help ; but my private affairs are most urgent just 
 at this moment, as I suppose you know." 
 
 "I wish you had come," said the other ; "it would 
 have looked well, and pleased the rest of the directors. 
 There has been some queer business some of the 
 books abstracted or destroyed, we can't tell which, and 
 no means of knowing how we stand." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " said Phil, " to cover that fellow's 
 retreat" 
 
 " II you mean Brown, it was not he. They were all 
 there safe enough after he was gone ; somebody must 
 have got in by night and made off with them, some one 
 that knew all about the place ; the watchman SHW a
 
 TITK U.\RRl.\(!K OF KJjyOR. 113 
 
 light, but that's all. It's supposed there must have 
 been something compromising others besides Brown. 
 He could not have cheated the company to such an ex- 
 tent by himself." 
 
 "Good Heavens ! " cried Phil again in natural horror ; 
 " I wish I had followed my impulse and gone up to 
 town straight : but it was very vague what was in the 
 papers ; I hoped it might not have been our place at 
 all. And I say, Stan field who's the fellow they sus- 
 pect ? " Elinor had disengaged herself from Compton's 
 arm ; she perceived vaguely that the stranger paused 
 before he replied, and that Phil, facing him with a cer- 
 tain square attitude of opposition which affected her 
 imagination vaguely, though she did not understand 
 why was waiting with keen attention for his reply. 
 She said, a little oppressed by the situation, "Phil, 
 perhaps I had better go." 
 
 " Don't go," he said ; " there's nothing secret to say. 
 If there's anyone suspected it must very soon be 
 known." 
 
 " It's difficult to say who is suspected," said the 
 stranger, confused. " I don't know that there's much 
 evidence. You've been in Scotland ? " 
 
 " Yes, till the other day, when I came down here to 
 
 see " He paused and turned upon Elinor a look 
 
 which gave the girl the most curious incomprehensible 
 pang. It was a look of love ; but, oh ! heaven, was it a 
 look called up that the other man might see ? He took 
 her hand in his, and said lightly yet tenderly, "Let's 
 see, what day was it? the sixth, wasn't it the sixth, 
 Nell ? " 
 
 A flood of conflicting thoughts poured through 
 Elinor's mind. What did it mean ? It was yesterday, 
 she was about to say, but something stopped her, some- 
 thing in Phil's eye in the touch of his hand. There 
 was something warning, almost threatening, in his eye. 
 Stand by me ; mind you don't contradict me ; say what 
 I say. All these things which he had repeated again 
 and again were said once more in the look he gave her. 
 " Yes," she said timidly, with a hesitation very unlike 
 8
 
 114 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 Elinor, "it was the sixth." She seemed to see suddenly 
 as she said the words that calendar with the date hang- 
 ing in the hall : the big 6 seemed to hang suspended in 
 the air. It was true, though she could not tell Low it 
 could be so. 
 
 " Oh," said Staufield, in a tone which betrayed a little 
 surprise, and something like disappointment, " the 
 sixth ? I knew you had left Scotland, but we did not 
 know where you had gone." 
 
 " That's not to be wondered at," said Phil, with a 
 laugh, " for I should have gone to Ireland, to tell the 
 truth ; I ought to have been there now. I'm going to- 
 morrow, ain't I, Nell ? I had not a bit of business to be 
 here. Winding up affairs in the bachelor line, don't 
 you know ; but I had to come on my way west to see 
 this young lady first. It plays the deuce and all with 
 one's plans when there's such a temptation in the way.'' 
 
 " You could have gone from Scotland to Ireland," 
 said Stanfield, gravely, "without coming to town at 
 all." 
 
 " Very true, old man. You speak like a book. But, 
 as you perceive, I have not gone to Ireland at all ; I am 
 here. Depends upon your motive, I suppose, which 
 way you go." 
 
 "It is a good way roundabout," said the other, with- 
 out relaxing the intent look on his face. 
 
 "Well," said Phil, "that's as one feels. I go by 
 Holyhead wherever I may be even if I had uowhei-e 
 else to go to on the way." 
 
 "And Mr. Compton got here on the sixth? this is 
 the eighth," said the stranger, pointedly. He turned <o 
 Elinor, and it seemed to the girl that his eyes, though 
 they were not remarkable eyes, went through and 
 through her. He spoke very slowly, with a curious 
 meaning. "But it was on the sixth, you say, that he 
 got here ? " 
 
 That big 6 on the calendar stood oui before her eyes ; 
 it seemed to cover all the man's figure that stood be- 
 fore her. Elinor's heart and mind went through the 
 strangest convulsion. Was it false was it true ? What
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 115 
 
 was she saying ? What did it all mean ? She repeated 
 mechanically, " It was on the sixth," and then she re- 
 covered a kind of desperate courage, and throwing off 
 the strange spell that seemed to be upon hei-, "Is there 
 any reason," she asked, suddenly, with a little burst of 
 impatience, looking from one to another, " why it 
 should not be the sixth, that you repeat it so ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the stranger, visibly 
 startled. " I did not mean to imply only thought 
 Pray, Mr. Compton, tell the lady I had no intention of 
 offending. I never supposed " 
 
 Phil's laugh, loud and clear, rang through the still- 
 ness of the afternoon. " He's so used to fibs, he thinks 
 everybody's in a tale," said Phil, "but I can assure you 
 he is a very good fellow, and a great friend of mine, and 
 he means no harm, Nell." 
 
 Elinor made Mr. Stanfield" an extremely dignified 
 bow. " I ought to have gone away at once, and left you 
 to talk over your business," she said, turning away, and 
 Phil did not attempt to detain her. Then the natural 
 rural sense of hospitality came over Elinor. She turned 
 back to find the two men looking after her, standing 
 where she had left them. "I am sure," she said, " that 
 mamma would wish me to ask the gentleman if he 
 would stay to dinner or at least come in with you, 
 Phil, to tea." 
 
 Mr. Stanfield took off his hat with anxious politeness, 
 and exclaimed hastily that he must go back to town by 
 the next train, and that the cab from the station was 
 waiting to take him. And then she left them, and 
 walked quietly away. She was almost out of hearing 
 before they resumed their conversation ; that is, she 
 was beyond the sound, not of their voices, but of what 
 they said. The murmur of the voices was still audible 
 when she got to her favourite seat on the side of the 
 copse looking down the combe. It was a very retired 
 and silent place, not visible from either the cottage or 
 the garden. And there Elinor took refuge in the quiet 
 and hush of the declining day. She was in a great 
 tremor of agitation and excitement as she sat down
 
 116 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 upon the rustic seat so great a tremor that she had 
 scarcely been able to walk steadily down the roughly- 
 made steps a tremor which had grown with every step 
 she took. She did not in the least understand the trans- 
 action in which she had been engaged. It was some- 
 thing altogether strange to her experiences, without any 
 pi-ecedent in her life. What was it she had been called 
 upon to do ? What had she said, and why had she been 
 made to say it ? Her heart 'beat so that she put her two 
 hands upon it crossed over her breast to keep it down, 
 lest it should burst away. She had the sensation of 
 having been brought before some tribunal, put sud- 
 denly to the last shift, made to say what, what ? She 
 was so bewildered that she could not tell. Was it the 
 
 truth, said with the intention to deceive was it ? 
 
 She could not tell. There was that great numeral 
 wavering in the air, stalking along with her like a ghost. 
 6 . She had read it in all innocence, they had all read 
 it, and nobody had said it was wrong. No one was very 
 careful 'about the date in the cottage. If it was right, if 
 it was wrong, Elinor could not tell. But yet somehow 
 she was conscious that the man to whom she had spoken 
 had been deceived. And Phil ! and Phil ! what had he 
 meant, adjuring her to stick to him, to stand by him, 
 not to contradict him ? Elinor's mind was in such a 
 wild commotion that she could not answer these in- 
 quiries. She could not feel that she had one solid step 
 of ground to place herself upon in the whirlwind which 
 swept her about and about. ! Had she lied ? And why 
 had he asked her to lie ? And what, oh, what did it all 
 mean ? 
 
 One thing that at last appeared to her in the chaos 
 which seemed like something solid that she could grasp 
 at was that Phil had never changed in his aspect. The 
 other man had been very serious, staring at her as if to 
 intimidate her, like a m;m who had something to find 
 out ; but Phil had been as careless, ns indifferent, as he 
 appeared always to be. He had not changed his ex- 
 pression. It is true there was that look in which there 
 was at once an entreaty and a command but only she
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 117 
 
 had seen that, and perhaps it was merely the emotion, 
 the excitement, the strange feeling of having to face the 
 
 world for him, and say what, what ? Wan it simply. 
 
 the truth, nothing but the truth, or was it Again 
 
 Elinor's mind began to whirl. It was the truth : she 
 could see now that big 6 on the calendar distinct as the 
 sunshine. And yet it was only yesterday and there 
 was 8 this morning. Had she gone through an in- 
 tervening dream for a whole day without knowing it ; or 
 had she, Elinor she who would not have done it to 
 save her life told a lie for Phil ? And why should he 
 want her to tell a lie ? 
 
 Elinor got up from her seat, and stood uncertain, 
 with a cold dew on her forehead, and her hands clasp- 
 ing and holding eackother. Should she go back to them 
 and say there must be some mistake that though she 
 had said the truth it was not true, that thei'e was some 
 mistake, some dreadful mistake ! There was no longer 
 any sound of voices where she was. The whole incident 
 seemed to have died out. The sudden commotion of 
 Phil's visit and everything connected with it had passed 
 away. She was alone in the afternoon, in the hush of 
 nature, looking over the combe, listening to the rustle 
 of the trees, hearing the bees drone homeward. Had 
 Phil ever been here at all ? Had he watched the distant 
 road winding over the slopes for some one whom he had 
 expected to come after him all the time ? Had he ever 
 told her to stand by him ? to say what he said, to back 
 him up ? Had there ever been another man standing 
 with that big 6 wavering between her and him like a 
 ghost ? Had all that been at all, or was it merely a 
 foolish dream ? And ought she to go back now, and 
 find the man before he disappeared, and tell him it was 
 all true, yet somehow a dreadful, dreadful mistake ? 
 
 Elinor sat down again abruptly on her seat, and put 
 her handkerchief to her forehead and pushed back the 
 damp clusters of her hair, turning her face to the wind 
 to get a little refreshment and calm, if that were possi- 
 ble. She heard in the sunny distance behind her, 
 where the garden and the peaceful house lay in the
 
 118 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 Mgbt, the clang of the gate, a sound which could not be 
 mistaken. The man then had gone if there was any- 
 thing to rectify in what she said it certainly could not 
 be rectified now he was gone. The certainty came to 
 her with a feeling of relief. It had been horrible to 
 think of standing before the two men again and saying 
 what could she have said? She remembered now that 
 it was not her assertion alone, but that it all Lung to- 
 gether, a whole structure of incidents, which would be 
 put wrong if she had said it was a mistake a whole 
 account of Phil's time, how it had been passed which 
 was quite true, which he nud told them on his arrival ; 
 now he had been going to Ireland, and had stopped, 
 longing for a glimpse of her, his bride, feeling that he 
 must have her by him, see her once again before he 
 came for her to fetch her away. He had told the ladies 
 at the cottage the very same, and of course it was true. 
 Had he not come straight from Scotland with his big 
 bundle of game, the grouse and partridges which had 
 already been shared with all the friends about '? Was 
 he not going off to Ireland to-morrow to fulfil his first 
 Intention? It was all quite right, quite true, hanging 
 perfectly together except that curious falling out of a 
 day. And then again Elinor's brain swam round and 
 round. Had he been two days at the cottage instead of 
 one, as he said ? Was it there that the mistake lay ? 
 Had she been in such a fool's paradise having him 
 there, that she had not marked the passage of time 
 had it all been one hour of happiness flying like the 
 wind? A blush, partly of sweet shame to think that 
 this was possible, that she might have been such a 
 happy fool as to ignore the divisions of night and day, 
 and parti}' of stimulating hope that such might be the 
 case, a wild snatch at justification of herself and him 
 flushed over her from head to foot, wrapping her in 
 warmth and delight ; and then this all faded away again 
 and left her as in ashes black and cold. No ! every- 
 thing, she saw, now depended upon what she had been 
 impelled to say ; the whole construction, Phil's account 
 of his time, his story of his doings all would have fallen
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 119 
 
 to pieces had she said otherwise. Body and soul, Elinor 
 felt herself become like a machine full of clanging 
 wheels and beating pistons, her heart, her pulses, her 
 breath, all panting, beating, bursting. What did it 
 mean ? What did it mean ? And then everything stood 
 still in a horrible suspense and pause. 
 
 She began to hear voices again in the distance and 
 raised her head, which she had buried in her hands 
 voices that sounded so calmly in the westering sun- 
 shine, one answering another, everything softened in 
 the golden outdoor light. At first as she raised her- 
 self up she thought with horror that it was the man, 
 the visitor whom she had supposed to be gone, return- 
 ing with Phil to give her the opportunity of contradict- 
 ing herself, of bringing back that whirlwind of doubt 
 and possibility. But presently her excited senses per- 
 ceived that it was her mother who was walking calmly 
 through the garden talking with Phil. There was not 
 a tone of excitement in the quiet voices that came grad- 
 ually nearer and nearer, till she could hear what they 
 were saying. It was Phil who was speaking, while her 
 mother now and then put in a word. Elinor did not 
 wish on ordinary occasions for too many private talks 
 between her mother and Phil. They rubbed each 
 other the wrong way, they did not understand each 
 other, words seemed to mean different things in their 
 comprehension of them. She knew that her lover 
 would laugh at " the old girl," which was a phrase 
 which offended Elinor deeply, and Mrs. Dennistoun 
 would become stiffer and stiffer, declaring that the 
 very language of the younger generation had become 
 unintelligible to her. But to hear them now together 
 was a kind of anodyne to Elinor, it stayed and calmed 
 her. The cold moisture dried from her forehead. She 
 smoothed her hair instinctively with her hand, and 
 put herself straight in mind as she did with that in- 
 voluntary action in outward appearance, feeling that 
 no sign of agitation, no trouble of demeanour must 
 meet her mother's eye. And then the voices came 
 so near that she could hear what they' were saying.
 
 120 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 They were coming amicably together to her favourite 
 retreat. 
 
 " It's a very queer thiug," said Phil, " if it is UK they 
 think, that somebody went there the night before last 
 and cleared off the books. Well, not all the books, 
 some that are supposed to contain the secret transac- 
 tions. Deucedly cleverly done it must have been, if it 
 was done at all, for nobody saw the fellow, or fellows, 
 if there were more than one 
 
 "Why do you doubt?" said Mrs. Dennisloun. "Is 
 there any way of accounting for it otherwise ? " 
 
 " Oh, a very good way that Brown, the manager, 
 simply took them with him, as he would naturally do, 
 if he wasn't a fool. Why should he go off and leave 
 papers that would convict him, for the pleasure of in- 
 volving other fellows, and ruining them too?" 
 
 " Are there others, then, involved with him ? " Oh, 
 how calm, how inconceivably calm, was Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun's voice ! Had she been asking the gardener about 
 the slugs that eat the young plants it would have been 
 more disturbed. 
 
 "Well, Stanfield seemed to think so. He's a sort of 
 head clerk, a fellow enormously trusted. I shouldn't 
 wonder if he was at the bottom of it himself, they're so 
 sure of him," said Phil, with a laugh. " He says there's 
 a kind of suspicion of two or three. Clumsy wretches 
 they must be if they let themselves be found out like 
 that. But I don't believe it. I believe Brown's alone in 
 it, and that it's him that's taken everything away. I 
 believe it's far the safest way in those kind of dodges 
 to be alone. You get all the swag, and you're in no 
 danger of being rounded on, don't you know till you 
 find things are getting too hot, and you cut away." 
 
 "I don't understand the words you use, but I think 
 I know what you mean," said Mrs. Dennistoun. " How 
 dreadful it is to think that in business, where honesty 
 is the very first principle, there should be such terrible 
 plots and plans as those ! " 
 
 " 'Tis awful, isn't it? "said Phil, with a laugh that 
 seemed to ring all down the combe, and came back ii)
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 121 
 
 echoes from the opposite slope, where in the distance 
 the cab from the station was seen hastening back tow- 
 ards the railway in a cloud of dust. The laugh was 
 like a trumpet of triumph flung across the distance at 
 the discomfited enemy thus going off drooping ill the 
 hurry of defeat. He added, " But you may imagine, 
 even if I had known anything, he wouldn't have got 
 much out of me. I didn't know anything, however, 
 I'm very glad to say." 
 
 "That is always the best," said Mrs. Dennistoun, 
 with a certain grave didactic tone. " And here is Eli- 
 nor, as I thought. When one cannot find her any- 
 where else she's sure to be found here." 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 "WELL," said Compton, placing himself beside her, 
 " here you are, Nell ; kind of the old lady to bring me, 
 wasn't it ? I should never have found you out by my- 
 self." 
 
 " Has he gone, Phil ? " Elinor raised her scared face 
 from her hands, and gave him a piteous look. 
 
 " Why, Nell ! you are trembling like a leaf. Was it 
 frightened, my pretty pet, for Staimy ? Stanny's gone 
 off with his tail between his legs. Not a bit of starch 
 left in him. As limp a lawyer as ever you saw." 
 
 " Was he a lawyer ? " she said, not knowing why she 
 said it, for it mattered nothing at all to Elinor what 
 the man was. 
 
 " Not exactly ; and yet, I suppose, something of the 
 kind. He is the one that knows about law points, and 
 such things. But now he's as quiet as a lamb, thanks 
 to you." 
 
 "Phil," she cried, "what did you make me say? 1 
 don't know what I have done. I have done something 
 dreadful deceived the man, as good as told him a 
 lie."
 
 122 THE VARRTAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 ou told him the truth,"' said Phil, with a laugh, 
 " iu the most judgmatical way. You stuck to it like a 
 --woman. There's nothing like a woman for sticking 
 to a text. You didn't say a word too much. And ] 
 say, Nell, that little defiant bit of yours 'Was there 
 uny reason why it shouldn't be the sixth ? ' was grand. 
 That was quite magnificent, my pet. I never though! 
 vou had such spirit in you." 
 
 "Oh, Phil," she cried, "why did you make me say 
 it ? What was it I said ? I don't know ; I don't un- 
 derstand a bit. Whatever it was, I know that it was 
 vTong. I deceived the man." 
 
 " That's not so great a sin," he said. " I've known 
 worse things done. Put an old reynard oif the scent 
 to save his prey. I don't see what's wrong in that, es- 
 pecially as the innocent chicken to be saved was your 
 own poor old Phil." 
 
 "Phil, Phil," she cried, "what could that man havf 
 done to you ? y What had put you in his power? You 
 have made me lose all my innocence. I have got hor- 
 rible things in my head. What could he have done to 
 you that you made me tell a lie ? " 
 
 "What lie did I make you tell? be reasonable"; I 
 did arrive on the sixth, you know that just as well as I 
 do. Don't you really remember the calendar in the 
 hall ? You saw it, Nell, as well as I." 
 
 "I know, I know," she cried, putting her hands up 
 to her eyes, "I see it everywhere staring at mo, that 
 Ireadful G. But how is it the 8th now? There is 
 something in it something I don't understand." 
 
 He laughed loudly and long : one of those boister- 
 ous laughs which always jarred upon Elinor. " I don't 
 in the least mind how it was," he said. ""It was, and 
 that's quite enough for me ; and let it be for you too, 
 Nell. I hope you're not going to search into the origin 
 of things like this ; we've quite enough to do in this 
 world to take things as they come." 
 
 " Oh, Phil ! if at least I could understand I don't 
 understand : or if I had not been made to say what is 
 ."o mysterious what must be false."
 
 THK MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 15? 3 
 
 "Hush, Nell; how could it be false when you ss.~* T 
 with your own eyes it was true ? Now let us be don-? 
 with this, my darling. The incident is terminated, as 
 the French say. I came here as fast as I could come to 
 have a good laugh with you over it, and lo! you're 
 nearer crying. Why should you have Stanuy on your 
 conscience, Nell ? a fellow that would like no better 
 than to hang me if he could get the chance." 
 
 "But Phil, Phil oh, tell me, what could this man 
 Lave done to you ? Why are you afraid of him ? Why, 
 why have you made me tell him " 
 
 " Now, Nell, no exaggerated expression. It wa^ a 
 fact you told him, according to the best of evidence ; 
 and what he could have done to me is just this he 
 might have given me a deal of trouble, and put off our 
 marriage. I should have had to go back to town, and 
 my time would have been taken up with finding out 
 about those books, and our marriage would have been 
 put off; that's what he could have done." 
 
 " Is that all ? " cried Elinor, " was that all ? " 
 
 "All!" he said, with that loud laugh again ; "you 
 don't mind a bit how you hurt a fellow's pride, and his 
 affections, and all that. Do you mean to say, you hard- 
 hearted little coquette, that you wouldn't mind ? I 
 don't believe you would mind ! Here am I counting 
 the hours, and you, you little cold puss, you aggravat- 
 ing little " 
 
 ." Oh, Phil, don't talk such nonsense. If we were to 
 be separated, for a week or a month, what could that 
 matter, in comparison with saying what wasn't " 
 
 " Hush," he said, putting his hand to her mouth. 
 " It's not nice of you to take it so easily, Nell. I'd tell 
 as many what-d'ye-call-'ems as you like, rather than put 
 it off an hour. Why, feeling apart (and I don't think 
 you've any feeling, you little piece of ice), think how 
 inconvenient it would have been ; the people all arriv- 
 ing ; the breakfast all ready ; the Rector with his sur- 
 plice on { and no wedding ! Fancy the Jew with all 
 her fallals, on the old lady's hands, and your cousin 
 John*"
 
 124 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " I have told you already, Phil, my cousin John will 
 not be there." 
 
 "So much the better," he said, with a laugh, "I 
 don't want him to be there shows his sense, when his 
 nose is put out of joint, to keep out of the way." 
 
 "I wish you would understand," she said, with a lit- 
 tle vexation, " that John is not put out of joint, as you 
 say in that odious way. He has never been anything 
 more to me, nor I to him, than we are now like 
 brother and sister." 
 
 " The more fool he," said Comptou, " to have the 
 chance of a nice girl like you, Nell, and not to go in 
 for it. But I don't believe a bit in the brother and sis- 
 ter dodge." 
 
 " We will be just the same all our lives," cried Elinor. 
 
 " Not if I know it," said Phil. "I'm an easy-going 
 fellow in most ways, biit you'll find I'm an old Turk 
 about you, my little cluck of a Nell. No amateur 
 brother for me. If you can't get along with your old 
 Phil, without other adorers 
 
 " Phil ! as if I should ever think or care whether 
 there was another man in the world ! " 
 
 " Oh, that's going too far," he said, laughing. " I 
 shan't mind a little flirtation. You may have a man or 
 two in your train to fetch and carry, get your shawl for 
 you, and call your carnage, and so forth ; but no seri- 
 ous old hand, Nell nothing to remind you that there 
 was a time when you didn't know Phil Compton." His 
 laugh died away at this point, and for a moment his 
 face assumed that grave look which changed its charac- 
 ter so much. "If you don't come to repent before 
 then that you ever saw that fellow's ugly face, Nell 
 
 " Phil, how could I ever repent ? Nobody but you 
 should dare to say such a thing to me ! " 
 
 " I believe that," he said. "If that old John of yours 
 tried it on Well, my pet, he is your old John. 
 You can't change facts, even if you do throw the poor 
 fellow over. Now, here's a new chance for all of them, 
 Nell. I shouldn't wonder a bit if you had another crop 
 of letters bidding you look before you leap. That Rec-
 
 THE MARIU .\<ri-: or KI.IXOK. 125 
 
 tory woman, what's her name ? that knows my family. 
 You'll see she'll have some new story before we're clear 
 of her. They'll never stop blackguarding me, I know, 
 until you're Phil Compton yourself, my beauty. I wish 
 that day was come. I'm afraid to go off again and 
 leave you, Nell. They'll be putting something into 
 your head, or the old lady's. Let's get ife over to-mor- 
 row morning, and come to Ireland with me ; you've 
 never been there." 
 
 " Phil, what nonsense ! mamma would go out of her 
 senses." 
 
 '' My pet, what does it matter ? She'd come back to 
 them again as soon as we were gone, and think what a 
 botheration spared her ! All the row of receiving peo- 
 ple, turning the house upside down. And here I am 
 on the spot. And what do you want with bridesmaids 
 and so forth ? You've got all your things. Suppose 
 we walk out to church to-morrow before breakfast, 
 Nell " 
 
 " Phil, you are mad, I think ; and why should we do 
 such a thing, scandalizing everybody ? But of course 
 you don't mean it. You are excited after seeing that 
 man." 
 
 " Excited about Stanny ! not such a fool ; Stanny is 
 
 all square, thanks to But what I want is just to 
 
 take you up in my arms, like this, and run off with you, 
 Nell. Why we should call the whole world to watch us 
 while we take that swing off into space." 
 
 "Phil!" 
 
 " So it is, for you, Nell. You don't know a bit what's 
 going to happen. You don't know where I'm going to 
 take you, and what I'm going to do with you, you little 
 innocent lamb in the wolf's grip. I want to eat you up, 
 straight off. I shall be afraid up to the last moment 
 that you'll escape me, Nell." 
 
 " I did not know that you were so fond of innocence," 
 said Elinor, half afraid of her lover's vehemence, and 
 trying to dispel his gravity with a laugh. " You used 
 to say you did not believe in the iny<:/i<'.'' 
 
 "I believe in you," he said, with an almost fierce
 
 126 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 pressure of her arm ; then, after a pause, " No, I don** 
 believe in women at all, Nell, only you. They're rather 
 worse than men, which is saying a good deal. What 
 would the Jew care if we were all drawn and quartered, 
 so long as she had all her paraphernalia about her and 
 got everything she wanted ? For right-down selfish- 
 ness commend me to a woman. A fellow may have 
 gleams of something better about him, like me, warning 
 3-011 against myself." 
 
 " It is a droll way of warning me against yourself to 
 want to carry me off to-morrow." 
 
 " It's all the same thing," he said. " I've warned 
 you that those old hags are right, and I'm not good 
 enough for you, not fit to come near you, Nell. But if 
 the sacrifice is to be, let's get it over at once, don't let 
 us stand and think of it. I'm capable of jilting you," 
 he said, "leaving you plants la, all out of remorse of 
 conscience ; or else just catching you up in my arms, 
 like this, and carrying you off, never to be seen more." 
 
 '' You are very alarming," said Elinor. " I don't 
 know what you mean. You can be off with your bar- 
 gum if you please, Phil ; but you had better make up 
 your mind at once, so that mamma may countermand her 
 invitations, and stop Gunter from sending the cake." 
 
 (It was Gunter who was the man in those days. I 
 believe people go to Buszard now.) 
 
 He gave her again a vehement hug, and burst into a 
 
 laugh. "I might jilt you, Nell ; such a thing is on the 
 
 . I might leave you in the lurch at the church 
 
 : but when you talk of countermanding the cake, 
 
 t face that situation. Society would naturally be 
 
 up in arms about that. So you must take your chance 
 
 like the other innocents. I'll eat you up as gently as 1 
 
 u id hide my tusks as long as it's possible. C'ome 
 
 on, Nell, don't let us sit here and get the mopes, and 
 
 think of our consciences. Conn if that show 
 
 is in the village. Life's better than thinking, old girl." 
 
 ' Do you call the show in the village, life '? " she 
 h:ilf pleased to rouse him, half sorry to be thus 
 Carried away.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 1^7 
 
 " Every show is life," said Phil, " and everywhere 
 that people meet is better than anywhere where you're 
 alone. Mind you take in that axiom, Nell. It's our 
 rule of life, you know, among the set you're marrying 
 into. That's how the Jew gets on. That's how we all 
 get on. By this time next year you'll be well inured 
 into it like all the rest. That's what your Rector never 
 taught you, I'll be bound ; but you'll see the old fellow 
 practises it whenever he has a chance. Why, there 
 they begin, tootle-te-too. Come on, Nell, and don't let 
 us lose the fun." 
 
 He drew her along hastily, hurrying while the flute 
 and the drum began to perform their parts. Sound 
 spreads far in that tranquil country, where no railway 
 was visible, and where the winds for the moment were 
 still. It was Pan's pipes that were being played, at- 
 tracting a few stragglers from the scattered house.-. 
 Within a hundred yards from the church, at the corner 
 of four roads, stood the Bull's Head, with a cottage or 
 two linked on to its long straggling front. And this 
 was all that did duty for a village at Windyhill. The 
 Rectory stood back in its own copse, surrounded by r>, 
 growth of young birches and oak near the church. 
 The Hills dwelt intermediate between the Bull's Head 
 and the ecclesiastical establishment. The school and 
 schoolmaster's house were behind the Bull. The show 
 was surrounded by the children of the place, who 
 looked on silent with ecstasy, while a burly showman 
 piped his pipes and beat his drum. A couple of ostlers, 
 with their shirt-sleeves rolled up to their shoulders, and 
 one of them with a pail in his hand, stood arrested in 
 their work. And in the front of the spectators was 
 Alick Hudson, a sleepy-looking youth of twenty, who 
 started and took his hands out of his pockets at sight of 
 Elinor. Mr. Hudson himself came walking briskly 
 round the corner, swinging his cane with the air of a 
 man who was afraid of being too late. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you ? " said Coinpton, pressing Elinor's 
 arm. 
 
 As the tootle-te-too went on, other spectators ap-
 
 128 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 
 
 peared the two Miss Hills, one putting on her hat, the 
 other hastily buttoning her jacket as they hurried up. 
 " Oh, you 'here, Elinor ! What fun ! We all run 
 as if we were six years old. I'm going to engage the 
 man to come round and do it opposite Rosebank to 
 amuse mother. She likes it as much as any of us, 
 though she doesn't see very well, poor dear, nor hear 
 either. But we must always consider that the old have 
 not many amusements," said the elder Miss Hill. 
 
 "Though mother amuses herself wonderfully with 
 her knitting," said Miss Sarah. "There's a sofa-cover 
 on the stocks for you, Elinor." 
 
 It appeared to be only at this moment that the 
 sisters became aware of the presence of " the gentle- 
 man" by whom Elinor stood. They had been too 
 busy with their uncompleted toilettes to observe him 
 at first. But now that Miss Hill's hat was settled 
 to her satisfaction, and the blue veil tied over her face 
 as she liked it to be, and Miss Sarah had at last suc- 
 ceeded, after two false starts, in buttoning her jacket 
 straight, their attention was released for other details. 
 They both gave a glance over Elinor at the tall figure 
 on the other side, and then looked at each other with a 
 mutual little " Oh ! " and nod of recognition. Then 
 Miss Hill took the initiative as became her dignity. 
 " I hope you are going to introduce us to your com- 
 panion, Elinor," she said. " Oh, Mr. Compton, how do 
 you do ? We are delighted to make your acquaintance, 
 I am sure. It is charming to have an opportunity of 
 seeing a person of so much importance to us all, our 
 dear Elinor's intended. I hope you know what a prize 
 you are getting. You might have sought the whole 
 country over and you wouldn't have found a girl like 
 her. I don't know how we shall endure your name 
 when you carry her away." 
 
 " Except, indeed," said Miss Sarah, " that it will be 
 Elinor's name too." 
 
 " So here we all are again," said the Rector, gazing 
 down tranquilly upon his flock, " not able to resist a 
 little histrionic exhibition and Mr. Compton too,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 129 
 
 fresh from the great world. I daresay our good friend 
 Mrs. Basset would hand us out some chairs. No 
 Englishman can resist Punch. Aliek, my boy, yoa 
 ought to be at your work. It will not do to neglect 
 your lessons when you are so near your exam." 
 
 "No Englishman, father, can resist Punch," said the 
 lad : at which the two ostlers and the landlord of 
 the Bull's Head, who was standing with his hands in his 
 pockets in his own doorway, laughed loud. 
 
 "Had the old fellow there," said Compton, which 
 was the first observation he had made. The ladies 
 looked at him with some horror, and Alick a little 
 flustered, half pleased, half horrified, by this sup- 
 port, while the Rector laughed, but stifflv "u bout de* 
 . He was not accustomed to be called an Old 
 fellow in his own parish. 
 
 " The old fellows, as you elegantly say, Mr. Comp- 
 ton, have always the worst of it in a popular assembly. 
 Elinor, here is a chair for you. my love. Another one 
 -, Mrs. Basset, for I see Miss Dale coming up this 
 way." 
 
 ' ; By Jove," said Compton, under his breath. " Eli- 
 nor, here's the one that knows society. I hope she isn't 
 such an old guy as the rest." 
 
 "Oh. Phil, be good!" said Elinor, "or let us go 
 away, which would be the best." 
 
 : Not a bit," he suid. ' Let's see the show. I say, 
 old man, where are you from ln- 
 
 " Down from Guildford ways, guv'uor awful bad 
 trade ; not taken a bob, s' help me, not for three days, 
 and bed and board to get off o' that, me and my mate." 
 
 "Well, here is a nice little party for you, my man," 
 said the R'jt'tor, ' it is not often you have such an 
 audience nor would I encourage it, indeed, if it were 
 not so purely English an exhibition." 
 
 " Master," said the showman, " worst of it is. nobody 
 
 ill we've done the show, and then they goes away, 
 
 and they've got it, don't you see, and we can't have 
 
 it back once it's in their insides. and there ain't nothink 
 
 then, neither for my mate nor me."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "Here's for you, old fellow," said Phil. He took a 
 sovereign from his waistcoat pocket and chucked it with 
 his thumbnail into the man's hand, who looked at it 
 with astonished delight, tossed it into the air with a 
 grin, a " thank'ee, gentleman ! " and a call to his 
 " mate " who immediately began the ever-exciting, ever- 
 amusing drama. The thrill of sensation which ran 
 through the little assembly at this incident was wonder- 
 ful. The children all turned from Punch to regard 
 with large open eyes and mouths the gentleman who 
 had given a gold sovereign to the showman. Alick 
 Hudson looked at him with a grin of pleasure, a blush 
 of envy on his face ; the Rector, with an expression o 
 horror, slightly shaking his head ; the Miss Hills with 
 admiration yet dismay. " Goodness, Sarah, they'll 
 never come now and do it for a shilling to amuse 
 mother ! " the elder of the sisters said. 
 
 Miss Dale came hurrying up while still the sensation 
 lasted. " Here is a chair for you, Mary," said her 
 brother-iu -law, "and the play is just going to begin. 
 I can't help shaking my head when I think of it, but 
 still you must hear what has just happened. Mr. 
 Compton, let me present you to my sister-in-law, Miss 
 Dale. Mr. Compton has made the widow's heart, nay, 
 not the widow's, but the showman's heart to sing. He 
 has presented our friend with a " 
 
 " Mind you," said Phil, from behind Elinor's shoul- 
 ders, "I've paid the fellow only for two." 
 
 At which the showman turned and winked at the 
 Rector. To think that such a piece or audacity could 
 be ! A dingy fellow in a velveteen coat, with a spotted 
 handkerchief round his neck, and a battered hat on his 
 unkempt locks, with Pan's pipes at his mouth and a 
 drum tied round his waist winked at the Rector ! 
 Mr. Hudson fell back a step, and his very lips were 
 livid with the indignity. He had to support himself on 
 the back of the chair he had just given to Miss Dale. 
 
 "I think we are all forgetting our different positions 
 in this world," lie said. 
 
 "I ain't," said the showman, "not taking no advan-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 131 
 
 tage through the gentleman's noble ways. He's a lord, 
 he is, I dou't make no doubt. And we're paid. Take 
 the good of it, Guv'nor, and welcome ; all them as is 
 here is welcome. My mate and I are too well paid. A 
 gentleman like that good gentleman, as is sweet upon 
 a pretty young lady, and an open 'eart a-cause of her, 
 I just wish we could find one at every station ; don't 
 you, Joe?" 
 
 Joe assented, in the person of Mr. Punch, with a 
 horrible squeak from within the tent. 
 
 The sensations of Elinor during this episode were 
 peculiar and full of mingled emotion. It is impossible 
 to deny that she was proud of the effect produced by 
 her lover. The sovereign chucked into the showman's 
 hand was a cheap way of purchasing a little success, 
 and yet it dazzled Elinor, and made her eyelids droop 
 and her cheek light up with the glow of pleasure. 
 Amid all the people who would search for pennies, or 
 perhaps painfully and not without reluctance produce a 
 sixpence to reward the humble artists, there was some- 
 thing in the careless familiarity and indifference which 
 tossed a gold coin at them which was calculated to 
 charm the youthful observer. Elinor felt the same 
 mixture of pleasure and envy which had moved Alick 
 Hudson ; yet it was not envy, for was not he her own 
 who did this thing which she would have liked to have 
 done herself, overwhelming the poor tramps with de- 
 light? Elinor knew, as Alick also did, that it would 
 never have occurred to her to do it. She would have 
 been glad to be kind to the poor men, to give them a 
 good meal, to speak to Basset at the Bull's Head in 
 their favour that they might be taken in for the night 
 and made comfortable, but to open her purse and take 
 a real sovereign from it, a whole potential pound, would 
 not have come into her head. Had such a thing been 
 done, for instance, by the united subscriptions of the 
 party, in case of some peculiarly touching situation, 
 the illness of a wife, the loss of a child, it would have 
 been done solemnly, the Rector calling the men up. 
 making a little speech to them, telling them how all
 
 1,32 THK MM! 11 1 MH-: OP i:i.lXOR. 
 
 the ladies and gentlemen had united to make up 
 this, and how they must be careful not to spend it 
 unworthily. Elinor thought she could see the little 
 scene, and the Rector improving the occasion. Where- 
 as Phil spun the money through the air into the man's 
 ready hand as if it had been a joke, a trick of agility. 
 Elinor saw that everybody was much impressed with 
 the incident, and her heart went forth upon a flood of 
 satisfaction and content. And it was no premeditated 
 triumph. It was so noble, so accidental, so entirely out 
 of his good heart ! 
 
 When he hurried her home at the end of the perform- 
 ance, that Mrs. Dennistoun might not be kept waiting, 
 the previous events of the afternoon, and all that 
 happened in the copse and garden, had faded out of 
 Elinor's mind. She forgot Stanfield and the 6th and 
 everything about it. Her embarrassment and trouble 
 were gone. She went in ga^yly and told her mother all 
 about this wonderful incident. "The 1 feet or was try- 
 ing for a sixpence. But, mamma, Phil must not be 
 so ready with his sovereigns, must he ? We shall have 
 nothing to live upon if he goes chucking sovereigns at 
 every Punch and Judy he may meet." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PHIL CoMP-roN- went off next morning by an early 
 train, having in the meanwhile improved the impression 
 of him left upon the family in general, and specially 
 upon Mrs. Dennistoun, to whom ho had talked with en- 
 thusiasm about Elinor, expressed indeed in terms un- 
 usual to her ears, but perhaps only more piquant on 
 that account, which greatly conciliated the mother. 
 " Don't you think," said the Honourable Phil, " because 
 I speak a little free and am not one for tall talk, that 
 I don't know what she is. I've got no poetry in me, 
 but for the freest goer and the highest, spirit, without a
 
 THE XARRIAi; LINOR. 133 
 
 "bit of vice in her, there never was one like Nell. The 
 
 girls of my set, they're not worthy to tie her shoes 
 
 thing I most regret is taking her among a lot that are 
 
 not half good enough for her. But you can't help your 
 
 relations, can you ? and you have to stick to them for 
 
 dozens of reasons. There's the Jew, when you know 
 
 -he's not such a bad sort not generous, as yon 
 
 see from what she's given Xell, the old screw : but 
 
 yet in her own way she stands by a fellow, and we'll 
 
 need it, not having just the Bank of England behind 
 
 tier husband, old Prestwich, isn't bad for a man 
 
 that has made his own money, and they've got a jolly 
 
 house, always something going on." 
 
 " But I hope," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "that as soon 
 as these autumn visits are over you will have a house 
 of your own." 
 
 "Oh, that ! " said Compton, with a wave of his hand, 
 which left it in some doubt whether he was simply 
 throwing off the suggestion, or treating it as a foregone 
 conclusion of which there could be no doubt. " Xell," 
 he went on. "gets on with the Jew like a house on fire 
 you see they don't clash. Xell ain't one of the man- 
 nish sort, and she doesn't flirt at least not as far as 
 I've seeu " 
 
 " I should hope not, indeed," said Mrs. Dennistouu. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not one of your curmudgeons. Where's 
 the harm ? But she don't, and there's an end of it. 
 She keeps herself to herself, and lets the Jew go ahead, 
 and think she's the attraction. And shell please the old 
 lord down to the ground. For he's an old-fashioned 
 old coon, and likes what he calls t^nue, don't you know : 
 but the end is, there ain't one of them that can hold a 
 candle to Xell. And I should not wonder a bit if she 
 made a change in the lot of us. Conversion of a family 
 by the influence of a pious wife, don't you know. Sort 
 of thing that they make tracts out of. Capital thing, it 
 would be," said Phil, philosophically, " for some of us 
 have been going B, pace " 
 
 " Mr. Comptou," said Mrs. Dennistoun, solemnly, "I 
 don't understand very well what you mean by these
 
 134 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 phrases. They may be much more innocent than they 
 seem to a country lady's ears. But I implore you to 
 keep my Elinor clear of anything that you call going 
 the pace. It must mean something very unlike her, 
 whatever it means. She has been used to a very quiet, 
 orderly life. Don't hurry her off iuto a whirl of society, 
 or among noisy gay people. Indeed I can assure you 
 that the more you have her to herself the more you will 
 be happy in her. She is the brightest companion, the 
 most entertaining Oh, Mr. Compton ! " 
 
 " I think it's about time, now, mater, to call me 
 Phil." 
 
 She smiled, with the tears in her eyes, and held out 
 her hand. "Philip, then," she said, "to make a little 
 difference. Now remember what I say. It is only in 
 the sacredness of her home that you will know what is 
 in Elinor. One is never dull with her. She has her 
 own opinions her bright way of looking at things as 
 you know. It is, perhaps, a strange thing for a mother 
 to say, but she will amuse you, Philip ; she is s;ich 
 company. You will never be dull with Elinor : she has 
 so much in her, which will come out in society, it is 
 true, but never so brightly as between you two alone." 
 
 This did not seem to have quite the effect upon the 
 almost-bridegroom which the mother intended. " Per- 
 haps " (she said to herself), "he was a little affected by 
 the Ihought " (which she kept so completely out of the 
 conversation) " of the loss she herself was about to un- 
 dergo." At all events, his face was not so bright as in 
 the vision of that sweet prospect held before him it 
 ought to have been. 
 
 "The fact is." he said. " she knows a great deal more 
 than I do, or ever will. It's she that will be the one to 
 look blue when she finds herself alone with a fool of a 
 fellow that doesn't know a book from a brick. That's 
 the thing I'm most afraid As for society, she can 
 have her pick of that," he added, brightening' up, " I'll 
 not bind her down." 
 
 "You may be sure she'll prefer you to all the world." 
 
 11- .liPiv-ed his shoulders a little.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 135 
 
 "They say it's always a leap in the dark," he said, 
 " for how's she to know the sort of fellow I am with 
 what she sees of me here ? But I promise you I'll do 
 my best to take her in, and keep her in that delusion, 
 for her good making believe to be all that's virtuous : 
 and perhaps not a bad way some of it may stick. 
 Come, mater, don't look so horrified. I'm not of the 
 Cousin John sort, but there may be something decent 
 in me after all." 
 
 " I am sure," said Mrs. Dennistoun, " that you will 
 try to make her happy, Philip." She was crying by 
 this time, which was a thing very odious to Phil. He 
 took her by both hands and gave her a hearty kiss, 
 which was a thing for which she was not at all pre- 
 pared. 
 
 " I'll do by her " he said, with a murmur which 
 
 sounded like an oath, "as well as I know how." 
 
 Perhaps this was not the very greatest comfort to her 
 mother, but it was the best she was at all likely to get 
 from a man so entirely different in all ways from her 
 own species. She had her cry out quietly while he 
 went off to get his bag. The pony carriage was at the 
 door in which Elinor was to drive him to the station, 
 and a minute after Mrs. Dennistoun heard his voice in 
 the hall calling to his Nell, his old girl, in terms which 
 went against all the mother's prejudices of soft and 
 reverent speech. To have her carefully-trained child, 
 her Elinor, whom every one had praised and honoured, 
 her maiden-princess so high apart from all such fa- 
 miliarity, addressed so, gave the old-fashioned lady a 
 pang. It meant nothing but love and kindness, she 
 said to herself. He reverenced Elinor as much as it 
 was in such a man to do. He meant with all his heart 
 to do by her as well as he knew how. It was as fantas- 
 tic to object to his natural language as it would be to 
 object to a Frenchman speaking French. That was his 
 
 tongue, the only utterance he knew She dried her 
 
 eyes and went out to the door to see them start. The 
 sun was blazing over all the brilliant autumnal colours 
 of the garden, though it was still full and brilliant sum-
 
 136 THE JfAliltfAdK OF ELINOR. 
 
 mer in the September morning, and only the asters and 
 dahlias replacing the roses betrayed the turn of the 
 season. And nothing could be more bright than the 
 face of Elinor as she sat in the homely little carriage, 
 with the reins gathered up in her hand. He was going 
 away, indeed, but in a week he was coining back. 
 Philip, as Mrs. Dennistonn now called him with dignity, 
 yet a little beginning of affection, packed up his long 
 limbs us well as he could in the small space. " I be- 
 lieve she'll spill us on the road," he said, "' or bring 
 back the shandrydan with a hole in it." 
 
 "There is too much of you, Phil," said Elinor, giving 
 the staid pony a quiet touch. 
 
 " I should like some of those fellows to see me," he 
 said, "joggled off to market like a basket of eggs ; but 
 don't smash me, Nell, on the way." 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun stood on the steps looking after 
 them, or rather, listening after them, for they had soon 
 turned the corner of the house and were gone. She 
 heard them jogging over the stony road, and the sound 
 of their voices in the air for a long time after they were 
 out of sight the air was so still and s.o close, nothing 
 in it to break the sound. The atmosphere was all sun- 
 shine, not a cloud upon the sky, scarcely n breath stir- 
 ring over those hill-tops, which had almost the ef!< 
 a mountainous landscape, being the highest ground in 
 ah 1 the visible space. Along the other side of the 
 combe, where the road became visible, there were 
 gleams of heather brilliant iinder the dark foliage of the 
 iirs. She sat, down in the porch and waited to see them 
 rrowful background to her thoughts, 
 but for the moment she was not actually sad, it' perhaps 
 a little forlorn. They had gone away leaving her alone, 
 but yet in an hour or two Elinor was coming back. 
 Time enough to think of the. final parting. Next week 
 Elinor would go and would not return. Mrs. Dennis- 
 tonn held on by both hands to to-day and would not 
 think of that future, near as it was. She waited in a 
 hush of feeling, so near to great commotions of the 
 and mind, but holding them at a distance in a
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF EIJNOR. 137 
 
 suspense of all thought, till the shandrydan appeared in 
 the opening of the road. They were thinking of her, 
 for she saw a gleam of white, the waving of a handker- 
 chief, as the little carriage trundled along the road, and 
 for a moment the tears again blinded her eves. But 
 Mrs. Dennistoun was very reasonable. She got up from 
 the cottage porch after the pony carriage had passed in 
 the distance, with that determination to make the best 
 of it, which is the inspiration of so many women's lives. 
 
 And what a drive the others had through the sunshine 
 or at least Elinor ! You can never tell by what shad- 
 ows a man's thoughts may be haunted, who is a man of 
 the world, and has had many other things to occupy 
 him besides this vision of love. But the girl had no 
 shadows. The parting which was before her was not 
 near enough to harm as yet, and she was still able to 
 think, in her ignorance of the world, that even parting 
 was much more in appearance than in reality, and that 
 she would always be running home, always going upon 
 long visits brightening everything, instead of saddening. 
 But even had she been going to the end of the world 
 witli her husband next week, Elinor would still have 
 been happy to-day. The sunshine itself was enough to 
 go to any one's head, and the pony stepped out so that 
 Phil had the grace to be ashamed of his reflections upon 
 " the old girl." They got to the station too early for 
 the train, and had half an hour's stroll together, with all 
 the railway porters looking on admiring. They all knew 
 Miss Dennistoun from her childhood, and they were 
 interested in her "young man." 
 
 " And to think you will be in Ireland to-morrow," 
 said Elinor, "over the sea, with the Channel between 
 us in another island ! " 
 
 'I don't see much that's wonderful in that," said 
 Phil, " the boat goes every day." 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing wonderful about the boat. 
 
 Hundreds might go, and I shouldn't mind, but you 
 
 It's strange to think of your going off into a world I 
 don't know at all and then coming back." 
 
 ' To take you off to that world you don't know, Nell ,
 
 TUK MAURI. \c-i-: or ELI 
 
 and then the time will come when you will know it as 
 well as I do, and more, too ; and be able to set me down 
 in my proper place." 
 
 " What is your proper place? Your place will always 
 be the same. Phil, you've been so good to me this 
 time ; you've made everybody like you so. Mamma 
 that's the best of all. She was a little I can't say jeal- 
 ous, that is not the right word, but uncertain and 
 frightened which just means that she did not know 
 you, Phil ; now you've condescended to let yourself be 
 known." 
 
 " Have I, Nell? I've had more luck than meaning if 
 that's so." 
 
 " Tis that you've condescended to let yourself be 
 known. A man has such odious pride. He likes to 
 show himself all on the wrong side, to brave people's 
 opinions as if it was better to be liked for the badness 
 iu you than for the goodness in you ! ' 
 
 '"'What's the goodness in me, Nell? I'd like to 
 know, and then I can have it ready in other emergen- 
 cies and serve it out as it is wanted." 
 
 " Oh, Phil ! the goodness in you is yourself. You 
 can't help being nice when you throw off those society 
 airs. When you are talking with Mariamne and all 
 that set of people " 
 
 " Why can't you call her Jew? life is too short to say 
 all those syllables." 
 
 ' I don't like you to call her Jew. It's unkind. 
 I don't think she deserves it. It's a sort of an in- 
 sult." 
 
 " Shut up, Nell. It's her name and that's enough. 
 M:ir-ry-am-ne ! It's a beast of a name to begin with. 
 And do you think any of us has got time to say as 
 much as that for one woman ? Oh, I suppose I'm fond 
 of her as men are of their sisters. She is not a bad 
 sort mean as her name, and never fond of parting 
 with her money but stands by a fellow in a kind of a 
 way all the- same." 
 
 " I'll never call her Jew," said Elinor ; " and, Phil, 
 all this wonderful amount of things you have to do is
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 139 
 
 simply nothing. What do you ever do ? It is the 
 people who do things that have time to spare. I know 
 one " 
 
 " Don't come down on me, Nell, again with that eter- 
 nal Cousin John." 
 
 "Phil! I never think of him till you put him 
 into my head. I was thinking of a gentleman who 
 writes " 
 
 "Rubbish, Nell ! What have I to do with men that 
 write, or you either? We are none of us of that sort. 
 I do what my set do, and more for there was this di- 
 rector business ; and I should never mind a bit of work 
 that was well paid, like attending Board meetings and 
 so forth, or signing my name to papers." 
 
 " What, without reading them, Phil? " 
 
 " Don't come over a fellow with your cleverness, 
 Nell ! I am not a reader ; but I should take good care 
 I knew what was in the papers before I signed them, I 
 can tell you. Eh ! you'd like me to slave, to get you 
 luxuries, you little exacting Nell." 
 
 - "Yes, Phil," she said, "I'd like to think you were 
 working for our living. I should indeed. It seems 
 somehow so much finer so real a life. And I should 
 work at home." 
 
 "A great deal you would work," he said, laughing, 
 ' with those scraps of fingers ! Let's hear what you 
 would do bits of little pictures, or impossible things 
 in pincushions, or so forth and walk out in your most 
 becoming bonnet to force them down some poor shop- 
 keeper's throat ? " 
 
 "Phil!" she said, "how contemptuous you are of 
 my efforts. But I never thought of either sketches or 
 pincushions. I should work at home to keep the house 
 nice to look after the servants, and guide the cook, 
 and see that you had nice dinners." 
 
 " And warm my slippers by the parlour fire," said 
 Phil. "That's too domestic, Nell, for VOAI and me." 
 
 " But we are going to be very domestic, Phil." 
 
 " Are we ? Not if I knows it : yawn our heads off, 
 and get to hate one another. Not for me, Nell. You'll
 
 140 'iilK MAU1UA(J 0V ELINOR. 
 
 lintl yourself up to the eyes in engagements before you 
 know where you are. No, no, old girl, you may do a 
 deal with me, but you don't make a domestic man of 
 Phil Coinpton. Time enough for that when we've had 
 our fling." 
 
 "I don't want any fling, Phil," she said, clinging a 
 little closer to his arm. 
 
 " But I do, iny pet, in the person of Benedick the 
 married man. Don't you think I want to show all the 
 fellows what a stunning little wife I've got? and all the 
 women I used to flirt with - 
 
 " Did you use to flirt much with them, Phil ? " 
 
 " You didn't think I flirted with the men, did you ? 
 like you did," said Phil, who was not particular about 
 his grammar. " I want to show you off a bit. Nell. 
 When we go down to the governor's, there you can be 
 as domestic as you like. That's the line to take with 
 him, and pays too if you do it well." 
 
 " Oh, don't talk as if you were always calculating for 
 your advantage," she said, "for you are not, Phil. You 
 are not a prudent person, but a horrid, extravagant 
 spendthrift ; if you go on chucking sovereigns about as 
 you did yesterday." 
 
 'Well," he said, laughing, "wasn't it well spent? 
 Didn't I make your Rector open his old eyes, and stop 
 the mouths of the old maids ? I don't throw away sov- 
 ereigns in a general way, Nell, only when there's a pur- 
 pose in it. But I think I did them all finely that time 
 had them on toast, eh?" 
 
 "You made an impression, if that is what you mean ; 
 but I confess I thought you did it out of kindness. 
 Phil." 
 
 "To the Punch and Judy? catch me! Sovereigns 
 ain't plentiful enough for that. You little exacting 
 thing, ain't you pleased, when I did it to please you, 
 and get you credit among your friends ? " 
 
 "It was very kind of you, I'm sure, Phil," she said. 
 very soberly, " but I should so much rather you had 
 not thought of that. A shilling would have done jn^t 
 as well, and they would have got a bed at the Bull's
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 141 
 
 Head, and been quite kindly treated. Is this your train 
 coming? It's a little too soon, I think." 
 
 " Thanks for the compliment, Nell. It is really late," 
 he said, looking at his watch, ' but the time flies, don't 
 it, pet, when you and I are together ? Here, you fel- 
 low, put my bag in a smoking carriage. And now, you 
 darling, we've got to part ; only for a little time, Nell." 
 
 " Only for a week," she said, with a smile and a tear. 
 
 " Not so long a rush along the rail, a blow on the 
 sea, and then back again; I shall only be a day over 
 there, and then bless you, Nell. Good-bye take care 
 of yourself, my little duck : take care of yourself for 
 me." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Elinor, with a little quiver of her 
 lip. A parting at a roadside station is a very abrupt 
 affair. The train stops, the passenger is shoved in, 
 there is a clanging of the doors, and in a moment it is 
 gone. She had scarcely realized that the hour had 
 come before he was whirled off from her, and the 
 swinging line of carriages disappeared round the next 
 curve. She stood looking vaguely after it till the old 
 porter came up, who had known her ever since she was 
 a child. 
 
 "Beg your pardon, miss, but the pony is a- waiting," 
 he said. And then he uttered his sympathy in the 
 form of a question : " Coming back very soon, miss, 
 ain't the gentleman? " he said. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; very soon," she said, rousing herself up. 
 
 " And if I may make bold to say it, miss," said the 
 porter, "an open-hearted gentleman as ever I see. 
 There's many as gives us a threepenny for more than 
 I've done for 'im. And look at what he's give me," he 
 said, showing the half-crown in his hand. 
 
 Did he do that from calculation to please her, ungra- 
 cious girl as she was, who was so hard to please ? But 
 he never could have known that she would see it. She 
 walked through the little station to the pony carriage, 
 feeling that all the eyes of the people about were upon 
 her. They were all sympathetic, all equally aware that 
 she had just parted with her lover : all ready to cheer
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 her, if she had given them an opportunity, by remind- 
 ing her of his early return. The old porter followed her 
 out, and assisted at her ascent into the pony carriage. 
 He said, solemnly, " And an 'andsome gentleman, miss, 
 as ever I see," as he fastened the apron over her feet. 
 She gave him a friendly nod as she drove away. 
 
 How dreadful it is to be so sensitive, to receive a wound 
 so easily ! Elinor was vexed more than she could say 
 by her lover's denial of the reckless generosity with 
 which she had credited him. To think that he had 
 done it in order to produce the effect which had given 
 her so distinct a sensation of pleasure changed that effect 
 into absolute pain. And yet in the fantastic susceptibil- 
 ity of her nature, there was something in old Judkin's 
 half-crown which soothed her again. A shilling would 
 have been generous, Elinor said to herself, with a femi- 
 nine appreciation of the difference of small things as 
 well as great, whereas half-a-crown was lavish ergo, 
 he gave the sovereign also out of natural prodigality, 
 as she had hoped, not out of calculation as he said. 
 She drove soberly home, thinking over all these things 
 in a mood very different from that triumphant happi- 
 ness with which she started from the cottage with 
 Phil by her side. The sunshine was still as bright, but 
 it had taken an air of routine and commonplace to Eli- 
 nor. It had come to be only the common day, not the 
 glory and freshness of the morning. She felt herself, as 
 she had never done before, on the edge of a world un- 
 known, where everything would be new to her, where 
 it WHS possible that which awaited her might not be 
 unmixed happiness, might even be the reverse. It is 
 seldom that a girl on the eve of marriage either thinks 
 this or acknowledges to herself that she thinks it. Eli- 
 nor did so involuntarily, without thinking upon her 
 thought Perhaps it would not be unmixed happiness. 
 Strange clouds seemed to hang upon the horizon, ready 
 to roll up in tragic darkness and gloom. Oh, no, not 
 tragic, only commonplace, she said to herself ; opaque- 
 ness, not blackness. But yet it was ominous and lower- 
 ing, that distant sky.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE days of the last week hurried along like the 
 grains of sand out of an hour - glass when they are 
 nearly gone. It is true that almost everything was 
 done a few little bits of stitching, a few things still to 
 be "got up " alone remaining, a handkerchief to mark 
 with Elinor's name, a bit of lace to arrange, just enough 
 to keep up a possibility of something to do for Mrs. 
 Dennistoun in the blank of all other possibilities for 
 to interest herself or to occupy herself about anything 
 that should be wanted beyond that awful limit of the 
 wedding-clay was of course out of the question. Life 
 seemed to stop there for the mother, as it was virtually 
 to begin for the child ; though indeed to Elinor also, 
 notwithstanding her love, it was visible more in the 
 light of a point at which all the known and certain 
 ended, and where the unknown and almost inconceiv- 
 able began. The curious thing was that this barrier 
 which was placed across life for them both, got some- 
 how between them in those last days which should 
 have been the most tender climax of their intercourse. 
 They had a thousand things to say to each other, but 
 they said very little. In the evening after dinner, 
 whether they went out into the garden together to 
 watch the setting of the young moon, or whether they 
 sat together in that room which had witnessed all Eli- 
 nor's commencements of life, free to talk as no one else 
 in the world could ever talk to either of them, they said 
 very little to each other, and what they said was of the 
 most commonplace kind. " It is a lovely night ; how 
 clear one can see the road on the other side of the 
 combe ! " " And what a bright star that is close to the 
 moon ! I wish I knew a little more about the stai's." 
 "They are just as beautiful," Mrs. Dennistoun would 
 say, " as if you knew everything about them, Elinor." 
 "Are you cold, mamma? I am sure I can see you
 
 144 THE MA1UIIAUE OF ELINOR. 
 
 shiver. Shall I run and get you a shawl? " "It is a 
 little chilly : but perhaps it will be as well to go in now," 
 the mother said. And then indoors : " Do you think 
 you will like this lace made up as a jabot, Elinor ? " 
 "You are giving me all your pretty things, though yon 
 know you understand lace much better than I do." 
 " Oh, that doesn't matter," Mrs. Dennistoun said hur- 
 riedly ; "that is a taste which comes with time. You 
 will like it as well as I do when you are as old as I am." 
 "You are not so dreadfully old, mamma." "No, 
 that's the worst of it,'' Mrs. Dennistoun would say, and 
 then breakout into a laugh. "Look at the shadow 
 that handkerchief makes how fantastic it is ! " she 
 cried. She neither cared for the moon, nor for the 
 quaintness of the shadows, nor for the lace which she 
 was pulling into dainty folds to show its delicate pat- 
 tern for none of all these things, but for her only 
 child, who was going from her, and to whom she had a 
 hundred, and yet a hundred, things to say : but none 
 of them ever came from her lips. 
 
 " Mary Dale has not seen your things, Elinor : she 
 asked if she might come to-morrow." 
 
 " I think we might have had to-morrow to ourselves, 
 mamma the last day all by ourselves before those 
 people begin to arrive." 
 
 " Yes, I think so too ; but it is difficult to say no, 
 and as she was not here when the others came - - She 
 is the greatest critic in the parish. She will have so 
 much to say." 
 
 " I daresay it may be fun," said Elinor, brightening 
 up a little, " and of course anyhow Alice must have 
 come to talk about her dress. I am tired of those 
 bride's-maids' dresses ; they are really of so little con- 
 sequence." Elinor was not vain, to speak of, but she 
 thought it improbable that when she was there any one 
 would look much at the bride's-maids' dresses. For 
 one thing, to be sure, the bride is always the central 
 figure, and there were but two bride's-maids, which 
 diminished the interest ; and then well, it had to be 
 allowed at the end of all, that, though her closest
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 145 
 
 friends, neither Alice Hudson nor Mary Tatham were, 
 to look at, very interesting girls. 
 
 " They ai'e of great consequence to them," said Mrs. 
 Dennistouu, with the faintest smile. 
 
 "I didn't mean that, of course," said Elinor, with a 
 blush ;" only I never should have worried about my 
 own dress, which after all is the most important, as 
 Alice does about hers." 
 
 "Which nobody will look at," Mrs. Dennistouu said. 
 
 "I did not say that : but to tell the truth, it is a pity 
 for the girls that the men will riot quite be, just^of 
 their world, you know. Oh, mamma, you know it is 
 not that I think anything of that, but I am sorry for 
 Alice and Mary. Mr. Bolsover and the other gentle- 
 men will not take that trouble which country neigh- 
 bours, or or John's friend's from the Temple might 
 have done." 
 
 " Why do you speak of John's friends from the 
 Temple, Elinor ? " 
 
 " Mamma ! for no reason at all. Why should I ? 
 They were the only other men I could think of." 
 
 "Elinor, did John ever give you any reason to 
 think " 
 
 " Mamma," cried Elinor again, with double vehe- 
 mence, her countenance all ablaze, " of course he never 
 did ! how could you think such foolish tilings?" 
 
 "Well, my dear," said her mother, "I am very glad 
 he did not ; it will prevent any embarrassment between 
 him and you for I must always believe " 
 
 "Don't, please, oh, don't! it would make me miser- 
 able ; it would take all my happiness away." 
 
 Mrs. Danuistoun said nothing, but she sighed a 
 very small, infinitesimal sigh and there was a mo- 
 ment's silence, during which perhaps that sigh per- 
 vaded the atmosphere with a sort of breath of what 
 might have been. After a moment she spoke again : 
 
 " I hope you have not packed up your ornaments 
 yet, Elinor. You must leave them to the very last, for 
 Mary would like to see that beautiful necklace. What 
 do you think you shall w.ear on the day ? " 
 10
 
 146 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR 
 
 " Nothing," said Elinor, promptly. She was about to 
 add, "I have nothing good enough," but paused in time. 
 
 " Not my little star ? It would look very well, ray 
 darling, to fix your veil on. The diamonds are very 
 good, though perhaps a little old-fashioned ; you 
 might get them reset. But your father gave it me 
 like that." 
 
 " I would not change it a bit, mamma, for anything 
 in the world." 
 
 " Thanks, my dearest. I thought that was how you 
 would feel about it. It is not very big, of course, but 
 it really is very good." 
 
 " Then I will wear it, mamma, if it will please you, 
 but nothing else." 
 
 " It would please me : it would be like having some- 
 thing from your father. I think we had less idea of or- 
 naments in my day. I cannot tell you how proud I was 
 of my diamond star. I should like to put it in for you 
 myself, Elinor." 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! " This was the nearest point they 
 had come to that outburst of two full heai'ts which both 
 of them would have called breaking down. Mrs. Deu- 
 nistoun saw it and was frightened. She thought it 
 would be betraying to Elinor what she wished her never 
 to know, the unspeakable desolation to which she was 
 looking forward .when her child was taken from her. 
 Elinor's exclamation, too, was a protest against the im- 
 minent breaking down. They both came back with a 
 hurry, with a panting breath, to safer ground. 
 
 " Yes, that's what I regret," she said. " Mr. Bol- 
 sover and Harry Compton will laugh a little at the Rec- 
 tory. They will not be so nice as young men of their 
 own kind." 
 
 " The Rectory people are just as well born as any of 
 inor." 
 
 "Oh, precisely, mamma: I know that; but we 
 
 too It is what they call a different monde. I don't 
 
 think it is half so nice a monde," said the girl, feeling 
 that she had gone further than she intended to do ; 
 " but you know, mamma "
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 14:7 
 
 I kno\v, Elinor : but I scarcely expected from 
 
 vou- 
 
 " Oh," cried Elinor again, in exasperation, " if you 
 think that I shave that feeling ! I think it odious, I 
 think their inonde is vulgar, nasty, miserable ! I 
 think " 
 
 " Don't go too far the other way, Elinor. Your 
 husband will be of it, and you must learn to like it. 
 You think, perhaps, all that is new to me?" 
 
 Xo,'' said Elinor, her bright eyes, all the brighter 
 for tears, falling before her mother's look. " I know, of 
 course, that you have seen all kinds " 
 
 But she faltered a little, for she did not believe that 
 her mother was acquainted with Phil's cii-cle and their 
 wonderful ways. 
 
 " They will be civil enough," she went on, hurriedly. 
 " and as everybody chaffs so much nowadays they will, 
 perhaps, never be found out. But I don't like it for my 
 friends." 
 
 '' They will chaff me also, no doubt,'' Mrs. Deuuistoun 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, you, mamma ! they are not such fools as that," 
 cried poor Elinor ; but in her own mind she did not 
 feel confident that there was any such limitation to 
 their folly. Mrs. Deunistoun laughed a little to herself, 
 which was, perhaps, more alarming than that other 
 moment when she was almost ready to cry. 
 
 "You had better wear Lord St. Serfs ring," she said, 
 after a moment, with a tone of faint derision which 
 Elinor knew. 
 
 "You might as well tell me," cried the bride, "to 
 wear Lady Mariamne's revolving dishes. Xo, I will 
 wear nothing, nothing but your star." 
 
 " You have got nothing half so nice," said the mother. 
 Oh yes, it was a little revenge upon those people who 
 were taking her daughter from her, and who thought 
 themselves at liberty to jeer at all her friends : but as 
 was perhaps inevitable it touched Elinor a little too. 
 She restrained herself from some retort with a sense of 
 extreme and almost indignant self-control : though what
 
 148 THK MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 retort Elinor could have made I cannot tell. It was 
 much "nicer" than anything else she had. None of 
 Phil Compton's great friends, who were not of the same 
 nmnde as the people at Windyhill, had offered his bride 
 anything to compare with the diamonds which her 
 father had given to her mother before she was born. 
 And Elinor was quite aware of the truth of what her 
 mother said. But she would have liked to make a 
 retort to say something smart and piquant and witty 
 in return. 
 
 And thus the evening was lost, the evening in which 
 there was so much to say, one of the three only, no 
 more, that were left. 
 
 Miss Dale came next day to see "the things," and 
 was very amiable : but the only thing in this visit which 
 affected Elinor's mind was a curious little unexpected 
 assault this lady made upon her when she was going 
 away. Elinor had gone out with her to the porch, ac- 
 cording to the courteous usage of the house. But when 
 they had reached that shady place, from which the 
 green combe and the blue distance were visible, stretch- 
 ing far into the soft autumnal mists of the evening, 
 Mary Dale turned upon her and asked her suddenly, 
 " What night was it that Mr. Compton came here ? " 
 
 Elinor was much startled, but she did not lose her 
 self-possession. All the trouble about that date had dis- 
 appeared out of her mind in the stress and urgency of 
 other things. She cast back her mind with an effort and 
 asked herself what the conflict and uncertainty of which 
 she was dimly conscious, had been ? It came back to 
 her dimly without any of the pain that had been in it. 
 "It was on the sixth," she said quietly, without excite- 
 ment. She could scarcely recall to her mind what it 
 was that had moved her so much in respect to this date 
 only a little time ago. 
 
 "Oh, you must be mistaken, Elinor, I saw him 
 coming up from the station. It was later than that. 
 It was, if I were to give my life for it, Thursday 
 night." 
 
 This was four or five nights before and a haze of un-
 
 THE MAURI AGE OF ELINOR. 149 
 
 certainty had fallen on all things so remote. But Eli- 
 nor cast her eyes upon the calendar in tire hall and calm 
 possessed her breast. " It was the sixth," she said with 
 composed tones, as certain as of anything she had ever 
 known in the course of her life. 
 
 " Well, I suppose you must know," said Mary Dale. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " LOOK at that, Elinor," said Mrs. Dennistoun, next 
 day, when she had read, twice over, a letter, large and 
 emblazoned with a very big' monogram, which Elinor, 
 well perceiving from whom it came, had furtively 
 watched the effect of from behind an exceeding small 
 letter of her own. Phil was not remarkable as a cor- 
 respondent : his style was that of the primitive mind 
 which hopes its correspondent is well, " as this leaves 
 me." He had never much more to say. 
 
 "From Mariainne, mamma?" 
 
 " She takes great pains to make us certain of that 
 fact at least," Mrs. Dennistouu said ; which indeed was 
 very true, for the name of the writer was sprawled in 
 gilt letters half over the sheet. And this was how it 
 
 ' DEAR Mus. DKVNISTOUN, 
 
 " I have been thinking what a great pity it would be 
 to bore you with me, and my maid, and all my belong- 
 ings. I am so silly that I can never be happy without 
 dragging a lot of things about with me dogs, and 
 people, and so forth. Going to town in September is 
 dreadful, but it is rather chic to do a thing that its quite 
 out of the way, and one may perhaps pick up a little 
 fun in the evening. So if you don't mind, instead of 
 inflicting Fifine and Bijou and Leocadie, not to mention 
 some people that might be with me, upon you, and 
 putting your house all out of order, as these odious little
 
 150 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR, 
 
 dogs do when people are not used to them I will come 
 down by the train, which I hope arrives quite punc- 
 tually, in time to see poor Phil turned off. I am sure 
 you will be so kind as to send a carriage for me to the 
 railway. We shall be probably a party of four, and I 
 hear from Phil you are so hospitable and kind that I 
 need not hesitate to bring my friends to breakfast 
 after it's all over. I hope Phil will go through it like 
 a man, and I wouldn't for worlds deprive him of the 
 support of his family. Love to Nell. I am, 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " MARIAMNE PRESTWICH." 
 
 "The first name very big and the second very 
 small," said Mrs. Dennistoun, as she received the letter 
 back. 
 
 " I am sure we are much obliged to her for not 
 coming, mamma ! " 
 
 " Perhaps but not for this announcement of her not 
 coming. I don't wish to sa}" anything against your new 
 relations, Elinor " 
 
 " You need not put any restraint upon yourself in 
 consideration of my feelings," said Elinor, with a flush 
 of annoyance. 
 
 And this made Mrs. Dennistoun pause. They ate 
 their breakfast, which was a very light meal, in silence. 
 It was the day before the wedding. The rooms down- 
 stairs had been carefully prepared for Phil's sister. 
 Though Mrs. Dennistoun was too proud to say any- 
 thing about it, she had taken great pains to make these 
 pretty rooms MS much like a fine lady's chamber as had 
 been possible. She had put up new curtains, and a 
 Persian carpet, and looked out of her stores all the 
 pretty things she could find to decorate the two rooms 
 of the little apartment. She had gone in on the way 
 down-stairs to take a final survey, and it seemed to her 
 that they were very pretty. No picture could have 
 been more beautiful than the view from the long low 
 lattice window, in which, as in a frame, wns set the 
 foreground of the copse with its glimpses of ruddy
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 151 
 
 heather and the long sweep of the heights beyond, 
 which (stretched away into the infinite. That at least 
 could not be surpassed anywhere ; and the Persian 
 carpet was like ruoss under foot, and the chairs luxu- 
 rious and there was a collection of old china in some 
 open shelves which would have made the mouth of an 
 amateur water. Well ! it was Lady Mariamne's own loss 
 if she preferred the chance of picking up a little fun in 
 the evening, to spending the night decorously in that 
 pretty apartment, and making further acquaintance 
 with her new sister. It was entirely, Mrs. Dennistoun 
 said to herself, a matter for her own choice. But she 
 was much affronted all the same. 
 
 " It will be very inconvenient indeed sending a 
 carriage for her, Elinor. Except the carriage that is to 
 take you to church there is none good enough for this 
 fine lady. I had concluded she would go in your 
 uncle Tatham's carriage. It may be very fine to have 
 a Lady Mariamne in one's party, but it is a great 
 nuisance to have to change all one's arrangements at 
 the last moment." 
 
 "If you were to send the wagonette from the Bull's 
 Head, as rough as possible, with two of the farm horses, 
 she would think it genre, if not chic " 
 
 " I cannot put up with all this nonsense ! " cried Mrs. 
 Denuistoun, with a flush on her cheek. "You are just 
 as bad as they are, Elinor, to suggest such a thing ! I 
 have held my own place in society wherever I have been, 
 and I don't choose to be condescended to or laughed at, 
 in fact, by any visitor in the world ! " 
 
 "Mamma! do you think anyone would ever com- 
 pare you with Mariamne the Jew ? " 
 
 " Don't exasperate me with those abominable nick- 
 names. They will give you one next, She is an ex- 
 ceedingly ill-bred and ill-mannered woman. Picking 
 up a little fun in the evening ! What does she mean 
 by picking up a little fun " 
 
 'They will perhaps go to the theatre a number of 
 them ; and as nobody is in town they will laugh very 
 much at the kind of people, and perhaps the kind of
 
 152 THE MARRIAGE OF F.f.JNOR. 
 
 play- and it, will be a great joke ever after among them- 
 selves for of course there will be a number of them 
 together," said Elinor, disclosing- her acquaintance with 
 the habits of her new family with downcast eyes. 
 
 "How can well-born people be so vulgar and ill- 
 bred?" cried Mrs. Dennistoun. " I must say for Philip 
 that though he is careless and not nearly so particular 
 as I should like, still he is not like that. He has some- 
 thing of the politeness of the heart." 
 
 Elinor did not raise her downcast eyes. Phil had 
 been on his very good behaviour on the occasion of his 
 last hurried visit, but she did not feel that she could 
 answer even for Phil. " I am very glad anyhow, that 
 she is not coming, mamma : at least we shall have the 
 last night and the last morning to ourse! 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun shook her head. " The Tathams will 
 be here," she said ; " and everybody, to dinner all the 
 party. We must go now and see how we can enlarge 
 the table. To-night's party will be the largest we have 
 ever had in the cottage." She sighed a little and 
 paused, restraining herself. " We shall have no quiet 
 evening nor morning either again ; it will be a bustle 
 and a rush. You and I will never have any more quiet 
 evenings, Elinor : for when you come back it will be 
 another thing." 
 
 "Oh, mother!" cried Elinor, throwing herself into 
 her mother's arms : and for a moment they stood closely 
 clasped, feeling as if their hearts would burst, yet very 
 well aware, too, underneath, that any number of quiet 
 evenings would be as the last, when, with hearts full of 
 a thousand things to say to each other, they said almost 
 nothing which in some respects was worse than hav- 
 ing no quiet evenings evermore. 
 
 In the afternoon Phil arrived, having returned from 
 Ireland that morning, and paused only to refresh him- 
 self in the chambers which he still retained in town. 
 He had met all his hunting friends during the thire 
 days he had been away ; and though he retained a gal- 
 lant appearance, and looked, as Alice Hudson thought, 
 " vcj \ Tatic," Mrs. Dennistoun caught with
 
 THE CARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 153 
 
 anxiety a worn-out look the look of excitement, of 
 nights without sleep, much smoke, and, perhaps, much 
 wine, in his eyes. What a woman feels who has to hand 
 over her spotless child, the most dear and pure thing 
 upon earth, to a man fresh from those indulgences and 
 dissipations which never seem harmless, and always are 
 repellent to a woman, is not to be described. For- 
 tunately the bride herself, in invincible ignorance and 
 unconsciousness, seldom feels in that way. To Elinor 
 her lover looked tired about the eyes, which was very 
 well explained by his night journey, and by the agita- 
 tion of the moment. And, indeed, she did not see very 
 much of Phil, who had his friends with him his aide- 
 de-camp, Bolsover, and his brother Harry. These three 
 gentlemen carried an atmosphere of smoke and other 
 scents with them into the lavender of the Rectory, 
 which was too amazing in that hemisphere for words, 
 and talked their own talk in the midst of the fringe of 
 rustics who were their hosts, with a calm which was ex- 
 traordinary, breaking into the midst of the Rector's 
 long-winded, amiable sentences, and talking to each 
 other over Mrs. Hudson's head. " I sav, Dick, don't you 
 
 * * */ 
 
 remember?" "By Jove, Phil, you are too bad!" 
 sounded, with many other such expressions and re- 
 minders, over the Rectory party, strictly silent round 
 their own table, trying to make a courteous remark now 
 and then, but confounded, in their simple country good 
 manners, by the tine gentlemen. And then there was 
 the dinner-party at the cottage in the evening, to which 
 Mr. ami Mrs. Hudson were invited. Such a dinner- 
 p irty ! Old Mr. Tatham, who was a country gentleman 
 from Dorsetshire, with his nice daughter, Mary Tatham, 
 a quiet country young lady, accustomed, when she went 
 into the world at all, to the serious young men of the 
 Temple, and John's much-occupied friends, who had 
 their own asides about cases, and what So-and-So had 
 said in court, but were much too well-bred before 
 ladies to fall into "shop ;" and Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, 
 who were such as we know them ; and the bride's 
 mother, a little anxious, but always debonair ; and Eli-
 
 154 THE MARR1AOE OF ELINOR. 
 
 nor herself, in all the haze and sweet confusion of the 
 great era which approached so closely. The three men 
 made the strangest addition that can be conceived to 
 the quiet guests ; but things went better under the dis- 
 cipline of the dinner, especially as Sir John Hunting- 
 tower, who was a Master of the hounds and an old 
 friend of the Dennistouns, was of the party, and Lady 
 Huntingtower, who was an impressive person, and knew 
 the world. This lady was very warm in her congratu- 
 lations to Mrs. Dennistoun after dinner on the absence 
 of Lady Mariamne. " I think you are the luckiest 
 woman that ever was to have got clear of that dreadful 
 creature," she said. "Oh, there is nothing wrong about 
 her that I know. She goes everywhere with her dogs 
 and her cavaliers Cervantes. There's safety in numbers, 
 my dear. She has always two of them at least hanging 
 about her to fetch and carry, and she thinks a great 
 deal more of her dogs ; but I can't think what you 
 could have done with her here." 
 
 "And what will my Elinor do in such a sphere?" 
 the troubled mother permitted herself to say. 
 
 " Oh, if that were all," said Lady Huntingtower, lift- 
 ing up her fat hands she was one of those who had 
 protested against the marriage, but now that it had 
 come to this point, and could not be broken off, the 
 judicious woman thought it right to make the best of 
 it "Elinor need not be any the worse," she said. 
 "Thank heaven, you are not obliged to be mixed up 
 with your husband's sister. Elinor must take a line of 
 her own. You should come to town yourself her first 
 season, and help her on. You used to know plenty of 
 people." 
 
 " But they say," said Mrs. Dennistoun, " that it is so 
 much better to leave a young couple to themselves, and 
 that a mother is always in the way.'' 
 
 " If I were you I would not pay the least attention to 
 what Ihcy say. If you hold back too much they will 
 K:IV, 'There was her own mother, knowing numbers of 
 nice people, that never took the trouble to lend her a 
 hand.'"
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF F.LIXOR. 155 
 
 "I hope," said Mrs. Deunistoun, turning round im- 
 mediately to this other aspect of affairs, " that it never 
 will be necessary for the world to interest itself at all in 
 my child's affairs." 
 
 " Well, of course, that is the best," Lady Hunting- 
 tower allowed, "if she just goes softly for a year or two 
 till she feels her way." 
 
 "But then she is so young, and so little accustomed 
 to act for herself," said the mother, with another change 
 of flank. 
 
 " Oh, Elinor has a great deal of spirit. She must 
 just make a stand against the Compton set and take her 
 own line." 
 
 Mrs. Hudson and Alice and Miss Tat ham were at the 
 other end of the room exchanging a few criticisms 
 under their breath, and disposed to think that they 
 were neglected by their hostess for the greater person- 
 age with whom she was in such close conversation. And 
 Lady Mariamne's defection was a great disappointment 
 to them all. " I should like to have seen a tine lady 
 quite close," said Mary (it was not, I think, usual to 
 speak of " smart " people in those days), " one there 
 could be no doubt about, a little fast and all that. I 
 have seen them in town at a distance, but all the people 
 we know are sure country people." 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Hudson, primly. "I don't like 
 to hear you talk of any other kind. An English lady, 
 I hope, whatever is her rank, can only be of one kind." 
 
 "Oh, mamma, you know very well Lady Mariamne is 
 as different from Lady Huntingtower as " 
 
 " Don't mention names, my dear ; it is not well-bred. 
 The one is young, and naturally fond of gayety ; the 
 other well, is not quite so young, and stout, and all 
 that." 
 
 "Oh, that is all very well," said Alice; "but Aunt 
 Mary says " 
 
 Miss Dale was coming in the evening, and the Miss 
 Hills, and the curate, and the doctor, and various other 
 people, who could not be asked to dinner, to whom it 
 had been carefully explained (which, indeed, was a fact
 
 156 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 they knew) that to dine twelve people in the little din- 
 ing-room of the cottage was a feat which was ac- 
 complished with difficulty, and that more was impossi- 
 ble. Society at Windy-hill was very tolerant and under- 
 standing on this point, for all the dining-rooms were 
 small, except, indeed, when you come to talk of such 
 places as Huntingtower and they were very glad to be 
 permitted to have a peep at the bridegroom on these 
 terms, or rather, if truth were told, of the bride, and 
 how she was bearing herself so near the crisis of her 
 fate. The bridegroom is seldom very interesting on 
 such occasions. On the present occasion he was more 
 interesting than usual, because he was the Honourable 
 Philip, and because he had a reputation of which* most 
 people had heard something. There was a mixture of 
 alarm and suspicion in respect to him which increased 
 the excitement ; and many remarks of varied kinds 
 were made. "I think the fellow's face quite bears out 
 his character," said the doctor to the Rector. "AVhat a 
 man to trust a nice girl to ! " Mr. Hudson t'elt that as 
 the bridegroom was living under his roof he was par- 
 tially responsible, and discouraged this pessimistic view. 
 "Mr. Compton has not, perhaps, had all the ad van: 
 one tries to secure for one's own son," he said, " but. I 
 have reason to believe that the things that have been 
 said of him are much exaggerated." "Oh, a 
 tages ! ' ' said the doctor, thinking of Alick, of whom it 
 was his strongly expressed opinion that the fellow 
 should be turned out to rough it, and not coddled up 
 and spoiled at home. But while these remarks were 
 going on, Miss Hill had been expressing to the curate 
 an entirely different view. "I think he has a / '////,/'/// 
 face," she said with the emphasis some ladies use ; " a 
 little worn, perhaps, with being too much in the world, 
 and I wish he had a better colour. To me he looks 
 delicate : but what delightful features, Mr. Whitebamls, 
 and what an aristocratic air ! " 
 
 " He looks tremendously up to everything," the cu- 
 rate said, with a faint tone of envy in his voice. 
 
 "Don't he just?" cried Alick Hudson. "I should
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF EL1XOR. 15 7 
 
 think there wasn't a thing he couldn't do of things 
 that men do do, don't you know," cried that carefully 
 trained boy, whose style was confused, though his 
 .ing was good. Bat probably there were almost as 
 many opinions about Phil as there were people in the 
 His two backers-up stood in a corner half in- 
 timidated, half contemptuous of the country people, 
 er lot for Phil to fail among," said Dick Bolsover. 
 ; -Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galore?" said 
 Harry Compton, who had been about the world. " Oh, 
 bosh with your French, that nobody understands," said 
 the best man. 
 
 But in the meantime Phil was not there at all to be 
 seen of men. He had stolen out into the garden, 
 where there was a white vision awaiting him in the 
 milky moonlight. The autumn haze had come early 
 this season, and the moon was misty, veiled with white 
 amid a jumble of soft floating vapours in the sky. Eli- 
 nor stood among the flowers, which showed some 
 strange subdued tints of colours in the flooding of the 
 white light, like a bit of consolidated moonlight in her 
 white dress. She had a white shawl covering her from 
 head to foot, with a corner thrown over her hair. 
 What had they to say to each other that last night ? 
 Not much ; nothing at all that had any information in 
 it whispers inaudible almost to each other. There 
 was something in being together for this stolen mo- 
 ment, just on the eve of their being together for always, 
 which had a charm of its own. After to-night, no 
 stealing away, no escape to the garden, no little con- 
 spiracy to attain a meeting the last of all those de- 
 lightful schemings and devices. They started when 
 they heard a sound from the house, and sped along the 
 paths into the shadow like the conspirators they were 
 but never to conspire more after this last enthralling 
 time. 
 
 "You're not frightened. Xell?" 
 
 " No except a little. There is one thing " 
 
 " What is it, my pet ? If it's to the half of my king- 
 dom, it shall be done."
 
 158 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "Phil, we are going to be very good when we are 
 together ? don't laugh to help each other ? " 
 
 He did laugh low, not to be heard, but long. " I 
 shall have no temptation," he said, " to be anything 
 but good, you little goose of a Nell," taking it for a 
 warning of possible jealousy to come. 
 
 " Oh, but I mean both of us to help each other." 
 
 " Why, Nell, I know you'll never go wrong 
 
 She gave him a little impatient, shake. " You will 
 not understand me, Phil. We will try to be better 
 than we've ever been. To be good don't you know 
 what that means? in every way, before God." 
 
 Her voice dropped very low, and he was for a mo- 
 ment overawed. " You mean going to church, Nell ? " 
 
 " I mean yes, that for one thing ; and many other 
 things." 
 
 "That's dropping rather strong upon a fellow," he 
 said, "just at this moment, don't you think, when I 
 must say yes to everything you say." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean it in that way ; and I was not 
 thinking of church particularly ; but to be good, very 
 good, true and kind, in our hearts." 
 
 "You are all that already, Nell." 
 
 " Oh, no, not what I mean. When there are two of 
 as instead of one we can do so much more." 
 
 " Well, my pet, it's for you to make out the much 
 more. I'm quite content with jou as you are ; it's me 
 that you want to improve, and heaven knows there's 
 plenty of room for that." 
 
 "No, Phil, not you more than me," she said. 
 
 " We'll choose a place where the sermon's short, and 
 we'll see about it. You mean little minx, to bind a 
 man down to go to church, the night before his wed- 
 ding day ! " 
 
 And then there was a sound of movement indoors, 
 and after a little while the bride appeared among the 
 guests with a little more colour than usual, and an anx- 
 iously explanatory description of something she had 
 been obliged to do ; and the confused hour flew on 
 \vith much sound of talking and very little understand-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELTXGR. 159 
 
 ing of what was said. And then all the visitors streamed 
 away group after group into the moonlight, disappear- 
 ing like ghosts under the shadow of the.trees. Finally, 
 the Rectory party went too, the three mild ladies sur- 
 rounded by an exciting circle of cigars ; for Alick, of 
 course, had broken all bonds, and even the Rector 
 accepted that rare indulgence. Alice Hudson half de- 
 plored, half exulted for years after in the scent that 
 would cling round one particular evening dress. Five 
 gentlemen, all with cigars, and papa as bad as any of 
 them ! There had never been such an extraordinary ex- 
 perience in her life. 
 
 And then the Tathams, too, withdrew, and the moth- 
 er and daughter stood alone on their own hearth. Oh, 
 so much, so much as there was to say ! but hosv were 
 they to say it ? the last moment, which was so pre- 
 cious and so intolerable the moment that would never 
 come again. 
 
 "You were a long time with Philip, Elinor, in the 
 
 garden. I think all your old friends the last 
 
 night.'' 
 
 "I wanted to say something to him, mamma, that I 
 ha 1 never had the courage to say." 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun had been looking dully into the dim 
 mirror over the mantlepiece. She turned half round 
 to her daughter with an inquiring look. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, I wanted to say to him that we must 
 be good ! We're so happy. God is so kind to us ; and 
 you if you suppose I don't think of you ! It was to 
 s iy to him building our house upon all this, God's 
 mercy and your loss, and all that we are doubly, 
 doubly bound to serve and to love and to be good 
 people befoi-e God ; and like you, mother, like you ! " 
 
 " My darling ! " Mrs. Dennistoun said. And that was 
 all. She asked no questions as to how it was to be 
 done, or what he replied. Elinor had broken down 
 hysterically, and sobbed out the words one at a time, 
 as they would come through the choking in her throat. 
 Needless to say that she ended in her mother's arms, 
 her head upon the bosom which had nursed her, her
 
 1HO THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 slight weight dependent upon the supporter and pro- 
 tector of all her life. 
 
 That was the last evening. There remained the last 
 morning to come ; and after that what? The great 
 sea of an unknown life, a new pilot, and a ship untried. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AND now the last morning had come. 
 
 The morning of a wedding-day is a flying and pre- 
 carious moment which seems at once as if it never 
 would end, and as if it were a hurried preliminary in- , 
 terval in which the necessary preparations never could 
 be done. Elinor was not allowed to come down-stairs 
 to help, as she felt it would be natural to do. It was 
 Mary Tatham who arranged the flowers on the table, 
 and helped Dennistoun to superintend everything. 
 All the women in the house, though they were so busy, 
 were devoted at every spare moment to the service of 
 Elinor. They brought her simple breakfast up-stairs, 
 one maid carrying the tray and another the teapot, 
 that each might have their share. The cook, though 
 she was overwhelmed with work, had made some cakes 
 for breakfast, such us Elinor liked. "Mont like as 
 we'll never have her no more to mind," she said. 
 The gardener sent up an untidy bundle of white flow- 
 ers. And Mrs. Dennistoun came herself to pour out 
 the tea. " As if I had been ill, or had turned into a 
 baby again," Elinor said. But there was not much said. 
 Mary Tatham was there for one thing, and for another 
 and the most important they had said all they had to 
 say ; the rest which remained could not be said. The 
 wedding was to be at a quarter to twelve, in order to 
 give Lady Mariamne time to come from town. It was 
 not the fashion then to delay marriages to the after- 
 noon, which no doubt would have been much more 
 convenient for her ladyship ; but the best that could
 
 TB 
 
 be done \v;is done. Mr. Tatbaui's carriage, which he 
 
 him to grace the ceremony, w; 
 
 spatched to the station to meet Lady Mariaume, while 
 he, good man, hod to get to church as he could in one 
 of the flys. And then came the important mo: 
 when the dressing of the bride had to be begun. The 
 wedding-breakfast was nor set out in perfect 
 
 order, and there were many things to do. Yet every 
 woman in the house had a little share in the dressing 
 of the bride. They all came to see how it fitted when 
 the wedding-dress was put on. It fitted like a glove ! 
 The long glossy folds of the satin were a wonder to see. 
 Cook stood just within the door in a white apron, and 
 .ind could not say a word to Miss Elinor ; but 
 the younger maids sent forth a murmur of admiration. 
 And the Missis they thought was almost as beautiful 
 as the bride, though her s-uin was grey. Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun herself threw the veil over her child's head, and 
 put in the diamond star, the old-fashioned ornament 
 which had been her husband's present to herself. And 
 then again she had meunt to say something to Elinor 
 a last \yord but the word would not come. They were 
 both of them glad that somebody should be there all 
 the time, that they should not be left alone. And after 
 that the strange, hurried, everlasting morning was 
 over, and the carriage was at the door. 
 
 a again it was a relief that old Mr. Tatham had 
 1 his proper place in the fly, and had to go on 
 the front seat with the bride and her mother. It was 
 far better so. If they had been left even for ten min- 
 utes alone, who could have answered that one or the 
 other would not have cried, and discomposed the bou- 
 quet and the veil ? It seemed a great danger and re- 
 sponsibility over when they arrived at last safely at the 
 church door. Lady Mariamne was just then arriving 
 from the station. She drew up before them in poor 
 Mr. Tatham's carriage, keeping them back. Harry 
 Compton and Mr. Bolsover sprang to the carriage win- 
 dow to talk to her, and there was a loud explosion of 
 mirth and laughter in the midst of the village people, 
 11
 
 1<>2 THE MMUUA<;E OF KLISOR. 
 
 and the children with their baskets of flowers who 
 were already gathered. Lady Mariamne's voice burst 
 out so shrill that it overmastered the church bells. 
 " Here I am," she cried, " out in the wilderness. And 
 Algy has come with me to take cure of me. And how 
 are you, dear boys; and how is poor Phil?" ' Phil is 
 all ready to be turned oft', with the halter round his 
 neck," said Dick Bolsover ; and Harry Compton said, 
 "Hurry up, hurry up, Jew, the bride is behind you, 
 waiting to get out." "She must wait, then," said Lady 
 Marianme, and there came leisurely out of the carriage, 
 first, her ladyship's companion, by nume, Algy, a tall 
 person with an eye-glass, then a little pug, which was 
 carefully handed into his arms, ancl then lightly jumping 
 down to the ground, a little figure in black in black of 
 all things in the world ! a sight that curdled the blood 
 of the village people, and of Mrs. Hudson, who had 
 walked across from the Rectory in a gown of pigeon's- 
 breast silk which scattered prismatic reflections as she 
 walked. In black ! Mrs. Hudson bethought herself that 
 she had a white China crape shawl in her cupboard, and 
 wondered if she could offer it to conceal this ill-omened 
 gown. But if Lady Mariamne's dress was dark, she 
 herself was fair enough, with an endless fluff of light 
 hair under her little black lace bonnet. Her gloves 
 were off, and her hands were white and glistening with 
 rings. "Give me my puggy darling," she said in her 
 loud, shrill tone. " I can go nowhere, can I, pet, with- 
 out my little pug ! " 
 
 " A Jew and a pug, both in church. It is enough," 
 said her brother, " to get the poor parson into trouble 
 with his bishop." 
 
 " Oh, the bishop's a great friend of mine," said the 
 lady ; " he will say nothing to me, not if I put Pug in 
 a surplice and make him lead the choir." At this 
 speech there was a great laugh of the assembled party, 
 which stood in the centre of the path, while Mr. 
 Tatham's carriage edged away, and the others made ef- 
 forts to get forward. The noise of their talk disturbed 
 'iriuus abstraction in which Elinor had been going
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 163 
 
 through the morning hours. Mariumne's jarring voice 
 seemed louder than the bells. Was this the first voice 
 sent out to greet her by the new life which was about 
 to begin ? She glanced at her mother, and then at old 
 Uncle Tathain, who sat immovable, prevented by de- 
 corum from apostrophising the coachman who was not 
 his own, but fuming inwardly at the interruption. Mrs. 
 Dennistoun did not move at all, but her daughter knew 
 very well what was meant by that look straight before 
 her, in which her mother seemed to ignore all obstacles 
 in the way. 
 
 " I got here very well," Lady Mariamne went on ; 
 " we started in the middle of the night, of course, be- 
 fore the lamps were out. Wasn't it good of Algy to 
 get himself out of bed at such an unearthly hour ! But 
 he snapped at Puggy as we came down, which was a 
 sign he felt it. Why aren't you with the poor victim 
 at the altar, you boys ? " 
 
 " Phil will be in blue funk," said Harry ; "go in and 
 stand by your man, Dick : the Jew has enough with 
 two fellows to see her into her place." 
 
 The bride's carriage by this time pushed forward, 
 making Lady Mariamne start in confusion. " Oh ! look 
 here ; they have splashed my pretty toilette, and upset 
 my nerves," she cried, springing back into her sup- 
 porter's arras. 
 
 That gentleman regarded the stain of the damp 
 gravel on the lady's skirt through his eye-glass with 
 deep but helpless anxiety. li It's a pity for the pretty 
 frock ! " he said with much seriousness. And the 
 group gathered round and gazed in dismay, as if they 
 expected it to disappear of itself until Mrs. Hudson 
 bustled up. "It will rub oft'; it will not make any 
 mark. If one of you gentlemen will lend me a hand- 
 kerchief," she said. And Algy and Harry and Dick 
 Bolsover, not to speak of Lady Maria name herself, 
 watched with great gravity while the gravel was swept 
 off. " I make no doubt," said the Rector's wife, " that 
 I have the pleasure of speaking to Lady Mariamne : and 
 I don't doubt that black is the fashion and vour dress
 
 IG-t Till-] MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 is beautiful : but if you would just throw on a white 
 shawl for the sake of the Wedding it's so unlucky to 
 
 come in black " 
 
 A white shawl ! " said Lady Mariaume in dismay. 
 "The Jew in a white shawl ! '' echoed the others with 
 a burst of laughter which rang into the church itself 
 and made Phil before the altar, alone and very anxious, 
 ask himself what was up. 
 
 v It's China crape, I assure you, and very nice," Mrs. 
 Hudson said. 
 
 Lady Mariamne gave the good Samaritan a stony 
 stare, and took Algy's arm and sailed into the church 
 before the Kector's wife, without a word said ; while all 
 the women from the village looked at each other and 
 said, " Well, I never ! " under their breath. 
 
 " Let me give yon my arm, Mrs. Hudson." said Harry 
 Compton, "and please pardon me that I did not intro- 
 duce my sister to you. She is dreadfully shy, don't 
 you know, and never does speak to anyone when she 
 has not been introduced." 
 
 " My observation was a very simple one," said Mrs. 
 Hudson, very angry, yet pleased to lean upon an Hon- 
 ourable arm. 
 
 " My dear lady ! " cried the good-natured Harry, 
 
 " the Jew never wore a shawl in her life " 
 
 And all this time the organ had ling, the 
 
 white vision passing up the aisle, the simple vill 
 chanting forth their song about .the breath that breathed 
 o'er Eden. Alas ! Eden had not much to do with it, 
 e\<vpt, perhaps in the trembling heart of the white 
 maiden roused out of her virginal dream by the jarring 
 s of the new life. The laughter outside was a 
 Iful offence to all the people, great and small, Avho 
 had collected to see Elinor married. 
 
 " What could you expect? It's that woman whom 
 they call the Jew," whispered Lady Hunting-lower to her 
 next neighbour. 
 
 "She should bo put into the stocks," said Sir John, 
 scap-ely under his breath, which, to be sure, was also 
 an interruption to the decorum of the place.
 
 US 3/JAA l ( >- r > 
 
 And then there ensued a pause broken by the voice, 
 a little lugubrious in tone, of the Rector within the 
 altar rails, and the tremulous answers of the pair out- 
 side. The audience held its breath to hear Elinor 
 make her responses, and faltered oft' into suppressed 
 weeping as the low tones ceased. Sir John Hunting- 
 tower, who was very tall and big, and stood out like a 
 pillar among the ladies round, kept nodding his head 
 all the time she spoke, nodding as you might do in 
 forced assent to any dreadful vow. Poor little thing, 
 poor little thing, he was saying in his heart. His face 
 was more like the face of a man at a funeral than a man 
 at a wedding. " Blessed are the dead that die in the 
 Lord " he might have been nodding assent to that in- 
 stead of to Elinor's low-spoken vow. Phil Compton's 
 voice, to tell the truth, was even more tremulous than 
 Elinor's. To investigate the thoughts of a bridegroom 
 would be too much curiosity at such a moment. But I 
 think if the secrets of the hearts could be revealed, 
 Phil for a moment was sorry for poor little Elinor 
 too. 
 
 And then the solemnity was all over in a moment, 
 and the flutter of voices and congratulations began. 
 
 I do not mean to follow the proceedings through all 
 the routine of the wedding-day. Attempts were made 
 on the part of the bridegroom's party to get Lady Mari- 
 amne dismissed by the next train, an endeavour into 
 which Harry Compton threw himself for he was 
 always a good-hearted fellow with his whole soul. 
 But the Jew declared that she was dying of hunger, 
 and whatever sort of place it was, must have something 
 to eat; a remark which naturally endeared her still 
 more to Mrs. Dennistoun, who was waiting by the. door 
 of Mr. Tatham's carriage, which that anxious old 
 gentleman had managed to recover control of, till her 
 ladyship had tnken her place. Her ladyship stared 
 with undisguised amazement when she was followed 
 into the carriage by the bride's mother, and when the- 
 neat little old gentleman took his seat opposite. " But 
 where is Algy ? I want Algy," she cried, in dismay.
 
 166 TEE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " Absolutely I can't go without ALjy, who came to take 
 care of me." 
 
 " You will be perfectly safe, my dear lady, with Mrs. 
 Dennistoun and me. The gentlemen will walk," said 
 Mr. Tatham, waving his hand to the coachman. 
 
 And thus it was that the forlorn lady found herself 
 without her cavalier and without her pug, absolutely 
 stranded among savages, notwithstanding her strong 
 protest almost carried the length of tears. She was 
 thus carried off in a state of consternation to the cot- 
 tage over the rough road, where the wheels went with a 
 din and lurch over the stones, and dug deep into the 
 sand, eliciting a succession of little shrieks from her 
 oppressed bosom. " I shall be shaken all to bits," she 
 said, grasping the arm of the old gentleman to steady 
 herself. Mr. Tatham was not displeased to be the 
 champion of a lady of title. He assured her in dulcet 
 tones that his springs were very good and his horses 
 very sure "though it is not a very nice road." 
 
 " Oh, it is a dreadful road ! " said Lady Mariarnne. 
 
 But in due time they did arrive at the cottage, where 
 her ladyship could not wait for the gathering of the 
 company, but demanded at once something to eat. " f 
 can't really go another moment without food. I must 
 have something or I shall die. Phil, come here this in- 
 stant and get me something. They have brought me 
 off at the risk of my life, and there's nobody to at- 
 tend to me. Don't stand spooning there," cried Lady 
 Mariamne, "but do what I tell you. Do you think I 
 should ever have put myself into this position but for 
 you?" 
 
 " You would never have been asked here if they had 
 consulted me. I knew what a nuisance you'd be. Here, 
 get this lady something to eat, old man/' said the bride- 
 groom, tapping Mr. Tatham on the back, who did, 
 indeed, look rather like a waiter from that point of 
 view. 
 
 ' I shall have to help myself," said the lady in de- 
 spair. And she sat down at the elaborate table in the 
 bride's place, and began to hack at the nearest chi;
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 167 
 
 The gentlemen coming in at the moment roared again 
 with laughter over the Jew's impatience ; but it was not 
 regarded with the same admiration by the rest of the 
 guests. 
 
 These little incidents, perhaps, helped to wile away 
 the weary hours until it was time for the bridal pair to 
 depart. Mrs. Dennistoun was so angry that it kept up 
 a little fire, so to speak, in her heart when the light of 
 her house was extinguished. Lady Mariamne, standing 
 in the porch with a bag full of rice to throw, kept up 
 the spirit of the mistress of the house, which otherwise 
 might, perhaps, have failed her altogether at that in- 
 conceivable moment ; for though she had been looking 
 forward to it, for months it was inconceivable when it 
 came, as death is inconceivable. Elinor going away ! 
 not on a visit, or to be back in a week, or a month, or a 
 year going away for ever ! ending, as might be said, 
 when she put her foot on the step of the carriage. Her 
 mother stood by and looked on with that cruel convic- 
 tion that overtakes all at the last. Up to this moment 
 had it not seemed as if the course of affairs was unreal, 
 as if something must happen to prevent it? Perhaps 
 the world will end to-night, as the lover says in the 
 " Last Ride." But now here was the end : nothing had 
 happened, the world was swinging on in space in its 
 old careless way, and Elinor was going going away 
 for ever and ever. Oh, to come back, perhaps there 
 was nothing against that but never the same Elinor. 
 The mother stood looking, with her hand over her eyes 
 to shield them from the sun. Those eyes were quite 
 dry, and she stood firm and upright by the carriage 
 door. She was not " breaking down " or "giving way," 
 as everybody feared. She was "bearing up," as every- 
 body was relieved to see. And in a moment it was all 
 over, and there was nothing before her eyes no car- 
 riage, no Elinor. She was so dazed that she stood still, 
 looking with that strange kind of smile for a full min- 
 ute after there was nothing to smile at, only the vacant 
 air and the prospect of the combe, coming in in a sickly 
 haze which existed only in her eyes.
 
 168 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 But, by good luck, there was Lady Marianine behind, 
 and the fire of indignation giving a red flicker upon the 
 desolate hearth. 
 
 'I caught Phil on the nose," said that lady, in great 
 triumph; "spoilt his beauty for him for to-day. But 
 let's hope she won't mind. She thinks him beautiful, 
 the little goose. Oh, iuy Puggy-wuggy, did that cruel 
 Algy pull your little, dear tail, you darling? Come to 
 oos own mammy, now those silly wedding people are 
 away." 
 
 " Your little dog, I presume, is of a very rare sort," 
 said Mr. Tathamfto be civil. He had proposed the 
 bride and bridegroom's health in a most appropriate 
 speech, and he felt that he had deserved well of his 
 kind, which made him more amiable even than usual. 
 "Your ladyship's little dog," he added, after a moment, 
 as she did not take any notice, " I presume, is of a rare 
 kind?" 
 
 Lady Marianine gave him a look, or rather a stare. 
 " Is Puggy of a rare sort? " she said over her shoulder, 
 to one of the attendant tribe. 
 
 "Don't be such a duffer, Jew ! You know as well as 
 any one what, breed he's of," Harry Cornpton said. 
 
 '" Oh, I forgot," said the line lady. She was standing 
 full in front of the entrance, keeping Mrs. Dennistoun 
 ill the full sun outside. " I hope there's a train very 
 soon," she said. "Did you look, Algy, as I told you? 
 If it hadn't been that Phil would have killed me I 
 should have gone now. It, would have been such fun to 
 have spied upon the turtle doves ! " 
 
 The men thought it would have been rare fun with 
 obedient delight, but that Pbil would have cut up 
 rough, and made a scene. At this Lady Mariamne held 
 up her linger, and made a portf-ntous face. 
 
 "Oh, you naughty, naughty boy," she cried, "telling 
 tales out of school." 
 
 Perhaps, my dear lady," said Mr. Tatham, quietly, 
 "you would lot Mrs. Dennistoun pass." 
 
 < )ii ! " s'lid Lady Mariamne, and stared at him again 
 for half a minute ; then she turned and stared at the
 
 TITS MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 169 
 
 s 
 
 tall lady in grey satin. "Anybody can pass," she said : 
 " I'm not so very big." 
 
 " That is quite true quite true. There is plenty of 
 room," said the little gentleman, holding out his hand 
 to his cousin. 
 
 "My dear John," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "I am sure 
 you will be kind enough to lend your carriage again to 
 Lady Mariumne, who is in a hurry to get away. There 
 is another train, which stops at Downforth station, in 
 half an hour, and there will just be time to get there, if 
 you will order it at once. I told your man to be in 
 readiness : and it would be a thousand pities to lose 
 this train, for there is not another for an hour." 
 
 " By Jove, Jew ! there's a slap in the face for you," 
 said, in an audible whisper, one of the train, who had 
 been standing in front of all the friends, blocking out 
 the view. As for Lady Mariainne, she stared more 
 straight than ever into Mrs. Dennistoun's eyes, but for 
 tho moment did not seem to find anything to say. She 
 was left in the hall with her band while the mistress of 
 the house went into the drawing-room, followed by all 
 the country ladies, who had not lost a word, and who 
 were already whispering to each other over that terrible 
 betrayal about the temper of Phil. 
 
 "Gut up rough ! Oh ! poor little Elinor, poor little 
 Elinor ! " the ladies said to each other under their 
 breath. 
 
 " I am not at all surprised. It is not any news to 
 me. You could see it in his eyes," said Miss Mary 
 Dale. And then they all were silent to listen to the re- 
 newed laughter that came bursting from the hall. Mrs, 
 Hudson questioned her husband afterwards as to what 
 it was that made everybody laugh, but the Rector had 
 not much to say. "I really could not tell you, my 
 dear," he said. "I don't remember anything that was 
 said but it seemed funny somehow, and as they all 
 laughed one had to laugh too." 
 
 The great lady came in; however, dragged by her 
 brother to say good-by. "It has all gone off very well, 
 I am sure, and Nell looked very nice, and did you
 
 170 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 great credit," she said, putting out her hand. " And 
 it's very kind of you to take so much trouble to get us 
 off by the first train." 
 
 "Oh, it is no trouble," Mrs. Dennistoun said. 
 
 "Shouldn't you like to say good-by to Puggy- 
 muggy?" said Lady Mariamne, touching the little 
 black nose upon her arm. " He enjoyed thatj> 
 much. He really never has /we gras at home : but he 
 doesn't at all mind if you would like to give him a lit- 
 tle kiss just here." 
 
 " Good-by, Lady Mariamne," said Mrs. Dennistoun, 
 with one of the curtseys of the old school. But there 
 was another gust of laughter as Lady Mariamne was 
 placed in the carriage, and a shrill little trumpet gave 
 forth the satisfaction of the departing guest at having 
 " got a rise out of the old girl." The gentlemen heaped 
 themselves into Mr. Tatham's carriage, and swept off 
 along with her, all but civil Harry, who waited to make 
 their apologies, and to put up along with his own Dick 
 Bolsover's "things." And thus the bridegroom's party, 
 the new associates of Elinor, the great family into 
 which the Honourable Mrs. Phil Compton had been so 
 lucky as to marry, to the great excitement of all the 
 country round, departed and was seen no more. Harry, 
 who was civil, walked home with the Hudsons when all 
 was over, and said the best he could for the Jew and 
 her friends. " You see, she has been regularly spoiled : 
 and then when a girl's so dreadful shy, as often as not 
 it sounds like impudence." "Dear me, I should never 
 have thought, Lady Mariamne was shy," the gentle Rec- 
 tor said. ' ; That's just how it is," said Harry. He went 
 over again in the darkening to take his leave of Mrs. 
 Dennistoun. He found her sitting out in the garden 
 before the open door, looking down the misty walk. 
 The light had gone out of the skies, but the usual 
 cheerful lights had not yet appeared in the house, 
 where the hum of a great occasion still reigned. The 
 Tathams were at, the Rectory, and Mrs. Dennistoun was 
 alone. Harry Compton had a good heart, and though 
 he could not conceive the possibility of a woman not
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 171 
 
 being glad to have married her daughter, the loneliness 
 and darkness touched him a little in contrast with the 
 gayety of the previous night. "You must think us a 
 dreadful noisy lot," he said, " and as if my sister had 
 no sense. But it's only the Jew's way. She's made 
 like that and at bottom she's not at all a bad sort." 
 
 " Are you going away ? " was all the answer that 
 Mrs. Deunistoun made. 
 
 " Oh, yes, and we shall be a good riddance," said 
 Hairy ; " but please don't think any worse of us than 
 
 you can help Phil well, he's got a great deal of 
 
 good in him he has indeed, and she'll bring it all 
 out." 
 
 It was very good of Harry Compton. He had a little 
 choking in his throat as he walked back. " Blest if I 
 ever thought of it in that light before," he said to him- 
 self. 
 
 But I doubt if what ho said, however well meant, 
 brought much comfort to Mrs. Dennistoun's heart 
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 
 Tiirs Elinor Dennistoun disappeared from Windy- 
 hill and was no more seen. There are many ways in 
 which a marriage is almost like a death, especially when 
 the marriage is that of an only child. The young go 
 away, the old remain. There is all the dreary routine 
 of the solitary life unbrightened by that companionship 
 which is all the world to the one who is left behind. 
 So little only the happy going away into brighter 
 scenes of one whose happiness was the whole thought 
 of that dreary survivor at the chimney corner and yet 
 so much. And if that survivor is a woman she has to 
 smile and tell her neighbours of the bride's happiness, 
 and how great the comfort to herself that her Elinor's 
 life is assured, and her own ending is now of no partic- 
 ular importance to her daughter ; if it is a man, he is
 
 IT -3 THE MAUHIM;/-: or KLTXOR. 
 
 allowed to lament, which is a ciirions paradox, but one 
 of the many current in this world. Mrs. Dennistoun 
 had to put a very brave face upon it all the more because 
 of the known unsatisfactoriness of Elinor's husband : 
 and she had to go-on with her life, and sit down at her 
 solitary meals, and invent lonely occupations for her- 
 self, and read and read, till her brains were often dazed 
 by the multiplicity of the words, which lost their 
 meaning as she turned over page by page. To sit 
 alone in the house, without a sound audible, except 
 perhaps the movement of the servants going tip-stairs 
 or down to minister to the wants, about which she felt 
 she cared nothing whether they were ministered to or 
 not, of their solitary mistress, where a little while ago 
 there used to be the rhythm of the one quick step, the 
 sound of the one gay voice which made the world a 
 warm inhabited place to Mrs. Dennistoun this was 
 more dismal than words could say. To be sure, there 
 were some extraordinary and delightful differences ; 
 there were the almost daily letters, which afforded the 
 lonely mother all the pleasure that life could give ; and 
 there was always the prospect, or at least possibility 
 and hope, of seeing her child again. Those two partic- 
 ulars, it need scarcely be said, make a difference which 
 is practically infinite: but yet for Mrs. Dennistoun. sit- 
 ting alone all the day and night, walking alone, read- 
 ing alone, with little to do that was of the slu 
 consequence, not even the reading for what, did it 
 matter to her dreary, lonely consciousness whether she 
 kept afloat of general literature or improv.il her mind 
 or not? this separation by marriage was dreadfully 
 like the dreary separation by death, and in one re 
 it was almost worse ; for death, if it reaches our very 
 hearts, takes away at least the gnawing pangs of anx- 
 iety. He or she who is gone that way is well ; never 
 more can trouble touch them, their feet cannot err nor 
 their hearts ache ; while who can tell what troubles and 
 i.e befalling, out there in the unknown, 
 the child who has embarked upon the troubled sea of 
 mortal life ?
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 173 
 
 And it may be imagined with what anxious eyes 
 those letters, which made all the difference, were read ; 
 how the gradually changing tone in them was noted as 
 it came in, slowly but also surely. Sometimes they got 
 to be very hurried, and then Mrs. Dennistoun saw as in 
 a glass the impatient husband waiting, wondering what 
 she could constantly find to say to her mother ; sorne- 
 8 they were long and detailed, and that meant, as 
 would appear perhaps by a phrase slurred over in the 
 postscript, that Phil had gone away somewhere. There 
 was never a complaint in them, never a word that could 
 be twisted into a complaint : but the anxious mother 
 read between the lines innumerable things, not half of 
 them true. There is perhaps never a half true of what 
 anxiety may imagine : but then the half that is true ! 
 
 John Tatham was very faithful to her during that 
 winter. As soon as he came back from Switzerland, at 
 the end of the long vacation, he went down to see her, 
 feeling the difference in the house beyond anything he 
 had imagined, feeling as if he were stepping into some 
 darkened outer chamber of the grave : but with a 
 cheerful face and eager but confident interest in " the 
 news from Elinor." " Of course she is enjoying her- 
 self immensely," he said, and Mrs. Dennistoun was able 
 to reply with a smile that was a little wistful, that yes, 
 Elinor was enjoying herself immensely. "She seems 
 very happy, and everything is new to her and bright," 
 she said. They were both very glad that Elinor was 
 happy, and they were very cheerful themselves. Mrs. 
 Dennistoun truly cheered by his visit and by the neces- 
 sity for looking after everything that John might be 
 comfortable, and the pleasure of seeing his face oppo- 
 site to her at table. "You can't think what it is to 
 see you there ; sitting down to dinner is the most hor- 
 rible farce when one is alone." " Poor aunt ! " John 
 Tatham said : and nobody would believe how many Sat- 
 urdays and Sundays he gave up to her during the long 
 winter. Somehow he himself did not care to go any- 
 where else. In Elinor's time he had gone about freely 
 enough, liking a little variety in his Saturday to Mon
 
 Tin-: jrAfiitrAVE or KLINOR. 
 
 days, though always happiest when he went to Windy- 
 hill : but now somehow the other houses seemed to 
 pull upon him. He liked best to go down to that mel- 
 ancholy house which his presence made more or less 
 bright, where there was an endless talk of Elinor, 
 where she was, what she was doing, and what was to 
 be her next move, and, at last, when she WHS coming to 
 town. Mrs. Deunistoun did not say, as she did at first, 
 "when she is coming home." That possibility seemed 
 to slip away somehow, and no one suggested it. When 
 she was coming to town, that was what they said be- 
 tween themselves. She had spent the spring on the 
 Biviera, a great part of it at Monte Carlo, and her let- 
 ters were full of the beauty of the place ; but she said 
 less and less about people, and more and more 
 about, the sea and the mountains, and the glorious road 
 which gave at every turn a new and beautiful vision of 
 the hills and the sea. It was a little like a guide-book, 
 they sometimes felt, but neither said it ; but at last it 
 became certain that in the month of May she was com- 
 ing to town. 
 
 More than that, oh, more than that! One evening 
 in May, when it was fine but a little chilly, when Mrs. 
 Denrtistoun was walking wistfully in her garden, look- 
 ing at the moon shining in the west, and wondering if 
 her child had arrived in England, and whether she was 
 coming to a house of her own, or a lodging, or to be a 
 visitor iu some one else's house, details which Elinor 
 had not given her ear was suddenly caught by the dis- 
 tant rumbling of wheels, heavy wheels, the fly from the 
 station certainly. Mrs. Dennistoun had no expecta- 
 tion of what it could be, no sort of hope : and yet a 
 woman has always a sort of hope when her child lives 
 and everything is possible. The fly seemed to stop, not 
 coining up the little cottage drive; but by and by, 
 when she had almost given up hoping, there came a 
 rush of living feet, and a cry of joy, and Elinor was in 
 her mother's arms. Elinor! yes, it was herself, no vis- 
 ion, no shadow such as had many a time come into Mrs. 
 Deuuistoun's dreams, but herself iu flesh and blood,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 175 
 
 the clear familiar figure, the face which, between the 
 twilight and those ridiculous tears which come when 
 one is too happy, could scarcely be seen at all. " Eli- 
 nor, Elinor ! it is you, my darling ! " " Yes, mother, it 
 is me, really me. I could not write, because I did not 
 know till the last minute whether I could get away." 
 
 It may be imagined what a coming home that was. 
 Mrs. Dennistouu, when she saw her daughter even by 
 the light of the lamp, was greatly comforted. Elinor 
 was looking well ; she was changed in that indescriba- 
 ble way in which marriage changes (though not always) 
 the happiest woman. And her appearance was 
 changed ; she was no longer the country young lady 
 very well dressed and looking as well as any one could 
 in her carefully made clothes. She was now a fashion- 
 able young woman, about whose dresses there was no 
 question, who wore everything as those do who are at 
 the fountain-head, no matter what it was she wore. 
 Mrs. Deunistoun's eyes caught this difference at once, 
 which is also indescribable to the uninitiated, and a 
 sensation of pride came into her mind. Elinor was im- 
 proved, too, in so many ways. Her mother had never 
 thought of calling her anything more, even in her in- 
 most thoughts, than very pretty, very sweet ; but it 
 seemed to Mrs. Dennistoun now as if people might use 
 a stronger word, and call Elinor beautiful. Her face 
 had gained a great deal of expression, thqugh it was 
 always an expressive face ; her eyes looked deeper ; 
 her manner had a wonderful youthful dignity. Alto- 
 gether, it was another Elinor, yet, God be praised, the 
 same. 
 
 It was but for one night, but that was a great deal, a 
 night subtracted from the blank, a night that seemed 
 to come out of the old times those old times that had 
 not been known to be so very happy till they were over 
 and gone. Elinor had naturally a great deal to tell her 
 mother, but in the glory of seeing her, of hearing her 
 voice, of knowing that it was actually she who was 
 speaking, Mrs. Dennistoun did not observe, what she 
 remembered afterwards, that again it was much more
 
 170 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIX>.- 
 
 of places than of people that Elinor talked, ami that 
 though she named Phil when there \vas any occasion 
 for doing so, she did not babble about him as brides 
 do, as if he were altogether the sun, and everything 
 revolved round him. Jt is not a good sign, perhaps, 
 when the husband conies down to his "proper place" 
 as the representative of the other half of the world too 
 soon. Elinor looked round upon her old home with a 
 mingled smile and sigh. Undoubtedly it had grown 
 smaller, perhaps even shabbier, since she went away : 
 but she did not say so to her mother. She cried out 
 how pretty it was, how delightful to come back to it ! 
 and that was true too. How often it happens in this 
 life that there are two things quite opposed to each 
 other, and yet both of them true. 
 
 "John will be delighted to hear that you have come, 
 Elinor," her mother said. 
 
 " John, dear old John ! I hope he is well and happy, 
 and all that; and he comes often to see you, mother? 
 How sweet of him ! You must give him ever so much 
 love from his poor Nelly. I always keep that name 
 sacred to him." 
 
 "But why should I give him messages as if you were 
 not sure to meet? of course you will meet ol 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Elinor. She opened her 
 eyes a little in surprise, and then shook her head. "I 
 am afraid not, mamma. We are in two different 
 worlds." 
 
 " I assure you," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "John is a 
 very rising man. He is invited everywhere." 
 
 "That I don't doubt at all." 
 
 " And why then shouldn't you meet?" 
 
 "I don't know. I don't fancy we shall go to the 
 same places. John has a profession ; he has something 
 to do. Now you know we have nothing to do." 
 
 She laughed and laid a little emphasis on the we, by 
 way of taking off the weight of the words. 
 
 "I always thought it was a great pity, Elinor." 
 
 " It may be a pity or not," said Elinor,, "but it is, 
 and it cannot be helped. We have got to make up our
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR, 177 
 
 minds to it. I would rather Phil did nothing than 
 mixed himself up with companies. Thank heaven, at 
 present he is free of anything of that kind." 
 
 " I hope he is free of that one at least, that he was 
 going to invest all your money in, Elinor. I hope you 
 found another investment that was quite steady and 
 safe. " 
 
 "Oh, I suppose so," said Elinor, with some of her 
 old petulance : " don't let us spoil the little time I have 
 by talking about money, mamma ! " 
 
 And then it was that Mrs. Dennistoun noticed that 
 what Elinor did talk of, hurrying away from this sub- 
 ject, were things of not the least importance the olive 
 woods on the Riviera, the wealth of flowers, the strange 
 little old towns upon the hills. Surely even the money, 
 which was her own and for her comfort, would be a 
 more interesting subject to discuss. Perhaps Elinor 
 herself perceived this, for she began immediately to ask 
 questions about the Hudsons and Hills, and all the peo- 
 ple of the parish, with much eagerness of questioning, 
 but a flagging interest in the replies, as her mother 
 soon saw. " And Mary Dale, is she still there ? " she 
 asked. Mrs. Dennistoun entered into a little history 
 of how Mary Dale had gone away to nurse a distant 
 cousin who had been ill, and finally had died and left a 
 very comfortable little fortune to her kind attendant. 
 Elinor listened with little nods and appropriate excla- 
 mations, but before the evening was out asked again, 
 " And Mary Dale ? " then hastily corrected herself with 
 an " Oh, I remember ! you told me." But it was per- 
 haps safer not to question her how much she remem- 
 bered of what she had been told. 
 
 Thus there were- notes of disquiet in even that de- 
 lightful evening, such a contrast as it was to all the 
 evenings since she had left home. Even when John 
 came, what a poor substitute for Elinor ! The ingrati- 
 tude of those whose heart is set on one object made 
 Mrs. Dennistoun thus make light of what had been her 
 great consolation. He was very kind, very good, and 
 oh, how glad she had been to see him through that heavy 
 12
 
 178 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 winter but he was not Elinor ! It was enough for 
 Elinor to step across her mother's threshold to make 
 Mrs. Dennistoun feel that there was no substitute for 
 her none : and that John was of no more consequence 
 than the Rector or any habitual caller. But, at the 
 same time, in all the melody of the home-coming, in the 
 sweetness of Elinor's voice, and look, and kiss, in the 
 perfection of seeing her there again in her own place, 
 and listening to her dear step running up and down 
 the no longer silent house, there were notes of disquiet 
 which could not be mistaken. She was not unhappy, 
 the mother thought ; her eyes could not be so bright, 
 nor her colour so fair unless she was hnppy. Trouble 
 does not embellish, and Elinor was embellished. But 
 yet there were notes of disquiet in the air. 
 
 Next day Mrs. Deunistouu drove her child to the 
 railway in order not to lose a moment of so short a 
 visit, and naturally, though she had received that unex- 
 pected visit with rapture, feeling that a whole night 
 of Elinor was worth a month, a year of anybody else, 
 yet now that Elinor was going she found it very short. 
 "You'll come again soon, my darling V" she said, as 
 she stood at the window of the carriage ready to say 
 good-bye. 
 
 "Whenever I can, mother dear, of that you may be 
 sure ; whenever I can get away." 
 
 " I don't wish to draw you from your husband. 
 Don't get away come with Philip from .Saturday to 
 Monday. Give him my love, and tell him so. He 
 shall not be bored ; but Sunday is a day without en- 
 gagements." 
 
 "Oh, not now, mamma. There are just as many 
 things to do on Sundays as on any other day." 
 
 There were a great many words on Mrs. Dennistouu's 
 lip.s, but she did not say them ; all she did say was, 
 ' Well, then, Elinor when you can get away." 
 
 "Oh, you need not doubt me, mamma." And the 
 train, which sometimes lingers so long, which some 
 people that very day were .swearing at as so slow, 
 "Like all country trains," they said that inevitable
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 179 
 
 heartless thing got into motion, and Mrs. Dennistoun 
 watched it till it disappeared ; and what was that 
 that came over Elinor's face as she sank back into the 
 corner of her carriage, not knowing her mother's 
 anxious look followed her still what was it ? Oh, 
 dreadful, dreadful life ! oh, fruitless love and longing ! 
 was it relief? The mother tried to get that look out 
 of her mind as she drove silently and slowly home, 
 creeping up hill after hill. There was no need to 
 hurry. All that she was going to was an empty and 
 silent house, where nobody awaited her. What was 
 that look on Elinor's face ? Relief ! to have it over, to 
 get away again, away from her old home and her fond 
 mother, away to her new life. Mrs. Dennistoun was 
 not a jealous mother nor unreasonable. She said to 
 herself Well ! it was no doubt a trial to the child to 
 come back to come alone. All the time, perhaps, she 
 was afraid of being too closely questioned, of having to 
 confess that h% did not want to come, perhaps grudged 
 her coming. She might be afraid that her mother 
 would divine something some hidden opposition, 
 some dislike, perhaps, on his part. Poor Elinor! and 
 when everything had passed over so well, when it was 
 ended, and nothing had been between them but love 
 and mutual understanding, what wonder if there came 
 over her dear face a look of relief ! This was how this 
 good woman, who had seen a great many things in 
 her passage through life, explained her child's look : 
 and though she was sad was not angry, as many less 
 tolerant and less far-seeing might have been in her 
 place. 
 
 John, that good John, to whom she had been so un- 
 grateful, came down next Saturday, and to him she 
 confided her great news, but not all of it. " She came 
 down alone? " he said. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Dennistoun, bravely ; "she knew 
 very well it was her I wanted to see, and not Philip. 
 They say a great deal about mothers-in-law, but why 
 shouldn't we in our turn have our fling at sons-in-law. 
 John ? It was not him I wanted to see : it was my
 
 180 THK IfAItRIAGR OF ELINOR. 
 
 own child : and Elinor understood that, and ran off by 
 herself. Bless her for the thought." 
 
 " I understand that," said John. He had given the 
 mother more than one look as she spoke, and divined 
 her better than she supposed. " Oh, yes, I can under- 
 stand that. The thing I don't understand is why he 
 let her ; why he wasn't too proud to bring her back to 
 you, that you might see she had taken no harm. If it 
 had been I " 
 
 "Ah, but it was not you," said Mrs. Deunistoun ; 
 "you forget that. It never could have been you." 
 
 He looked quickly at her again, and it was on his 
 lips to ask, " Why could it never have been I ? " but he 
 did not ; for he knew that if it had ever been him, it 
 could not have been for years. He was too prudent, 
 and Elinor, even if she had escaped Phil Compton, 
 would have met some one else. He had no right to 
 say, or even think, what, in the circumstances, he 
 would have done. He did not make any answer, but 
 she understood him as he understood her. 
 
 And later in the evening she asked his advice as to 
 what she should do. "I am not fond of asking advice," 
 she said, "and I don't think there is another in the 
 world I would ask it from but you. What should I 
 do ? It would cost me nothing to run up to town for a 
 part of the season at least. I might get a little house, 
 and be near her, where she could come to me when 
 she pleased. Should I do it, or would it be wise not to 
 do it ? I don't want to spy upon her or to force her to 
 tell me more than she wishes. John, my deai', I will 
 tell you what I would tell no one else. I caught a 
 glimpse of her dear face when the train was just going 
 out of sight, and she was sinking back in her corner 
 with a look of relief " 
 
 " Of relief ! " he cried. 
 
 " John, don't form any false impression ! it was no 
 want of love : but I think she was thankful to have 
 seen me, and to have satisfied me, and that I had asked 
 no questions that she could not answer in away." 
 
 John clenched his fist, but he dared not make
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 1S1 
 
 any gesture of disgust, or suggest again, " If it bad 
 been I." 
 
 " Well, now," she said, "remember I am not angry 
 fancy being angry with Elinor ! and all I mean is 
 for her benefit. Should I go ? it might be a relief to 
 her to run into me whenever she pleased ; or should I 
 not go ? lest she might think I was bent on finding out 
 more than she chose to tell ? " 
 
 "' Wouldn't it be right that you should find out ? " 
 
 " That is just the point upon which I am doubtful. 
 She is not unhappy, for she is she is prettier than evei 
 she was, John. A girl does not get like that her eyes 
 brighter, her colour clearer, looking well, beautiful ! " 
 cried the mother, her eyes filling with bright tears, " if 
 she is unhappy. But there may be things that are not 
 quite smooth, that she might think it would make me 
 unhappy to know, yet that if let alone might come all 
 right. Tell me, John, what should I do ? " 
 
 And they sat debating thus till far on in the night. 
 
 CHAPTER XVni. 
 
 MHS. DEXXISTOUN did not go up to town. There art 
 some women who would have done so, seeing the other 
 side of the subject at all hazards ; and perhaps they 
 would have been right who can tell ? She did not 
 denying herself, keeping herself by main force in her 
 solitude, not to interfere with the life of her child, 
 which was drawn on lines so different from any of hers 
 and perhaps she was wrong. Who knows, except by 
 the event, which is the best or the worst way in any of 
 our human movements, which are so short-sighted ? 
 And twice during the season Elinor found means to 
 come to the cottage for a night as she had done at first. 
 These were occasions of great happiness, it need not be 
 said but of many thoughts and wonderings too. She 
 had always an excuse for Phil. He had meant until the
 
 182 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 last moment to come with her some one had turned 
 up, quite unexpectedly, who had prevented him. It 
 was a fatality ; especially when she came down in July 
 did she insist upon this. He had been invited quite 
 suddenly to a political dinner to meet one of the Min- 
 isters from whom he had hopes of an appointment. 
 " For we find that we can't go on enjoying ourselves 
 for ever," she said gayly, " and Phil has made up his 
 mind he must get something to do." 
 
 "It is always the best way," said Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun. 
 
 "I am not so very sure, mamma, when you have 
 never been used to it. Of course, some people would 
 be wretched without work. Fancy John with nothing 
 to do ! How he would torment his wife if he had 
 one. But Phil never does that. He is very easy to 
 live with. He is always after something, and leaves me 
 as free as if he had a day's work in an office." 
 
 This slipped out, with a smile : but evidently after it 
 was said Elinor regretted she had said it, and thought 
 that more might be drawn from the admission than she 
 intended. She added quietly, " Of course a settled oc- 
 cupation would interfere with many things. We could 
 not go out together continually as we do now." 
 
 Was there any way of reconciling these two state- 
 ments ? Mrs. Dennistoun tried and tried in vain to 
 make them fit into each other : and yet no doubt there 
 was some way. 
 
 " And perhaps another season, mother, if Phil was in 
 a public office it seems so strange to think of Phil 
 having an office you might come up, don't you think, 
 to town for a time ? Would it be a dreadful bore to 
 you to leave the country just when it is at its best? 
 I'm afraid it would be a dreadful bore : but we could 
 run about together in the mornings when he was busy, 
 and go to see the pictures and things. How pleasant 
 it would be ! " 
 
 " It would be delightful for me, Elinor. I shouldn't 
 mind giving up the country, if it wouldn't interfere 
 with your engagements, my clear."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 183 
 
 " Oh, my engagements ! Much I should care for 
 them if Phil was occupied. I like, of course, to be 
 with him." 
 
 " Of course," said Mrs. Dennistoun. 
 
 "And it is good for him, too, I think." This was 
 another of the little admissions that Elinor regretted 
 the moment they were made. "I mean it's a pity, 
 isn't it, when a man likes to have his wife with him that 
 she shouldn't always be there, ready to go ? " 
 
 "A great pity," said Mrs. Dennistouu, and then she 
 changed the subject. " I thought it required all sorts 
 of examinations and things for a man to get into a pub- 
 lic office now." 
 
 " So it does for the oi'dinary grades, which would be 
 far, far too much routine for Phil. But they say a min- 
 ister always has things in his power. There are still 
 posts " 
 
 "Sinecures, Elinor?" 
 
 "I did not mean exactly sinecures," she said, with an 
 embarrassed laugh, " though I think those must have 
 been fine things ; but posts where it is not merely rou- 
 tine, where a man may have a chance of acting for him- 
 self and distinguishing himself, perhaps. And to be in 
 the service of the country is always better, safer, than 
 that dreadful city. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " I have never thought the city dreadful, Elinor. I 
 have had many friends connected with the city." 
 
 "Ah, but not in those horrid companies, mamma. 
 Do you know that company which we just escaped, 
 which Phil saved my money out of, when it was all but 
 invested I believe that has ruined people right and 
 left. He got out of it, fortunately, just before the 
 smash ; that is, of course, he never had very much to 
 do with it, he was only on the Board." 
 
 " And where is your money now ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can answer that question this time," said 
 Elinor, gayly. " He had just time to get it into anoth- 
 er company which pays beautifully ! The Jew is in it, 
 too, and the whole lot of them. Oh ! I beg your par- 
 don, mamma. I tried hard to call her by her proper
 
 184 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 name, but when one never hears any other, one can't 
 help getting into it! " 
 
 " I hope," said Mrs. Dennistoun, " that Philip was 
 not much mixed up with this company if other people 
 have been ruined, and he has escaped ? " 
 
 "How could that be?" said Elinor, with a sort of 
 tremulous dignity. " You don't suppose for a moment 
 
 that he . But of course you don't," she added with 
 
 a heightened colour and a momentary cloud over her 
 eyes, " of course you don't. There was a dreadful man- 
 ager who destroyed the books and then fled, so that 
 there never could be a right winding up of the affairs." 
 
 "I hope Philip will take great care never to hare to 
 do with anything of the kind again." 
 
 "Oh, no, he has promised me he will not. I will not 
 have it. He has a kind of ornamental directorship on 
 this new company, just for the sake of his name : but 
 he has promised me he will have nothing more to do 
 with it for ray peace of mind." 
 
 "I wonder that they should care in the city for so 
 small a matter as a peer's younger son." 
 
 "Oh, do you think it a small matter, mamma? I 
 don't mean that I care, but people give a good deal of 
 weight to it, you know." 
 
 "I meant only in the city, Elinor." 
 
 " Oh ! " Elinor said. She was half offended with her 
 mother's indifference. She had found that to be the 
 Hon. Mrs. Comptou was something, or so at least she 
 supposed : and she began timidly to give her mother a 
 list of her engagements, which were indeed many in 
 number, and there were some dazzling names among 
 a great many with which Mrs. Dennistoun was un- 
 acquainted. But how could she know who were the 
 fashionable people nowadays, a woman living so com- 
 pletely out of the world ? 
 
 John Tatham, for his part, went through his engage- 
 ments that year with a constant expectation of seeing 
 Elinor, which preoccupied him more than a rising- 
 young barrister going everywhere ought to have been 
 preoccupied. He thought he went everywhere, and so
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 185 
 
 did his family at home, especially his sister, Mary Tat- 
 ham, who was his father's nurse and attendant, and 
 never had any chance of sharing these delights. She 
 made all the more, as was natural, of John's privileges 
 and social success from the fact of her own seclusion, 
 and was in the habit of saying that she believed there 
 was scarcely a party in London to which John was not 
 invited three or four in a night. But it would seem 
 with all this that there were many parties to which he 
 was not invited, for the Phil Comptons (how strange and 
 on the whole disgusting to think that this now meant 
 Elinor ! ) also went everywhere, and yet they very sel- 
 dom met. It was true that John could not expect to 
 meet them at dinner at a Judge's or in the legal society 
 in high places which was his especial sphere, and noth- 
 ing could be more foolish than the tremor of expecta- 
 tion with which this very steady-going man would set 
 out to every house in which the fashionable world met 
 
 with the professional, always thinking that perhaps 
 
 But it was rarely, very rarely, that this perhaps came 
 to pass. When it did it was amid the crowd of some 
 prodigious reception to which people " looked in " for 
 half an hour, and where on one occasion he found Eli- 
 nor alone, with that curious dignity about her, a little 
 tragical, which comes of neglect. He agreed with her 
 mother, that he had never imagined Elinor's youthful 
 prettiness couLl have come to anything so near beauty. 
 There was a strained, wide open look in her eyes, which 
 was half done by looking out for some one, and half by 
 defying any one to think that she felt herself alone, or 
 was pursuing that search with any anxiety. She stood 
 exceedingly erect, silent, observing everything, yet en- 
 deavouring to appear as if she did not observe, alto- 
 gether a singular and very striking figure among the 
 fashionable crowd, in which it seemed everybody was 
 chattering, smiling, gay or making believe to be gay, 
 except herself. When she saw John a sudden gleam of 
 pleasure, followed by a cloud of embarrassment, came 
 over her face : but poor Elinor could not help being 
 glad to see some one she knew, some one who more or
 
 ISO THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 less belonged to her ; although it appeared she had the 
 best of reasons for being alone. " I was to meet Phil 
 here," she said, " but somehow I must have missed 
 him." " Let us walk about a little, and we'll be sure 
 to find him," said John. She was so glad to take his 
 arm, almost to cling to him, to find herself with a 
 friend. "I don't know many people here," she con- 
 fided to John, leaning on his arm, with the familiar sis- 
 terly dependence of old, " and I am so stupid about 
 coming out by myself. It is because I have never been 
 used to it. There has always been mamma, and then 
 Phil ; but I suppose he has been detained somewhere 
 to-night. I think I never felt so lost before, among all 
 these strange people. He knows everybody, of course." 
 
 " But you have a lot of friends, Elinor." 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said, brightly enough; "in our own 
 set : but this is what Phil calls more serious than our 
 set. I should not wonder in the least if he Imd shirked 
 it at the last, knowing I would be sure to come." 
 
 "That is just the reason why I should have thought 
 he would not shirk it," said John. 
 
 "Ah, that's because you're not married," said Elinor, 
 but with a laugh in which there was no bitterness. 
 " Don't you know one good of a wife is to do the man's 
 social duties for him, to appear at the dull places and 
 save his credit ? Oh, I don't object at all ; it is quite a 
 legitimate division of labour. I shall get into it in 
 time : but I am so stupid about coming into a room 
 alone, and instead of looking about to see what people 
 I really do know, I just stiffen into a sort of shell. I 
 should never have known you if you had not come up 
 to me, John." 
 
 " You see I was looking out for you, and you were 
 not looking out for me, that makes all the differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " You were looking out for us ! " 
 
 " Ever since the season began I have been looking 
 out for you, everywhere," said John, with a rather fierce 
 empli:isiou the pronoun, which, however, as everybody 
 knows, is plural, and means two as much as one, though
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 1ST 
 
 it was the reverse of this that John Tatham meant to 
 show. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Elinor. " But then I am afraid our set 
 is different, John. There will always be some places 
 like this, for instance where I hope we shall meet ; 
 but our set perhaps is a little frivolous, and your set a 
 little serious, don't you see ? You are professional 
 and political, and all that ; and Phil is well, I don't 
 know exactly what Phil is more fashionable and frivo- 
 lous, as I said. A race-going, ball-going, always in 
 motion set." 
 
 " Most people," said John, " go more or less to races 
 and balls." 
 
 " More or less, that makes the whole difference. We 
 go to them all. Now you see the distinction, John. 
 You go to Ascot perhaps on the cup day ; we go all the 
 days and all the other days, at the other places." 
 
 "How knowing you have become ! " 
 
 " Haven't I ? " she said, with a smile that was half a 
 sigh. 
 
 " But I shouldn't have thought that would have 
 suited you, Elinor." 
 
 " Oh, yes, it does," she said, and then she eyed him 
 with something of the defiance that had been in her 
 look when she was standing alone. She did not avoid 
 his look as a less brave woman might have done. " I 
 like the fun of it," she said. 
 
 And then there was a pause, for he did not know 
 what to reply. 
 
 " We have been through all the rooms," she said at 
 last, " and we have not seen a ghost of Phil. He can- 
 not be coming now. What o'clock is it? Oh, just the 
 
 time he will be due at I'm sure he can't come now. 
 
 Do you think you could get my carriage for me ? It's 
 only a brougham that we hire," she said, with a smile, 
 "but the man is such a nice, kind man. If he had 
 been an old family coachman he couldn't take more 
 care of me." 
 
 " That looks as if he had -to take care of you often, 
 Elinor/'
 
 1S8 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " Well," she said, looking him full in the face again, 
 " you don't suppose my husband goes out with me in 
 the morning shopping ? I hope he has something bet- 
 ter to do." 
 
 " Shouldn't you like to have your mother with you 
 for the shopping, etc.?" 
 
 "Ah, dearly !" then with a little quick change of 
 manner, "another time not this season, but next, if I 
 can persuade her to corne ; for next year I hope we 
 shall be more settled, perhaps in a house of our own, if 
 Phil gets the appointment he is after." 
 
 " Oh, he is after an appointment?" 
 
 "Yes, John ; Phil is not so lucky as to have a profes- 
 sion like yon." 
 
 This was a new way of looking at the matter, and 
 John Tatham found nothing to say. It seemed to him, 
 who had worked very hard for it, a little droll to de- 
 scribe his possession of a profession as luck. But he 
 made no remark. He took Elinor down-stairs and 
 found her brougham for her, and the kind old coach- 
 man on the box, who was well used to taking care of 
 her, though only hired from the livery stables for the 
 season John thought the old man looked suspiciously 
 at him, and would have stopped him from accompany- 
 ing her, had he designed any such proceeding. Poor 
 little Nelly, to be watched over by the paternal fly-man 
 
 on the box! she who might have had but he 
 
 stopped himself there, though his heart felt as heavy as 
 a stone to see her go away thus, alone from the smart 
 party where she had been doing duty for her husband. 
 John could not take upon himself to finish his sentence 
 she who might have had love and care of a very dif- 
 ferent kind. No he had never offered her that love 
 and care. Had Phil Compton never come in her way 
 it is possible that John Tatham might never have 
 offered it to her not, at least, for a long time. He 
 could never have had any right to be a dog in the 
 manger, neither would he venture to pretend now that 
 it was hrr own fault if she had chosen the wrong man ; 
 was it his fault then, who had never put a better man
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 189 
 
 within her choice? but John, who was no coxcomb, 
 blushed in the dark to himself as this question flitted 
 through his mind. He had no reason to suppose that 
 Elinor would have been willing to change the brotherly 
 tie between them into any other. Thank heaven for 
 that brotherly tie ! He would always be able to be- 
 friend her, to stand by her, to help her as much as any 
 one could help a woman who was married, and thus 
 outside of all ordinary succour. And as for that black- 
 guard, that (/^-Honourable Phil But here John, 
 
 who was a man of just mind, paused again. For a man 
 to let his wife go to a party by herself was not after all 
 so dreadful a thing. Many men did so, and the women 
 did not complain ; to be sure they were generally older, 
 more accustomed to manage for themselves than Elinor : 
 but still, a man need not be a blackguard because he 
 did that. So John stopped his own ready judgment, 
 but still I am afraid in his heart pronounced Phil Comp- 
 ton's sentence all the same. He did not say a word 
 about this encounter to Mrs. Dennistoun ; at least, he 
 did tell her that he had met Elinor at the So-and-So's, 
 which, as it was one of the best houses in London, was 
 pleasing to a mother to hear. 
 
 " And how was she looking ? " Mrs. Dennistoun cried. 
 
 "She was looking beautiful " said John. "I 
 
 don't flatter, and I never thought her so in the old 
 times but it is the only word I can use " 
 
 " Didn't I tell you so ? " said the mother, pleased. 
 " She is quite embellished and improved therefore she 
 must be happy." 
 
 "It is certainly the very best evidence " 
 
 "Isn't it? But it so often happens otherwise, even 
 in happy m images. A girl feels strange, awkward, 
 out of it, in her new life. Elinor must have entirely 
 accustomed herself, adapted herself to it, and to them, 
 or she would not look so well. That is the greatest 
 comfort I can have." 
 
 And John kept his own counsel about Elinor's ma- 
 jestic solitude and the watchful old coachman in the 
 hired brougham. Her husband might sti'l be full of
 
 190 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 love and tenderness all the same. It was a great effort 
 of the natural integrity of his character to pronounce 
 like this ; but he did it in the interests of justice, and 
 for Elinor's sake and her mother's said nothing of the 
 circumstances at all. 
 
 It may be supposed that when Elinor paid the last of 
 her sudden visits at the cottage it was a heavy moment 
 both for mother and daughter. It was the time when 
 fashionable people finish the season by going to Good- 
 wood and to Goodwood Elinor was going with a 
 party, Lady Mariamne and a number of the " set" 
 She told her mother, to amuse her, of the new dr 
 she had got for this important occasion. " Phil says 
 one may go in sackcloth and ashes the remainder of the 
 yeai', but we must be fine for Goodwood," she said. 
 " I wanted him to believe that I had too many clothes 
 already, but he was inexorable. It is not often, is it, 
 that one's husband is more anxious than one's self 
 about one's dress ? " 
 
 "He wants you to do him credit, Elinor." 
 
 "Well, mamma, there is no harm in that. But more 
 than that he wants me to look nice, for myself. He 
 thinks me still a little shy though I never was shy, 
 was I ? and he thinks nothing gives you courage like 
 feeling yourself well dressed but he takes the greatest 
 interest in everything I wear." 
 
 " And where do you go after Goodwood, Elinor ?" 
 
 "Oh, mamma, on such a round of visits! here and 
 there and everywhere. I don't know," and the tears 
 sprang into Elinor's eyes, " when I may see you 
 again." 
 
 "You are not coming back to London," said the 
 mother, with the heart sinking in her breast. 
 
 " Not now they all say London is insupportable 
 it is one of the things that everybody says, and I be- 
 lieve that Phil will not set foot in^it again for many 
 mouths. Perhaps I might get a moment, when he is 
 shooting, or something, to run back to you ; but it is a 
 long way from Scotland and he must be there, you 
 know, for the 12th, He would think the world was
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 191 
 
 coming to an end if he did not get a shot at the grouse 
 on that day." 
 
 " But I thought he was looking for an appointment, 
 Elinor?" 
 
 A cloud passed over Elinor's face. " The season is 
 over," she said, " and all the opportunities are exhausted 
 and we don't speak of that any more." 
 
 She gave her mother a very close hug at the railway, 
 and sat with her head partly out of the window watch- 
 ing her as she stood on the platform, until the train 
 turned round the corner. Xo relief on her dear face 
 now, but an anxious strain in her eyes to see her mother 
 as long as possible. Mrs. Dennistouu, as she walked 
 again slowly up the hills that the pony might not suffer, 
 said to herself, with a chill at her heart, that she would 
 rather have seen her child sinking back in the corner, 
 pleased that it was over, as on the first day. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE next winter was more dreary still and solitary 
 than the tirst at Windyhill. The first had been, though 
 it looked so long and dreary as it passed, full of hope 
 of the coming summer, which must, it seemed, bring 
 Elinor back. But now Mrs. Dennistoun knew exactly 
 what Elinor's coming back meant, and the prospect was 
 less cheering. Three days in the whole long season 
 three tittle escapades, giving so very little hope of more 
 sustained intercourse to come. Mrs. Dennistoun, going 
 over all the circumstances she had so little else to do 
 but to go over them in her long solitary evenings came 
 to the conclusion that whatever might happen, she her- 
 self would go to town when summer came again. She 
 amused herself with thinking how she would find a little 
 house quite a small house, as there are so many in a 
 good situation, where even the most fashionable need 
 not be ashamed to come, and where there would be room
 
 192 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 enough for Elinor and her husband if they chose to es 
 tablish themselves there. Mrs. Dennistouu was of opii> 
 ion, already expressed, that if mothers-in-law are ob- 
 noxious to men, sons in-law are very frequently so to 
 women, which is a point of view not popularly perceived. 
 And Philip Compton was not sympathetic to her in any 
 point of view. But still she made up her mind to en- 
 dure him, and even his family, for the sake of Elinor. 
 She planned it all out it gave a little occupation to the 
 vacant time how they should have their separate rooms 
 and even meals if that turned out most convenient ; how 
 she would interfere with none of their ways : only to 
 have her Elinor under her roof, to have her when the 
 husband was occupied in the evenings, if there were 
 any evenings that she spent alone ; in the mornings, 
 when perhaps Phil got up late, or had engagements of 
 his own ; for the moment's freedom when her child 
 should be free. She made up her mind that she would 
 ask no questions, would never interfere with any of their 
 habits, or oppose or put herself between them only 
 just to have a little of Elinor every day. 
 
 " For it will not be the same thing this year," she 
 said to John, apologetically. " They have quite settled 
 down into each other's ways. Philip must see I have no 
 intention of interfering. For the most obdurate op- 
 ponent of mothers-in-law could not think could he, 
 John? that I had any desire to put myself between 
 them,' or make myself troublesome now." 
 
 "There is no telling," said John, "what such asses 
 might think." 
 
 " But Philip is not an ass ; and don't you think I have 
 behaved very well, and may give myself this indulgence 
 the second year?" 
 
 "I certainly think you will be quite right to come to 
 town : but I should not have thena to live with you, if I 
 were you." 
 
 "Shouldn't you? It might be a risk: but then I 
 shouldn't do it unless there was room enough to leave 
 them quite free. The thing I am afraid of is that they 
 wouldn't accept."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 193 
 
 " Oh, Phil Compton will accept," said John, hurriedly. 
 
 ' Why are you so sure ? I think often you know 
 more about him than you ever sa} r ." 
 
 " I don't know much about him, but I know that a 
 :saan of uncertain income and not very delicate feelings 
 is generally glad enough to have the expenses of the 
 season taken off him : and even get all the more pleas- 
 ure out of it when he has his living free." 
 
 " That's not a very elevated view to take of the trans- 
 action, John." 
 
 "My dear aunt, I did not think you expected any- 
 thing very elevated from the Comptons. They are not 
 the sort of family from which one expects " 
 
 " And yet it is the family that my Elinor belongs to : 
 she is a Compton." 
 
 " I did not think of that," said John, a little discon- 
 certed. Then he added, " There is no very elevated 
 standard in such matters. Want of money has no law: 
 and of course there are better things involved, for he 
 might be very glad that Elinor should have her mother 
 to go out with her, to stand by when a man might 
 have other engagements." 
 
 Mrs. Deunistouu looked at him closely and shook her 
 head. She was not very much reassured by this view 
 of the case. " At ah 1 events I shall try it," she said. 
 
 Quite early in the year, when she was expecting no 
 such pleasure, she was rewarded for her patience by an- 
 other flying visit from her child, who this time tele- 
 graphed to say she was coming, so that her mother 
 could go and meet her at the station, and thus lose no 
 moment of her visit. Elinor, however, was not in good 
 spirits on this occasion, nor was she in good looks. She 
 told her mother hurriedly that Phil had come up upon 
 business ; that he was very much engaged with the new 
 company, getting far more into it than satisfied her. 
 " I am terrified that another catastrophe may come, and 
 that he might share the blame if things were to go 
 wrong " which was by no means a good preface ft>r the 
 mission with which it afterwards appeared Elinor hersell 
 was charged. 
 13
 
 194 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " Phil told me to say to you, mamma, that if you 
 were not satisfied with any of your investments, he could 
 help you to a good six or seven per cent. " 
 
 She said this with her head turned away, gazing out 
 of the window, contemplating the wintry aspect o/ the 
 combe with a countenance as cloudy and as little cheer- 
 ful as itself. 
 
 There was an outcry on Mrs. Deimistoun's lips, but 
 fortunately her sympathy with her child was so strong 
 that she felt Elinor's sentiments almost more forcibly 
 than her own, and she managed to answer in a quiet, 
 untroubled voice. 
 
 " Philip is very kind, my dear : but you know my in- 
 vestments are all settled for me and I have no will of my 
 own. I get less interest, but then I have less responsi- 
 bility. Don't you know I belong to the time in which 
 women were not supposed to be good for anything, and 
 consequently I am in the hands of my trustees." 
 
 " I think he foresaw that, mother," said Elinor, still 
 with her head averted and her eyes far away; " but he 
 thought you might represent to the trustees that not 
 only would it give you more money, but it would be 
 better in the end for me. Oh, how I hate to have to 
 say this to you, mamma! " 
 
 How steadily Mrs. Dennistoun kept her countenance, 
 though her daughter now flung herself upon her 
 shoulder with uncontrollable tears ! 
 
 " My darling, it is quite natural you should say it. 
 You must tell Philip that I fear I am powerless. 1 will 
 try, but I don't think anything will come of it. I have 
 been glad to be free of responsibility, and I have never 
 attempted to interfere." 
 
 "Mother, I am so thankful. I oughtn't to go against 
 him, ought I? But I would not have you take his ad- 
 vice. It is so dreadful not to appear 
 
 "My dear, you must try to think that he understands 
 better than you do : men generally do : you are only -i 
 "irl and they are trained more or less to business." 
 "Not Phil ! not Phil !" 
 
 'Well, he must have some capacity for it, some
 
 TEE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 195 
 
 understanding, or they would not want him on those 
 boards ; and } r ou cannot have, Elinor, for you know 
 nothing about it To hear you speak of per cents, makes 
 me laugh." It was a somewhat forlorn kind of laugh, 
 yet the mother executed it finely : and by and by the 
 subject dropped, and Elinor was turned to talk of other 
 things other things of which there was a great deal to 
 say, and over which they cried and laughed together as 
 nature bade. 
 
 In the same evening, the precious evening of which 
 she did not like to waste a moment, Mrs. Dennistoun 
 unfolded her plan for the season. " I feel that I know 
 exactly the kind of house I want ; it will probably be in 
 some quiet insignificant place, a Chapel Street, or a 
 Queen Street, or a Park Street somewhere, but in a 
 good situation. You shall have the first floor all to 
 yourself to receive your visitors, and if you thiixk that 
 Philip would prefer a separate, table " 
 
 " Oh, mamma, mamma ! " cried Elinor, clinging to 
 her, kissing passionately her mother's cheek, which was 
 still as soft as a child's. 
 
 "It is not anything you have told me now that has 
 put this into my head, my darling. I had made it all up 
 in my own mind. Then, you know, when your husband 
 is engaged with those business affairs in the city or 
 with his own friends you would have your mother to 
 fall back upon, Elinor. I should have just the moments 
 perdas, don't you see, when you were doing nothing 
 else,' when you were wanted for nothing else. I promise 
 you, my darling, I should never be de Irop, and would 
 never interfere." 
 
 "Oh, mamma, mamma!" Elinor cried again as if 
 words failed her ; and so they did, for she said scarcely 
 anything more, and evaded any answer. It went to her 
 mother's heart, yet she made her usual excuses for it. 
 Poor child, once so ready to decide, accepting or re- 
 jecting with the certainty that no opposition would be 
 made to her will, but now afraid to commit herself, to 
 say anything that her husband would not approve ! 
 Well ! Mrs. Dennistoun said to herself, many a young
 
 196 THE MARPdAQE OF ELINOR. 
 
 wife is like that, and yet is happy enough. It depends 
 so much on the man. Many a man adores his wife and 
 is very good to her, and yet cannot bear that she should 
 seem to settle anything without consulting his whim. 
 And Philip Compton had never been what might be 
 called an easy-going man. It was right of Elinor to 
 give no answer till she knew what he would like. The 
 dreadful thing was that she expressed no pleasure in 
 her mother's proposal, scarcely looked as if she herself 
 would like it, which was a thing which did give an un- 
 questionable wound. 
 
 "Mamma," she said, as they were driving to the 
 station, not in the pony carriage this time, but in the 
 lly, for the weather was bad, " don't be vexed that 1 
 don't say more about your wonderful, your more than 
 kind offer." 
 
 " Kind is scarcely a word to use, Elinor, between you 
 and me." 
 
 "I know, I know, mamma and I as good as refuse 
 it, saying nothing. Oh, if I could tell you without tell- 
 ing you ! I am so frightened how can I say it ? that 
 you should see things you would not approve ! " 
 
 " My dear, I am of one generation and you are of 
 another. I am an old woman, and your husband is a 
 young man. But what does that matter ? We can 
 agree to differ. I will never thrust myself into his 
 private affairs, and he " 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother darling, it is not that," Elinor 
 said. And she went away without any decision. But 
 in a few days there came to Mrs. Dennistoun a letter 
 from Philip himself, most nobly expressed, saying that 
 Elinor had told him of her mother's kind offer, and that 
 he hastened to accept it with the utmost gratitude ami 
 devotion. He had just been wondering, he wrote, how 
 he was to muster all things necessary for Elinor, with 
 the business engagements which were growing upon 
 himself. Nobody could understand better than Nell's 
 good mother how necessary it was that he should 
 neglect no means of securing their position, and he had 
 found that often he would have to leave his darling by
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 197 
 
 herself : but this magnificent, this magnanimous offer 
 on her part would make everything right. Need he 
 say how gratefully he accepted it ? Nell and he being 
 on the spot would immediately begin looking out for 
 the house, and when they had a list of three or four to 
 look air he hoped she would come up to their rooms and 
 select what she liked best. This response took away 
 Mrs. Demiistoun's breath, for, to tell the truth, she had 
 her own notions as to the house she wanted and as to 
 the time to be spent in town, and would certainly have 
 preferred to manage everything herself. But in this 
 she had to yield, with thankfulness that in the main 
 point she was to have her way. 
 
 Did she have her way? It is very much to be 
 doubted whether in such a situation of affairs it would 
 have been possible. The house that was decided upon 
 was not one which she would have chosen for her- 
 self, neither would she have taken it from Easter to 
 July. She had meant a less expensive place and a 
 shorter season ; but after all, what did that matter for 
 once if it pleased Elinor ? The worst of it was that she 
 could not at all satisfy herself that it pleased Elinor. 
 It pleased Philip, there was no doubt, but then it had 
 not been intended except in a very secondary way to 
 please him. And when the racket of the season began 
 Mrs. Deunistouu had a good deal to bear. Philip, 
 though he was supposed to be a man of business and 
 employed in the city, got up about noon, which was 
 dreadful to all her orderly country habits ; the whole 
 afternoon through there was a perpetual tumult of visi- 
 tors, who, when by chance she encountered them in the 
 hall or on the stairs, looked at her superciliously as if she 
 were the landlady. The man Avho opened the door, and 
 brushed Philip Compton's clothes, and was in his service, 
 looked superciliously at her too, and declined to have any- 
 thing to say to " the visitors for down-stairs." A noise of 
 laughter and loud talk was (distinctly) in her ears from 
 noon till late at night. When Philip came home, 
 always much later than his wife, he was in the habit of 
 bringing men with him, whose voices rang through the
 
 198 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 house after everybody was in bed. To be sure, there 
 were compensations. She had Elinor often for an hour 
 or two in the morning before her husband was up. 
 She had her in the evenings when they were not going 
 out, but these were few. As for Philip, he never dined 
 at home. When he had no engagements he dined at 
 his club, leaving Elinor with her mother. He gave 
 Mrs. Deuuistouu very little of his company, and when 
 they did meet there was in his manner too a sort of 
 reflection of the superciliousness of the " smart " visitors 
 and the "smart" servant. She was to him, too, in 
 some degree the landlady, the old lady down-stairs. 
 Elinor, as was natural, redoubled her demonstrations of 
 affection, her excuses and sweet words to make up for 
 this neglect : but all the time there was in her mother's 
 mind that dreadful doubt which assails us when we 
 have committed ourselves to one act or another, " Was 
 it wise? Would it not have been better to have 
 denied herself and stayed fiway ? " So far as self-denial 
 went, it was more exercised in Curzon Street than it 
 would have been at the Cottage. For she had to see 
 many things that displeased her and to say no word ; 
 to guess at the tears, carefully washed away from Eli- 
 nor's eyes, and to ask no questions, and to see what she 
 could not but feel was the violent career downward, the 
 rush that must lead to a catastrophe, but make no sign. 
 There was one evening wbefi Elinor, not looking well 
 or feeling well, had stayed at home, Philip having n 
 whole long list of engagements in hand ; men's engage- 
 ments, his wife explained, a stockbrokiug dinner, an 
 adjournment to somebody's chambers, a prolonged sit- 
 ting, which meant play, and a great deal of wine, and 
 other attendant circumstances into which she did not 
 enter. Elinor had no engagement for that night, and 
 was free to be petted and feted by her mother. She 
 was put at her ease in a soft and rich dressing-gown, 
 and the pi-ettiest little dinner served, and the room 
 tilled with flowers, and everything done that used to be 
 done when she was recovering from some little mock 
 illness, some child's malady, just enough to show how
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 199 
 
 dear above everything was the child to the mother, and 
 with what tender ingenuity the mother could invent 
 new delights for the child. These delights, alas ! did 
 .not transport Elinor now as they once had done, and 
 yet the repose was sweet, and the comfort of this near- 
 est and dearest friend to lean upon something more 
 than words could say. 
 
 On this evening, however, in the quiet of those still 
 hours, poor Elinor's heart was opened, or rather her 
 mouth, which on most occasions was closed so firmly. 
 She said suddenly, in the midst of something quite 
 different, " Oh, I wish Phil was not so much engaged 
 with those dreadful city men." 
 
 " My dear ! " said Mrs. Dennistoun, who was think- 
 ing of far other things ; and then she said, " there 
 surely cannot be much to fear in that respect. He is 
 never in the city he is never up, my dear, when the 
 city men are doing their work." 
 
 "Ah," said Elinor, "I don't think that matters; he 
 is in with them all the same." 
 
 " Well, Elinor, there is no reason that there should 
 be any harm in it. I would much rather he had some 
 real business in hand than be merely a butterfly of 
 fashion. You must not entertain that horror of city 
 men." 
 
 " The kind he knows are different from the kind you 
 know, mamma." 
 
 "I suppose everything is different from what it was 
 in my time : but it need not be any worse for that 
 
 " Oh, mother! you are obstinate in thinking well of 
 everything ; but sometimes I am so frightened, I feel 
 as if I must do something dreadful myself to precipi- 
 tate the ruin which nothing I can do will stop " 
 
 " Elinor, Elinor, this is far too strong language ' 
 
 "Mamma, he wants me to speak to you again. He 
 wants you to give your money 
 
 " But I have told you already I cannot give it, Elinor." 
 
 " Heaven be praised for that ! But he will speak to 
 you himself, he will perhaps try to bully you, mamma." 
 
 "Elinor! "
 
 200 THi: MA1U11 AUK or ELINOR. 
 
 " It is horrible, what I say ; yes, it is horrible, but 
 I want to warn you. He says things 
 
 " Nothing that he can say will make me forget that 
 he is your husband, Elinor." 
 
 "Ah, but don't think too much of that, mamma. 
 Think that he doesn't know what he is doing poor 
 Phil, oh, poor Phil ! He is hurried on by these people ; 
 and then it will break up, and the poor people will be 
 ruined, and they will upbraid him, and yet he will not 
 be a whit the better. He does not get any of the profit. 
 
 I can see it all as clear And there are so many 
 
 other things." 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun's heart sank in her breast, for she 
 too knew what were the other things. " We must have 
 patience," she said ; " he is in his hey-day, full of high 
 spirits, and thinking everything he touches must go 
 right. He will steady down in time." 
 
 " Oh, I am not complaining," cried Elinor, hurriedly 
 dashing her tears away ; "if you were not a dreadfully 
 good mamma, if you would grumble sometimes and 
 iind fault, that I might defend him ! It is the sight of 
 you there, seeing everything and not saying a word 
 that is too much for me." 
 
 "Then I will grumble, Elinor. I will even say some- 
 thing to him for our own credit. He should not come 
 in so late at least when he comes in he should come in 
 to rest and not bring men with him to make a noise. 
 You see I can find fault as much us heart could desire. 
 I am dreadfully selfish. I don't mind when he goes 
 out now and then without you, for then I have you ; 
 but he should not bring noisy men with him to disturb 
 the house in the middle of the night. I think I will 
 speak to him 
 
 "No," said Elinor, with a clutch upon her mother's 
 arm ; " no, don't do that He does not like to be found 
 fault with. Unless in the case if you were giving 
 him that money, mother." 
 
 " Which I cannot do : and Elinor, my darling, which 
 I would not do if I could. It is all you wiD have to rely 
 upon, you and "
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 201 
 
 " It would have been the only chance," said Elinor. 
 " I don't say it would have been much of a chance. 
 But he might have listened, if Oh, no, dear moth- 
 er, no. I would not in niy sober senses wish that 
 you should give him a penny. It would do no good, 
 but only harm. And yet if you had done it, you might 
 
 have said and he might have listened to you for 
 
 once " 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A FEW days after this Philip Compton came in, in the 
 afternoon, to the little room down-stairs which Mrs. 
 Dennistoun had made into a sitting-room for herself. 
 Elinor had gone out with her sister-in-law, and her 
 mother was alone. It was a very rare thing indeed for 
 Mrs. Dennistoun's guest who, indeed, was to all in- 
 tents and purposes the master of the house, and had 
 probably quite forgotten by this time that he was not 
 in reality so to pay a visit "down-stairs." "Down- 
 stairs " had a distinct meaning in the Compton vocabu- 
 lary. It was spoken of with significance, and with a 
 laugh, as something half hostile, half ridiculous. It 
 meant a sort of absurd criticism and inspection, as of 
 some old crone sitting vigilant, spying upon everything 
 a mother-in-law. Phil's cronies thought it was the 
 most absurd weakness on his part to let such an in- 
 truder get footing in his house. " You will never get 
 rid of her," they said. ^Jid Phil, though he was gener- 
 ally quite civil to his writ's mother (being actually and 
 at his heart more a gentleman than he had the least 
 idea he was), did not certainly in any way seek her so- 
 ciety. He scarcely ever dined at home, as has been 
 said ; when he, had not an engagement and he had a 
 great many engagements he found that he was obliged 
 to dine at his club on the evenings when he might have 
 been free ; and as this was the only meal which was 
 supposed to be common, it may be perceived that Phil
 
 202 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 had little means of meeting his mother-in-law ; and 
 that he should come to see her of his own free will was 
 unprecedented. Phil Compton had not improved since 
 his marriage. His nocturnal enjoyments, the noisy 
 parties up- stairs in the middle of the night, had not 
 helped to dissipate the effect of the anxieties of the city, 
 which his wife so deplored. Mrs. Dennistoun that very 
 day, when she came down-stairs in the fresh summer 
 morning to her early breakfast, had seen through an 
 open door the room up-stairs which was appropriated to 
 Phil, with a lamp still burning in the daylight, cards 
 lying strewn about the floor, and all in that direful dis- 
 order which a room so occupied overnight shows in the 
 clear e} r e of the day. The aspect of the room had given 
 her a shock almost more startling than any moral cer- 
 tainty, as was natural to a woman used to all the deco- 
 rums and delicacies of a well-ordered life. There is no 
 sin in going late to bed, or even letting a lamp burn 
 into the day ; but the impression that such a sight 
 makes even upon the careless is always greater than any 
 mere apprehension by the mind of the midnight sit- 
 ting, the eager game, the chances of loss and ruin. She 
 had not been able to get that sight out of her eyes. 
 Though on ordinary occasions she never entered Phil's 
 rooms, on this she had stolen in to put out the lamp, 
 with the sensation in her mind of destroying some 
 evidence against him, which someone less interested 
 than she might have used to his disadvantage. And 
 she had sent up the housemaid to " do " the room, 
 with an admonition. "I cannot have Mr. Compton's 
 rooms neglected," she said. "The gentlemen is always 
 so late," the housemaid said in self-defence. "I hears 
 them let themselves out sometimes after we're all up 
 down-stairs." "I don't want to hear anything about 
 the gentlemen. Do your work at the proper time ; that 
 is all that is asked of you." Phil's servant appeared at 
 the moment pulling on his coat, with the air of a man 
 who has been up half the night which, indeed, was 
 the case, for " the gentlemen " when they came in had 
 various wants that had to be supplied. " What's up
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR 
 
 now?" he said to the housemaid, within hearing of her 
 mistress, casting an insolent look at the old lady, who 
 belonged to " down- stairs." "She've been prying and 
 
 spying about like they all do " Mrs. Dennistoun 
 
 had retreated within the shelter of her room to escape 
 the end of this sentence, which still she heard, with 
 the usual quickness of our faculties in such cases. 
 She swallowed her simple breakfast with what appe- 
 tite she might, and her stout spirit for the moment 
 broke down before this insult which was ridiculous, 
 she said to herself, from a saucy servant-man. What 
 did it matter to her what Johnson did or said ? But it 
 was like the lamp burning in the sunshine : it gave a 
 moral shock more sharp than many a thing of much 
 more importance would have been capable of doing, and 
 she had not been able to get over it all day. 
 
 It may be supposed, therefore, that it was an un- 
 fortunate moment for Phil Compton's visit. Mrs. Den- 
 nistouu had scarcely seen them that day, and she was 
 sitting by herself, somewhat sick at heart, wondering if 
 anything would break the routine into which their life 
 was falling ; or if this was what Elinor must address 
 herself to as its usual tenor. It would be better in the 
 country, she said to herself. It was only in the bustle 
 of the season, when everybody of his kind was congre- 
 gated in town, that it would be like this. In their 
 rounds of visits, or when the whole day was occupied 
 with sport, such nocturnal sittings would be impossible 
 and she comforted herself by thinking that they 
 would not be consistent with any serious business in 
 the city such as Elinor feared. The one danger must 
 push away the other. He could not gamble at night in 
 that way, and gamble in the other among the stock- 
 brokers. They were both ruinous, no doubt, but they 
 could not both be carried on at the same time or so, 
 at least, this innocent woman thought. There was 
 enough to be anxious and alarmed about without taking 
 two impossible dangers into her mind together. 
 
 And just then Phil knocked at her door. He came 
 in smiling and gracious, and with that look of high
 
 20-4 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 breeding and woir fair<> which had conciliated her be- 
 fore and which she felt the influence of now, although 
 she was aware how many drawbacks there were, and 
 knew that the respect which her son-in-law showed was 
 far from genuine. "I never see you to have a chat," 
 he said ; "I thought I would take the opportunity to- 
 day, when Elinor was out. I want you to tell me how 
 you think she is." 
 
 "I think ske is wonderfully well," said Mrs. Den- 
 nistoun. 
 
 " WondnftiUy well you mean considering that 
 there is too much racket in her life ? " 
 
 "Partly, I mean that but, indeed, I meant it with- 
 out condition ; she is wonderfully well. I am sur- 
 prised, often " 
 
 "It is rather a racket of a life," said Phil. 
 
 "Too much, indeed it is too much for a woman 
 who i.s beginning her serious life but if you think that, 
 it is a great thing gained, for j-ou can put a stop to it, 
 or moderate 'the pace ' don't you call it?" she said, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Well, yes. I suppose we could moderate the pace 
 but that would mean a great deal for me. You see, 
 when a man's launched it isn't always so easy to stop. 
 Nell, of course, if you thought she wanted it might go 
 to the country with you." 
 
 Mrs. Dennistouu's heart gave a leap. " Might go to 
 the country with you ! " It seemed a glimpse of Para- 
 dise that burst upon her. But then she shook her 
 head. "You know Elinor would not leave you, 
 Philip." 
 
 " Well ! she has a ridiculous partiality," he said, with 
 a laugh, " though, of course, I'd make her if it was 
 really for her advantage," he added, after a moment ; 
 u don't think I'd let that stand in her way." 
 
 ' In the meantime," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with hesi- 
 tation, " without proceeding to any such stringent meas- 
 uresif you could manage to be a little less late at 
 night." 
 
 "Oh, you listen for my coming in at night?"
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 205 
 
 His face took a sombre look, as if a cloud had come 
 over it. 
 
 "I do not listen for happily for me I have been 
 asleep for hours. I generally jump up thinking the 
 house is on fire at the sound of voices, which make 
 listening quite unnecessary, Philip." 
 
 "Ah, yes, the fellows are rather noisy," he said, care- 
 lessly, " but Xell sleeps like a top, and pays no atten- 
 tionwhich is the best thing she can do.'' 
 
 ' I would not be too sure she slept like a top." 
 
 " It's true ; women are all hypocrites alike. You 
 never know when you have them." Phil said. 
 
 And then there was a pause ; for she feared to say 
 anything more lest she should go too far ; and he for 
 once in his life was embarrassed, and did not know how 
 to begin what he had to say. 
 
 "Well," he said, quickly, getting up, "I must be 
 going. I have business in the city. And now that 
 
 I find you're satisfied about Nell's health By 
 
 the way, you never show in our rooms ; though Xell 
 spends every minute she has to spare here." 
 
 " I am a little old perhaps for your friends, Philip, 
 and the room is not too large." 
 
 " Well, no," he said, "' they are wretched little rooms. 
 Good-by, then ; I'm glad you think Xell is all right." 
 
 Was this all he meant to say ? There was. however, 
 an uncertainty about his step, and by the time he had 
 opened the door he came to a pause, half closed it 
 'again, and said, " Oh, by the bye ! " 
 
 ' What is it?" said Mrs. Deunistoun. 
 
 He closed the door again and came back half a step. 
 "I almost forgot, I meant to tell you : if you have any 
 money to invest, I could help you to The best 
 thing I've heard of for many a day ! " 
 
 You are very kind, Philip ; but you know every- 
 thing I have is in the hands of trustees." 
 
 " Oh, bother trustees. The only thing they do is to 
 keep your dividends down to the lowest amount possible 
 and cut short your income. Come, you're quite old 
 enough to judge for yourself. You might give them a
 
 206 TJJK MARPJAOK Or ELINOR. 
 
 jog. At your time of life they ought to take a hint from 
 you." 
 
 " I have never done it, Philip, and they would pay no 
 attention to me." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense, mamma. Why except you, who has 
 a right to be consulted except Neil ? and if I, her hus- 
 band, am your adviser " 
 
 " I know they would do nothing but mock at me." 
 
 "Rubbish! I'd like to see who would mock at you. 
 Just you send them to me, that is all." 
 
 " Philip, will you not believe me when I say that it is 
 impossible? I have never interfered. They would ask 
 what made me think of such a thing now." 
 
 "And you could tell them a jolly good opportunity, 
 as safe as the bank, and paying six or seven per cent. 
 none of your fabulous risky ten or twelve businesses, 
 
 but a solid steady How could it be to my interest 
 
 to mislead you ? It would be Nell who would be the 
 loser. I should be simply cutting off my own head." 
 
 " That is true, no doubt " 
 
 " And,' 1 he said, scarcely waiting for her reply, " Nell 
 is really the person who should be consulted : for if 
 there was loss eventually it would come upon her and 
 so upon me. I mean taking into consideration all the 
 chances of the future : for it is perfectly safe for your 
 time, you may be quite sure of that." 
 
 No one, though he might be ninety, likes to have hia 
 time limited, and his heir's prospects dwelt upon as the 
 only things of any importance, and Mrs. Dennistoun was 
 a very long way from ninety. She would have sacri- 
 ficed everything she had to make her child happy, but 
 she did not like, all the same, to be set down as unim- 
 portant so far as her own property was concerned. 
 
 " I am afraid," she said, with a slight quaver in her 
 voice, " that my trustees would not take Elinor's wishes 
 into consideration in the first place, nor yours either, 
 Philip. They think of me, and I suppose that is really 
 their duly. If I had anything of my own 
 
 " Do you mean to say," he said, bluntly, " that with a 
 good income and living in the country in a hole, in the
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOB. 207 
 
 most obscure way, von have saved nothing all these 
 years ? " 
 
 " If I had," said Mrs. Denuistouu, roused by his per- 
 sistent attack, "I should be very sorry to fling it 
 away." 
 
 " Oh, that is what you think ? " he said. '' Now 
 we're at the bottom of it. You think that to put it in 
 my hands would be to throw it away ! I thought there 
 must be something at the bottom of all this pretty ig- 
 norance of business and so forth. Good gracious ! that 
 may be well enough for a girl ; but when a grandmother 
 pretends not to know, not to interfere, etc., that's too 
 much. So this is what you meant all the time ! To put 
 it into my hands would be throwing it away ! " 
 
 " I did not mean to say so, Philip I spoke hastily, 
 but I must remind you that I am not accustomed to 
 this tone " 
 
 " Oh, no, not at all accustomed to it, you all say 
 that that's Nell's dodge never was used to anything 
 of the kind, never had a rough word said to her, and 
 so forth and so forth." 
 
 " Philip I hope you don't say rough words to my 
 Elinor." 
 
 "Oh!" he said, "I have got you there, have L 
 Your Elinor no more yours than she is Johnson's. 
 She is my Nell, and what's more, she'll cling to me, 
 whatever rough words I may say, or however you may 
 coax or wheedle. Do you ever think when you refuse 
 to make a sacrifice of one scrap of your hoards for her, 
 that if I were not a husband in a hundred I might take 
 it out of her and make her pay ? " 
 
 'For what'?" said Mrs. Dennistoun, standing up 
 and confronting him, her face pale, her head very erect 
 " for what would you make her pay ? " 
 
 He stood staring at her for a moment and then he 
 broke out into a laugh. "We needn't face each other 
 as if we were going to have a stand-up fight," he said. 
 "And it wouldn't be fair, mamma, we're not equally 
 matched, the knowing ones would all lay their money 
 u. So you won't take my advice about investing
 
 TUK M Mill I. WE or KL1XO.11. 
 
 your spare rash ? Well, if you won't you won't, and 
 there's an end of it : only stand up fair and don't 
 bother me with nonsense about trustees." 
 
 "It is no nonsense," she said. 
 
 His eyes flashed, but he controlled himself and turned 
 away, waving his hand. " I'll not beat Nell for it when 
 I come home to-night," he said. 
 
 Once more Phil dined at his club that evening and 
 Elinor with her mother. She WHS in an eager and ex- 
 cited state, looking anxiously in Mrs. Dennistoun's eyes, 
 but it was not till late in the evening that she made any 
 remark. At last, just before they parted for the 
 night, she threw herself upon her mother with a little 
 cry " Oh, mamma, I know you are right, I know you 
 are quite right. But if you could have done it. it would 
 have given you an influence ! I don't blame you not 
 for a moment but it might have given you an opening 
 to speak. It might have given you a little hold OK 
 him." 
 
 "My darling, my darling ! " said Mrs. Dennistoun. 
 
 "No," said Elinor, " there's nothing to pity me about, 
 nothing at all Phil is always kind and good to me 
 but you would have had a standing ground. It might 
 have given you a right to speak about those dreadful, 
 dreadful city complications, mamma." 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun went to bed that night a troubled 
 woman, and lay awake watching and expecting when 
 the usual midnight tumult should arise. But that 
 evening then- was none. No sound but the key in the 
 latch, the shutting of a door or two, and all quiet. 
 Compunctions filled the mother's heart. What was 
 the wrong if, perhaps, she could satisfy Elinor, perhaps 
 get at the heart of Phil, who had a heart, though it was 
 getting strangled in all those intricacies of gambling 
 and wretched business. She turned over and over in 
 her rnind all that she had, and all that she had any 
 power over. And she remembered a small sum she had 
 in a mortgage, which was after all in her own power. 
 No doubt it would be to throw the money away, which 
 would be so much gone from the future provision of
 
 THE HARHIAnK O/-' Kf.l'XOR. 1'fiO 
 
 Elinor but if by that means she could acquire an in- 
 fluence as Elinor said be allowed to speak to protest 
 or perhaps even insist upon a change of cor 
 Thinking over such a question for a whole sleepless 
 night, and feeling beneath all that at least, at worst, 
 this sacrifice would give pleasure to Elinor, which was 
 really the one and sole motive, the only thing that could 
 give her any warrant for such a proceeding is not a 
 process which is likely to strengthen the mind. In the 
 morning, as soon as she knew he was up, which was 
 not till late enough, she sent to ask if Phil would give 
 her five minutes before he went out. He appeared after 
 a while, extremely correct and point device, grave but 
 polite. " I must ask you to excuse me," he said, " if I 
 am hurried, for to-day is one of my Board days." 
 
 " It was only to say, Philip you spoke to me yester- 
 day of money to be invested." 
 
 " Yes ? " he said politely, without moving a muscle. 
 
 " I have been thinking it all over, and I remember 
 that there is a thousand pounds or two which John 
 Tatham placed for me in a mortgage, and which is in 
 my own power." 
 
 Ah ! " he said, "a thousand pounds or two," with a 
 shrug of his shoulders ; " it is scarcely worth while, is it, 
 changing an investment for so small a matter as a thou- 
 sand pounds? " 
 
 " If you think so, Philip it is all I can think of that 
 is in my own power." 
 
 " It is really not worth the trouble," he said, "and I 
 am in a hurry." He made a step towards the door and 
 then turned round again. ''Well," he said, "just to 
 show there is no ill-feeling, I'll find you something, per- 
 haps, to put your tuppenceha'penny in to-day." 
 
 And then there was John Tatham to face after that ! 
 
 14
 
 LHU T11K NARlil.\r,h 01' ELINOR. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IT cost Mrs. Dennistoun a struggle to yield to her 
 daughter and her daughter's husband, and with her 
 open and no delusion on the subject to throw a\v;i y 
 her two thousand pounds. Two thousand pounds is a 
 lug thing to throw away. There' are many people much 
 richer than Mrs. Dennistoun who would have thought 
 it a wicked thing to do, and some who would have 
 quarrelled with both daughter and son-in-law rather 
 than do so foolish a tiling. For it was not merely 
 making a present, so to speak, of the money, it was 
 throwing it away. To have given it to Elinor would 
 have been nothing, it would have been a pleasure ; but 
 in Phil's investment Mrs. Dennistoun had no confidence. 
 It. was throwing her money after Elinor's money into 
 that hungry sea which swallows up everything and 
 gives nothing again. 
 
 But if that had been difficult for her, it may be im- 
 agined with what feelings she contemplated her neces- 
 sary meeting witli JohnTatham. She knew everything 
 he would say more, she knew what, he would look : his 
 astonishment, his indignation, the amazement with 
 which he would regard it. John was far from being 
 incapable of a sacrifice. Mrs. Dennistoun, indeed, did 
 him more than justice in that respect, for she believed 
 that he had himself been on the eve of asking Elinor to 
 marry him when she was snatched up by, oh, so much 
 M'lnry ,-i man ! which the reader knows is 'not 
 quite the case, though perhaps it required quite as 
 much self-denial on John's part to stand by Elinor and 
 maintain her cause under her altered circumstances as 
 if it had been the case. But notwithstanding this, she 
 know that John would be angry with what she had 
 done or promised to do, and would put every possible 
 impediment in her way : and when she sent for him, in 
 urder that she might carry out her promise, it was with
 
 THE XARKLlfrK OF ELIXOR. 211 
 
 a heart as sick with fright and as much disturbed by 
 the idea of a scolding as ever child's was. 
 
 John had been very little to the house at Curzon 
 Street. He had dined two or three times with Mrs. 
 Dennistoun alone, and once or twice Elinor had been 
 of the party ; but the Comptous had never any guests 
 at that house, and the fact already mentioned that 
 Philip Compton never dined at home made it a dif- 
 ficult matter for Mrs. Dennistoun to ask any but her 
 oldest friends to the curious little divided house, which 
 was neither hers nor theirs. Thus Cousin John had 
 met, but no more, Elinor's husband, and neither of the 
 gentlemen had shown the least desire to cultivate the 
 acquaintance. John had not expressed his sentiments 
 on the subject to any one, but Phil, as was natural, had 
 been more demonstrative. "I don't think much of 
 your relations, Nell," he said, " if that's a specimen : a 
 prig if ever there was one and that old sheep that was 
 at the wedding, the father of him, I suppose " 
 
 ''As they are my relations, Phil, you might speak 
 of them a little more respectfully." 
 
 " Oh, respectfully ! Bless us all ! I have no respect 
 for my own, and why I should have for yours, my little 
 dear, I confess I can't see. Oh, by the way, this is 
 Cousin John, who I used to think bv vour blushing and 
 all that " 
 
 " Phil. I think you are trying to make me angry. 
 Cousin John is the best man in the world ; but I never 
 blushed how ridiculous ! I might as well have blushed 
 to speak of my brother." 
 
 " I put no confidence in brothers, unless they're real 
 ones," said Phil ; "but I'm glad I've seen him, Nell. I 
 doubt after all that you're such a fool, when you see us 
 together eh ? " He laughed that laugh of conscious 
 superiority which, when it is not perfectly well-found- 
 ed, sounds so fatuous to the hearer. Elinor did not 
 look at him. She turned her head away and made no 
 reply. 
 
 John, on his part, as has been said, made no remark. 
 If he had possessed a wife at home to whom he could
 
 212 77.' fl VAKHfA'.tK OF ELINOR. 
 
 have confided ]jis sentiments, as Phil Compton Lad, it 
 is possible that he might have said something not un- 
 similar. But then had he had a wife at home he would 
 been more indifferent to Phil, and might not have 
 eared to criticise him at all. 
 
 Mrs. Deunistouu received him when he came in obe- 
 dience to her call, as n child might do who had the 
 power of receiving its future corrector. She abased 
 herself before him, servilely choosing his favourite sub- 
 jects, talking- of what she thought would please him, of 
 former times at the Cottage, of Elinor, and her great 
 affection for Cousin John, and so forth. I imagine 
 that he had a suspicion of the cause of all this sweet- 
 ness. He looked at her suspiciously, though he allowed 
 himself to be drawn into reminiscences, and to feel 
 a half pleasure, half pain in the affectionate things 
 that Elinor had said. At length, after some time had 
 d, lie asked, in a pause of the conversation, "Was 
 this all you wanted with me, aunt, to talk of old times ? " 
 
 1 'Wasn't it a good enough pretext for the pleasure of 
 seeing you, John ? " 
 
 He laughed a little and shook his head. 
 
 ' An excellent pretext where none was wanted. It is 
 very kind of you to think it a pleasure : but you had 
 something also to say?" 
 
 " It seems there is no deceiving you, John," she 
 said, and with many hesitations and much difficulty, 
 told him her story. She saw him begin to flame. She 
 saw his eyes light up, and Mrs. Dennistoun shook in 
 her chair. She was not a woman apt to be afraid, but 
 she was frightened now. 
 
 Nevertheless, when she had finished her story, John 
 at first spoke no word : and when he did find a tongue 
 it was only to say, 
 
 " You want to get back the money you have on that 
 mortgage. My dear aunt, why did not you tell me so 
 at once? " 
 
 " -But I have just told you, John." 
 
 " Well, so be it. You know it will take a little 
 ire some formalities that must be gone
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELISOR. '21.'! 
 
 through. You cannot make a demand on people in 
 that way to pay you cash at once." 
 
 " Oh, I thought it was so easy to get money on 
 such very good security and paying such a good 
 adequate rate of interest." 
 
 " It is easy," he said, " perfectly easy ; but it wants a 
 little time : and people will naturally wonder, if it is 
 really good security and good interest, why you should 
 be in such a hurry to get out of it." 
 
 ' But surely, to pay private reasons family reasons, 
 that will be enough.' 
 
 ' Oh, there is no occasion for giving any reason at 
 all. You wish to do it ; that is reason enough." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with diffidence, yet 
 also a little self-assertion, "I think it is enough." 
 
 " Of course, of course." But his eyes were flaming, 
 and Mrs. Dennistoun would not allow herself to believe 
 that she had got off. " And may I ask not that I have 
 any right to ask, for of course you have better advisers 
 what do you mean to put the money in, when you 
 have got it back ? " 
 
 '" Oh, John," said Mrs. Denuistoun, " you are implac- 
 able, though you pretend different. You know what I 
 want with the money, and you disapprove of it, and so 
 do I. I am going to throw it away. I know that just 
 as well as you do, and I am a'shamed of myself : but I 
 am going to do it all the same." 
 
 "You are going to give it to Elinor? I don't think 
 there is anything to disapprove of in that. It is the 
 most natural thing in the world." 
 
 " If I could be sure that Elinor would get any good 
 by it," she said. 
 
 And then his face suddenly blazed up, so that the 
 former flame in his eyes was nothing. He sat for a 
 moment staling at her, and then he said, "Yes, if but 
 I suppose you take the risk." There were a great 
 many things on his lips to say, but he said none of 
 them, except hurriedly, " You have a motive, I sup- 
 pose " 
 
 " I have a motive as futile probably as my act-^-if I
 
 214 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 could by that means, or any other, acquire an in- 
 fluence " 
 
 John was very seldom, if ever, rude it was not in 
 his way but at this moment he was so bitterly exas- 
 perated that he forgot his manners altogether. He 
 burst out into a loud laugh, and then he jumped up to 
 his feet and said, " Forgive me. I really have a dozen 
 engagements. I can't stay. I'll see to having this 
 business done for you as soon as possible. You would 
 rather old Lynch had no hand in it ? I'll get it done 
 for you at once." 
 
 She followed him out to the door as if they had been 
 in the country, and that the flowery cottage door, with 
 the great world of down and sky outside, instead of 
 Curzou Street : longing to say something that would 
 still, at the last moment, gain her John's approval, or 
 his understanding at least. But slie could think of 
 nothing to say. He had promised to manage it all for 
 her : he had not reproached her ; and yet not content 
 with that she wanted to extort a favourable word from 
 him before he should go. But she could not find a 
 word to say. He it was only who spoke. He asked 
 when she was going to return home, with his hand 
 upon the street door. 
 
 " I don't know. I have not made any plans. The 
 house is taken till July." 
 
 'And y u have enjoyed it?" he said. " It has an- 
 swered ? " 
 
 What a cruel, cruel question to put to her ! She 
 going so unsuspectingly with him to the very door ! 
 Philip Comptou's servant, always about when he was 
 not wanted, spying about to see whom it was that 
 " down-stairs" was letting out, came strolling into 
 sight. Anyhow, whether that was the reason or not, she 
 m;u!' him no reply. He caught her look a look that 
 said more than words and turned round quickly and 
 held out his hand. "I did not mean to be cruel," he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no you did not mean it you were 
 not cruel. The reverse you are always so kind. Yes,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 215 
 
 it has answered I am more glad than I can tell you 
 that I came." 
 
 He it was now that looked at her anxiously, while she 
 smiled that well-worn smile which is kept for people in 
 trouble. She went in afterwards and sat silent for some 
 time, covering her face with her hands ; in which atti- 
 tude Elinor found her after her afternoon visitors had 
 gone away." 
 
 "What is it, mother? What is it, dear mother? 
 Something has happened to vex you." 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, Elinor. John Tatham has been 
 here. He is going to do that little piece of business 
 for me." 
 
 " And he has been bullying you too? poor 
 
 mamma 
 
 ' On the contrary, he did not say a word. He con- 
 sidered it quite natural." 
 
 Elinor gave her mother a kiss. She had nothing to 
 say. Neither of them had a word to say to the other. 
 The thought that passed through both their minds 
 was: "After all it is only two thousand pounds" 
 and then, apres? was Elinor's thought. And then, 
 never more, never more! was- what passed through Mrs. 
 Dennistoun's mind. 
 
 Phil Compton smiled upon her that day she handed 
 him over the money. " It is a great pity you took the 
 trouble," he said. "It is a pity to change an invest- 
 ment for such a bagatelle as two thousand pounds. 
 5fcill, if you insist upon it, mamma. I suppose Nell's 
 been bragging of the big interest, but you never will 
 feel it on a scrap like this. If you would let me double 
 your income for you now." 
 
 "You know, Philip, I cannot. The trustees would 
 never consent." 
 
 "Bother trustees. They are the ruin of women," 
 he said, and as he left the room he turned back to ask 
 her how long she was going to stay in town. 
 
 " How long do you stay ? " 
 
 ' Oh, till Goodwood always," said Phil. " Nell's 
 looking forward to it, and there's generally some good
 
 Till-: MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 things just at the cud when the heavy people have gone 
 ;i\vav ; but I thought you might not care to stay so 
 long." 
 
 "I (tame not for town, but for Elinor, Philip." 
 
 " Exactly so. But don't you think Elinor has shown 
 
 if quite able to take care of herself not to say 
 
 that she has me? It's a thousand pities to keep you 
 
 from the country which you prefer, especially as, after 
 
 all, Nell can be so little with you." 
 
 "It would be much better for her at present, Philip, 
 to come with me, and rest at home, while you go to 
 Goodwood. For the sake of the future you ought to 
 persuade her to do it." 
 
 "I daresay. Try yourself to persuade her to leave 
 me. She won't, you know. But why should you bore 
 yourself to death staying on here? You don't like it, 
 and nobody " 
 
 "Wants mo, you mean, Philip." 
 
 "I never said anything so dashed straightforward. 
 I am not a chap of that kind. But what I say is, it's a 
 shame to keep you hanging on, disturbed in your rest 
 and nil that sort of thing. That noisy beggar, Dismar, 
 that, camo in with UK last night must have woke you up 
 with his idiotic bellowing." 
 
 " It doesn't matter for me ; but Elinor, Philip. It 
 docs matter for your wife. If her rest is broken it will 
 upon her in every way. I wish you would con- 
 sent to forego those visitors in the middle of the 
 night." 
 
 He looked at her with a sort of satirical indifference. 
 "Sorry I can't oblige you," he said. "When a girl's 
 friends fork out handsomely a man has some reason for 
 paying a little attention. But when there's nothing, or 
 next to nothing, on her side, why of course he must 
 pick up a little where he can, as much for her sake as 
 his own." 
 
 " Pick up a little ! " said Mrs. Dennistoun. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't repeat what I say like that. 
 It makes a fellow nervous. Tes, of course, a man that 
 knows what lie's about does pick up a little. About
 
 THE VARRIAGK OF ELINOR. 217 
 
 your movements, however. I advise you to take iny 
 advice and go back to your snug little house. It 
 would kill me in a week, but I know it suits you. 
 Why hang on for Xell ? She's as well as can be, and 
 there's a few things that it would be good for us 
 to do." 
 
 "Which you cannot do while I am here? Is that 
 what you mean, Philip ? " 
 
 "I never saw any good in being what the French 
 call brutal," he said, "I hate making a woman cry, or 
 that sort of thing. But you're a woman of sense, and 
 I'm sure you must see that a young couple like XelJ 
 and me, who have our way to make in the world " 
 
 " You know it was for her sake entirely that I came 
 here." 
 
 "Yes, oh, yes. To do coddling and that sort of 
 thing which she doesn't require a bit ; but if I must 
 be brutal you know there's things of much conse- 
 quence we could do if " 
 
 " If what, Philip ? " 
 
 Well," lie said, turning on his heel, "if we had the 
 house to ourselves." 
 
 This was the influence Mrs. Dennistoun hoped to ac- 
 quire by the sacrifice of her two thousand pounds ! 
 When he was gone, instead of covering her face as she 
 had done when John left hei 1 , Mrs. Denuistouu stared 
 into the vacant air for a minute and then she burst 
 into a laugh. It was not a mirthful laugh, it may be 
 supposed, or harmonious, and it startled her as she 
 heard it pealing into the silence. Whether it was loud 
 enough to wake Elinor up- stairs, or whether she was 
 already close by and heard it, I cannot tell, but she 
 came in with a little tap at the door and a smile, a 
 somewhat anxious and forced smile, it is true, upon 
 her face. 
 
 " What is the joke?" she said. "I heard you laugh, 
 and I thought I might come in and share the fun. 
 Somehow, we don't have so much fun as we used to 
 have. What is it, mamma?" 
 
 "It is only a witticism of Philip's, who has been in
 
 21S THE MAURI Ad E OF ELTXOR. 
 
 to see me," said Mrs. Deimistoun. "I won't repeat it, 
 for probably I should lose the point of it you know I 
 always did spoil a joke in repeating it. I have been 
 speaking to him," she said, after a little pause, during 
 which both her laugh and Elinor's smile evaporated in 
 the most curious way, leaving both of them very grave 
 "of going away, Elinor." 
 
 " Of going away ! " Elinor suddenly assumed a 
 startled look ; but there is a difference between doing 
 that and being really startled, which her mother, alas! 
 was quite enlightened enough to see ; and surely once 
 more there was that mingled relief and relaxation in 
 the lines of her face which Mrs. Dennistoun had seen 
 before. 
 
 "Yes, my darling," she said, "it is June, and every- 
 thing at the Cottage will be in full beauty. And, per- 
 haps, it would do you more good to come down there 
 for a day or two when there is nothing doing than to 
 have me here, which, after all, has not been of very 
 much use to you." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that, mamma. Use ! it has been of 
 comfort unspeakable. But," Elinor added, hurriedly, 
 "I see the force of all you say. To remain in London 
 at this time of the year must be a far greater sacrifice 
 than I have any right to ask of you, mamma." 
 
 Oh, the furtive, hurried, unreal words ! which were 
 such pain and horror to say with the consciousness of 
 the true sentiment lying underneath ; which made Eli- 
 nor's heart sink, yet were brought forth with a sort of 
 hateful fervour, to imitate truth. 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun saw it all. There are times -when 
 the understanding of such a woman is almost equal to 
 those "larger other eyes" A\ it h which it is our fond 
 hope those who have left us for a better country see, if 
 they are permitted to see, our petty doings, knowing, 
 better than we know ourselves, what excuses, what ex- 
 planations, they are capable of. "As for the sacrifice," 
 slic said, we \\ill say nothing of that, Elinor. It is a 
 vain iliing to say that if my life would do you any 
 you don't want to take my life, and prob-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 211) 
 
 ably the best thing I can do for you is to go on as long 
 as I can. But in the meantime there's no question at 
 all of sacrifice and if you can come down now and 
 
 then for a day, and sleep in the fresh air " 
 
 "I will, I will, mamma," said Elinor, hiding her face 
 on her mother's shoulder ; and they would have been 
 something more than women if they had not cried to- 
 gether as they held each other in that embrace in 
 which there was so much more than met either eye or 
 ear. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IT was .about the 10th of June when Mrs. Dennistoun 
 left London. Sue had been in town for about five 
 weeks, which looked like as many months, and it was 
 with a mingled sense of relief, and of that feeling which 
 is like death in the heart, the sense of nothing further 
 to be done, of the end of opportunity, the conclusion of 
 all power to help, which sometimes comes over an anx- 
 ious mind, without in any respect diminishing the anx- 
 iety, giving it indeed a depth and pang beyond any 
 other feeling that is known to the heart of man. What 
 could she do more for her child? Nothing. It was 
 her only policy to remain away, not to see, certainly 
 not to remark anything that was happening, to wait if 
 perhaps the moment might come when she would be of 
 use, and to hope that perhaps that moment might never 
 need to come, that by some wonderful turn of affairs 
 all might yet go well She went back to "\Vindyhill 
 with the promise of a visit " soon," Philip himself had 
 said in the pleasure of getting the house, which was 
 her house, which she had paid for and provisioned, to 
 himself for his own uses. Mrs. Dennistoun could not 
 help hearing through her maid something of the fes- 
 tivities which were in prospect after she was gone, the 
 dinners and gay receptions at which she would have 
 been de trap. She did not wish to hear of them, but
 
 L'-JO THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 these are things that will make themselves known, and 
 Mrs. Dennistoun had to face the fact that Elinor was 
 more or less consenting to the certainly of her mother 
 being de trop, which gave her a momentary pang. But 
 after all, what did it matter '? It was not her fault, 
 poor child. I have known a loving daughter in whose 
 mind there was a sentiment almost of relief amid her 
 deep grief when her tender mother died. Could such a 
 thing be possible ? It was; because after then, how- 
 ever miserable she might be, there was no conflict over 
 her, no rending of the strained heart both ways. A 
 woman who has known life learns to understand and 
 forgive a great many things ; and Mrs. Dennistoun for- 
 gave her Elinor, her only child, for whose happiness she 
 had lived, in that she was almost glad when her mother 
 went away. 
 
 Such things, however, do not make a lonely little 
 house in the country more cheerful, or tend to make it 
 easier to content one's self with the Rector's family, 
 and the good old, simple-minded, retired people, with 
 their little complaints, yet general peacefulness, and in- 
 competence to understand what tragedy was. They 
 thought on the whoLe their neighbour at the Cottage 
 ought to be very thankful that she had got her daugh- 
 ter well, or, if not very well, at least fashionably, mar- 
 ried, with good connections and all that, which are 
 always of use in the long run. It was better than 
 marrying a poor curate, which was almost the only 
 chance a girl had on "Windyhill. 
 
 It was a little hard upon Mrs. Dennistoun, however, 
 that she lost not only Elinor, but John, who had- been 
 so good about coming down when she was all alone at 
 first. Of course, during the season, a young rising 
 man, with engagements growing upon him every day, 
 was very unlikely to have his Saturdays to Mondays 
 free. So many people live out of town nowadays, or, 
 at least, have a little house somewhere to which they 
 go from Saturday to Monday, taking their friends with 
 them. This was no doubt the reason why John never 
 came ; and yet the poor lady suspected another reason,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 221 
 
 and though she no longer laughed as she had done on 
 that occasion when the Honourable Phil gave her her 
 dismissal, a smile would conie over her face sometimes 
 when she reflected that with her two thousand pounds 
 she had purchased the hostility of both Philip and John. 
 John Tatham was indeed exceedingly angry with her 
 for the weakness with which she had yielded to Phil 
 Compton's arguments, though indeed he knew nothing 
 of Phil Compton's arguments, nor whether they had 
 been exercised at all on the woman who was first of all 
 Elinor's mother and ready to sacrifice everything to her 
 comfort. When he found that this foolish step on her 
 part hud been followed by her retirement from Lon- 
 don, he was greaily mystified and quite unable to un- 
 derstand. He met Elinor some time after at one of 
 those assemblies to which "everybody " goes. It was, 
 I think, the soiree at the Royal Academy where amid 
 the persistent crowd in the great room there was a 
 whirling crowd, twisting in and out among the others, 
 bound for heaven knows how many other places, and 
 pausing here and there on tiptoe to greet an acquaint- 
 ance, at the tail of which, carried along by its impetus, 
 was Elinor. She was not looking either well or happy, 
 but she was responding more or less to the impulse of 
 her set, exchanging greetings and banal words with 
 dozens of people, and sometimes turning a wistful and 
 weary gaze towards the pictures on the walls, as if she 
 would gladly escape from the mob of her companions 
 to them, or anywhere. It was no impulse of taste or 
 artistic feeling, however, it is to be feared, but solely 
 the weariness of her mind. John watched her for some 
 time before he approached her. Phil was not of the 
 party, which was nothing extraordinary, for little seri- 
 ous as that assembly is, it was still of much too serious 
 a kind for Phil ; but Lady Mariamue was there, and 
 other ladies with whom Elinor was in the habit of pur- 
 suing that gregarious hunt after pleasure which carries 
 the train of votaries along at so breakneck a price, and 
 with so little time to enjoy the pleasure they are pur- 
 suing. When he saw indications that the stream waa
 
 222 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOE. 
 
 setting backwards to the entrance, again to separate 
 and tp,ke its various ways to other entertainments, he 
 broke into the throng and called Elinor's attention to 
 himself. For a moment she smiled with genuine 
 pleasure at the sight of him, but then changed her as- 
 pect almost imperceptibly. " Oh, John ! " she said 
 with that smile : but immediately looked towards Lady 
 Mariamue, as if undecided what to do. 
 
 " You need not look as if I would try to detain you, 
 Elinor." 
 
 "Do you think I am afraid of your detaining me? 
 I thought I should be sure to meet you to-night, and 
 was on the outlook. How is it that we never see you 
 now? " 
 
 He refused the natural retort that she had never 
 asked to see him, and only said, with a smile, "I hear 
 my aunt is gone." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you only came for her V 
 That is an unkind speech. Yes, she has gone. It was 
 cruel to keep her in town for the best part of the year." 
 
 "But she intended to stay till July, Elinor." 
 
 "Did she? I think you are mistaken, John. She 
 intended to watch over me dear mamma, she thinks 
 too much of me but when she saw that I was quite 
 
 " You don't look to me so extraordinarily well." 
 
 "Don't I? I must be a fraud then. Nobody could 
 be stronger. I'm going to a multitude of places to- 
 night. Wherever my Hebrew leader goes I go," said 
 Elinor, with a laugh. " I have given myself up for to- 
 night, and she is never satisfied with less than a 
 dozen." 
 
 "Ten minutes to each." 
 
 " Oh, half an hour at least : and with having our car- 
 riage found for us at every place, and the risk of get- 
 ting into a (jiil'iH', and all the delays of coming and 
 going, it cannot be much less than three-quarters of an 
 hour. This is the third. I think three more will weary 
 even the Jew." 
 
 "You are with Lady Mariamne then, Elinor ?"
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 223 
 
 " Yes oh, you need not make that face. She is as 
 good as the rest, and pretends to nothing, at least. 1 
 have no carriage, you know, and Phil took fright at my 
 dear old fly. lie thought a hired brougham was not 
 good when I was alone." 
 
 "That was quite true. Nevertheless, I should like 
 above all things to keep you here a little longer to look 
 at some of the pictures, and take you home in a hansom 
 after." 
 
 She laughed. " Oh, so should I fancy, I have not 
 seen the pictures, not at all. We came in a mob to 
 the private view ; and then one day I was coming with 
 
 mamma, but was stopped by something, and now 
 
 Always people, people nothing else. ' Did you see 
 So-and-so? There's some one bowing to you, Nell, 
 ire you speak a word to the Thises or the Thats ' 
 while I don't care for one of them. But I fear the 
 hansom would not do, John." 
 
 " It would have done very well in the old days. 
 Your mother would not have been displeased." 
 
 "The old days are gone and will never return," she 
 said, half sad, half smiling, shaking her head. " So far 
 as I can see, nothing ever returns. You have your 
 day, and if you do not make the best of that " 
 
 She stopped, shaking her head again with a laugh, 
 and there were various ways in which that speech 
 might be interpreted. John for one knew a sense of 
 it which he believed had never entered Elinor's head. 
 He too might have had his day and let it slip. "So 
 you are making the most of yours," he said. "I hear 
 that you are very gay." 
 
 Elinor coloured high under his look. "I don't 
 know who can have told you that. We have had a few 
 little dinners since mamma left us, chiefly Phil's busi- 
 ness friends. I would not have them while she was 
 with us that is to say, to be honest," cried Elinor, 
 "while we were with her: which of course was the real 
 state of the case. I myself don't like those people, 
 John, but they would have been insupportable to 
 uuamma. It was for her sake "
 
 L'24 Till: MAWIIAUE 01-' ELINOR. 
 
 "I understand," he said. 
 
 " Ob, but you must not say ' I understand. ' with that 
 air of knowing a great deal more than there is to un- 
 derstand," she said, with heat. "Mamma said it would 
 do me much more good to go home for a night now 
 and then and sleep in the fresh air than for her to stay ; 
 and though I think she is a little insane on the subject 
 of my health, still it was certainly better than that she 
 should stay here, making herself wretched, her rest 
 broken, and all that. You know we keep such late 
 hours." 
 
 " I should not have thought she would have minded 
 that." 
 
 " But what would you have thought of me if I did 
 not mind it for her? There, John, do you see they 
 are all going? Ah, the pictures! I wish I could have 
 stayed with you and gone round the rooms. But it 
 must not be to-night. Come and see me ! " she said, 
 turning round to him with a smile, and holding out her 
 hand. 
 
 " I would gladly, Elinor but should not I find my- 
 self in the way of your fine friends like " 
 
 He had not the heart to finish the sentence when he 
 met her eyes brimming full of tears. 
 
 " Not my fine friends, but my coarse friends," she 
 said ; " not friends at all, our worst enemies, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " Xell ! " cried Lady Marianme, in her shrill voice. 
 
 " You will come and see me, John ? " 
 
 "Yes," he said, "and in the meantime I will take 
 you down-stairs, let your companions think as they 
 please." 
 
 It proved when he did so that John had to escort 
 both ladies to the carriage, which it was not very easy 
 to find, no other cavalier being at hand for the mo- 
 ment ; and that Lady Marianme invited him to ac- 
 company them to their next stage. " You know the 
 Durfords, of course. You are going there? "What 
 luck for us, Nell ! Jump in, Mr. Tatham, we will take 
 you on."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 225 
 
 " Unfortunately Lady Durford has not taken the 
 trouble to invite me," said John. 
 
 " What does that matter '? Jump in, all the same, 
 she'll be delighted to see you, and as for not asking you, 
 when you are with me and Nell " 
 
 But John turned a deaf ear to this siren's song. 
 
 He went to Curzon Street a little while after to call, 
 as he had been invited to do, and went late to avoid the 
 bustle of the tea-table, and the usual rabble of that no 
 longer intimate but wildly gregarious house. And he 
 was not without his reward. Perhaps a habit he had 
 lately formed of passing by Curzon Street in the late 
 afternoon, when he was on his way to his club, after 
 work was over, had something to do with his choice of 
 this hour. He found Elinor, as he had hoped, alone. 
 She was sitting so close to the window that her white 
 dress mingled with the white curtains, so that he did 
 not at first perceive her, and so much abstracted in her 
 own thoughts that she did not pay any attention to the 
 servant's hurried murmur of his name at the door. 
 When she felt rather than saw that there was some one 
 in the room, Elinor jumped up with a shock of alarm 
 that seemed unnecessary iu her own drawing-rooin ; 
 then seeing who it was, was so much and so suddenly 
 moved that she shed a few tears in some sudden revul- 
 sion of feeling as she said, " Oh, it is you, John !" 
 
 " Yes," he said, "but I am very sorry to see you so 
 nervous. " 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing. I was always nervous " which 
 indeed was the purest invention, for Elinor Dennistoun 
 had not known what nerves meant. "I mean I was 
 always startled by any sudden entrance iu this way," 
 she cried, and very gravely asked him to be seated, 
 with a curious assumption of dignity. Her demeanour 
 altogether was incomprehensible to John. 
 
 "I hope, "lie said, "you were not displeased with 
 me, Elinor, for going off the other night. I should 
 have been too happy, you know, to go with you any- 
 where ; but Lady Mariamne is more than I can stand." 
 
 " I was very glad you did not conie," she said. 
 15
 
 iiit> THE MARRIAGE OF ELISOR. 
 
 with a sigh ; then smiling faintly, " But you were un- 
 grateful, for Mariamue formed a most favourable opinion 
 of you. She said, ' Why didn't you tell me, Nell, you 
 had a cousin so presentable as that ? ' * 
 
 " I am deeply obliged, Elinor ; but it seems that 
 what was a compliment to me personally involved some- 
 thing the reverse for your other relations." 
 
 "It is one of their jokes," said Elinor, with a voice 
 that faltered a little, " to represent my relations as 
 not in a complimentary way. I am supposed not to 
 mind, and it's all a joke, or so they tell me ; but it is 
 not a joke I like," she said, with a flash from her eyes. 
 
 "All families have jokes of that description," said 
 John ; " but tell me, Nelly, are you really going down 
 to the cottage, to your mother ? " 
 
 Her eyes thanked him with a gleam of pleasure for 
 the old familiar name, and then the light went out of 
 them. "I don't know," she said, abruptly. " Phil was 
 to come ; if he will not, I think I will not either. But 
 I will say nothing till I make sure." 
 
 "Of course yoUr first duty is to him," said John ; 
 "'but a day now or a day then interferes with nothing, 
 and the country would be'good for you, Elinor. Doesn't 
 vour husband see it? You are not looking like your- 
 self." 
 
 " Not like myself ? I might easily look better than 
 myself. I wish I could. I am not so bigoted about 
 myself." 
 
 "Your friends are, however," he said : "no one who 
 cares for you wants to change you, even for another 
 Elinor. Come, you are nervous altogether to-night, not 
 like yourself, as I told you. You always so courageous 
 and bright ! This depressed state is not one of your 
 moods. London is too much for you, my little Nelly." 
 
 " Your little Nellie has gone away somewhere John. 
 I doubt if she'll ever come back. Yes, London is rather 
 too much for me, I think. It's such a racket, as Phii 
 suvs. But then he's used to it, you know. He wa* 
 brought up to it, whereas I I think I hate a rackev 
 John and they all like it so. They prefer never hav-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 227 
 
 ing a moment to themselves. I daresay one would 
 end by being just the same. It keeps you from think- 
 ing, that is one very good thing." 
 
 " You used not to think so, Elinor." 
 
 " No," she said, " not at the Cottage among the 
 flowers, where nothing ever happened from one year's 
 end to another. I should die of it now in a week at 
 least if not I, those who belong to me. So on the 
 whole perhaps London is the safest unless Phil will 
 go." 
 
 " I can only hope you will be able to persuade him," 
 said John, rising to go away, " for whatever you may 
 think, you are a country bird, and you want the fresh 
 air." 
 
 "Are you going, John? Well, perhaps it is better. 
 Good-by. Don't trouble your mind about me whether 
 I go or stay." 
 
 " Do you mean I am not to come again, Elinor ? " 
 
 " Oh, why should I mean that?" she said. "You 
 are so hard upon me in your thoughts ; " but she did 
 not say that he was wrong, and John went out from the 
 door saying to himself that he would not go again. He 
 saw through the open door of the dining-room that the 
 table was prepai'ed sumptuously for a dinner-party. 
 It was shining with silver and crystal, the silver Mrs. 
 Dennistoun's old service, which she had brought up 
 with her from Windyhill, and which as a matter of 
 convenience she had left behind with her daughter. 
 Would it ever, he wondered, see Windyhill again ? 
 
 He went on to his club, and there some one began to 
 amuse him with an account of Lady Durford's ball, to 
 which Lady Mariamne had wished to take him. " Are 
 not those Comptons relations of yours, Tatham ? " he 
 said. 
 
 "Connections," said John, "by marriage." 
 
 " I'm very glad that's all. They are a queer lot. 
 Phil Compton you know the dis-Honourable Phil, as he 
 used to be called but I hear he's turned over a new 
 leaf " 
 
 " What of him ? " said John.
 
 228 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " Ob, nothing much : only that lie was flirting des- 
 perately all the evening with n Mrs. Harris, an Ameri- 
 can widow. I believe he came with her and his own 
 wife there much younger, much prettier, a beautiful 
 young creature looking on with astonishment You 
 could see her eyes growing bigger and bigger. If it 
 had not been kind of amusing to a looker-on, it would 
 be the most pitiful sight in the world." 
 
 " I advise you not to let yourself be amused by such 
 trifles," said John Tatham, with a look of fire and 
 flame. 
 
 CHAPTER XXm. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Elinor did not go to the Cottage 
 for the fresh air or anything else. She made one hur- 
 ried run in the afternoon to bid her mother good-by, 
 alone, which was not a visit, but the mere pretence of a 
 visit, hurried and breathless, in which there was no 
 time to talk of anything. She gave Mrs. Dennistoun an 
 account of the usual lists of visits that her husband and 
 she were to make in the autumn, which the mother, 
 witli the usual instinct of mothers, thought too much. 
 "You will wear yourself to death, Elinor." 
 
 " Oh, no," she said, "it is not that sort of thing that 
 wears one to death. I shall enjoy it, I suppose, as 
 other people do " 
 
 " I don't know about enjoyment, Elinor, but I am 
 sure it would be much better for you to come and stay 
 here quietly with me." 
 
 " Oh, don't talk to me of any paradises, mamma. 
 We are in the working-day world, and we must make 
 out our life as we can." 
 
 " But you might let Philip go by himself and come 
 and stay quietly here for a little, for the sake of your 
 health, Elinor."' 
 
 " Not for the world, not for the world," she cried. 
 " I cannot leave Phil : " and then with a laugh that was
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 229 
 
 full of a nervous thrill, " You are always thinking of 
 my health, mamma, when my health is perfect : better, 
 far better, than almost anybody's. The most of them 
 have headaches and that sort of thing, and they stay in 
 bed for a day or two constantly, but I never need any- 
 thing of the kind." 
 
 " My darling, it would not be leaving Philip to take, 
 say, a single week's rest." 
 
 "While he went off without me I should not know 
 where," she said, sullenly ; then gave her mother a 
 guilty look and laughed again. " No, no, mamma ; he 
 would not like it. A man does not like his wife to be 
 an incapable, to have to leave him and be nursed up by 
 her mother. Besides, it is to the country we are going, 
 you know, to Scotland, the finest air ; better even, if 
 that were possible, than Windyhill." 
 
 This was all that was said, and there was indeed time 
 for little more ; for as the visit was unexpected the 
 Hudsons, by bad luck, appeared to take tea with Mrs. 
 Dennistoun by way of cheering her in her loneliness, 
 and were of course enchanted to see Elinor, and to 
 hear, as Mrs. Hudson said, of all her doings in the 
 great world. " We always look out for your name at 
 all the parties. It gives one quite an interest in fash- 
 ionable life," said the Rector's wife, nodding her head, 
 " and Alice was eager to hear what the last mouth's 
 novelties were in the fashions, and if Elinor had any 
 nice new patterns, especially for under-things. But 
 what should you want with new under-things, with such 
 a trousseau as you had ? " she added, regretfully. 
 Elinor in fact was quite taken from her mother for that 
 hour. Was it not, perhaps, better so ? Her mother 
 herself was half inclined to think that it was, though 
 with an ache in her heart, and there could be no doubt 
 that Elinor herself was thankful that it so happened. 
 When there are many questions on one side that must 
 be asked, and very little answer possible on the other, 
 is it a good thing when the foolish outside world breaks 
 in with its banal interest and prevents this dangerous 
 interchange ?
 
 230 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 So short time did Elinor stay that she had kept the 
 fly waiting which brought her from the station : and 
 she took leave of her mother with a sort of determina- 
 tion, not allowing it even to be suggested that she 
 should accompany her. "I like to bid you good-by 
 here," she said, " at our own door, where you have 
 always come all my life to see me off, even when I was 
 only going to tea at the Kectory. Good-by, good-by, 
 mother dear." She drove off waving her hand, and 
 Mrs. Denuistoun sat out in the garden a long time till 
 she saw the fly go round the turn of the road, the white 
 line which came suddenly in sight from among the trees 
 and as suddenly disappeared again round the side of 
 the hill. Elinor waved her handkerchief from the 
 window and her mother answered and then she was 
 gone like a dream, and the loneliness closed down more 
 overwhelming than ever before. 
 
 Elinor was at Goodwood, her name in all the society 
 papers, and even a description of one of her dresses, 
 which delighted and made proud the whole population 
 of Windyhill. The paper which contained it, and which, 
 I believe, belonged originally to Miss Dale, passed from 
 hand to hand through almost the en tire community ; the 
 servants getting it at last, and handing it round among 
 the humbler friends, who read it, half a dozen women 
 together round a cottage door, wiping their hands upon 
 their aprons before they would touch the paper, with 
 many an exclamation and admiring outcry. And then 
 her name appeared among the lists of smart people who 
 were going to the North now here, now there in 
 company with many other fine names. It gave the 
 Windyhill people a great deal of amusement, and if 
 Mrs. Dennistoun did not quite share this feeling it was 
 a thing for which her friends blamed her gently. " For 
 only think what a tine thing for Elinor to go every- 
 where among the best people, and see life like that ! " 
 ']\ly dear friend," said the Hector, "you know we 
 cannot hope to keep our children always with us. 
 They must go out into the world while we old birds 
 stay at home ; and we must not we really must not
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 231 
 
 grudge them their good times, as the Americaus pay." 
 It was more wonderful than words could tell to Mrs. 
 Dennistoun that it should be imagined she was grudg- 
 ing Elinor her " good time ! " 
 
 The autumn went on, with those occasional public 
 means of following her footsteps which, indeed, made 
 even John Tatham who was not in an ordinary way 
 addicted to the Morning Post, being after his fashion a 
 Liberal in politics and far from aristocratical in his 
 sentiments generally study that paper, and also other 
 papers less worthy : and with, of course, many letters 
 from Elinor, which gave more trustworthy accounts of 
 her proceedings. These letters, however, were far less 
 long, far less detailed, than they had once been ; often 
 written in a hurry, and short, containing notes of where 
 she was going, and of a continual change of address, 
 rather than of anything that could be called information 
 about herself. John, I think, went only once to the 
 Cottage during the interval which followed. He went 
 abroad as usual in the Long Vacation, and then he had 
 this on his mind that he had half-surreptitiously ob- 
 tained a new light upon the position of Elinor, which 
 he had every desire to keep from her mother ; for Mrs. 
 Dennistoun, though she felt that her child was not 
 happy, attributed that to any reason rather than a 
 failure in her husband's love. Elinor's hot rejection of 
 the very idea of leaving Phil, her dislike of any sug- 
 gestion to that effect, even for a week, even for a day, 
 seemed to her mother a proof that her husband, at all 
 events, remained as dear to her as ever ; and John 
 would rather have cut his tongue out than betray any 
 chance rumour he heard and he heard many to this 
 effect. He was of opinion, indeed, that in London, and 
 especially at a London club, not only is everything 
 known that is to be known, but much is known that has 
 never existed, and never will exist if not blown into 
 being by those whose office it is to invent the grief to 
 come ; therefore he thought it wisest to keep away, lest 
 by any chance something might drop from him which 
 would awaken a new crowd of disquietudes in Mrs.
 
 232 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 Dennistoun's heart. Another incident, even more dis- 
 quieting than gossip, had indeed occurred to John. It 
 had happened to him to meet Lady Mariamne at a great 
 omnium gatherum of a country house, where all sorts of 
 people were invited, and where that lady claimed his 
 acquaintance as one of the least alarming of the grave 
 " set." She not only claimed his acquaintance, but set 
 up a sort of friendship on the ground of his relation- 
 ship to Elinor, and in an unoccupied moment after din- 
 ner one day poured a great many confidences into his 
 ear. 
 
 " Isn't it such a pity," she said, " that Phil and she do 
 not get on ? Oh, they did at first, like a house on fire ! 
 And if she had only miuded her ways they might still 
 
 have been as thick But these little country girls, 
 
 however they may disguise it at first, they all turn like 
 that. The horridest little puritan! Phil does no more 
 than a hundred men than almost all men do : amuse 
 hiiuself with anything that throws itself in his way, don't 
 you know. And sometimes, perhaps, he does go rather 
 far. I think myself he sometimes goes a little too far 
 for good taste you know, and that sort of thing." 
 
 It was more amazing to hear Lady Mariamne talk of 
 good taste than anything that had ever come in John 
 Tatham's way before, but he was too horribly, despe- 
 rately interested to see the fun. 
 
 " She will go following him about wherever he goes. 
 She oughtn't to do that, don't you know. She should 
 let him take his swing, and the chances are it will bring 
 him back all right. I've told her so a dozen times, but 
 she pays no attention to me. You're a great pal of hers. 
 Why don't you give her a hint? Phil's not the sort of 
 man to be kept in order like that. She ought to give 
 him his head." 
 
 " I'm afraid," said John, " it's not a matter in which 
 I can interfere." 
 
 " Well, some of her friends should, anyhow, and teach 
 her a little sense. You're a cautious man, I see," said 
 Lady Mariamne. "You think it's too delicate to advise 
 a woman who thinks herself an injured wife. I didn't
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 233 
 
 say to console her, mind you," she said with a shriek of 
 a laugh. 
 
 It may be supposed that after this John was still more 
 unwilling to go to the Cottage, to run 1 the risk of be- 
 traying himself. He did write to Elinor, telling her 
 that he had heard of her from her sister-in-law ; but 
 when he tried to take Lady Mariamue's advice and 
 " give her a hint," John felt his lips sealed. How could 
 he breathe a word even of such a suspicion to Elinor ? 
 How could he let her know that he thought suoh a thing 
 possible? or presume to advise her, to take her con- 
 dition for granted ? It was impossible. He ended by 
 some aimless wish that he might meet her at the 
 Cottage for Christmas ; " you and Mr. Compton," he 
 said whom he did not wish to meet, the last person in 
 the world : and of whom there was no question that he 
 should go to the Cottage at Christmas or any other time. 
 But what could John do or say ? To suggest to her that 
 he thought her an injured wife was beyond his power. 
 
 It was somewhere about Christmas just before in 
 that dread moment for the lonely and those who are in 
 sorrow and distress, when all the rest of the world 
 is preparing for that family festival, or pretending to 
 prepare, that John Tatham was told one morning in his 
 chambers that a lady wanted to see him. He was oc- 
 cupied, as it happened, with a client for whom he had 
 stayed in town longer than he had intended to stay, 
 and he paid little more attention than to direct his clerk 
 to ask the lady what her business was, or if she could 
 wait. The client was long-winded, and lingered, but 
 John's mind was not free enough nor his imagination 
 lively enough to rouse much curiosity in him in re- 
 spect to the lady who was waiting. It was only when 
 she was ushered in by his clerk, as the other went 
 away, and putting up her veil showed the pale and 
 anxious countenance of Mrs. Dennistoun, that the shock 
 as of sudden calamity reached him. " Aunt ! " he cried, 
 springing from his chair. 
 
 " Yes, John I couldn't come anywhere but here' 
 you will feel for me more than any one."
 
 234 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "Elinor?" be said. 
 
 Her lips were dry, she spoke with a little difficulty, 
 but she nodded her head" and held out to him a tele- 
 gram which was in her hand. It was dated from a 
 remote part of Scotland, far in the north. " 111 come 
 instantly," was all it said. 
 
 "And I cannot get away till night," cried Mrs. 
 Dennistoun, with a burst of subdued sobbing. "I 
 can't start till night." 
 
 "Is this all ? What was your last news ? " 
 
 " Nothing, but that they had gone there to some- 
 body's shooting-box, which was lent them, I believe 
 at the end of the world. I wrote to beg her to come to 
 me. She is near a moment of great anxiet} r . Oh, 
 John, support me : let me not break down." 
 
 "You will not," he said; "you are wanted; you 
 must keep ah 1 your wits about you. What were they 
 doing there at this time of the year?" 
 
 They have been visiting about they were invited to 
 Dunorban for Christmas, but she persuaded Philip, so 
 she said, to take this little house. I think he was to 
 join the party while she I cannot tell you what was 
 the arrangement. She has written very vaguely for 
 some time. She ought to have been with me I told 
 her so but she has always said she could not leave 
 Philip." 
 
 Could not leave Philip ! The mother, fortunately, 
 had no idea why this determination was. " I went so far 
 as to write to Philip," she said, " to ask him if she 
 might not come to me, or, at least begging him to bring 
 her to town, or somewhere where she could have prop- 
 er attention. He answered me very briefly that he 
 wished her to go, but she would not : as he had told me 
 before I left town that was all. It seemed to fret him 
 he must have known that it was not a fit place for 
 her, in a stranger's house, and so far away. And to 
 think I cannot even get away till late to-night ! " 
 
 John had to comfort her as well as he could, to make 
 her pat something, to see that she had all the comforts 
 possible for her night journey. "You were always like
 
 THE CARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 235 
 
 her brother," the poor lady said, finding at last relief in 
 tears. And then he went with her to the train, and 
 found her a comfortable carnage, and placed her in it 
 with all the solaces his niind could think of. A sleeping- 
 carriage on the Scotch lines is not such a ghastly pre- 
 tence of comfort as those on the Continent. The solaces 
 John brought her the quantities of newspapers, the 
 picture papers and others, rugs and shawls innumer- 
 able all that he possessed in the shape of wraps, be- 
 sides those which she had with her. What more could 
 a man do? If she had been young he would have 
 bought her sugar-plums. All that they meant were the 
 dumb anxieties of his own breast, and the vague long- 
 ing to do something, anything that would be a help to 
 her on her desolate way. 
 
 " You will send me a word, aunt, as soon as you get 
 there ? " 
 
 " Oh, at once, John." 
 
 "You will tell me how she is say as much as you 
 can no three words, like that. I shall not leave town 
 till I hear." 
 
 " Oh, John, why should this keep you from your 
 family? I could telegraph there as easily as here." 
 
 He made a gesture almost of auger. " Do you think 
 I am likely to put myself out of the way not to be 
 ready if you should want me? " 
 
 How should she want him ? a mother summoned to 
 her daughter at such a moment but she did not say so 
 to trouble him more : for John had got to that madden- 
 ing point of anxiety when nothing but doing something, 
 or at least keeping ready to do something, flattering 
 yourself that there must be something to do, affords any 
 balm to the soul. 
 
 He saw her away by that nighfc train, crowded with 
 people going home people noisy with gayety, escaping 
 from their daily cares to the family meeting, the father's 
 house, ah 1 the associations of pleasure and warmth and 
 consolation cold, but happy, in their third-class com- 
 partments not wrapped up in every conceivable solace 
 as she was, yet no one, perhaps, so heavy-hearted. He
 
 236 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 watched for the last glimpse of her face just as the train 
 plunged into the darkness, and saw her smile and wave 
 her hand to him ; then he, too, plunged into the dark- 
 ness like the train. He walked and walked through the 
 solitary streets not knowing where he was going, unable 
 to rest. Had he ever been, as people say, in love with 
 Elinor ? He could not tell he had never betrayed it 
 by word or look if he had. He had never taken any 
 step to draw her near him, to persuade her to be his 
 and not another's ; on the contrary, he had avoided 
 everything that could lead to that. Neither could he 
 say, "She was as my sister," which his relationship 
 might have warranted him in doing. It was neither the 
 one nor the other si* was not his love nor his sister 
 she was simply Elinor ; and perhaps she was dying ; 
 perhaps the news he would receive next day would be 
 the worst that the heart can hear. He walked and 
 walked through those dreary, semi-respectable streets 
 of London, the quiet, the sordid, the dismal, mile after 
 mile, and street after street, till half the night was 
 over and he was tired out, and might have a hope of 
 rest. 
 
 But for three whole days days which he could not 
 reckon, which seemed of the length of years during 
 which he remained closeted in his chambers, the whole 
 world having, as it seemed, melted away around him, 
 leaving him alone, he did not have a word. He did not 
 go home, feeling that he must be on the spot, whatever 
 happened. Finally, when he was almost mad, on the 
 morning of the third day, he received the following 
 telegram : " Saved as by a miracle ; doing well. 
 Child a boy.*' 
 
 " Child a boy ! " Good heavens ! what did he want 
 with that ? it seemed an insult to him to tell him. What 
 did he care for the child, if it was a boy or not? the 
 wretched, undesirable brat of such parentage, born to 
 perpetuate a name which was dishonoured. Altogether 
 the telegram, as so many telegrams, but lighted fresh 
 fires of anxiety in his mind. " Saved as by a miracle ! " 
 Then he had been right in the dreadful fancies that had
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 237 
 
 gone through his mind. He had passed by Death in 
 the dark ; and was it now sure that the miracle would 
 last, that the danger would have passed away? 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 IT was not till nearly three weeks after this that John 
 received another brief dispatch. " At home : come and 
 see us." He had indeed got a short letter or two in the 
 interval, saying almost nothing a brief report of 
 Elinor's health, and of the baby, against whom he had 
 taken an unreasoning disgust and repugnance. " Little 
 beast ! " he said to himself, passing over that part of the 
 bulletin : for the letters were scarcely more than bulle- 
 tins, without a word about the circumstances which sur- 
 rounded her. A shooting lodge in Ross-shire in the 
 middle of the winter! What a place for a delicate 
 woman ! John was well enough aware that many ele- 
 ments of comfort were possible even in such a place ; 
 but he shut his eyes, as was natural, to anything that 
 went against his own point of view. 
 
 And now this telegram from Windyhill "At home : 
 come and see us " MS. Was it a mistake of the tele- 
 graph people? of course they must make mistakes. 
 They had no doubt taken the >ne in Mrs. Deunistouu's 
 
 angular writing for us or was it possible John had 
 
 no peace in his mind until he had so managed matters 
 that he could go and see. There was no very pressing 
 business in the middle of January, when people had 
 hardly yet recovered the idleness of Christmas. He 
 started one windy afternoon, when everything was grey, 
 and arrived at Hurrymere station in the dim twilight, 
 sti'l ruddy with tints of sunset. He was in a very con- 
 tradictory frame of mind, so that though his heart 
 jumped to see Mrs. Dennistoun awaiting him on the 
 platform, there mingled in his satisfaction in seeing her 
 and hearing what she had to tell so much sooner, a per- 
 verse conviction of cold and discomfort in the long
 
 238 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 drive up in the pony carriage which he felt sure was be- 
 fore him. He was mistaken, however, on this point, 
 for the first thing she said was, " I have secured the fly, 
 John. Old Pearson will take your luggage. I have so 
 much to tell you." There was an air of excitement in 
 her face, but not that air of subdued and silent depres- 
 sion which comes with solitude. She was evidently full 
 of the report she had to make ; but yet the first thing 
 she did when she was ensconced in the fly with John be- 
 side her was to cover her face with her hands, and sub- 
 side into her corner in a silent passion of tears. 
 
 " For mercy's sake tell me what is the mutter. "What 
 has happened ? Is Elinor ill ? " 
 
 He had almost asked is Elinor dead ? 
 
 She uncovered her face, which had suddenly lighted 
 up with a strange gleam of joy underneath the tears. 
 " John, Elinor is here," she said. 
 
 "Here?" 
 
 " At home safe. I have brought her back and the 
 child." 
 
 " Confound the child !" John said in his excitement. 
 " Brought her back ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 "Oh, John, it is a long story. I have a hundred 
 things to tell you, and to ask your advice upon ; but the 
 main thing is that she is here. I have brought her away 
 from him. She will go back no more." 
 
 " She has left her husband ? " he said, with a momen- 
 tary flicker of exultation in his dismay. But the dis- 
 may, to do him justice, was the strongest. He looked 
 at his companion almost sternly. " Things," he said, 
 "must have been very serious to justify that," 
 
 "They were more than serious they had become 
 impossible," Mrs. Dennistoun said. 
 
 And she told him her story, which was a long one. 
 She had arrived to find Elinor alone in the little solitary 
 lodge in the midst of the wilds, not without attention 
 indeed or comfort, but alone, her husband absent. She 
 had been very ill, and he had been at the neighbouring 
 castle, where a great party was assembled, and where, 
 the mother discovered at last, there was the woman
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 23 !J 
 
 who had made Elinor's life a burden to her. "I doii't 
 know with what truth. I don't know whether there is 
 what people call any harm in it. It is possible he is 
 only amusing himself. I can't tell. But it has made 
 Elinor miserable this whole autumn through, that and a 
 multitude of other things. She would not let me send 
 for him when I got there. It had gone so far as that. 
 She said that the whole business disgusted him, that he 
 had lost all interest in her, that to hear it was over 
 might be a relief to him, but nothing more. Her heart 
 has turned altogether against him, John, in every way. 
 There have been a hundred things. You think I am 
 almost wickedly glad to have her home. And so I am. 
 I cannot deny it. To have her here even in her trouble 
 makes all the difference to me. But I am not so care- 
 less as you think. I can look beyond to other things. 
 I shrink as much as you do from such a collapse of her 
 life. I don't want her to give up her duty, and now that 
 there is the additional bond of the child " 
 
 "Oh, for heaven's sake," said John, "leave the child 
 out of it ! I want to hear nothing of the child ! " 
 
 " That is one chief point, however, that we want your 
 advice about, John. A man, I suppose, does not under- 
 stand it ; but her baby is everything to Elinor : and I 
 suppose unless he can really be proved as guilty us 
 she thinks he could take the child away." 
 
 John smiled to himself a little bitterly ; this was why 
 he was sent for in such a hurry, not for the sake of his 
 society, or from any affection for him, but that he 
 might tell them what steps to take to secure them ir. 
 possession of the child. He said nothing for some time, 
 nor did Mrs. Dennistouu, whose disappointment in the 
 coldness of his response was considerable, and who 
 waited in vain for him to speak. At length she said, 
 almost tremblingly, " I am afraid you disapprove very 
 much of the whole business, John." 
 
 " I hope it has not been done rashly," he said. " The 
 husband's mere absence, though heartless as as I 
 should have expected of the fellow would yet not be 
 reason enough to satisfy any court."
 
 240 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "Any court! You don't think she means to bring 
 him before any court ? She Avants only to be left alone. 
 We ask nothing from him, not a penny, not any money 
 surely, surely no revenge only not to be molested. 
 There shall not be a word said on our side, if he will 
 but let her alone." 
 
 John shook his head. "It all depends upon the view 
 the man takes of it," he said. 
 
 Now this was very cold comfort to Mrs. Dennistoun, 
 who had by this time become very secure in her posi- 
 tion, feeling herself entirely justified in all that she had 
 done. "The man," she said, " the man is not the suf- 
 ferer : and surely the woman has some claim to be 
 heard." 
 
 " Every claim,'"' said John. " That is not what I was 
 thinking of. It is this : if the man has a leg to stand 
 upon, he will show fight. If he hasn't why that will 
 make the whole difference, and probably Elinor's posi- 
 tion will be quite safe. But you yourself say : 
 
 "John, don't throw back upon me what I myself said. 
 I said that perhaps things were not so bad as she be- 
 lieved. In my experience I have found that folly, and 
 playing with everything that is right is more common 
 than absolute wrong and men like Philip Compton are 
 made up of levity and disregard of everything that is 
 serious." 
 
 "In that case," said John, "if you are right, he will 
 not let her go." 
 
 " Oh, John ! oh, John ! don't make me wish that he 
 may be a worse man than I think. He could not force 
 her to go back to him, feeling as she does." 
 
 " Nobody can force a woman to do that ; but he 
 could perhaps make her position untenable ; he would, 
 perhaps, take away the child." 
 
 "John," said Mrs. Dennistoun, in alarm, "if you 
 tell her that, she will fly off with him to the end of the 
 world. She will die before she will part with the child." 
 
 " I suppose that's how women are made," said John, 
 not yet cured of his personal offence. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "that's how women are made."
 
 THE MARIUAVK OF ELINOR. 241 
 
 "I beg your pardon," lie said, coming to himself ; 
 "but you know, aunt, a man may be pardoned for not 
 understanding that supreme fascination of the baby 
 who cares no more for one than another, poor little 
 animal, so long as it gets its food and is warm enough. 
 We must await and see what the man will do." 
 
 "Is that the best? is there. nothing we can do to 
 defend ourselves in the meantime to make any sort of 
 barricade against him?" 
 
 " We must wait and see what he is going to do," said 
 John ; and they went over and over the question, again 
 and again, as they climbed the hills. It grew quite 
 dark as they drove along, and when they came out upon 
 the open part of the road, from which the Cottage was 
 visible, they both looked out across the combe to the 
 lights in the windows with an involuntary movement. 
 The Cottage was transformed ; instead of the one 
 lonely lighted window which had indicated to John in 
 former visits where Mrs. Denuist Dim sat alone, there was 
 now a twinkle from various points, a glow of firelight, a 
 sensation of warmth, and company. Mrs. Dennistoun 
 looked out upon it and her face shone. It was not a 
 happy thing that Elinor should have made shipwreck 
 of her life, should have left her husband and sought 
 refuge in her mother's house. But how could it be 
 otherwise than happy that Elinor was there Elinor 
 and the other little creature who was something more 
 than Elinor, herself and yet another ? As for John, he 
 looked at it too, with an interest which stopped all 
 arguments on the cause of it. She was there wrong, 
 perhaps, impatient ; too quick to fly as she had been 
 too quick to go but still Elinor all the same, whether 
 she was right or wrong. 
 
 The cab arrived soberly at the door, where Pearson 
 with the pony carriage, coming by the shorter way with 
 the luggage, had just arrived also. Mrs. Dennistoun 
 said, hurriedly, "You will find Elinor in the drawing- 
 room, John," and herself went hastily through the 
 house and up the stairs. She was going to the baby ! 
 John guessed this wuh a smile of astonishment and 
 16
 
 THE MAlirJAGE OF ELIXOR. 
 
 half contempt. How strange it was ! There could not 
 be a more sad position than that in which, in their 
 rashness, these two women had placed themselves ; and 
 yet the mother, a woman of experience, who ought to 
 have known better, got out of the carriage like a girl, 
 without waiting to be helped or attended to, and went 
 up-stairs like the wind, forgetting everything else for 
 that child that child, the inheritor of Phil Compton's 
 name and very likely of his qualities fated from his 
 birth (most likely) to bring trouble to everybody con- 
 nected with him ! And yet Elinor was of less interest 
 to her mother. What strange caprices of nature ! what 
 extraordinary freaks of womankind ! 
 
 The Cottage down-stairs was warm and bright with 
 firelight and lamplight, and in the great chair by the 
 fire was reclining, lying back with her book laid on her 
 lap and her face full of eager attention to the sounds 
 outside, a pale young woman, surrounded by cushions 
 and warm wraps and everything an invalid could re- 
 quire, who raised to him eyes more large and shining 
 than he had ever seen before, suffused with a dew of 
 pain and pleasure and eager welcome. Elinor, was it 
 Elinor ? He had never seen her in any way like an in- 
 valid before never knew her to be ill, or weak, or un- 
 able to walk out to the door and meet him or anyone 
 she cared for. The sight of her ailing, weak, with those 
 largo glistening eyes, enlarged by feebleness, wont to 
 his very heart. Fortunately he did not in any \\;iv con- 
 nect this enfeebled state with the phenomenon up- 
 stairs, which was best for all parties. He hurried up to 
 her, taking her thin hands into his own. 
 
 " Elinor ! my poor little Xelly can this be you ! " 
 
 The water that was in her eyes rolled over in two 
 great tears ; a brief convulsion went over her face. 
 . John," she said, almost in a whisper. ''Strange 
 as it may seem, this is all that is left of me." 
 
 He sat down beside her and for a moment neither of 
 them spoke. Pity, tenderness, wrath, surged up to- 
 gether in John's breast ; pity, tender compassion, most 
 strong of all. Poor little thing ; this was how she had
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR, 243 
 
 come back to her home ; her heart broken, her wings 
 broken, as it were ; all her soaring and swiftness and 
 energy gone. He could scarcely look upon her for the 
 pity that overflowed his heart. But underneath lay 
 wrath, not only against the man who had brought her 
 to such a pass, but against herself too. 
 
 "John," she said, after a while, "do you remember 
 saying to me that I was not one to bear, to put up with 
 things, to take the consequences if I tried a dangerous 
 experiment and failed '? '' 
 
 " Did I ever say anything so silly and so cruel?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; it was neither silly nor unkind, but 
 quite, quite true. I have thought of it so often. I 
 used to think of it to stir up my pride, to remind my- 
 self that I ought to try to be better than my nature, not 
 to allow you to be a true prophet. But it was so, and 
 I couldn't change it. You can see you were right, John, 
 for I have not been like a strong woman, able to en- 
 dure ; I have only been able to run away." 
 
 "My poor little Nelly! " 
 
 " Don't pity me," she said, the tears running over 
 again. "I am too well off; I am too well taken care of. 
 A prodigal should not be made so much of as I am." 
 
 " Don't call yourself a prodigal, Nelly ! Perhaps 
 things may not be as bad as they appear. At least, it is 
 but the first fall the greatest athlete gets many before 
 he can stand against the world." 
 
 " I'll never be an athlete, John. Besides, I'm a wom- 
 an, you know, and a fall of any kind is fatal to a wom- 
 an, especially anything of this kind. No, I know very 
 well it's all over ; I shall never hold up my head again. 
 But that's not the question the question is, to be safe 
 and as free as can be. Mamma takes me in, you know, 
 just as if nothing had happened. She is quite willing 
 to take the burden of me on her shoulders and of 
 baby. She has told you that there are two of me, now, 
 John my baby, as well as myself." 
 
 John could only nod an assent ; he could not speak. 
 
 " It's a wonderful thing to come out of a wreck with 
 a treasure in one's amis ; everything going to pieces be-
 
 244 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 hind one ; the rafters coming clown, the walls falling in 
 and yet one's treasure in one's arms. Oh, I had not the 
 heart or the strength to come out of the tumbling 
 house. My mother did it all, dragged me out, wrapped 
 me up in love and kindness, carried me away. I don't 
 want you to think I was good for anything. I should 
 just have lain there and died. One thing, I did not 
 mind dying at all I had quite made up my mind. 
 That would not have been so disgraceful as running 
 away." 
 
 "There is nothing that is disgraceful," said John, 
 "for heaven's sake don't say so, Nelly. It is unfortu- 
 nate beyond words but that is all. Nobody can 
 think that you are in any way disgraced. And if you 
 are allowed just to stay quietly here in your natural 
 home, I suppose you desire nothing moi'e." 
 
 "What should I desire more, John ? You don't sup- 
 pose I should like to go and live in the world again, 
 and go into society and all that? I have had about 
 enough of society. Oh, I want nothing but to be quiet 
 and unmolested, and bring up my baby. They could 
 not take my baby from me, John ? " 
 
 " I do not think so," he said, with a grave face. 
 
 "You do not think so? Then you are not sure? 
 My mother says dreadful things, but I cannot believe 
 them. They would never take an infant from its mother 
 to give it to to give it to a man Avho could do 
 nothing, nothing for it. What could a man do with a 
 young child ? a man always on the move, who has no 
 settled home, who has no idea what an infant wants ? 
 John, I know law is inhuman, but surely, surely not so 
 inhuman as that." 
 
 "My dear Nelly," he said, "the law, you know, which, 
 as you say, is often inhuman, recognizes the child as 
 belonging to the father. He is responsible for it. For 
 instance, they never could come upon you for its main- 
 tenance or education, or anything of that kind, until it 
 had been proved that the father 
 
 "May I ask," said Elinor, with uplifted head, "of 
 what or of whom you are talking when you say it f "
 
 THE MAURI AGE OF ELINOR. L>45 
 
 It was all John could do not to burst into a peal of 
 aggrieved and indignant laughter. He who had been 
 brought from town, from his own comforts such as they 
 were, to be consulted about this brat, this child which 
 belonged to the dis-Honourable Phil ; and Elinor, Eli- 
 nor, of all people in the world, threw up her head and 
 confronted him with disdain because he called the br;it 
 it, and not him or her, whichever it was. John recol- 
 lected svell enough that sentence at which he had been 
 so indignant in the telegram " child, a boy " but he 
 affected to himself not to know what it was for the in- 
 dulgence of a little contumely : and the reward he had 
 got was contumely upon his own head. But when he 
 looked at Elinor's pale face, the eyes so much larger 
 than they ought to be, with tears welling out unawares, 
 dried up for a moment by indignation or quick hasty 
 temper, the temper which made her sweeter words all 
 the more sweet he had always thought then rising 
 again unawares under the heavy lids, the lips so ready 
 to quiver, the pathetic lines about the mouth : when he 
 looked at all these John's heart smote him. He would 
 have called the child anything, if there had been a sex 
 superior to him the baby should have it. And what 
 was there that man could do that he would not do for 
 the deliverance of the mother and the child ? 
 
 CHAPTEK XXV. 
 
 IT cannot be said that this evening at the Cottage was 
 an agreeable one. To think that Elinor should be 
 there, and yet that there should be so little pleasure in 
 the fact that the old party, which had once been so 
 happy together, should be together again, was bewilder- 
 ing. And yet there was one member of it who was 
 happy with a shamefaced unacknowledged joy. To 
 think that that which made her child miserable should 
 make her happy was a dreadful thought to Mrs. Dennis-
 
 246 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 toun, and yet bow could she help it ? Elinor was there, 
 and the baby was there, the new unthought-of creature 
 which had brought with it a new anxiety, a rush of new 
 thoughts and wishes. Already everything else in the 
 mind of Elinor's mother began to yield to the desire to 
 retain these two the new mother and the child. But 
 she did not avow this desire. She was mostly silent, 
 taking little part in the discussion, which was indeed 
 a very curious discussion, since Elinor, debating the 
 question how she was to abandon her husband and de- 
 fend herself against him, never mentioned his name. 
 
 She did not come in to dinner, which Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun and John Tatham ate solemnly alone, saying but 
 little, trying to talk upon indifferent topics, with that 
 very wretched result which is usual when people at one 
 of the great crises of life have to make conversation for 
 each other while servants are about and the restraints 
 of common life are around them. Whether it is the 
 terrible flood of grief which has to be barred and kept 
 within bounds so that the functions of life may not 
 altogether be swept away, or the sharper but warmer 
 pang of anxiety, that which cuts like a serpent's tooth, 
 yet is not altogether beyond the reach of hope, what 
 poor pretences these are at interest in ordinary sub- 
 jects ; what miserable gropings after something that 
 can furnish a thread of conversation just enough to keep 
 the intercourse of life going ! These two were not 
 more successful than others in this dismal pursuit. 
 Mrs. Deniustoun found a moment when the meal was 
 over before she left John, poor pretence ! to his wine. 
 " Remember that she will not mention his name ; 
 nothing must be said about him," she said. " How can 
 we discuss him and what he is likely to do without 
 speaking of him? "said John, with a little scorn. "I 
 don't know," replied the poor lady. " But you will find 
 that she will not have his name mentioned. You must 
 try and humour her. Poor Elinor ! For I know that 
 you are sorry for her, John." 
 
 Sorry for her ! He sat over his glass of mild claret 
 in the little dining-room that had once been so bright;
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 247 
 
 even now it was the cosiest little room, the curtains all 
 drawn, shutting out the cold wind, which in January 
 searches out every crevice, the firelight blazing fitfully, 
 bringing out all the pretty warm decollations, the gleam 
 of silver on the side-board, the pictures on the wall, the 
 mirror over the mantelpiece. There was nothing wanted 
 under that roof to make it the very home of domestic 
 warmth and comfort. And yet sorry for Elinor! 
 That was not the word. His heart was sore for her, 
 torn away from all her mooiings, drifting back a wreck 
 to the little youthful home, where all had been so ti'an- 
 quil and so sweet. John had nothing in him of that 
 petty sentiment which derives satisfaction from a ca- 
 lamity it has foreseen, nor had he even an old lover's 
 thrill of almost pleasure in the downfall of the clay idol 
 that has been preferred to his gold. His pain for 
 Elinor, the constriction in his heart at thought of her 
 position, were unmixed with any baser feeling. Sorry 
 for her ! He would have given all he possessed to 
 restore her happiness not in his way, but in the way 
 she had chosen, even, last abnegation of all, to make 
 the man worthy of her who had never been worthy. 
 Even his own indignation and wrath against that man 
 were subservient in John's honest breast to the desire 
 of somehow finding that it might be possible to white- 
 wash him, nay to reform him, to make him as near as 
 possible something which she could tolerate for life. 
 I doubt if a woman, notwithstanding the much more 
 ready power of sacrifice which women possess, could 
 have so fully desired this renewal and amendment as 
 John did. It was scarcely too much to say that he 
 hated Phil Compton : yet he would have given the half 
 of his substance at this moment to make Phil Compton 
 a good man ; nay, even to make him a passable man 
 to rehabilitate him in his wife's eyes. 
 
 John stayed a long time over " his wine," the mild 
 glass of claret (or perhaps it was Burgundy) which was 
 aU that was offered him partly to think the matter 
 over, but also partly perhaps because he heard certain 
 faint gurglings, and the passage of certain steps, active
 
 1M-S THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 and full of energy, past the door of the room within 
 which he sat, going now to the drawing-room, now up- 
 stairs, from which he divined that the new inmate of 
 the house was at present in possession of the drawing- 
 room, and of ah 1 attention there. He smiled at himself 
 for his hostility to the child, which, of course, was 
 entirely innocent of all blame. Here the man was in- 
 ferior to the woman in comprehension and sympathy ; 
 for lie not only could not understand how they could 
 possibly obtain solace in their trouble from this un- 
 conscious littte creature, but he was angry and scorn- 
 ful of them for doing so. Phil Compton's brat, no 
 doubt the germ of a thousand troubles to come, but 
 besides that a nothing, a being without love or thought, 
 or even consciousness, a mere little animal feeding and 
 sleeping and yet the idol and object of all the thoughts 
 of two intelligent women, capable of so much better 
 things ! This irritated John and disgusted him in the 
 midst of all his anxious thoughts, and his profound 
 compassion and deliberations how best to help : and it 
 was not till the passage of ceiiain feeble sounds out- 
 side his door, which proceeded audibly up-stairs, little 
 bleatings in which, if they had come from a lamb, or 
 even a puppy, John would have been interested, as- 
 sured him that the small enemy had disappeared that 
 he finally rose and proceeded to "join the ladies," as 
 if he had been holding a little private debauch all by 
 himself. 
 
 There was a little fragrance and air of the visitor still 
 in the room, a little disturbance of the usual arrange- 
 ments, a surreptitious, quite unjustifiable look as of 
 pleasure in Elinor's eyes, which were less expanded, 
 and if as liquid as ever, more softly bright than be- 
 fore. Something white actually lay on the sofa, a 
 small garment which Mrs. Dennistoun whisked away. 
 They were conscious of John's critical eye upon them, 
 and received him with a warmth of conciliatory wel- 
 come Which betrayed that consciousness. Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun drew a chair for him to the other side of the fire. 
 She took her own place in the middle at the table
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 240 
 
 with a large piece of white knitting, to which she gave 
 her whole attention, and thus the deliberation began. 
 
 " Elinor wants to know, John, what you think we 
 ought to do to make quite sura ^-that there will be no 
 risk, about the baby." 
 
 " I must know more of the details of the question 
 before I can give any advice," said John. 
 
 "John," said Elinor, raising herself in her chair, 
 " here are all the details that are necessary. I have 
 come away. I have come home, finding that life was 
 impossible there. That is the whole matter. It may 
 be, probably it is, my own fault. It is simply that life 
 became impossible. You know you said that I was not 
 one to endure, to put up with things. I scoffed at } r ou 
 then, for I did not expect to have anything to put up 
 with ; but you were quite right, and life had become 
 impossible that is all there is any need to say." 
 
 " To me, yes," said John, " but not enough, Elinor, 
 if it ever has to come within the reach of the law." 
 
 " But why should it come within the reach of the 
 law ? You, John, you are a lawyer ; you know the 
 rights of everything. I thought you might have 
 arranged it all. Couldn't you try to make a kind of a 
 bargain ? What bargain ? Oh, am I a lawyer, do I 
 know ? But you, John, who have it all at your fingers' 
 ends, who know what can be done and what can't be 
 done, and the rights that one has and that another has ! 
 Dear John ! if you were to try, don't you think that you 
 could settle it all, simply as between people who don't 
 want any exposure, any struggle, but only to be quiet 
 and to be let alone ? " 
 
 " Elinor, I don't know what I could do with so little 
 information as I have. To know that you found your 
 life impossible is enough for me. But you know most 
 people are right in their own eyes. If we have some 
 one opposed to us who thinks, for instance, that the 
 fault was yours ? " 
 
 "Well," she cried, eagerly, "I am willing to accept 
 that : say that the fault was mine ! You could confirm 
 it, that it was likely to be mine. You could tell them
 
 250 THE ir.\niti\<;E or Kr. 
 
 what an impatient person I was, and that you said I 
 was not one to try an experiment, for I never, never 
 could put up with anything. John, you could be a 
 witness as well as an advocate. You could prove that 
 you always expected and that I am quite, quite will- 
 ing to allow that it was I " 
 
 " Elinor, if I could only make you understand what I 
 mean ! I am told that I am not to mention any names? '' 
 
 " No, no names, no names ! What is the good ? We 
 both know very well what we mean." 
 
 " But I don't know very well what you mean. Don't 
 you see that if it is your fault if the other party is 
 innocent there can be no reason in the world why he 
 should consent to renounce his rights. It is not a 
 mere matter of feeling. There is right in it one way 
 or another either on your side or else on the other side ; 
 and if it is on the other side, why should a man give up 
 what belongs to him, why should he renounce what is 
 most dear to him ? " 
 
 " Oh, John, John, John ! " she made this appeal and 
 outcry, clasping her hands together with a mixture of 
 supplication and impatience. Then turning to her 
 mother "Oh, tell him," she cried, "tell him!" al- 
 ways clasping those impatient yet beseeching hands. 
 
 "You see, John," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "Elinor knows 
 that the right is on her side : but she will consent to say 
 nothing about it to any one to give herself out as the 
 offender rather that is to say, as an ill-disciplined per- 
 son that cannot put up with anything, as you seem to 
 have said." 
 
 John laughed with vexation, yet a kind of amusement. 
 "I novel 1 said it nor thought it : still if it pleases her 
 to think so The wiser thing if this separation is 
 final ' 
 
 "If it is final ! " Elinor cried. She raised herself up 
 again in her chair, and contemplated the unfortunate 
 lolni with a sort of tragic superiority. "Do you think 
 that of me," she said, " that I would take such a step ;is 
 this and th;if it should not be final? Is dying final? 
 Could one do such a thing as this and change ?"
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 251 
 
 "Such things have been done," said John. "Eli- 
 nor, forgive me. I must say it it is all your life that 
 is in the balance, and another life. There is this infant 
 to be struggled over, perhaps rent in two by those who 
 should have united to take care of him and it's a boy, 
 I hear. There's his name and his after-life to. think of 
 a child without a father, perhaps the heir of a family 
 to which he will not belong. Elinor tell her, aunt, 
 you understand : is it my wish to hand her back to 
 
 to No, I'll speak no names. But you know I 
 
 disliked it always, opposed it always. It is not out of 
 any favour to to the other side. But she ought to 
 take all these things into account. Her own position, 
 and the position in the future of the child " 
 
 Elinor had crushed her fan with her hands, and Mrs. 
 Deuuistoun let the knitting with which she had gone on 
 in spite of all fall at last in her lap. There was a little 
 pause. John Tathani's voice itself had begun to falter, 
 or rather swelled in sound as when a stream swells in 
 flood. 
 
 ' ; I do not go into the question about women and 
 what they ought to put up with," said John, resuming. 
 "There's many things that law can do nothing for and 
 nature in many ways makes it harder for women, I ac- 
 knowledge. We cannot change that. Think what her 
 position will be neither a wife nor with the freedom 
 of a widow ; and the boy, bearing the name of one he 
 must almost be taught to think badly of for one of 
 them must be in the wrong " 
 
 "He shall never, never hear that name ; he shall 
 know nothing, he shall be free of every bond ; his mind 
 shall never be cramped or twisted or troubled by any 
 man if I live." 
 
 This Elinor said, lifting her pale face from her hands 
 with eyes that flashed and shone with a blaze of excite- 
 ment and weakness. 
 
 "There already," said John, "is a tremendous condi- 
 tion if you live ! Who can make sure that they will 
 live ? We must all die some sooner, some later and 
 you wearing yourself out with excitement, that never
 
 352 TEE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOll. 
 
 were strong ; you exposing your heart, the weakest 
 organ " 
 
 "John," said Mrs. Dennistoun, grasping him by the 
 arm, " you are talking nonsense, you don' t know what 
 you are saving. My darling ! she was never weak nor 
 had a feeble heart, nor anything ! She will live to bring 
 up his children, her baby's children, upon her knees." 
 
 " And what would it matter ?" said Elinor looking 
 at him with clear eyes, from which the tears had disap- 
 peared in the shock of this unlooked-for suggestion 
 " suppose I have no more strength than that, suppose I 
 were to die? you shall be his guardian, John, bring him 
 up a good man ; and his Heavenly Father will take 
 care of him. I am not afraid." 
 
 A man had better not deal wth such subjects between 
 two women. What with Mrs. Denuistoun's indignant 
 protest and Elinor's lofty submission, John was at his 
 wits' end. "I did not mean to carry things to such a 
 bitter end as that," he said. " You want to force me 
 into a corner and make rne say things I never meant. 
 The question is serious enough without that." 
 
 There was again a little pause, and then Elinor, with 
 one of those changes which are so perplexing to sober- 
 minded people, suddenly turned to him, holding out 
 both her hands. 
 
 "John we'll leave that in God's hands whatever is 
 to happen to me. But in the meantime, while I am liv- 
 ing and perhaps my life depends upon being quiet and 
 having a little peace and rest. It is not that I care 
 very much for my life," said Elinor, with that clear, 
 open-eyed look, like the sky after rain " I am ship- 
 wrecked, John, as you say but my mother does, and 
 it's of some consequence to baby ; and if it depends 
 upon whether I am left alone, you are too good a friend 
 to leave me in the lurch. And you said one night 
 whatever happened I was to send for you." 
 
 John sprang up from his seat, dropping the hands 
 Avhich be had taken into his own. She was like Queen 
 Katherine, " about to weep," and her breast strained 
 With the sobbing effort to keep it down.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 
 
 " For God's sake," he cried, " don't play upon our 
 hearts like this ! I will do anything everything 
 whatever you choose to tell me. Aunt, don't let her 
 cry, don't let her go on like that. Why, good 
 heavens ! " he cried, bursting himself into a kind of big 
 sob, " won't it be bad for that little brat of a baby or 
 something if she keeps going on in this way? " 
 
 Thus John Tatham surrendered at discretion. What 
 could he do more ? A man cannot be played upon like 
 an instrument without giving out sounds of which he 
 will, perhaps, be ashamed. And this woman appealing 
 to him this girl looking like the little Elinor he re- 
 membered, younger and softer in her weakness and 
 trouble than she had been in her beauty and pride 
 was the creature after all, though she would never know 
 it, whom he loved best in the world. He had wanted 
 to save her. in the one worldly way of saving her, from 
 open shipwreck, for her own sake, against every preju- 
 dice and prepossession of his mind. But if she would 
 not have that, why it was his business to save her as 
 she wished, to do for her whatever she wanted ; to act 
 as her agent, her champion, whatever she pleased. 
 
 He was sent away presently, and accepted his dis- 
 missal with thankfulness, to smoke his cigar. This is 
 one amusing thing in a feminine household. A man is 
 supposed to want all manner of little indulgences and 
 not to be able to do without them. He is carefully left 
 alone over " his wine " the aforesaid glass of claret ; 
 and ways and means are provided for him to smoke 
 his cigar, whether he wishes it or not. He had often 
 laughed at these regulations of his careful relatives, but 
 he was rather glad of them to-night. "I am going to 
 get Elinor to bed," said Mrs. Deunistoun. "It has, 
 perhaps, been a little too much for "her : but when you 
 have finished your cigar, John, if you will come back to 
 the drawing-room for a few minutes you will find me 
 here." 
 
 John did not smoke any cigar. It is all very well to 
 be soothed and consoled by tobacco in your own room, 
 at your own ease : but when you are put into a la lv'-,
 
 254 TEE MARRIAGE OF ELINOfi. 
 
 dining-room, where everything is nice, and where the 
 curtains will probably smell of smoke next morning : 
 and when your miud is exercised beyond even the 
 power of the body to keep still, that is not a time to 
 enjoy such calm and composing delights. But he 
 walked about the room in which he was shut up like a 
 wild beast in his cage, sometimes with long strides from 
 wall to wall, sometimes going round, with that abstract 
 trick of his, staring at the pictures, as if he did not know 
 every picture in the place by heart. He forgot that he 
 was to go back to the drawing-room again after Elinor 
 had been taken to bed, and it was only after having 
 waited for him a long time that Mrs. Dennistoun came, 
 almost timidly, knocking at her own dining-room door, 
 afraid to disturb her visitor in the evening rites which 
 she believed in so devoutly. She did go in, however, 
 and they stood together over the fire for a few minutes, 
 he staring down upon the glow at his feet, she contem- 
 plating fitfully, unconsciously, her own pale face and 
 his in the dim mirror on the mantelpiece. They talked 
 in low tones about Elinor and her health, and her de- 
 termination which nothing would change. 
 
 "Of course I will do it," said John; "anything 
 whatever she may require of me there are no two 
 words about that. There is only one thing : I will not 
 compromise her by taking any initiative. Let us wait 
 and see what they are going to do " 
 
 " Biit, John, might it not be better to disarm him by 
 making overtures ? anything, I would do anything if he 
 would but let her remain unmolested and the baby." 
 
 " Do j'ou mean money ? " he said. 
 
 Mrs. Dennistouu gave him an abashed look, depre- 
 catory and wistful, but did not make any reply. 
 
 " Phil Compton is a cad, and a brute, and a scamp of 
 the first water," said John, glad of some way to get rid 
 of his excitement ; " but I do not think that even he 
 would sell his wife and his shild for money. I wouldn't 
 do him so much discredit as that." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, John," Mrs. Dennistoutt 
 said.
 
 TEE UAliRlAVE OF ELIXOU. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 JOHN left the Cottage next morning with the full con- 
 duct of the affairs of the family placed in his hands. 
 The ladies were both a little doubtful if his plan was 
 the best they were .still frightened .for what might 
 happen, and kept up a watch, as John perceived, fear- 
 ing every step that approached, trembling at every 
 shadow. They remembered many stories, such as rush 
 to the minds of persons in trouble, of similar cases, of 
 the machinations of the bad father whose only object 
 was to overcome and break down his wife, and who 
 stole his child away to let it languish and die. There 
 are some circumstances in which people forget all the 
 shades of character, and take it for granted that a mail 
 who can go wrong in one matter will act like a very 
 demon in all. This was doubly strong in Mrs. Dennis- 
 touu, a woman full of toleration and experience ; but 
 the issues were so momentous to her, and the possible 
 results so terrible, that she lost her accustomed good 
 sense. It was more natural, perhaps, that Elinor, who 
 was weak in health and still full of the arbitrarin*. 
 youth, should entertain this fear without considering 
 that Phil was the very last man in the world to burden 
 himself with an infant of the most helpless age which 
 seemed to John an almost quite unreasonable one. Al- 
 most for, of course, he too was compelled to allow, 
 when driven into a ^corner, that there was nothing that 
 an exasperated man might not do. Elinor had come 
 down early to see her cousin before he left the house, 
 bringing with her in her arms the little bundle of mus- 
 lin and flannel upon the safety of which her very life 
 seemed to depend. John looked at it, and at the small 
 pink face and unconscious flickering hands that formed 
 the small centre to all those wrappings, with a curious 
 mixture of pity and repugnance. It was like any other 
 blind new-born kitten or puppy, he thought, but not so 
 amusing no, it was not blind, to be sure. At one
 
 liL'6 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 moment, without any warning, it suddenly opened a 
 pair of eyes, which by a lively exercise of fancy might 
 be supposed like Elinor's, and seemed to look him in 
 the face, which startled him very much, with a curious 
 notification of the fact that the thing was not a kitten, 
 or a puppy. But then a little quiver came over the 
 small countenance, and the attendant said it was "the 
 wind." Perhaps the opening of the eyes was the wind 
 too, or some other automatic effect. He would not 
 hold out his finger to be clasped tight by the little 
 flickering fist, as Elinor would have had him. He would 
 none of those follies ; he turned away from it not to 
 allow himself to be moved by the effect, quite a mere- 
 tricious one, of the baby in the young mother's arms. 
 That was all poetry, sentiment, the trick of the painter, 
 who had found the combination beautiful. Such ideas 
 belonged, indeed, to the conventional-sacred, and lie 
 Lad never felt any profane resistance of mind against 
 the San Sisto picture or any of its kind. But Phil Comp- 
 ton's brat was a very different thing. "What did it mat- 
 ter what became of it ? If it were not for Elinor's per- 
 verse feeling on the subject, and that perfectly imbecile 
 prostration of her mother, a sensible woman who ought 
 to have known better, before the little creature, he would 
 himself have been rather grateful to Phil Cornptou for 
 taking it away. But when he saw the look of terror 
 upon Elinor's face when an unexpected step came to 
 the door, when he saw her turn and fly, wrapping the 
 child in her arms, on her very heart as it seemed, bend- 
 ing over it, covering it so that it disappeared altogether 
 in her embrace, John's heart was a little touched. It 
 was only a hawking tramp with pins and needles, who 
 came by mistake to the hall door, but her panic and 
 anguish of alarm were a spectacle which he could not 
 get out of his eyes. 
 
 " You see, she never feels safe for a moment. It will 
 be hard to persuade her that tiut man, though I've seen 
 him about the roads for years, is not an emissary or 
 a spy to find out if she is here." 
 
 "I am sure it is quite an unnecessary panic," said
 
 OF ELIXOR. 257 
 
 John. (t ln i:, ice, Phil Compton's the last man 
 
 to burden himself with a child ; in the second, he's not 
 a brute nor a monster." 
 
 " You called him a brute last night, John." 
 
 "I did not mean in that way. I don't mean to stand 
 by any rash word that may be forced from me in a mo- 
 ment of irritation. Aunt, get her to give over that. 
 She'll torture herself to death for nothing. He'll not 
 try to take the child away not just now. at all events, 
 
 not while it is a mere Bring her to her senses on 
 
 that point. You surely can do that ? " 
 
 " If I was quite sure of being in my own," Mrs. Den- 
 nistoun said, with a forlorn smile. " I am as much 
 frightened as she is, John. And, remember, if there 
 is anything to be done anything " 
 
 " There is nothing but a little common sense wanted," 
 said John. But as he drove away from the door, and 
 saw the hawker with the needles still about, the ladies 
 had so infected him that it was all he could do to re- 
 strain an inclination to take the vagrant by the collar 
 and throw him down the combe. 
 
 "Who's that fellow hanging about?" he said to 
 Pearson, who was driving him ; " and what does he 
 want here ? " 
 
 "Bless you, sir! that's Joe," Pearson said. "He's 
 after no harm. He's honest enough as long as there 
 ain't nothing much in his way ; and he's waiting for 
 the pieces as cook gives him once a week when he 
 comes his rounds. There's no harm in poor Joe." 
 
 "I suppose not, since you say so," said John ; " but 
 you know the ladies are rather nervous, Pearson. You 
 must keep a look-out that no suspicious-looking person 
 hangs about the house." 
 
 " Bless us ! Mr. John,'' said Pearson, " what are they 
 nervous about ? the baby ? But nobody wants to 
 Steal a baby, bless your soul ! " 
 
 " I quite agree with you," said John, much relieved, 
 gh he considered Pearson an old fool, in a general 
 to have his own opinion confirmed. "But, all 
 "TSI same, I wish vou would be doubly particular not to 
 17
 
 258 THE MAIIKIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 admit anybody you don't know ; and if any man should 
 appear to bother them send for me on the moment. 
 Do you hear ? " 
 
 "What do you call any man, sir ?" said Pearson, 
 smartly. He had ideas of his own, though he might be 
 a fool. 
 
 "I mean what I say," said John, more sharply still. 
 "Any one that molests or alarms them. Send me off 
 a telegram at once 'You're wanted!' That will be 
 quite enough. But don't go with it to the office your- 
 self ; send somebody there's always your boy about 
 the place and keep about like a dragon yourself." 
 
 "I'll do my best, sir," said Pearson, "though I don't 
 know what a dragon is, except it's the one in the Bible ; 
 and that's not a thing anybody would want about the 
 place." 
 
 It was a comfort to John, after all his troubles, to be 
 able to laugh, which he .did with a heartiness which 
 surprised Pearson, Avho was quite unaware that he had 
 made any joke. 
 
 These foars, however, which were imposed upon him 
 by the contagion of the terrors of the others, soon 
 passed from John's ruind. He was convinced that 
 Phil Compton would take no such step ; and that, how- 
 ever much he might wish his wife to return, the pos- 
 session of the baby was not a thing which he would 
 struggle over. It cannot be denied, however, that he 
 was anxious, and eagerly inspected his letters in the 
 morning, and looked out for telegrams during the day. 
 Fortunately, however, no evil tidings came. Mrs. Den- 
 nistoun reported unbroken peace in the Cottage and in- 
 ci'easiug strength on the part of Elinor ; and, in a paren- 
 thesis with a sort of apology, of the baby. Nobody had 
 come near them to trouble them. Elinor had received 
 no letters. The tie between her and her husband 
 seemed to be cut as with a knife. "We cannot of 
 course," she said, " expect this tranquillity to last." 
 
 And it came to be a very curious thought with John, 
 as week after week passed, whether it was to last 
 whether Phil Compton, who had never been supposed
 
 THE MARKTAftE OF ELINOR. LV, 
 
 wanting in courage, intended to let his wife and child 
 drop off from him as if they had never been. This 
 seemed a thing impossible to conceive : but John said 
 to himself with much internal contempt that he knew 
 nothing of the workings of the mind of such a man, 
 and that it might for aught he knew be a common inci- 
 dent in life with the Phil Comptons thus to shake off 
 their belongings when they got tired of them. The 
 fool ! the booby ! to get tired of Elinor ! That ru- 
 mour which flies about the world so strangely and com- 
 municates information about everybody to the vacant 
 ear, to be retailed to those whom it may concern, pro- 
 vided him, as the days went by, with many particulars 
 which he had not been able to obtain from Elinor. 
 Phil, it appeared, had gone to Glenorban the great 
 house to which he had been invited alone, with an 
 excuse for his wife, whose state of health was not ap- 
 propriate to a large party, and had stayed there spend- 
 ing Christmas with a brilliant houseful of guests, among 
 whom was the American lady who had captivated him. 
 Phil had paid one visit to the lodge to see Elinor, by 
 her mother's summons, at the crisis of her illness, but 
 had not hesitated to go away again when informed that 
 the crisis was over. Mrs. Deuiiistoun never told what 
 had passed between them on that occasion, but the 
 gossips of the club were credibly informed that she 
 had bullied and stormed at Phil, after the fashion of 
 mothers-in-law, till she had driven him away. Upon 
 which he had returned to his party and flirted with 
 Mrs. Harris more than ever. John discovered also that 
 the party having dispersed some time ago, Phil had 
 gone abroad. Whether in ignorance of his wife's 
 flight or not he could not discover ; but it was almost 
 impossible to believe that he would have gone to 
 Monte Carlo without rinding out something about Eli- 
 nor how and where she was. But whether this was 
 the cause of his utter silence, or whether it was the 
 habit of men of his class to treat such tremendous inci- 
 dents in domestic life with levity, John Tatham could 
 not make out. He was congratulating himself, how-
 
 2 ! i ) 1 'II E . V. L&fIA( I K r ' E I. IS Oil. 
 
 ever, upon keeping perfectly quiet, and leaving the con- 
 duct of the matter to the other party, when the silence 
 was disturbed in what seemed to him the most curious 
 way. 
 
 One afternoon when he returned from the court he 
 Avas aware, when he entered the outer office in which 
 his clerk abode, of what he described afterwards as a 
 smell fit to knock you down. It would have been de- 
 scribed more appropriately in a French novel as the 
 special perfume, subtle and exquisite, by which a beau- 
 tiful woman may be recognised wherever she goes. It 
 was, indeed, neither more nor less than the particular 
 scent used by Lady Mariainne, who came forward with 
 a sweep and rustle of her draperies, and the most in- 
 gratiating of her smiles. 
 
 "It appears to be fated that I am to wait for you," 
 she said. "How do you do, Mr. Tatham? Take me 
 out of this horrible dirty place. I am quite sure you 
 have some nice rooms in there." She pointed as she 
 spoke to the inner door, and moved towards it with 
 the air of a person who knew where she was going, 
 and was fully purposed to be admitted. John said 
 afterwards, that to think of this woman's abominable 
 scent being left in his room in which he lived (though 
 he also received his clients in it) was almost more than 
 he could bear. But, in the meantime, he could do 
 nothing but open the door to her, and offer her his 
 most comfortable chair. 
 
 She seated herself with all those little tricks of move- 
 ment which are also part of the stock-in-trade of the 
 pretty woman. Lady Mariamne's prettiness was not of 
 <\ kind which had the slightest effect upon John, but 
 still it was a kind which received credit in society, being 
 the product of a great deal of pains and care and exqui- 
 site arrangement and combination. She threw her fur 
 cloak back a little, arranged the strings of her bonnet 
 under her chin, which threw up the daintiness and rosi- 
 ness of a complexion about which there were many 
 questions among her closest friends. She shook up, 
 with what had often been commented upon as the
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 261 
 
 prettiest gesture, the bracelets from her wrists. She 
 arranged the veil, which just came over the tip of her 
 delicate nose, she put out her foot as if searching for a 
 footstool which John made haste to supply, though he 
 remained unaffected otherwise by all these pretty pre- 
 liminaries. 
 
 "Sit down, Mr. Tatham," then said Lady Mariamne. 
 "It makes me wretchedly uncomfortable, as if you were 
 some dreadful man waiting to be paid or something, to 
 see you standing there." 
 
 Though John's first impulse waa that of wrath to be 
 thus requested to sit down in his own chambers, the 
 position was amusing as well as disagreeable, and he 
 laughed and drew a chair towards his writing-table, 
 which was as crowded and untidy as the writing-table 
 of a busy man usually is, and placed himself in an 
 attitude of attention, though without asking any ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well," said Lady Mariamne, slowly drawing off her 
 glove ; "you know, of course, why I have come, Mr. 
 Tatham to talk over with you, as a man Who knows 
 the world, this deplorable business. You see it has 
 come about exactly as I said. I knew what would hap- 
 pen : and though I am not one of those people who al- 
 ways insist upon being proved right, you remember 
 what I said " 
 
 "I remember that you said something to which, 
 perhaps^ had I thought I should have been called upon 
 to give evidence as to its correctness I should have 
 paid more attention, Lady Mariamue." 
 
 " How rude you are ! " she said, with her whole in- 
 terest concentrated upon the slow removal of her glove. 
 Then she smoothed a little, softly, the pretty hand which 
 was thus uncovered, and said, "How red one's hands 
 get in this weather," and then laughed. "You don't 
 mean to tell me, Mr. Tatham," she said, suddenly rais- 
 ing her eyes to his, " that, considering what a very 
 particular person we were discussing, you can't remem- 
 ber what I said ? " 
 
 John was obliged to confess that he remembered
 
 262 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 more or less the gist of her discourse, and Lady 
 Mariarnne nodded her head many times in acceptance 
 of his confession. 
 
 " Well," she said, "you see what it has come to. An 
 open scandal, a separation, and everything broken up. 
 For one thing, I knew if she did not give him his head 
 a little that's what would happen. I don't believe he 
 cares a brass farthing for that other woman. She makes 
 fun of everybody, and that amused him. And it amused 
 him to put Nell in a state that as much as anything. 
 Why couldn't she see that and learn to prendre son parti 
 like other people ? She was free to say, ' You go your 
 way and I'll go mine : ' the most of us do that sooner or 
 later : but to make a vulgar open rupture, and go off 
 like this." 
 
 "I fail to see the vulgarity in it," said John. 
 
 " Oh, of course ; everything she does is perfect to 
 you. But just think, if it had been your own case 
 followed about and bullied by a jealous woman, in a 
 state of health that of itself disgusts a man 
 
 " Lady Mariamue, you must pardon me if I refuse to 
 listen to anything more of this kind," said John, starting 
 to his feet. 
 
 " Oh, I warn you, you'll be compelled to listen to a 
 great deal more if you're her agent as I hear ! Phil will 
 find means of compelling you to hear if you don't like 
 to take your information from me." 
 
 " I should like to know how Mr. Phil Compton will 
 succeed in compelling me to anything I don't choose 
 to do." 
 
 " You think, perhaps, because there's no duelling in 
 this country he can't do anything. But there is, all the 
 same. He would shame you into it he could say you 
 were sheltering yourself 
 
 " I am not a man to fight duels," said John, very 
 angry, but smiling, "in any circumstances, even were 
 such a thing not utterly ridiculous ; but even a fighting 
 man might feel that to put himself on a level with the 
 dis-Hon " 
 
 He stopped himself as he said it. How mean it was
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 203 
 
 to a woman ! descending to their own methods. But 
 Lady Mariamne was too quick for him. 
 
 " Oh," she said ; " so you've heard of that, a nickname 
 
 that no gentleman " then she too paused and looked 
 
 at him, with a momentary flush. He was going to 
 apologize abjectly, when with a slight laugh she turned 
 the subject aside. 
 
 " Pretty fools we are, both of us, to talk such non- 
 sense. I didn't come here carrying Phil on my 
 shoulders, to spring at your throat if you expressed 
 your opinion. Look here tell me, don't let us go beat- 
 ing about the bush, Mr. Tatham I suppose you have 
 seen Nell ? " 
 
 "I know my cousin's mind, at least," he said. 
 
 " Well, then, just tell me as between friends there's 
 no need we should quarrel because they have done so. 
 Tell me this, is she going to get up a divorce case " 
 
 " A divorce ! " 
 
 "Because," said Lady Mariamne, " she'll find it pre- 
 cious difficult to prove anything. I know she will. She 
 may prove the flirting and so forth but what's that ? 
 You can tell her from me, it wants somebody far better 
 up to things than she is to prove anything. I warn her 
 as a friend she'll not get much good by that move." 
 
 " I am not aware." said John, " whether Mrs. Comp- 
 ton has made up her mind about the further steps ' 
 
 "Then just you advise her not," cried Lady Ma- 
 riamne. "It doesn't matter to me: I shall be none 
 the worse whatever she does : but if you are her true 
 friend you will advise her not. She might tell what she 
 thinks, but that's no proof. Mr. Tatham, I know you 
 have great influence with Nell." 
 
 " Not in a matter like this," said John, with great 
 gravity. "Of course she alone can be the judge." 
 
 " What nonsense you talk, you men ! Of course she 
 is not the least the judge, and of course she will be 
 guided by you." 
 
 " You may be sure she shall have the best advice that 
 I can give," John said with a bow. 
 
 " You want me to go, I see," said Lady Mariamne ;
 
 L>G4 THE MA liUl AGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "you are dreadfully rude, standing up all the time to 
 show me I had better go." Hereupon she recommenced 
 her little manege, drawing on her glove, letting her 
 bracelets drop again, fastening the fur round her throat. 
 "Well, Mr. Tatham," she said, "I hope you m<ean to 
 have the civility to see after my carriage. I can't go 
 roaming about hailing it as if it were a hansom cab in 
 this queer place." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 JOHN went down to Windyhill that evening. His ap- 
 pearance alarmed the little household more than words 
 could say. As he was admitted at once by the servants, 
 delighted to see him, he walked in suddenly into the 
 midst of a truly domestic scene. The baby lay on 
 Elinor's knee in the midst of amass of white wrappings, 
 ticking out a pair of pink little legs in the front of the 
 fire. Elinor herself was seated on a very low chair, and 
 illuminated by the cheerful blaze, which threw a glare 
 upon her countenance, and called out unthought-of 
 lights in her hair, there was no appearance in her looks 
 of anxiety or trouble. She was altogether given up to 
 the baby and the joy of its new life. The little kicking 
 limbs, the pleasure of the little creature in the warmth, 
 the curling of its rosy little toes in the agreeable sensa- 
 tion of the heat, were more to Elinor and to her mother, 
 who was kneeling beside her on the hearth-rug, than the 
 most refined and lofty pleasures in the world. The 
 most lofty of us have to come down to those primitive 
 sources of bliss, if we are happy enough to have them 
 placed in our way. The greatest poet by her side, the 
 music of the spheres sounding in her ear, would not 
 have made Elinor forget her troubles like the stretching 
 out towards the fire of those little pink toes. 
 
 When the door opened, and the voice and step of a 
 man dreaded sounds were audible, a thrill of terror 
 ran over this little group. Mrs. Dennistoun sprang to
 
 THE MARRIA^K <>F KL1XOR. 
 
 her feet and placed herself between the intruder and 
 the young mother, while Elinor gathered up, covering 
 him all over, so that he disappeared altogether, her 
 child in her arms. 
 
 " It is John," said Mrs. Dennistoun. " God be 
 thanked, it is only John." 
 
 But Elinor, quite overcome by the shock, burst 
 suddenly into tears, to which the baby responded by a 
 vigorous cry, not at all relishing the sudden huddling 
 up among its shawls to which it had been subjected. 
 It may be supposed what an effect this cloudy side of 
 the happiness, which .he had not. been able to deny to 
 himself made a very pretty scene, had upon John. He 
 sai.l, not without a little offence, " I am sure I beg your 
 pardon humbly. I'll go away." 
 
 Elinor turned round her head, smiling through her 
 tears. " It was only that you gave me a fright," she 
 she said. "I ana quite right again ; don't, oh, don't go 
 away ! unless you object to the sight of baby, and to 
 hear him cry ; but he'll not cry now, any more than his 
 silly mother. Mamma, make John sit down and tell 
 us Oh, I am sure he has something to tell us Per- 
 haps I took comfort too soon ; but the very sight ,of 
 John is a protection and a strength," she said, holding 
 out her hand to him. This sudden change of front re- 
 duced John, who had been perhaps disposed for a mo- 
 ment to stand on his dignity, to utter subjection. He 
 neither said nor even thought a word against the baby, 
 who was presently unfolded again, and turned once 
 more the toes of comfort towards the fire. He did not 
 approach too near, feeling that he had no particular 
 share in the scene, and indeed cut an almost absurd 
 figure in the midst of that group, but sat behind, con- 
 templating it from a little distance against the fire. 
 The evening had grown dark by this time, but the two 
 women, absorbed by their worship, had wanted no 
 light. It had happened to John by an extreme piece of 
 luck to catch the express train almost as soon as Lady 
 Mariamne had left him, and to reach the station at 
 Hurrymere before the February day was done.
 
 260 TEE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " You have something to tell us, John good news 
 or bad ? " Mrs. Dennistoun said. 
 
 " Good ; or I should not have come like this unan- 
 nounced/' he said. " The post is quick enough for 
 bad. I think you may be quite at your ease about the 
 child no claim will be made on the child. Elinor, I 
 think, will not be disturbed if she means to take no 
 steps on her side." 
 
 " What steps ? " said Mrs. Dennistoun. Elinor turned 
 her head to look at him anxiously over the back of her 
 chair. 
 
 " I have had a visit this afternoon," he said. 
 
 " From " Elinor drew a long hurried breath. She 
 said no name, but it was evident that one was on her 
 lips a name she never meant to pronounce more, but 
 to which her whole being thrilled still even when it was 
 unspoken. She looked at him full of eagerness to hear 
 yet with a hand uplifted, as if to forbid any utterance. 
 
 " From Lady Mariamne." 
 
 How her countenance fell ! She turned round again, 
 and bent over her baby. It was a pang of acute disap- 
 pointment, he could not but see, that went through her, 
 though she would not have allowed him to say that 
 name. Strange inconsistency ! it ran over John too 
 with a sense of keen indignation, as if he had taken 
 from her an electric touch. 
 
 " Whose object in coming to me was to ascertain 
 
 whether you intended to bring a suit for divorce." 
 
 A cry rang through the room. Elinor turned upon 
 him for a moment a face blazing with hot and painful 
 colour. The lamp had been brought in, and he saw the 
 fierce blush and look of horror. Then she turned round 
 and buried it in her hands. 
 
 "Divorce!" said Mrs. Dennistoun. "Elinor ! 
 
 To drag her private affairs before the world. Oh, John, 
 John, that could not be. You would not wish that to 
 be." 
 
 "I! " he cried with a laugh of tuneless mirth. " Is 
 it likely that I would wish to drag Elinor before the 
 world ? "
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 257 
 
 Elinor did not say anything, but withdrew one hand 
 from her -burning cheek and put it into his. These 
 women treated John as if he were a man of wood. 
 What he might be feeling, or if he were feeling any- 
 thing, did not enter their minds. 
 
 "It was like her," said Elinor after a time in a low 
 hurried voice, " to think of that. She is the only one 
 who would think of it. As if I had ever thought or 
 dreamed " 
 
 " It is possible, however," he said, " that it might be 
 reasonable enough. I don't speak to Elinor," who had 
 let go his hand hastily, " but to you, aunt. If it is al- 
 together final, as she says, to be released would per- 
 haps be better, from a bond that was no bond." 
 
 " John, John, would you have her add shame to 
 pain ? " 
 
 "The shame would not be to her, aunt." 
 
 "The shame is to every one concerned to every 
 one ! My Elinor's name, her dear name, dragged 
 through all that mud ! She a party, perhaps, to rev- 
 elations Oh, never, never ! "We would bear anything 
 rather." 
 
 " This of course," said John, " is perhaps a still more 
 bitter punishment for the other side." 
 
 She looked round at him again. Looking up with a 
 look of pale horror, her eyelids in agonised curves over 
 her eves, her mouth quivering. " What did you say, 
 John ? " 
 
 "I said it might be a more bitter punishment still 
 for the other side." 
 
 Elinor lifted up her baby to her breast, raising her- 
 self with a new dignity, with her head high. " I meant 
 no punishment," she said, " I want none. I have left 
 what killed me behind me ; many things, not one 
 only. I have brought my boy away that he may never 
 never But if it would be better that another 
 should be free " 
 
 ' : I will never give my consent to it, Elinor." 
 
 " Xor I with my own mind ; but if it is vindictive if 
 it is revenge, mother ! I am not alone to think of my-
 
 2fiS THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 self. If it were better for that he should be free ; 
 
 speak to John about it and tell me. I cannot, cannot 
 discuss it. I will leave it all to John and you. It will 
 kill me ! but what does that matter? it is not revenge 
 that I seek." 
 
 She turned with the baby pressed to her breast and 
 walked away, her every movement showing the strain 
 and excitement of her soul. 
 
 "Why did you do this, John, without at least con- 
 sulting me ? You have thrown a new trouble into her 
 mind. She will never, never do this thing nor would 
 I permit it. There are some things in which I must 
 take a part. I could not forbid her marriage ; God 
 grant that I had had the strength to do it but this I 
 will forbid, to expose her to the whole world, when 
 everything we have done has been with the idea of con- 
 cealing what had happened. Never, never. I will 
 never consent to it, John." 
 
 " I had no intention of proposing such a step ; but 
 the other side as we are bound to call him are fright- 
 ened about it. And when I saw her look up, so young- 
 still, so sweet, with all her life before her, and thought 
 how she must spend it alone ; with no expanding, no 
 development, in this cottage or somewhere else, a life 
 shipwrecked, a being so capable, so full of possibilities 
 lost." 
 
 "I have spent my life in this cottage," said Mrs. 
 Dennistoun. "My husband died when I was thirt}' 
 my life was over, and still I was young ; but I had Eli- 
 nor. There were some who pitied me too, but their 
 pity was uncalled for. Elinor will live like her mother, 
 she has her boy." 
 
 "But it is different ; you cannot but see the differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " Yes, I see it it is different ; but not so different 
 that my Elinor's name should be placarded about the 
 streets and put in all the newspapers. Oh, never, 
 never, John. If the man suffers, it is his fault. She 
 will suffer, and it is not her fault ; but I will not, to re- 
 lease him, drag my child before the world."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun was so much excited that she L 
 to pace about the room, she who was usually so sober 
 and self restrained. She had borne much, but this she 
 was unable even to contemplate with calm. For once 
 in her life she had arrived at something which she 
 would not bear. John felt his own position very strange 
 sitting looking on as a spectator, while this woman, usu- 
 ally so self-controlled, showed her impatience of circum- 
 stances and fate. It was ruefully comic that this should 
 be, so to speak, his doing, though he was the last in the 
 world to desire any exposure of Elinor, or to have any 
 sympathy with those who sought justice for themselves 
 or revenge on others at such a cost. 
 
 "I was rash perhaps to speak as I did," he said ; "I 
 had no intention of doing it when I came. It was a 
 mere impulse, seeing Elinor : but you must know that 
 I agree with you perfectly. I see that Elinor's lot is 
 fixed anyhow. I believe that no decree of a court would 
 make any difference to her, and she would not change 
 the name that is the child's name. All that I recognise. 
 And one thing more, that neither you nor Elinor has 
 recognised. They he is afraid of any proceedings I 
 suppose I may mention him to you. It's rather absurd, 
 don't you think, speaking of a fellow of that sort, or 
 rather, not speaking of him at all, as if his name was 
 sacred ? He is afraid of proceedings whatever may be 
 the cause." 
 
 "John, can't you understand that she cannot bear to 
 speak of him, a man she so fought for, against us all ? 
 And now her eyes are opened, she is undeceived, she 
 knows him all through and through, more, far more, 
 than we do. She opened her mind to me once, and 
 only once. It was not thai alone ; oh, no, no. There 
 are things that rankle more than that, something he 
 did before they were married, and made her help him 
 to conceal. Something dishon I can't say the word, 
 John." 
 
 "Oh," said John, grimly, "you need not mind 
 me." 
 
 " Well, the woman I blush to have to speak to you
 
 '270 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 even of such a thing the woman, John, was not the 
 worst. She almost might, I think, have forgiven that. 
 It was one thing after another, and that, that first bus- 
 iness the worst of all. She found it out somehow, and 
 lit' had made her take a part I can't tell what. She 
 would never open her lips 011 the subject again. Only 
 that once it all burst forth. Oh, divorce ! What would 
 that do to her, besides the shame? You understand 
 some things, John," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with a smile, 
 " though you are a man. She would never do anything 
 to give herself a name different from her child's." 
 
 "Yes," said John, with a laugh, " I think I understand 
 a thing or two, though, as you say, my dear aunt, I am 
 only a man. However, it is just as well I am that im- 
 perfect creature, to take care of you. It understands 
 the tactics of the wicked better than you do. And now 
 you must persuade Elinor and persuade yourself of 
 what I came here on purpose to tell you not to dis- 
 turb you, as I have been so unfortunate as to do. You 
 are perfectly safe from him. I will not let the enemy 
 know your sentiments, or how decided you are on the 
 subject. I will perhaps, if you will let me, crack the 
 whip a little over their heads, and keep them in a pleas- 
 ing uncertainty. But as long as he is afraid that she 
 will take proceedings against him, he will take none, you 
 may be sure, against her. So you may throw aside all 
 your precautions and be happy over your treasure in 
 your own way." 
 
 " Thank God for what you say, John ; you take a 
 weight off my heart. But happy how can you speak 
 of being happy after such a catastrophe ? " 
 
 " I thought I came in upon a very happy little scene. 
 It might be only pretence, but it looked uncommonly 
 like the real thing." 
 
 " You mean the baby, John, the dear infant that 
 knows no harm. He does take off our thoughts a little, 
 and enable us to bear ' 
 
 " Oh, aunt, don't be a hypocrite ; that was never a 
 fault of yours. Confess that with all your misery about 
 Elinor you are happy to have her here and her child
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 271 
 
 notwithstanding everything happy as you have not 
 been for many a day." 
 
 She sat down by him and gave him her hand. " John, 
 to be a man you have wonderful insight, and it's I who 
 am a very, very imperfect creature. You don't think 
 worse of me to be glad to have her, even though it is 
 purchased by such misery arid trouble ? God knows," 
 cried the poor lady, drying her eyes, " that I would give 
 her up to-morrow, and with joy, and consent never to 
 see her again, if that would be for her happiness. John ! 
 I've not thrust myself upon them, have I, nor done any- 
 thing against him, nor said a word ? But now that she 
 is here, and the baby, and all to myself whicli I never 
 hoped would I not be an ungrateful woman if I did 
 not thank God for it, John ? " 
 
 " You are an excellent special pleader, aunt," he said, 
 with a laugh, " as most women whom I have known 
 are : and I agree with you in everything. You behaved 
 to them, while it was tJiem, angelically : you effaced 
 yourself, and I fully believe you never said a word 
 against him. Also, I believe that if circumstances 
 changed, if anything happened to make her see that she 
 could go back to him " 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoim started in spite of herself, and 
 pressed her hands together, with a half sob of dismay. 
 
 " I don't think it likely, but if it were so, you would 
 sacrifice yourself again I haven't a doubt of it Why, 
 then, set up this piece of humbug to me who know you 
 so well, and pretend that you are not very happy for the 
 moment ? You are, and you have a good right to be : 
 and I say enjoy it, my dear aunt ; take all the good of 
 it, you will have no trouble from him." 
 
 " You think so, you really think so, John? " 
 
 " I have no doubt of it : and you must persuade 
 Elinor. Don't think I am making light of the situation : 
 you'll have plenty to trouble you no doubt, when that 
 little shaver grows up " 
 
 " John ! " 
 
 " Well, he is a little shaver (whatever that may mean 
 I'm sure I don't know), if he were a little piince.
 
 'J72 THK MMUiL\dK OF KLIXOR. 
 
 When lie grows up you will Lave your business laid out 
 for you, and I don't envy you the clearing up 
 
 "John don't speak as if a time would come when you 
 would not stand by us. I mean stand by Elinor." 
 
 "Your first phrase was much the best. I will stand 
 by you both as a matter of course." 
 
 " You must consider I shall be an old woman then ; 
 and who knows if I may live to see the poor little 
 darling grow up ? " 
 
 " The poor little darling may never grow up, and 
 none of us may live to see it. One prediction is as 
 good as another : but I think better things of you, aunt, 
 than that you would go and die and desert. Elinor, un- 
 less ' so be as you couldn't help it,' as Pearson says. 
 But, however, in the meantime, dying of anybody is 
 not in the question, and I hope both you and she will 
 take as much pleasure out of the baby and be as happy 
 as circumstances will allow. And I'll tell Pearson that 
 there is no need for him to act the dragon either the 
 Bible one, whom lie did not think you would like to 
 have about the house, or any other for the danger is 
 over. Trust me at least for that." 
 
 "I trust you for everything, John ; but," added Mrs. 
 Dennistoun, " I wouldn't say anything to Pearson. If 
 you've told him to be a dragon, let him be a dragon 
 still. I am sure you are right, and I will tell Elinor so, 
 and comfort her heart ; but we may as well keep a good 
 look out, and our eyes about us, all the same." 
 
 ' They are sure I am right, but think it bettor to go 
 on as if I were wrong," John said to himself as he went 
 to dress for dinner. And while he went through this 
 ceremony, he had a great many thoughts half-impa- 
 tient, half-tender of the wonderful ways of women 
 which are so ama/ing to men in general, as the ways of 
 men are amazing to women, and will be so, no doubt, 
 as long as the world goes on. The strange mixture of 
 the wise and the foolish, the altogether heroic, and the 
 involuntarily fictitious, struck his keen perception with 
 a humourous understanding, and amusement, and 
 sympathy. That Mrs. Dennistoun should pose a little
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 273 
 
 as a sufferer while she was unmitigated!} 7 happy in the 
 possession of Elinor and the child, and be abashed when 
 she was forced to confess how ecstatic was the fearful 
 joy which she snatched in the midst of danger, was 
 strange enough. But that Elinor, at this dreadful 
 crisis of her life, when every bond was rent asunder, 
 and all that is ordinarily called happiness wrecked for 
 ever, should be moved to the kind of rapture he had 
 seen in her face by the reaching out and curling in of 
 those little pink toes in the warm light of the fire, was 
 inconceivable a thing that was not in any philosophy. 
 She had made shipwreck of her life. She had torn the 
 man whom she loved out of her heart, and fled from 
 his neglect and treachery a fugitive to her mother's 
 house. And yet as she sat before the fire with this lit- 
 tle infant cooing in the warmth like a puppy or a little 
 pig, or any other little animal you can suggest this was 
 the thought of the irreverent man there was a look 
 of almost more than common happiness, of blessedness, 
 in her face. Who can fathom these things? They 
 were at least beyond the knowledge, though not the 
 sympathy, of this very rising member of the bar. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THUS there came a sort of settling down and com- 
 posure of affairs. Phil Compton and all belonging to 
 him disappeared from the scene, and Elinor returned 
 to all the habits of her old life all the habits, with one 
 extraordinary and incalculable addition which changed 
 all these habits. The baby so inconsiderable a lit- 
 tle creature, not able to show a feeling, or express a 
 thought, or make even a tremulous step from one pair 
 of loving arms to another an altogether helpless little 
 bundle, but nevertheless one who had already altered 
 the existence of the cottage and its inhabitants, and 
 made life a totally different thing for them. Can I tell 
 18
 
 274 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 how this was done ? No doubt for the wisest objects, 
 to guard the sacred seed of the race as mere duty could 
 never guard it, rendering it the one thing most precious 
 in the world to those to whom it is confided at least 
 to most of them. When that love fails, then is the deep- 
 est abyss of misery reached. I do not say that Elinor 
 was happy in this dreadful breaking up of her life, or 
 that her heart did not go back, with those relentings 
 which are the worst part of every disruption, to the man 
 who had broken her heart and unsettled her nature. 
 The remembrance of him in his better moments would 
 flash upon her, and bear every resentment away. 
 Dreadful thoughts of how she might herself have done 
 otherwise, have rendered their mutual life better, would 
 come over her ; and next moment recollections still 
 more terrible of what he had done and said, the scorn 
 she had borne, the insults, the neglect, and worse of all 
 the complicity he had forced upon her, by which he 
 had made her guilty when she knew and feared noth- 
 ing when these thoughts overcame her, as they did 
 twenty times" in a day, for it is the worst of such 
 troubles that they will not be settled by one struggle, 
 but come back and back, beginning over again at the 
 same point, after we have wrestled through them, and 
 have thought that we had come to a close when these 
 thoughts, I say, overcame her, she would rush to the 
 room in which the baby held his throne, and press him 
 to the heart which was beating so hotly, till it grew 
 calm. And in the midst of all to sit down by the fire 
 with the little atom of humanity in her lap, and see it 
 spread and stretch its rosy limbs, would suffice to bring 
 again to Jier face that beatitude which had filled John 
 Tatham with wonder unspeakable. She took the baby 
 and laid him on her heart to take the pain away : and 
 so after a minute or two there was no more question 
 of pain, but of happiness, and delicious play, and the 
 raptures of motherhood. How strange were these 
 things ! She could not understand it herself, and 
 fortunately did not try, but accepted that solace pro- 
 vided by God. As for Mrs. Dennistoun, she made uo
 
 TllK MARRIAGE OF ELISVli. 
 
 longer any pretences to herself, but allowed herself, as 
 John had advised, to take her blessedness frankly with- 
 out hypocrisy. When Elinor's dear face was veiled by 
 misery her -mother was sympathetically miserable, but 
 at all other moments her heart sang for joy. She had 
 her child again, and she had her child's child, an end- 
 less occupation, amusement, and delight. All this 
 might come to an end who can tell when ? but for 
 the moment her house was no more lonely, the re- 
 quirements of her being were satisfied. She had 
 her Elinor what more was to be said? And yet there 
 was more to be said, for in addition there was the 
 boy. 
 
 This was very well so far as the interior of the house 
 and of their living was concerned, but very soon other 
 difficulties arose. It had been Mrs. Dennistoun's desire, 
 when she returned home, to communicate some modi- 
 fied version of what had happened to the neighbours 
 around. She had thought it would not only be wise, 
 but easier for themselves, that their position should be 
 understood in the little parish society which, if it did 
 not know authoritatively, would certainly inquire and 
 investigate and divine, with the result of perhaps be- 
 lieving more than the truth, perhaps setting up an en- 
 tirely fictitious explanation which it would be impossi- 
 ble to set aside, and very hard to bear. It is the worst 
 of knowing a number of people intimately, and being 
 known by them from the time your children were in 
 their cradles, that every domestic incident requires 
 some sort of explanation to this close little circle of 
 spectators. But Elinor, who had not the experience of 
 her mother in such matters, nor the knowledge of life, 
 made a strenuous opposition to this. She would not 
 have anything said. It was better, she thought, to leave 
 it to their imagination, if they chose to interfere with 
 their neighbours' concerns and imagine anything. " But 
 why should they occupy themselves about us? And 
 they have no imaginations," she said, with a contempt 
 of her neighbours which is natural to young people, 
 though very unjustifiable. "But, my darling," Mrs.
 
 L'70 THE MAR1UAUE OF ELINOR. 
 
 <S 
 
 Dennistoun would say, " the position is so strange. 
 There are not many young women who And there 
 must be some way of accounting for it. Let us just 
 tell them " 
 
 "For heaven's sake, mamma, tell them nothing ! I 
 have come to pay you a long visit after my neglect of 
 you for these two years, which, of course, they know 
 well enough. What more 'do they want to know ? It is 
 a very good reason : and while baby is so young of 
 course it is far better for him to be in a settled home, 
 where he can be properly attended to, than moving 
 about. Isn't that enough ? " 
 
 " Well, Elinor ; at least you will let me say as much 
 as that " 
 
 " Oh, they can surely make it out for themselves. 
 What is the use of always talking a matter over, to lead 
 to a little more, and a little more, till the appetite for 
 gossip is satisfied ? Surely, in our circumstances, least 
 said is soonest mended," Elinor said, with that air of 
 superior understanding which almost always resides in 
 persons of the younger generation. Mrs. Dennistoun 
 said no more to her, but she did take advantage of the 
 explanation thus suggested. She informed the anxious 
 circle at the Rectory that Elinor had come to her on a 
 long visit, " partly for me, and partly for the baby," she 
 said, with one of those smiles which are either the 
 height of duplicity or the most pathetic evidence of 
 self-control, according as you choose to regard them. 
 " She thinks she has neglected her mother, though I am 
 sure I have never blamed her ; and she thinks of which 
 there can be no doubt that to carry an infant of that 
 age moving about from place to place is the worst thing 
 in the world ; and that I am very thankful she should 
 think so, I need not say." 
 
 "It is very nice for you, dear Mrs. Dennistoun," 
 Mrs. Hudson said. 
 
 " And a good thing for Elinor," said Alice, " for she 
 is looking very poorly. I have always heard that 
 fashionable life took a great deal out of you if you are 
 not quite brought up to it. I am sure I couldu't stand
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 277 
 
 it," the young lady said with fervour, who had never 
 had that painful delight in her power. 
 
 "That is all very well," said the Rector, rubbing his 
 hands, " but what does Mr. Comptou say to it? I don't 
 want to say a word against your arrangements, my dear 
 lady, but you know there must be some one on the hus- 
 band's side. Now, I am on the husband's side, and I 
 am sorry for the poor young man. I hope he is going 
 to join his wife. I hope, excuse me for saying it, that 
 Elinor though we are all so delighted to see herwill 
 not forsake him, for too long." 
 
 And then Mrs. Dennistoun felt herself compelled to 
 embroider a little upon her theme. 
 
 " He has to be a great deal abroad during this year," 
 she said ; " he has a great many things to do. Elinor 
 does not know when he will be home. That is one 
 reason " 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure," the Rector said, rubbing 
 his hands still more, and coming to her aid just as she 
 was breaking down. " Something diplomatic, of course. 
 Well, we must not inquire into the secrets of the State. 
 But what an ease to his mind, my dear lady, to think 
 that his wife and child will be safe with you while he's 
 away ! " 
 
 Mary Dale not being present could not of course say 
 anything. She was a person who was alwaj's dreadfully 
 well informed. It was a comfort unspeakable that at 
 this moment she was away ! 
 
 This explanation made the spring pass quietly 
 enough, but not without many questions that brought 
 the blood to Elinor's face. When she was asked by some 
 one, for the first time, "When do you expect Mr. 
 Compton, Elinor ? " the sudden wild flush of colour 
 which flooded her countenance startled the questioner 
 as much as the question did herself. " Oh, I beg your 
 pardon ! " said the injudicious but perfectly innocent 
 seeker for information. I fear that Elinor fell upon her 
 mother after this, and demanded to know what she had 
 said. But as Mrs. Dennistoun was innocent of anything 
 but having said that Philip was abroad, there was no
 
 278 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 satisfaction to be got out of that. Some time after, one 
 of the Miss Hills congratulated Elinor, having seen in 
 the papers that Mr. Compton was returning to town for 
 the season. " I suppose, dear Elinor, we shan't have 
 you with us much longer," this lady said. And then it 
 became known at the Cottage that Mary Dale was re- 
 turning to the Itectory. -This was the last aggravation, 
 and Elinor, who had now recovered her strength and 
 energy, and temper along with it, received the ne^ s 
 with an outburst of impatience which frightened her 
 mother. "You may as well go through the parish and 
 ring the bell, and tell everybody everything," she said. 
 " Mary Dale will have heard all, and a great deal more 
 than all ; she will come with her budget, and pour it 
 out far and wide ; she will report scenes that never took 
 place : and quarrels, and all that that woman insinu- 
 ated to John and she will be surrounded with people 
 who will shake their heads, and sink their voices when 
 we come in and say, ' Poor Elinor ! ' I cannot bear it, I 
 cannot bear it," she cried. 
 
 "My darling! that was bound to come sooner or 
 later. AVe must set our faces like a rock, and look as if 
 we were unaware of anything " 
 
 "I cannot look as if I were unaware. I cannot meet 
 all their cruel eyes. I can see, now, the smile on Mary 
 Dale's face, that will say, ' I told you so.' I shall hear 
 her say it even when I am in my room, with the combe 
 between. I know exactly how she will say it ' If Elinor 
 had listened to me ' 
 
 ' Elinor," said poor Mrs. Dennistoun, " I cannot con- 
 tradict you, dear. It will be so but none of them are 
 cruel, not even Mary Dale. They will make their re- 
 marks who could help it ? we should ourselves if it 
 were some one else's case : but they will not be cruel 
 don't think so they will be full of sympathy 
 
 " Which is a great deal worse," Elinor said, in her 
 unreason ; " the one might be borne, but the other I 
 will not endure. Sympathy, yes ! They will all be sorry 
 for me they will say they knew how it would be. Oh, 
 I know I have not profited as I ought by what has hap-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 279 
 
 pened to me. I am unsubdued. I am as impatient and 
 as proud as ever. It is quite true, but it cannot be 
 mended. It is more than I can bear." 
 
 " My darling," said her mother, again. " We all say 
 that in our trouble, and yet we know that we have got 
 to bear it all the same. It is intolerable one says that 
 a thousand times and yet it has to be put up with. 
 All the time that we have been flattering ourselves that 
 nobody took any notice it has been a delusion, Eli- 
 nor. How could it be otherwise ? We must set our 
 faces " 
 
 "Not I, mamma!" she said. "Not I! I must go 
 away " 
 
 "G-oaway? Elinor!" 
 
 " Among strangers ; where nobody has heard of me 
 before where nobody can make any remark. To live 
 like this, among a crowd of people who think they ought 
 to know everything that one is doing who are nothing 
 to you, and yet whom you stand in awe of and must ex- 
 plain everything to ! it is this that is intolerable. I 
 cannot, cannot bear it. Mother, I will take my baby, 
 and I will go away " 
 
 " Where ? " said Mrs. Dennistoun, with all the colour 
 fading out of her face. What panic had taken her I 
 cannot telL She grew pale to her lips, and the words 
 were almost inaudible which she breathed forth. I 
 think she thought for a moment that Elinor's heart had 
 turned, that she was going back to her husband to find 
 refuge with him from the strife of tongues which she 
 could not encounter alone. All the blood went back 
 upon the mother's heart yet she set herself to suppress 
 all emotion, and if this should be so, not to oppose it 
 for was it not the thing of all others to be desired the 
 thing which everybody would approve, the reuniting of 
 those whom God had put together ? Though it might 
 be death to her, not a word of opposition would she 
 say. 
 
 " Where ? how can I tell where anywhere, anywhere 
 out of the world," cried Elinor, in the boiling tide of 
 her impatience and wretchedness, " where nobody ever
 
 2^0 THE MARRIAGE OF KLTNOR. 
 
 heard of us before, where there will be no one to ask, 
 no one to require a reason, where we should be free to 
 move when we please and do as we please. Let ine go, 
 mother. I seemed too dear, too peaceful to come home, 
 but now home itself has become intolerable. I will 
 take my baby and I will go to the farthest point the 
 railway can take me to with no servant to betray me, 
 not even an address. Mother, let me go away and be 
 lost ; let me be as if I had never been." 
 
 "And me am I to remain to bear the brunt be- 
 hind?" 
 
 " And you mamma ! Oh, I am the most unworthy 
 creature. I don't deserve to have you, I that am always 
 giving you pain. Why should I unroot you from your 
 place where you have lived so long from your flowers, 
 and your landscape, and your pretty rooms that were 
 always a comfort to think of in that horrible time when 
 I was away ? I always liked to think of you here, 
 happy and quiet, in the place you had chosen." 
 
 "Flowers and landscapes are pretty things," said 
 Mrs. Dennistouu, whose colour had begun to come 
 again a little, " but they don't make up for one's chil- 
 dren. .We must not do anything rashly, Elinor ; but 
 if what you mean is really that you will go away to a 
 strange place among strangers 
 
 "What else could I mean?" Elinor said, and then 
 she in her turn grew pale. " If you thought I could 
 mean that I would go back 
 
 " Oh, my darling, my darling ! God knows if we 
 are right or wrong I not to advise you so, or you not 
 to take my advice. Elinor, it is my duty, and I will 
 say it though it were to break my heart. There only 
 could you avoid this strife of tongues. John spoke the 
 truth. He said, as the boy grew up we should have ' 
 many troubles. I have known women endure every- 
 thing that their children might grow up in a natural 
 situation, in their proper sphere. Think of this I am 
 saying it against my own interest, against my own 
 heart. But think of it, Elinor. Whatever you might 
 have to bear, you would be in your natural place."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 281 
 
 Elinor received this agitated address standing up, 
 holding her head high, her nostrils expanded, her lips 
 apart. "Have you quite done, mother? " she said. 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun made an appealing movement with 
 her hands, and sank, without any power to add a word, 
 into a chair. 
 
 "I am glad you said it against your heart. Now you 
 must feel that your conscience is clear. Mother, if I 
 had to wander the world from place to place, without 
 even a spot of ground on which to rest my foot, I would 
 never, never do what you say. What ! take my child 
 to grow up in that tainted air ; give him up to be 
 taught such tilings as they teach ! Never, never, never ! 
 His natural place, did you say ? I would rather the 
 slums of London were his natural place. He would 
 have some chance there ! If I could bear it for my- 
 self, yet I could not for him for him most of all. I 
 will take him up in my arms. Thank God, I am strong 
 now an ft. can carry him and go away among 
 strangers, I don't care where where there can be no 
 questions and no remarks." 
 
 " But not without me, Elinor ! " 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother ! What a child I am to you, 
 to rend your heart as I have done, and now to tear you 
 out of your house and home ! " 
 
 " My home is where my children are," Mrs. Denuis- 
 touu said : and then she made a little pause. " But 
 we must think it over, Elinor. Such a step as this 
 must not be taken rashly. We will ask John to come 
 down and advise us. My dear " 
 
 "No, mother, not John or any one. I will go first if 
 you like and find a place, and you will join me after. 
 That woman " (it was poor Mary Dale, who was indeed 
 full of information, but meant no harm) "is coming 
 directly. I will not wait here to see her, or their faces 
 after she has told them all the lies she will have heard. 
 I am not going to take advice from any one. Let me 
 alone, mother. I must. I must go away." 
 
 " But not by yourself, Elinor," Mrs. Dennistoun said. 
 
 This was how it happened that John Tatham, who
 
 282 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 had meant to go down to the Cottage the very next 
 Saturday to see how things were going, was driven 
 into a kind of stupefaction one morning in May by a 
 letter which reached him from the North, a letter con- 
 veying news so unexpected and sudden, so unlike any- 
 thiug that had seemed possible, that he laid it down, 
 when it was half read, with a gasp of astonishment, 
 unable to believe his eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IT was Mrs. Dennistoun whose letter brought John 
 Tatham such dismay. It was dated Lakeside, Water- 
 dale, Penrith an address with which he had no asso- 
 ciations whatever, and which he gazed at blankly for a 
 moment before he attempted to read the letter, not 
 knowing how to connect it with the well-known writing 
 which was as familiar as the common day. 
 
 " You will wonder to see this address*," she wrote. 
 " You will wonder still more, dear John, when I tell 
 you we have come here for good. I have left the 
 Cottage in an agent's hands with the hope of letting it. 
 Wiadyhill is such a healthy place that I hope somebody 
 will soon be found to take it. You know Elinor would 
 not let me make any explanation. And the constant 
 questions and allusions to his movements which people 
 had seen in the papers, and so forth, had got on her 
 nerves, poor child. You can understand how easily 
 this might come about. At last she got that she could 
 not bear it longer. Mary Dale, who always lives half 
 the year with her sister at the Rectory, was coming- 
 back. You know it was she who brought the first tale 
 about him, and she knows, I think, all the gossip that 
 ever was got up about any one. Poor Elinor though 
 I don't believe Mary bad any bad meaning ; and it 
 would, alas ! have been for all our good had we listened
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 283 
 
 to what she said Elinor cannot bear her ; and when 
 she heard she was coming, she declared she would take 
 her baby and go away. I tried to bring her to reason, 
 but I could not. Naturally it was she who convinced 
 me you know the process, John. Indeed, in many 
 things I can see it is the best thing we could do. I am 
 not supremely attached to Windyhill. The Cottage 
 had got to be very homelike after living in it so long, 
 but home is where those are whom one loves. And to 
 live among one set of people for so many years, if it has 
 great advantages, has at the same time very great dis- 
 advantages too. You can't keep anything to yourself. 
 You must explain every step you take, and everything 
 that happens to you. This is a lovely country, a little 
 cold as yet, and a little damp perhaps, being so near 
 the lake but the mountains are beautiful, and the air 
 delicious. Elinor is out all the day long, and baby 
 grows like a dower. You must come and see us as 
 soon as ever you can. That is one dreadful drawback, 
 that we shall not have you running up and down from 
 Saturday to Monday : and I am afraid you will be ^exed 
 with us that we did not take your advice first you. 
 who have always been our adviser. But Elinor would 
 not hear a word of any advice. I think she was afraid 
 you would disapprove : and it would have been worse 
 to fly in your face if you had disapproved than to come 
 away without consulting you : and you know how im- 
 petuous she is. At all events the die is cast. Write 
 kindly to her ; don't say anything to vex her. You can 
 let yourself out, if you are very angry, upon me. 
 
 " One thing more. She desires that if you write you 
 should address her as J7>.< Compton only, no Honour- 
 able. That might attract attention, and what we desire 
 is to escape notice altogether, which I am sure is a 
 thing you will thoroughly understand, now that we 
 have transplanted ourselves so completely. Dear John, 
 form the most favourable idea you can of this sudden 
 step, and come and see us as soon as it is possible. 
 
 "Yours afiectly., 
 
 "it D."
 
 TffK MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 To say that John was thunderstruck by this letter is 
 to describe his sensations mildly, for he was for a time 
 bitterly angry, wounded, disappointed, disturbed to the 
 bottom of his soul ; but perhaps if truth were told 
 it could scarcely be said that he disapproved. He 
 thought it over, which he naturally did all that day, to 
 the great detriment of his work, first with a sort of rage 
 against Elinor and her impetuosity, which presently 
 shaded down into understanding of her feelings, and 
 ended in a sense that he might have known it from the 
 first, and that really no other conclusion was possible. 
 He came gradually to acquiesce in the step the ladies 
 had takeil. To have to explain everything to the Hud- 
 ! sons, and Hills, and Mary Dales, to open up your most 
 sacred heart in order that they might be able to form a 
 theoiy sufficient for their outside purposes of your 
 motives and methods, or, what was perhaps worse still 
 to know that they were or. the watch, guessing what 
 you did not tell them, putting things together, explain- 
 ing this and that in their own way would have been 
 intolerable. " That is the good of having attached 
 friends," John exclaimed to himself, very unjustly : for 
 it is human nature that is to blame, if there is any 
 blame attaching to an exercise of ingenuity so inevitable. 
 As a matter of fact, when Miss Dale brought the true 
 or something like the true account to Wiudyhill, the 
 warmth of the sympathy for Elinor, the wrath of the 
 whole community with her unworthy husband, was 
 almost impassioned. Had she been there it would not 
 have been possible for those good people altogether to 
 conceal from her how sorry and how indignant they 
 were ; even perhaps there might have been some who 
 could not have kept out of their eyes, who must have 
 betrayed in some word or shake of the head the " I told 
 you so " which is so clear to human nature. But how 
 was it possible that they could remain uninterested, 
 unaffected by the trouble in the midst of them, or even 
 appear to be so ? John, like Elinor, threw a fiery dart 
 of impatience at the country neighbours, not allowing 
 that everywhere in the greatest town, in the most cos-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELlXUll. L'85 
 
 mopolitan community, this would have been the same. 
 " The chattering gossips ! " he said, as if a club would 
 not have been a great deal worse, as if indeed his own 
 club, vaguely conscious of a connection by marriage be- 
 tween him and the dis-Honourable Phil, had -not dis- 
 cussed it all, behind his back, long ago. . 
 
 But on the whole John was forced not to disapprove. 
 y that he went the length of approving would be 
 too much, and to deny that he launched forth a tre- 
 mendous letter upon Mrs. Dennistoun, who always 
 bore the brunt, is more than my conscience would 
 permit. He did do this, throwing out, as the French 
 say, fire and flame, but a few days after followed it up 
 by a much milder letter (need I say this was addressed 
 to Elinor ?), allowing that he understood their motives, 
 and that perhaps, from their own point of view, they 
 were not so very much to blame. " You will find it 
 very damp, very cold, very different from Windy hill," 
 he said, with a sort of savage satisfaction. But as it 
 happened to be unusually good weather among the 
 lakes when his letter came, this dart did not do much 
 harm. And that John felt the revolution in his habits 
 consequent upon this move very much, it would be 
 futile to deny. To have nowhere to go to freely when 
 he pleased from Saturday to Monday (he had at least 
 a score of places, but none like the Cottage) made a 
 wonderful difference in his life. But perhaps when he 
 came to think of it soberly, as he did so often in the 
 brilliant Saturday afternoons of early summer, when the 
 sunshine on the trees made his heart a little sick with 
 the idea that he had, as he said to himself, nowhere to 
 goto, he was not sure that the difference was not on the 
 whole to his advantage. A man perhaps should not 
 have it in his power to enjoy, in the most fraternal in- 
 timacy, the society of another man's wife whenever he 
 pleased, even if to her he was, as he knew, of as little 
 importance (notwithstanding that she was, as she would 
 have said, so fond of John) as the postman, say, or any 
 other secondary (Vet sufficiently interesting) figure in 
 the country neighbourhood. John knew in his heart
 
 286 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 of hearts that this was not a good thing nor a whole- 
 some thing for him. He was not a man, as has been 
 said, who would ever have hurried events, or insisted 
 upon appropriating a woman, even when he loved her, 
 and securing her as his very own. He would always 
 have been able to put that off, to subordinate it to the 
 necessity of getting on in the world, and securing his 
 position : and he was by no means sure when he ques- 
 tioned his own heart (which was a thing he did seldom, 
 knowing, like a wise man, that that shifty subject often 
 made queer revelations, and was not at all an easy object 
 to cross-examine), that the intercourse which he had 
 again dropped into \vith Elinor was not on the whole as 
 much as he required. There was no doubt that it kept 
 him alive from one period to another ; kept his heart 
 moderately light and his mind wonderfully contented 
 as nothing else had ever done. He looked forward to his 
 fortnightly or monthly visit to the Cottage (sometimes 
 one, and sometimes the other ; he never indulged him- 
 self so far as to go every week), and it gave him happi- 
 ness enough to tide over all the dull moments between : 
 and if anything came in his way and detained him even 
 from his usual to a later train, he was ridiculously, 
 absurdly angry. What right had he to feel so in re- 
 spect to another man's wife ? What right had he to 
 watch the child the child whom he disliked so much to 
 begin with developing its baby faculties with an interest 
 he was half ashamed of, but which went on increasing ? 
 Another man's wife and another man's child. He saw 
 now that it was not a wholesome thing for him, and he 
 could never have given it up had they remained. It had 
 become too much a part of his living ; should he not 
 be glad therefore that they had taken it into their own 
 hands, and gone away ? When it suddenly occurred 
 to John, however, that this perhaps had some share in 
 the ladies' hasty decision, that Mrs. Dennistoun perhaps 
 (all that was objectionable was attributed to this poor 
 lady) had been so abominably clear-sighted, so odiously 
 presuming as to have suspected this, his sudden blaze 
 of anger was fbiidroyunt. Perhaps she had settled
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 1^7 
 
 upon it for his sake, to take temptation out of his way. 
 John could scarcely contain himself when this view of 
 the case flashed upon him, although he was quite aware 
 for himself that though it was a bitter wrench, yet it 
 was perhaps good for him that Elinor should go away. 
 It was probably this wave of fierce and, as we are 
 aware, quite unreasonable anger rushing over him that 
 produced the change which everybody saw in John's life 
 about this time. It was about the beginning of the 
 season when people's enjoyments begin to multiply, 
 and for the first time iu his life John plunged into 
 society like a very novice. He went everywhere. By 
 this time he had made a great start in life, had been 
 brought into note in one or two important cases, and 
 was, as everybody knew, a young man very well thought 
 of, and likely to do great things at the bar ; so that he 
 was free of many houses, and had so many invitations 
 for his Sundays that he could well afford to be indiffer- 
 ent to the loss of such a humble house as the Cottage 
 at Windy hill. Perhaps he wanted to persuade himself 
 that this was the case, and that there really was noth- 
 ing to regret. And it is certain that he olid visit a great 
 deal during that season at one house where there were 
 two or three agreeable daughters ; the house, indeed, of 
 Sir John Gaythorne, who was Solicitor-General at that 
 time, and a man who had always looked upon John 
 Tatham with a favourable eye. The Gaythornes had a 
 house near Dorking, where they often went from Sat- 
 urday to Monday with a few choice convives, and " pick- 
 nicked," as they themselves said, but it was a picknick- 
 ing of a highly comfortable sort. John went down with 
 them the very Saturday after he received that letter 
 the Saturday on which he had intended to go to Windy- 
 hill. And the party was very gay. To compare it for 
 a moment with the humdrum family at the Cottage 
 would have been absurd. The Gaythornes prided them- 
 selves on always having pleasant people with them, and 
 they had several remarkably pleasant people that day, 
 among whom John himself was welcomed by most per- 
 sons ; and the family themselves were lively and agree-
 
 THE MARRIAGE 0V ELINOR. 
 
 able to a Ligli degree. A distinguished father, a very 
 nice mother, and three charming girls, up to everything 
 find who knew everybody ; who had read or skimmed 
 nil the new books of any importance, and had seen all 
 the new pictures ; who could talk of serious things as 
 well as they could talk nonsense, and who were good 
 girls to boot, looking after the poor, and visiting at 
 hospitals, in the intervals of their gaieties, as was then 
 the highest fashion in town. I do not for a moment 
 mean to imply that the Miss Gaythornes did their good 
 work because it was the fashion : but the fact that it is 
 the fashion has liberated many girls, and allowed them 
 to carry out their natural wishes in that way, who 
 otherwise would have been restrained and hampered by 
 parents and friends, who would have upbraided them 
 with making themselves remarkable, if in a former gen- 
 eration they had attempted to go to Whitechapel or St. 
 Thomas's with any active intentions. And Elinor had 
 never done anything of this kind, any more than she 
 had pursued music almost as a profession, which was 
 what Helena Gaythorne had done ; or learned to draw, 
 like Maud (who once had a little thing in the Royal 
 Academy) ; or studied the Classics, like Gertrude. 
 John thought of her little tunes as he listened to Miss 
 Gaythorne's performance, and almost laughed out at the 
 comparison. He was very fond of music, and Miss Gay- 
 thorne's playing was something which the most culti- 
 vated audience might have been glad to listen to. He 
 was ashamed to confess to himself that he liked the 
 "tunes" best. No, he would not confess it even to 
 himself ; but when he stood behind the performer lis- 
 tening, it occurred to him that he was capable of walk- 
 ing all the miles of hill and hollow which divided the 
 one place from the other, only for the inane satisfaction 
 of seeing that baby spread on Elinor's lap, or hearing 
 her play to him one of her " tunes." 
 
 He went with the Gaythornes to their country-place 
 twice in the month of June, and dined at the house sev- 
 eral times, and was invited on other occasions, becom- 
 ing, in short, one of the habitues when there was any-
 
 THE ITAlllilAtrE OF ELIXOR. 
 
 thing going on in the house till people began to ask, 
 which was it? It was thought generally that Helena 
 was the attraction, for John was known to be a musical 
 man, always to be found where specially good tuusic 
 
 oing. Some friends of the family had even gone 
 so far as to say among themselves what a good thing it 
 was that dear Helena's lot was likely to be cast with 
 one who would appreciate her gift. ' It generally hap- 
 pens in these cases that a girl marries somebody who 
 does not know one note from another," they said to 
 each other. When, all at once, John flagged in his vis- 
 its ; went no more to Dorking ; and liually ceased to 
 be more assiduous or more remarked than the other 
 young men who were on terms of partial intimacy at the 
 Gaythorne house. He had, indeed, tried very hard to 
 make himself fall in love with one of Sir John's girls. 
 It would have been an excellent connection, and the 
 man might think himself fortunate who secured any 
 one of the three for his wife. Proceeding from his cer- 
 tainty on these points, and also a general liking for 
 their company, John had gone into it with a settled 
 purpose, determined to fall in love if he could : but he 
 found that the thing was not to be done. It was a pity ; 
 but it could not be helped. He was in a condition now 
 when it would no longer be rash to marry, and he knew 
 now that there was the makings of a domestic man in 
 him. He never could have believed that he would take 
 an interest in the sprawling of the baby upon its 
 mother's knee, and he allowed to himself that it might 
 be sweet to have that scene taking place in a house of 
 his own. Ah ! but the baby would have to be Elinor's. 
 It must be Elinor who should sit on that low chair with 
 the firelight on her face. And that was impossible. 
 Helena Gaythorue was an exceedingly nice girl, and he, 
 wished her every success in life (which she attained 
 some time after by marrying Lord Ballinasloe, the eld- 
 
 >u of the Earl of Athenree, a marriage which every- 
 body approved), but he could not persuade himself to 
 be in love with her, though with the best will in the 
 world. 
 
 19
 
 290 TUK MMililAdE OF ELINOIL 
 
 During this time he did not correspond much with 
 his relations in the country. He had, indeed, some let- 
 ters to answer from his father, in which the interroga- 
 tories were very difficult : " Where has Mary Dennis- 
 toun gone ? What's become of Elinor and her baby ? 
 Has that fashionable fellow of a husband deserted her? 
 What's the meaning of the move altogether ? " And, 
 ' Mind you keep yourself out of it," his father wrote. 
 John had great trouble in wording his replies so as to 
 i-on voy as little information as possible. "I believe 
 Aunt Mary has got a house somewhere in the North, 
 probably to suit Elinor, who would be able to be more 
 with her if she were in that neighbourhood." (It must 
 be confessed that he thought this really clever as a way 
 of getting over the question. ) "As for Compton, I know 
 very little about him. He was never a man much in 
 my way." Mr. Tatham's household saw nothing remark- 
 able in these replies ; upon which, however, they built 
 an explanation, such as it was, of the other circum- 
 stances. They concluded that it must be in order to be 
 .near Elinor that Mrs. Dennistouii had gone to the 
 North, and that it was a very good thing that Elinor's 
 husband was not a num. who was in John's way. " A 
 scamp, if I ever saw one ! " Mr. Tatham said. " But 
 what's that Jack says about Gaythorne? Mary, I re- 
 member Gray thorn e years ago ; a capital friend for a 
 young man. I'm glad your brother's making such nice 
 friends for himself ; far better than mooning about 
 that wretched little cottage with Mary Dennistoun and 
 her girl." 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 IT happened thus that it was not till the second 
 autumn after the settlement of the ladies in Waterdale, 
 when all the questions had died out, and there was no 
 more talk of them, except on occasions when a sudden 
 recollection cropped up among their friends at Windy-
 
 THE VAHRIAKE OF ELI S OR. 291 
 
 hill, that John Tatham paid them his first visit. He 
 had been very conscientious in his proposed bestowal 
 of himself. , Perhaps it is scarcely quite complimentary 
 to a woman when she is made choice of by a .man who 
 is consciously to himself " on the outlook," thinking 
 that he ought to many, and investigating all the suit- 
 able persons about with an eve to finding one who will 
 answer his requirements. This sensible way of ap- 
 proaching the subject of matrimony does not somehow 
 commend itself to our insular notions. It is the right 
 way in every country except our own, but it has a cold- 
 blooded look to the Anglo-Saxon; and a girl is not 
 flittered (though perhaps she ought to be) by being the 
 subject of this sensible choice. " As if I were a house- 
 keeper or a cook ! " she is apt to say, and is far better 
 pleased to be fallen in love with in the most rash and 
 irresponsible way than to be thus selected from the 
 crowd : though that, everybody must allow, after due 
 comparison and inspection, is by far the greater com- 
 pliment. John having arrived at the conclusion that it 
 would be better for him in many ways to many, and 
 specially in the way of Elinor, fortifying him for ever 
 from all possible complications, and making it possible 
 for him to regard her evermore with the placid feelings 
 of a brother, which was, he expected, to be the conse- 
 quence worked at the matter really with great perti- 
 nacity and consistency. He kept his eyes open upon 
 the whole generation of girls whom he met with in so- 
 ciety. When he went abroad during the long vacation 
 (instead of going to Lakeside, as he was invited to do), 
 he directed his steps rather to the fashionable resorts, 
 where families disport themselves at the foot of the 
 mountains, than to the Alpine heights where he had 
 generally found a more robust amusement. And 
 wherever he went he bent his attention on the fairer 
 portion of the creation, the girls who fill all the hotels 
 with the flutter of their fresh toilettes and the babble 
 of their pleasant voices. It was very mean and poor of 
 him, seeing he was a mountaineer himself but still it 
 must be recorded that the only young ladies he system-
 
 2 ( J-2 THE MMUUAUK Oh' EL1XOR. 
 
 atically neglected were those in very short petti* 
 with very sunburnt faces and nails in their boots, who 
 ought to have been most congenial to him as sharing 
 his own tastes. It is said, I don't know with what truth, 
 that at Ouch, or Interlachen, or some other of the most 
 mundane and banal resorts of the tourists, he came 
 upon one girl who he thought might make him a suit- 
 able wife : and that, though with much moderation and 
 prudence, he more or less followed her party for some 
 time, meeting them over and over again, with expres- 
 sions of astonishment, round the most well-known cor- 
 ners, and persisting for a considerable time in this 
 quest. But whether he ever came the length of propos- 
 ing at all, or whether the young lady was engaged be- 
 forehand, or if she thought the prospect of making a 
 suitable wife not good enough, I cannot say, and I 
 doubt whether any one knows except, of course, the 
 parties immediately concerned. It is very clear, at all 
 events, that it came to nothing. John did not alto- 
 gether give it up, I fancy, for he went a great deal into 
 society still, especially in that avant saixon, which peo- 
 ple who live in London declare to be the most enjoy- 
 able, and when it is supposed you can enjoy the best of 
 company at your ease without the hurry and rush of 
 the summer crowd. He would have been very glad, 
 thankful, indeed, if he could have fallen in love. How 
 absurd to think that any silly boy can do it, to whom it 
 is probably nothing but a disadvantage and the silliest 
 of pastimes, and that he, a reasonable man with a good 
 income, and arrived at a time of life when it is becom- 
 ing and rational to marry, could not do it, let him try 
 as he would ! There was something ludicrous in it, 
 when you came to think, as well as something very de- 
 pressing. Mothers who wanted a good position for 
 their daughters divined him, and many of them were 
 exceedingly civil to John, this man in search of a wife ; 
 and many of the young ladies themselves divined him, 
 and with the half indignation, half mockery, appropri- 
 ate to the situation, were some of them not unaverse to 
 profit by it, and accordingly turned to him their worst
 
 THE if A RUT A < !. IXOR. 903 
 
 side in the self-consciousness produced by that knowl- 
 edge. And thus the second year turned round towards 
 the wane, and John was farther from success than ever. 
 He said to himself then that it was clear he was not 
 a marrying man. He liked the society of ladies well 
 enough, but not in that way. He was not made for fall- 
 ing in love. He might very well, he was aware, have dis- 
 pensed with the tradition, and found an excellent wife, 
 who would not at all have insisted upon it from her 
 side. But he had his prejudices, and could not do 
 this. Love he insisted upon, and love would not come. 
 Accordingly, when the second season was orer he gave 
 up both the quest and the idea, and resolved to think 
 of marrying no more, which was a sensible relief to him. 
 For indeed he was exceedingly comfortable as he was ; 
 his chambers were excellent, and he did not think that 
 any street or square in Belgravia would have reconciled 
 him to giving up the Temple. He had excellent ser- 
 vants, a man and his wife, who took the greatest care 
 of him. He had settled into a life which was arranged 
 as he liked, with much freedom, and yet an agreeable 
 routine which John was too wise to despise. He relin- 
 quished the idea of marrying then and there. To be 
 sure there is never any prophesying what may happen. 
 A little laughing gipsy of a girl may banish such a res- 
 olution out of a man's mind in the twinkling of an eye, 
 at any moment. But short of such accidents as that, 
 and he smiled at the idea of anything of the kind, he 
 quite made up his mind on this point with a great sen- 
 sation of relief. 
 
 It is curious how determined the mind of the English 
 public at least is oil this subject that the man or wom- 
 an who does not many (especially the woman, by-the- 
 bye) has an unhappy life, and that a story which does 
 not end in a wedding is no story at all, or at least ends 
 badly, as people say. It happened to myself on one 
 occasion to put together in a book the story of some 
 friends of mine, in which this was the case. They 
 were young, they were hopeful, they had all life before 
 them, but they did not marry. And when the last
 
 THE MAURI ACE OP ELINOR. 
 
 chapter came to the consciousness of the publisher he 
 si ruck, with the courage of a true Briton, not ashamed 
 of his principles, and refused to pay. He said it was 
 no story at all so beautiful is marriage in the eyes of 
 our countrymen. - I hope, however, that nobody will 
 think any harm of John Tatham because he concluded, 
 after considerable and patient trial, that he was not a 
 marrying man. There is no harm in -that. A great 
 number of those Catholic priests whom it was the habit 
 in my youth to commiserate deeply, as if they were 
 vowed to the worst martyrdom, live very happy lives in 
 their celibacy and prefer it, as John Tatham did. It 
 will be apparent to the reader that he really preferred 
 it to Elinor, while Elinor was in his power. And 
 though afterwards it gave a comfort and grace to his life 
 to think that it, was his faithful but subdued love for 
 Elinor which made him a bachelor all his days, I am 
 by no means certain that this was true. Perhaps he 
 never would have made up his mind had she remained 
 always within his reach. Certain it is that he was re- 
 lieved when he found that to give up the idea of mar- 
 riage w r as the best thing for him. He adopted the 
 conclusion with pleasure. His next brother had al- 
 ready married, though he was younger than John ; 
 but then he was a clergyman, which is a profession 
 naturally tending to that sort of thing. There was, 
 however, no kind of necessity laid upon him to provide 
 for the continuance of the race. And he was a happy 
 man. 
 
 By what sequence of ideas it was that he considered 
 himself justified, having come to this conclusion, in im- 
 mediately paying his long-promised visit to Lakeside, 
 is a question which I need not enter into, and indeed do 
 not feel entirely able to cope with. It suited him, per- 
 haps, as he had been so long a time in Switzerland last 
 year : and he had an invitation -to the far north for the 
 grouse, which he thought it would be pleasant to 
 accept. Going to Scotland or coming from it, Water- 
 d.'ilo of coiirse lies full in the way. He took it last on 
 his way home, which was more convenient, and arrived
 
 THE MARRTAGE OF ELINOR. 296 
 
 there in the lattor part of September, when the hills 
 were golden with the yellow bracken. The Cumber- 
 land hills are a little cold, in my opinion, without the 
 heather, which clothes with such a flush of life and 
 brightness our hills in the north. The greenness is 
 chilly in the frequent rain ; one feels how sodden and 
 slippery it is a moisture which does not belong to the 
 heather : but when the brackens have all turned, and 
 the slopes reflect themselves in the tranquil water like 
 hills of gold, then the landscape reaches its perfect 
 point. Lakeside was a white house standing out on a 
 small projection at the head of the lake, commanding 
 the group of hills above and part of the winding body 
 of water below, in which all these golden reflections 
 lay. A little steamer passed across the reflected glory, 
 and came to a stop not a hundred yards from the gate 
 of the house. It was a scene as unlike as could be con- 
 ceived to the Cottage at Windyhill : the trees were all 
 glorious in colour ; yellow birches like trees made of 
 light, oaks all red and fiery, chestnuts and elms and 
 beeches in a hundred hues. The house was white, with 
 a sort of broad verandah round, supported on pillars, 
 furnishing a sheltered walk below and a broad balcony 
 above, which gave it a character of more importance 
 than perhaps its real size warranted. When John ap- 
 proached there ran out to meet him into the wide 
 gravel drive before the door a little figure upon two 
 sturdy legs, calling out, in inarticulate shoutings, some- 
 thing that sounded a little like his own name. It was, 
 ' 'tie John ! 'tie John ! " made into a sort of song by 
 the baby, nearly two years old, and " very forward," as 
 eveiybody assured the stranger, for his age. Uncle 
 John ! his place was thus determined at once by 
 that little potentate and master of the house. Behind 
 the child came Elinor, no longer pale and languid as he 
 had seen her last, but matured into vigorous beauty, 
 bright-eyed, a little sober, as might have become ma- 
 turer years than hers. Perhaps there was something 
 in the style of her dress that favoured the idea, not of 
 age indeed, but of matronly years, and beyond those
 
 296 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 which Elinor counted. She was dressed in black, of 
 the simplest, description, not of distinctive character 
 like a wid'ow's, yet something like what an ideal widow 
 beyond fashion or conventionalities of woe might wear. 
 It seemed to give John the key-note of the character 
 she had assumed in this new sphere. 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun, who had not changed in the least, 
 stood in the open door. They gave him a welcome 
 such as John had not had, he said to himself, since he 
 had seen them before. They were unfeignedly glad to 
 see him, not wounded (which, to think of afterwards, 
 wounded him a little) that he had not come sooner, but 
 delighted that he was here now. Even when he went 
 home it was not usual to John to be met at the door in 
 this way by all his belongings. His sister might come 
 running down the stairs when she heard the dog-cart 
 draw up, but that was all. And Mary's eagerness to 
 see him was generally tempered by the advice she had 
 to give, to say that or not to say this, because of papa. 
 But in the present case it was the sight of himself 
 which was delightful to all, and, above all, though the 
 child could have no reason for it, to the little shouting- 
 excited boy. " 'Tie John ! 'tie John ! " What was 
 Uncle John to him ? yet his little voice filled the room 
 with shouts of joy. 
 
 "What does he know about me, the little beggar, 
 that he makes such a noise in my honour? " said John, 
 touched in spite of himself. "But I suppose anything 
 is good enough for a cry at that age." 
 
 "Come," said Elinor, '-you are not to be contempt- 
 uous of my boy any longer. You called him it when he 
 was a baby." 
 
 "And what is he now?" said John, whose heart 
 was affected by strange emotions, he, the man who 
 had just tlecided (with relief) that he was not a 
 marrying man. There came over him a curious wave 
 of sensation which he had no right to. If he had had a 
 right to it, if he had been coining home to those who 
 belonged to him, not distantly in the way of cousinship, 
 but by a dearer right, what sensations his would have
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 297 
 
 been! But sirhig at the corner of the fire (which is 
 necessary in Waterdale in the eud of September) a 
 little in the shadow, his face was not very clearly per- 
 ceptible : thoagh indeed had it been so the ladies would 
 have thought nothing but that John's kind heart was 
 touched, as was so natural, by this sight. 
 
 " What is he now ? Your nephew ! Tell Uncle John 
 what you are now," said Elinor, lifting her child on her 
 lap ; at which the child between the kisses which were 
 his encouragement and reward produced, in a large 
 infant voice, very treble, yet simulating hers, the state- 
 ment, "Mamma's bhoy." 
 
 %; Now, Elinor," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "he has played 
 his part beautifully ; he has done everything you taught 
 him. He has told you who he is and who Uncle 
 John is. Let him go to his nursery now." 
 
 " Come up-stairs, Pippo. Mother will carrj' her boy," 
 said Elinor. " They don't want us any more, these old 
 people. Say good-night to Uncle John, and come to 
 bed." 
 
 " Dood-night, 'tie John," said the child ; which, how- 
 ever, was not enough, for he tilted himself out of his 
 mother's arms and put his rosy face and open mouth, 
 sweet but damp, upon John's face. This kiss was one 
 of the child's accomplishments. He himself was aware 
 that he had been good, and behaved himself in every 
 way as a child should do, as he was carried off crowing 
 and jabbering in his mother's arms. He had formed a 
 sort of little human bridge between them when he 
 made that dive from Elinor's arms upon John's fact. 
 Ah, heaven ! if it had been the other way, if the child 
 and the mother had both been his ! 
 
 " He has grown up very sweet. You may think we 
 are foolish, John ; but you can't imagine what a delight 
 that child is Hasn't he grown up sweet '?" 
 
 " If you call that grown up ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know he is only a baby still ; but so for- 
 ward for his age, such a little man, taking care of his 
 mother before he is two years old ! " 
 
 " What did I hear her call him ?" John asked, and it
 
 29S THE MATtlUAnE OF K 
 
 seemed to Mrs. Dennistouu that there WHS something 
 severe in the sound of his voice. 
 
 "He had to be Philip. It is a pretty name, though 
 Ave may have reason to mourn the day and belongs to 
 his family. We must not forget that he belongs to a 
 known family, however he may have suffered by it." 
 
 " Then you intend the child to know about his 
 family ? I am glad to hear it," said John, though his 
 voice perhaps was not so sweet as his words. 
 
 " Oh, John, that is quite another thing ! to know 
 about his family at two! He has his mother and 
 me to take care of them both, and what does he want 
 more ? " 
 
 "But he will not always be two," said John, the first 
 moment almost of his arrival, before he had seen the 
 house, or said a word about the lake, or anything. 
 She was so disappointed and cast down that she made" 
 him no reply. 
 
 "I am a wretched croaker," he said, after a moment, 
 "I know. I ought after all this time to try to make 
 myself more agreeable; but you must pardon me if 
 this was the first thing that came into my mind. Eli- 
 nor is looking a great deal better than when I saw her 
 last" 
 
 "Isn't she ! another creature. I don't say that I am 
 satisfied, John. Who would be satisfied in such a po- 
 sition of affairs ? but while the child is so very young 
 nothing matters very much. And she is quite happy. 
 I do think she is quite happy. And so well this coun- 
 try suits them both perfectly. Though there is a good 
 deal of rain, they are both out every day. And little 
 Pippo thrives, as you see, like a flower." 
 
 " That is a very fantastic name to give the child." 
 
 " How critical you are, John ! perhaps it is, but what 
 does it matter at his age? any name does for a 'baby. 
 Why, you yourself, as grave as you are now " 
 
 '' Don't, aunt," said John. " It is a grave matter 
 enough as it appears to me." 
 
 "Not for the present ; not for the pi'esent, John." 
 
 " Perhaps not for the present : if you prefer to put
 
 THE MARRIAGE OP ELINOR. 299 
 
 off all the difficulties till they grow up and crush you. 
 Have there been any overtures, all this time, from the 
 other side ? " 
 
 " Dear John, don't overwhelm me all in a moment, 
 in the first pleasure of seeing you, both with the 
 troubles that are behind and the troubles that are in 
 front of us," the poor lady said. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 THE weather was fie, which was by no means always 
 a certainty at Waterdale, and Elinor had become a 
 great pedestrian, and was ready to accompany John in 
 his walks, which were long and varied. It was rather a 
 curious test to which to subject himself after the long 
 time he had been away, and the other tests through 
 which he had gone. Never had he been so entirely the 
 companion of Elinor, never before had they spent so 
 many hours together without other society. At Windy- 
 hill, indeed, their interviews had been quite unre- 
 strained, but then Elinor had many friends and interests 
 in the parish and outside of it, visits to pay and duties 
 to perform. Now she had her child, which occupied 
 her mornings and evenings, but left her free for hours 
 of rambling among the hills, for long walks, from which 
 she came back blooming with the fresh air and breezes 
 which had blown her about, ruffling her hair, and stir- 
 ring up her spirits and thoughts. Sometimes when 
 there has been heavy and premature suffering there 
 occurs thus in the young another spring-time, an almost 
 childhood of natural, it ma} 7 be said superficial pleasure 
 the power of being amused, and of enjoying every 
 simple satisfaction without any arri^re pemce .like a 
 child. She had recovered her strength and vigour in 
 the mountain air and in that freedom of being un- 
 known, with no look ever directed to her which re- 
 minded her of the past, no question which brought
 
 "00 777ff MARRIAGE Of ELINOR. 
 
 back her troubles, had blossomed out into that fine 
 youthful maturity of twenty-six, which has already an 
 advantage over the earlier girlhood, the perfection of 
 the woman grown. Elinor had thought of many things 
 and understood many things, which she had still re- 
 garded with the high assumptions of ignorance three 
 or four years ago. And poor John, who had tried so 
 hard to find himself a mate that suited him, who had 
 studied so many girls more beautiful, more accomplished 
 than Elinor, in the hope of goading himself, so to 
 speak, into love, and had not succeeded and who 
 had felt so strongly that another man's wife must not 
 occupy so much of his thoughts, nor another man's 
 child give him an unwilling pleasure which was almost 
 fatherly poor John felt himself placed in a position 
 more trying than any he had known before, more 
 difficult to steer his way 'through. He had never had 
 so much of her company, and she did not conceal the 
 pleasure it was to her to have some one to w r alk with, 
 to talk with, who understood what she said and what 
 she did not say, and was in that unpurchasable sym- 
 pathy with herself which is not to be got by beauty, 
 or by will, or even by love itself, but comes by nature. 
 Elinor felt this with simple pleasure. Without any com- 
 plicating suspicion, she said, "What a brother John is ! 
 I always felt him so, but now more than ever." "You 
 have been, so to speak, brought up together," said Mrs. 
 Deiinistoun, whose mind was by no means so easy on 
 the subject. "That is the reason, I suppose," said 
 Elinor, with happy looks. 
 
 But poor John said nothing of this kind. What he 
 felt was that lie might have spared himself the trouble 
 of all those researches of4iis ; that to roam about look- 
 ing for a young lady whom he might not devour, but 
 learn to love, was pains as unnecessary as ever man 
 took. He still hugged himself, however, over the 
 thought that in no circumstances would he have boon a 
 marrying man ; that if Elinor had been free he would 
 have found plenty of reasons why they should remain 
 on their present terms and go no farther. As it was
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 clear that they must remain on their present terms, 
 and could go no farther, it was certainly better that he 
 should cherish that thought. 
 
 And curiously enough, though they heard so little from 
 the outside world, they had heard just so much as this, 
 that John's assiduities to the Miss Gaythornes (which 
 the reader may remember was the first of all his 
 attempts, and quite antiquated in his recollection) had 
 occasioned remarks, and he had not been many even- 
 ings at Lakeside before he was questioned on the sub- 
 ject. Had it been true, or had he changed his mind 
 
 or had the lady ? It vexed him that there was 
 
 not the least little opposition or despite in their tones, 
 such as a man's female friends often show towards 
 the objects of his admiration, not fi-orn any feeling on 
 their own part, except that most natural one, which is 
 surprised ami almost hurt to find that, '" having known 
 me, he could decline " a feeling which, in its original 
 expression, was not a woman's sentiment, but a man's, 
 and therefore is, I suppose, common to both sides. But 
 the ladies at Lakeside did not even betray this feeling. 
 They desired to know if there had been anything in it 
 with smiles, it is true ; but Mrs. Dennistouu at the 
 time expressed her regret warmly. 
 
 " We were in great hopes something would come of 
 it, John. Elinor has met the Gaythornes, and thought 
 them very nice ; and if there is a thing in the world 
 that would give me pleasure, it would be to see you 
 with a nice wife, John." 
 
 "I am sure I am much obliged to you, aunt ; but 
 there really was nothing in it. That is, I was seized 
 with various impulses on the subject, and rather agreed 
 with you : but I never mentioned the matter to any of 
 the Miss Gaythornes. They are charming girls, and I 
 don't suppose would have looked at me. At the same 
 time, I did not feel it possible to imagine myself in love 
 with any of them. That's quite a long time since," he 
 added with a laugh. 
 
 "Then there have been others since then? Let us 
 put him in the confessional, mother," cried Elinor with
 
 302 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 a laugh. " He ought not to have any secrets of that cle. 
 scription from you and me." 
 
 " Oh, yes, there have been others since," said John. 
 " To tell the truth, I have walked round a great many 
 nice girls asking myself whether I shouldn't find it 
 very delightful to have one of them belonging to me. 
 I wasn't worthy the least attractive of them all, I 
 quite knew ; but still I am about the same as other 
 men. However, as I've said, I never mentioned the 
 matter to any of them." 
 
 " Never ? " cried Mrs. Dennistoun, feeling a hesitation 
 in his tone. 
 
 He laughed a little, shamefaced : " Well, if you like, 
 I will say hardly ever," he said. " There was one that 
 might, perhaps, have taken pity upon me but fortu- 
 nately an old lover of hers, who was much more enter- 
 prising, turned up before anything decisive had been 
 said." 
 
 "Fortunately, John?" 
 
 " Well, yes, I thought so. Yon seel am not a marry- 
 ing man. I tried to screw myself up to the point, but 
 it was altogether, I am afraid, as a matter of principle. 
 I thought it would be a good thing, perhaps, to have a 
 wife." 
 
 "That was a very coldblooded idea. No wonder 
 you it never came to anything. That is not the way 
 to go about it," said Elinor with the ringing laugh of a 
 child. 
 
 And yet her way of going about it had been far from 
 a success. How curious that she did not remember that ! 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I am quite aware that I did not go 
 about it in the right way, but then that was the only 
 way in which it presented itself to me ; and "when I had 
 made up my mind at last that it was a failure, I confess 
 it was with a certain sense of relief. I suppose I was 
 born to live and die an old bachelor." 
 
 " Do not be so sure of that," said Elinor. " Some day 
 or other, in the most unlooked-for moment, the fairy 
 princess will bound upon the scene, and the old bache- 
 lor will be lost."
 
 TIL'-: V Ami! AGE OF F.LISoR. 303 
 
 " We'll wait quite contentedly for that clay which I 
 don't believe in," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun did not take any part in the later 
 portion of this discussion ; her smile was feeble at the 
 places where Elinor laughed. She said seriously after 
 this fireside conference, when he got up to prepare for 
 dinner, putting her hand tenderly on his shoulder, ' I 
 wish you had found some one you could have loved, 
 John." 
 
 " So did I for a time," he said, lightly. " But you 
 see, it was not to be." 
 
 She shook her head, standing against the firelight in 
 the dark room, so that he could not see her face. ''I 
 wish," she said, " I wish that I saw you with a nice 
 wife, John." 
 
 "You might wish to see me on the woolsack, aunt." 
 
 " Well -and it might come to pass. I shall see you 
 high up if I live long enough; but I wish I was as 
 sure of the other, John." 
 
 "Well," he S'dd with a laugh, "I did my best ; but 
 there is no use in struggling against fate." 
 
 indeed ! how very, very little use there was. 
 He had kept away from them for nearly two years" ; 
 while he had done his best in the meantime to get a 
 permanent tenant for his heart which should prevent 
 any wandering tendencies. But he had not succeeded ; 
 and now if ever a man could be put in circumstances of 
 danger it was he. If he did not appear in time for 
 their walk Elinor would call him. " Aren't you com- 
 ing, John ? '' And she overflowed in talk to him of 
 everything excepting always of that one dark passage 
 in her life of which she never breathed a word. She 
 asked him about his work, and about his prospects, in 
 sisting upon having everything explained to her even 
 politics, to which he had a tendency, not without ideas 
 of their use in reaching the higher ranks of his pro- 
 fession. Elinor entered into all with zest and almost 
 enthusiasm. She wrapped him up in her sympathy 
 and interest. There was nothing he did that she did 
 not wish to know about, did not desire to have a part
 
 THE MAUllIAUE OF ELINOR. 
 
 in. A sister in this respect is, as everybody knows, 
 often more full of enthusiasm than a wife, and Elinor, 
 who was vacant, of all concerns of her own (except the 
 baby) was delighted to take up these subjects of excite- 
 ment, and follow John through them, hastening after 
 him on every line of indication or suggestion which he 
 gave nay, often with her lively intelligence hastening 
 before him, making incursions into undiscovered coun- 
 tries of which he had not yet perceived the importance. 
 They walked over all the country, into woods which 
 were a little damp, and up hill-sides where the scram- 
 ble was often difficult enough, and along the side of the 
 lake or, for a variety, went rowing across to the other 
 side, or far down the gleaming water, out of sight, 
 round the wooded corner which, with all its autumnal 
 colours, blazed like a brilliant sentinel into the nil- 
 above and the water below. Mrs. Dennistoun watched 
 them, sometimes with a little trouble on her face. She 
 would not say a word to throw suspicions or doubts be- 
 tween them. She would not awaken in Elinor's mind 
 the thought that any such possibilities as arise between 
 two young' people free of all bonds could be imagined 
 as affecting her and any man such as her cousin John. 
 Poor John ! if he must be the victim, the victim he 
 must be. Elinor could not be disturbed that he might 
 go free. And indeed, what good would it have done to 
 disturb Elinor? It would but have brought conscious- 
 ness, embarrassment, and a sense of danger where no 
 such sense was. She was trebly protected, and without 
 a thought of anything but the calm yet close relations 
 
 that had existed so long. He but he could take 
 
 care of himself, Mrs. Dennistoun reflected in despair ; 
 he must take care of himself. He was a man and must 
 understand what his own risks and perils were. 
 
 "And do you think this plan is a success?" John 
 asked her one day as they were rowing homeward up 
 the lake. The time of his visit was drawing to a close ; 
 indeed it had drawn to a close several times, and been 
 lengthened very unadvisedly, yet very irresistibly as he 
 felt.
 
 THE XAR1HAVE OF ELIXOR. 
 
 Her face grew graver than usual, as with a sudden 
 recollection of that shadow upon her life which Elinor 
 so often seemed to have forgotten. "As much of a 
 success," she said, "as anything of the kind is likely 
 to be.' 1 
 
 " It suits you better than Windyhill? " 
 
 " Only in being more out of the world. It is partially 
 out of the world for a great part of the year ; but I sup- 
 pose no place is so wholly. It seems impossible to keep 
 from making acquaintances." 
 
 " Of course," he said, " I have noticed. You know 
 people here already." 
 
 " How can we keep from knowing people ? Mamma 
 says it is the same thing everywhere. If we lived up in 
 that little house which they say is the highest in Eng- 
 land at the head of the pass we should meet people 
 I suppose even there." 
 
 " Most likely," he replied ; " but the same difficulties 
 can hardly arise." 
 
 " You mean we shall not know people so well as at 
 at home, and will not be compelled to give an account 
 of ourselves whatever we do? Heaven knows! There 
 is a vicarage here, and there is a squire's house : and 
 there are two or three people besides who already begin 
 to inquire if we are related to So-and-So, if we are the 
 Scotch Dennistouns, or the Irish Comptons, or I don't 
 know what ; and whether we are going to Penrith or 
 any other capital city for the winter." Elinor ended 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " So soon ? '' John said. 
 
 "So soon very much sooner, the first year: with 
 mamma so friendly as she is and with me so silly, un- 
 able to keep myself from smiling at anybody who smiles 
 at me ! " 
 
 " Poor Elinor ! " 
 
 " Oh, you may laugh ; but it is a real disadvantage. 
 I am sure there was not very much smile in me when 
 we came ; and yet, notwithstanding, the first pleasant 
 look is enough for me, I cannot but respond ; and I 
 shall always be so, I suppose/' she said, with a sigh. 
 20
 
 306 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " I hope so, Elinor. It would be an evil day for all 
 of us if you did not respond." 
 
 " For bow many, John ? For my mother and ah, 
 you are so good, more like my brother than my cousin 
 for you, perhaps, a little ; but what is it to anybody 
 else in the world whether I smile or sigh ? It does not 
 matter, however," she said, flinging back her head ; 
 " there it is, and I can't help it. If you smile at me I 
 must smile back again and so we make friends ; and 
 already I get a great deal of advice about little Pippo. 
 If we live here till he grows up, the same thing will 
 happen as at the Cottage. We will require to account 
 to everybody for what we do with him for the school 
 he goes to, and all he does ; to explain why he has 
 one kind of training or another ; and, in short, all that 
 I ran away from : the world wherever one goes seems 
 to be so much the same." 
 
 " The world is very much the same everywhere ; and 
 you cannot get out of it were you to take refuge in a 
 cave on the hill. The best thing is generally to let it 
 know all that can be known, and so save the multitude 
 of guesses it always makes." 
 
 Elinor looked at him for a moment with her lips 
 pressed tightly together, and a light in her eyes ; then 
 she looked away across the water to the golden hills, 
 and said nothing ; but there was a great deal in that 
 look of eager contradiction, yet forced agreement, of de- 
 termination above all, with which right and wrong had 
 nothing to do. 
 
 " Elinor," he said, " do you mean that child to gixnv 
 up here between your mother and you in ignorance 
 of all that there is in the world besides you two ? " 
 
 " That child ! " she cried. "John, I think you dislike 
 my boy ; for, of course, it is Pippo you mean." 
 
 "I wish you would not call him by that absurd 
 name." 
 
 "You are hard to please," she said, with an angry 
 laugh. " I think it is a very sweet little name." 
 
 "The child will not always be a baby," said John. 
 
 "Oh, no : I suppose if we all live long enough he
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 307 
 
 will some time be a possibly disagreeable man, and 
 punish us well for all the care we have spent upon 
 him," Elinor said. 
 
 "I don't want to make you angry, Elinor " 
 
 " No, I don't suppose you do. You have been very 
 nice to me, John. You have neither scolded me nor 
 given me good advice. I never expected you would 
 have been so forbearing. But I have always felt you 
 must mean to give me a good knock at the end." 
 
 "You do me great injustice," he said, much wounded. 
 "You know that I think only of what is best for you 
 and the child." 
 
 They wei % e approaching the shore, and Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun's white cap was visible in the waning light, looking 
 out for them from the door. Elinor said hastily, 
 " And the child ? I don't think that you care much 
 for the child." 
 
 " There you are mistaken, Elinor. I did not per- 
 haps at first : but I acknowledge that a little thing like 
 that does somehow creep into one's heart." 
 
 Her face, which had been gloomy, brightened up as 
 if a sunbeam had suddenly burst upon it. " Oh, bless 
 you, John Uncle John ; how good and how kind, and 
 what a dear friend and brother you are ! And I such 
 a wretch, ready to quarrel with those I love best ! But, 
 John, let me keep quiet, let me keep still, don't make 
 me rake up the past. He is such a baby, such a baby ! 
 There cannot be any question of telling him anything 
 for years and years ! " 
 
 " I thought you were lost," said Mrs. Dennistoun, 
 calling to them. " I began to think of all kinds of 
 things that might have happened of the steamboat 
 running into you, or the boat going on a rock, or " 
 
 " You need not have had any fear when I was with 
 John," Elinor said, with a smile that made him warm at 
 once, like the sun. He knew vezy well, however, that 
 it was only because he had made that little pleasant, 
 speech about her boy.
 
 308 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXH. 
 
 THERE passed after tins a number of years of which I 
 can make no record. The ladies remained at Lake- 
 side, seldom moving. When they took a holiday now 
 and then, it was more for the sake of the little commu- 
 nity which, just as in Windyhill, had gathered round 
 them, and which inquired, concerned, "Are you not 
 going to take a little change ? Don't you think, dear 
 Mrs. Denuistoun, your daughter would be the better 
 for a change ? Do you really think that a little sea 
 air and variety wouldn't bo good for the boy ? " 
 Forced by these kind speeches they did go away 
 now and then to unknown seaside places in the north 
 when little Philip was still a child, and to quiet places 
 abroad when he grew a boy, and it was thought a good 
 thing for him to learn languages, and to be taught 
 that there were other countries in the world besides 
 England. They were absent for one whole winter in 
 France and another in Germany with this motive, 
 that Philip should learn these languages, which he did 
 tant bien que mal with much assistance from his mother, 
 who taught herself everything that she thought the 
 boy should know, and shared his lessons in order to 
 push him gently forward. And on the whole, he did 
 very well in this particular of language, showing much 
 aptitude, though not perhaps much application. I 
 would not assert that the ladies, with an opinion very 
 common among women, and also among youth in gen- 
 eral, did not rather glory in the thought that he could 
 do almost anything he liked (which was their opinion, 
 and in some degree while he was very young, the 
 opinion of his masters), with the appearance of doing 
 nothing at all. But on the whole, his education was 
 the most difficult matter in which they had yet been en- 
 gaged. How was he to be educated ? His birth and 
 condition pointed to one of the great public schools, 
 and Mrs. Dennistoun, who had made many economics
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 309 
 
 in that retirement, was quite able to give the cbild what 
 they both called the best education. But how could 
 they send him to Eton or Harrow ? A boy who knew 
 nothing about his parentage or his family, a boy bear- 
 ing a well-known name, who would be subject to end- 
 less questions where he came from, who he belonged 
 to ? a hundred things which neither in Waterdale nor 
 in their travels had ever been asked of him. What the 
 Waterdale people thought on the subject, or how 
 much they knew, I should not like to inquire. There 
 are ways of finding out everything, and people who 
 possess family secrets are often extraordinarily deceived 
 in respect to what is known and what is not known of 
 those secrets. My own opinion is that there is scarcely 
 such a thing as a secret in the world. If any moment 
 of great revolution comes in your life you generally 
 find that your neighbours are not much surprised. 
 They have known it, or they have suspected it, all 
 along, and it is well if they have not suspected more 
 than the truth. So it is quite possible that these excel- 
 lent people knew all about Elinor : but Elinor did not 
 think so, which was the great thing. 
 
 However, there cannot be any question that Philip's 
 education was a very great difficulty. John Tatham, 
 who paid them a visit soberly from time to time, but 
 did not now come as of old, never indeed came as on 
 that first occasion when he had been so happy and so 
 undeceived. To be sure, as Philip grew up it was of 
 course impossible for any one to be like that. From 
 the time Pippo was five or six he went everywhere with 
 his mother, her sole companion in general, and when 
 there was a visitor always making a third in the party, 
 a third who was really the first, for he appealed to his 
 mother on every occasion, directed her attention to 
 everything. He only learned with the greatest diffi- 
 culty that it was possible she should find it necessary 
 to give her attention in a greater degree to any one 
 else. When she said, " You know, Pippo, I must talk 
 to Uncle John," Pippo opened his great eyes, "Not 
 than to me, mamma ? "
 
 310 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "Yes, dearest, more than to you for the moment: 
 for he has come a long way to see us, and he will soon 
 have to go away again." When this was first explained 
 to him, Pippo inquired particularly when his Uncle 
 John was going away, and was delighted to hear that 
 it was to be very soon. However, as he grew older 
 the boy began to take great pleasure in Uncle John, 
 and hung upon his arm when they went out for their 
 walks, and instead of endeavouring to monopolise his 
 mother, turned the tables upon her by monopolising 
 this the only man who belonged to him, and to whom 
 he turned with the instinct of budding manhood. 
 John too was very willing to be thus appropriated, and 
 it came to pass that now and then Elinor was left out, 
 or left herself out of the calculation, urging that the 
 walk they were planning was too far for her, or too 
 steep for her, or too something, so that the boy might 
 have the enjoyment of the man's societ}' all to himself. 
 This changed the position in many ways, and I am not 
 sure that at first it did not cost Elinor a little thus to 
 stand aside and put herself out of that first place 
 which had always been by all of them accorded to her. 
 But if this was so, it was soon lost in the consideration 
 of how good it was for Pippo to have a man like John 
 to talk to and to influence him in every way. A man 
 like John ! That was the thing ; not a common man, 
 not one who might teach him the baseness, or the fri- 
 volity, or the falsehood of the world, but a good man, 
 who was also a distinguished man, a man of the world 
 in the best sense, knowing life in the best sense, and 
 able to modify the boy's conception of what he was to 
 find in the world, as women could never do. 
 
 " For after all that can be said, we are not good for 
 much on those points, mother," Mrs. Comptou would 
 say. 
 
 " I don't know, Elinor ; I doubt whether I would ex- 
 change my own ideas for John's," the elder lady re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Ah, perhaps, mother ; but for Pippo his experience 
 and his knowledge will do so much. A boy should not
 
 THE MAERIAGE OF ELINOR. 311 
 
 be brought up entirely with women any more than a 
 girl should be with men." 
 
 "I have often thought, my dear," said Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun, " if in God's providence it had been a girl instead 
 of a boy " 
 
 " Oh ! " said the younger mother, with a flush, " how 
 can you speak how could you think of any possible 
 child but Pippo ? I would not give him for a score of 
 girls." 
 
 " And if he had been a girl you would not have 
 changed him for scores of boys," said Mrs. Dennistoun, 
 who added after a while, with a curious sense of com- 
 petition, and a determination to allow no inferiority, 
 "You forget, Elinor, that my only child is a girl." 
 The elder lady (whom they began to call the old lady) 
 showed a great deal of spirit in defence of her own. 
 
 But Philip was approaching fourteen, and the great 
 question had to be decided now or never ; where was 
 he to be sent to school ? It was difficult now to send 
 him to bed to get him out of the way, he who was used 
 to be the person of first importance in the house in 
 order that the others might settle what was to be his 
 fate. And accordingly the two ladies came down-stairs 
 again after the family had separated in the usual way, 
 in order to have their consultation with their adviser. 
 There was now a room in the house furnished as a libra- 
 ry in order that Philip might have a place in which to 
 carry on his studies, and where " the gentlemen " might 
 have their talks by themselves, when there was any one 
 in the house. And here they found John when they 
 stole in one after the other, soft -footed, that the boy 
 might suspect no complot. They had their scheme, it 
 need not be doubted, and John had his. He pronounced 
 at once for one of the great public schools, while the 
 ladies on their part had heard of one in the north, 
 an old foundation as old as Eton, where there was at 
 the moment a head master who was quite exceptional, 
 and where boys were winning honours in all directions. 
 There Pippo would be quite safe. He was not likely 
 to meet with anybody who would put awkward ques-
 
 312 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 tions, and yet be would receive an education as good 
 as anyone's. "Probably better," said Elinor: "for 
 Mr. Sage will have few pupils like him, and therefore 
 Avill gife him the more attention." 
 
 " That means," said John, " that the boy will not be 
 among his equals, which is of all things I know the 
 worst for a boy." 
 
 " We are not aristocrats, as you are, John. They \vill 
 be more than his equal in one way, because many of 
 them will be bigger and stronger than he, and that is 
 what counts most among boys. Besides, we have no 
 pretensions." 
 
 " My dear Elinor," said John Tatham (who was by 
 this time an exceedingly successful lawyer, member for 
 his native borough, and within sight of a Solicitor-Gen- 
 eralship), "your modesty is a little out of character, 
 don't you think? There can be no two opinions about 
 what the boy is : an aristocrat if you choose to use that 
 word, every inch of him a little gentleman, down to 
 his fingers' ends." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, John," cried Pippo's inconsistent 
 mother ; " that is the thing of all others that we hoped 
 you would say." 
 
 " And yet you are going to send him among the far- 
 mers' sons. Fine fellows, I grant you, but not of his 
 kind. Have you heard," he said, more gravely, "that 
 Reginald Compton died last year? " 
 
 ' We saw it in the papers," said Mrs. Dennistoun. 
 Elinor said nothing, but turned her head away. 
 
 " And neither of the others are married, or likely to 
 marry ; one of them is very much broken down 
 
 " Oh, John, John, for God's sake don't say anything 
 more ! " 
 
 " I must, Elinor. There is but one good life, and that 
 in a dangerous climate, and with all the risks of pos- 
 sible fighting, between the boy and " 
 
 " Don't, don't, John ! " 
 
 " And he does not know who he is. He is ignorant 
 of everything, even the fact, the great fact, which you 
 have no right to keep from him "
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 313 
 
 "John," Bbe cried, starting to her feet, "the boy is 
 mine : I have a right to deal with him as I think best. 
 I will not hear a word you have to say." 
 
 "It is vain to say anything," said Mrs. Dennistoun ; 
 " she will not hear a word." 
 
 "That is all very well, so far as she. is concerned," 
 said John, " but I have a part of my own to play. You 
 give me the name of adviser and so forth a man can- 
 not be your adviser if his mouth is closed before he 
 speaks. I have a right to speak, being summoned for 
 that purpose. I tell you, Elinor, that you have no right 
 to conceal from the boy who he is, and that his father 
 is alive." 
 
 She gave a cry as if he had struck her, and shrank 
 away behind her mother, hiding her face in her hands. 
 
 "I am, more or less, of your opinion, John. I have 
 told her the same. While he was a baby it mattered 
 nothing, now that he is a rational creature with an opin- 
 ion of his own, like any one of us " 
 
 " Mother," cried Elinor, " you are unkind. Oh, you 
 are unkind ! What did it matter so long as he was a 
 baby ? But now he is just at the age when he would 
 be if you don't wish to drive me out of my senses al- 
 together, don't say a word more to me of this kind." 
 
 "Elinor," said John, "I have said nothing on the 
 subject for many years, though I have thought much : 
 and you must for once hear reason. The boy belongs 
 to his father as much as to you. I have said it ! I 
 cannot take it back. He belongs to the family of which 
 he may one day be the head. You cannot throw away 
 his birthright. And think, if you let him grow up like 
 this, not knowing that he has a family or a unaware 
 whom he belongs to." 
 
 " Have you done, John ? " asked Elinor, who had 
 made two or three efforts to interrupt, and had been 
 beating her foot impatiently upon the ground. 
 
 "If you ask me in that tone, I suppose I must say 
 yes : though I have a great deal more that I should like 
 to say." 
 
 " Then hear me speak," cried Elinor. " Of us three
 
 31 4 THK MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 at least, I am the only one to whom he belongs. I only 
 have power to decide for him. And I say, No, no : what- 
 ever argument there may be, whatever plea you may 
 bring forward, No and no, and after that No ! What ! 
 at fourteen, just the age when anything that was said 
 to him would tell the most ; when he would learn a les- 
 son the quickest, learn what I would die to. keep him 
 from ! When he would take everything for gospel that 
 was said to him, when the very charm of of that un- 
 known name " 
 
 She stopped for a moment to take breath, half choked 
 by her own words. 
 
 " And you ought to remember no one has ever laid 
 claim to him. Why should I tell him of one that never 
 even inquired No, John, no, no, no ! A baby he 
 might have been told, and it would have done him no 
 harm. Perhaps you were right, you and mother, and 
 I was wrong. He might have known it from the first, 
 and thought very little of it, and he may know when he 
 is a man, and his character is formed and he knows 
 what things mean but a boy of fourteen ! Imagine 
 the glamour there would be about the very name ; how 
 he would feel we must all have been unjust and the 
 the other injured. You know from yourself, John, how 
 he clings to you you who- are only a cousin ; he knows 
 that, yet he insists upon Uncle John, the one man who 
 belongs to him, and looks up to you, and thinks nothing 
 of any of us in comparison. I like it ! I like it ! " cried 
 Elinor, dashing the tears from her eyes. " I am not 
 jealous : but fancy what it would be with the other, 
 
 the real, the I cannot, cannot, say the word ; yes, 
 
 the father. If it is so with you, what would it be with 
 him ? " 
 
 John listened with his head bent down, leaning on 
 his hand : every word went to his heart. Yes, he was 
 nothing but a cousin, it was true. The boy did not be- 
 long to him, was nothing to him. If the father stepped 
 in, the real father, the man of whom Philip had never 
 hoard, in all the glory of his natural rights and the 
 novelty and wonder of his existence, how different would
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 315 
 
 that be from any feeling that could be raised by a 
 cousin, an uncle, with whom the boy had played all his 
 life ! No doubt it was true : and Phil Compton would 
 probably charm the inexperienced boy with his hand- 
 some, disreputable grace, and the unknown ways of the 
 man of the world. And yet, he thought to himself, 
 there is a perspicacity about children which is not al- 
 ways present in a man. Philip had no precocious in- 
 stincts to be tempted by his father's habits ; he had the 
 true sight of a boy trained amid everything that was 
 noble and pure. Would it indeed be more dangerous 
 now, when the boy was a boy, with all those safeguards 
 of nature, than when he was a man ? John kept his 
 mind to this question with the firmness of a trained in- 
 telligence, not letting himself go off into other matters, 
 or pausing to feel the sting that was in Elinor's words, 
 the reminder that though he had been so much, he was 
 still nothing to the family to whom he had consecrated 
 so much of his life, so much now of his thoughts. 
 
 " I do not think I agree with you, Elinor," he said 
 at last. "I think it would have been better had he 
 always known that his father lived, and who he was, 
 and what family he belonged to ; that is not to say that 
 you were to thrust him into his father's arms. And I 
 think now that, though we cannot redeem the past, it 
 should be done as soon as possible, and that he should 
 know before he goes to school. I think the effect will 
 be less now than if the discovery bursts upon him when 
 he is a young man, when he finds, perhaps, as may well 
 be, that his position and all his prospects are changed 
 in a moment, when he may be called upon without any 
 preparation to assume a name and a rank of which he 
 knows nothing." 
 
 " Not a name. He has always borne his true name." 
 
 " His true name may be changed at any mo- 
 ment, Elinor. He may become Lord Lomond, and 
 the heir " 
 
 " My dear," said Mrs. Dennistoun, growing red, " that 
 is a chance we have never taken into account." 
 
 " What has that to do with it ? " she said. " Is his
 
 316 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 happiness and his honour to be put in comparison with 
 a chance, a possibility that may never come true V John, 
 for the sake of everything that is good, let him wait 
 till he is a man and knows good from evil." 
 
 " It is that I am thinking of, Elinor ; a boy of four- 
 teen often knows good from evil much better than a 
 youth of twenty-one, which is, I suppose, what you call 
 a man. My opinion is that it would be better and safer 
 now." 
 
 " No ! " ehe said. " And no ! I will never consent to 
 it. If you go and poison my boy's mind I will never 
 forgive you, John." 
 
 " I have no right to do anything," he said ; "it is of 
 course you who must decide, Elinor : I advise only ; and 
 I might as well give that up," he added, " don't you 
 think? for you are not to be guided by me." 
 
 And she was of course supreme in everything that 
 concerned her son. John, when he could do no more, 
 knew how to be silent, and Mrs. Dennistoun, if not so 
 wise in this respect, was yet more easily silenced than 
 John. And Philip Compton went to the old grammar- 
 school among the dales, where was the young and ener- 
 getic head-master, who, as Elinor anticipated, found 
 this one pupil like a pearl among the pebbles of the 
 shore, and spared no pains to polish him and perfect 
 him in every way known to the ambitious schoolmas- 
 ter of modern times. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIH. 
 
 IT is needless to say that the years which developed 
 Elinor's child into a youth on the verge of manhood, 
 had not passed by the others of the family without full 
 evidence of its progress. John Tatham was no longer 
 within the elastic boundaries of that conventional youth 
 which is allowed to stretch so far when a man remains 
 unmarried. He might have been characterized as 
 according to the fine distinction of our
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 317 
 
 neighbours in France, had he desired it. But he did 
 not desire it. He had never altogether neglected so- 
 ciety, having a wholesome liking for the company of 
 his fellow creatures, but neither had he ever plunged 
 into it as those do who must keep their places in the 
 crowd or die. John had pursued the middle path, 
 which is the most difficult. He had cultivated friends, 
 not a mob of acquaintances, although as people say he 
 " knew everybody," as a man who had attained his po- 
 sition and won his success could scarcely fail to do. 
 He had succeeded indeed, not in the fabulous way that 
 some men do, but in a way which most men in his 
 profession looked upon as in the highest degree satis- 
 factory. He had a silk gown like any dowager. He 
 had been leading counsel in many cases which were 
 now of note. He was among, not the two or three per- 
 haps, but the twenty or thirty, who were at the head of 
 his profession. If he had not gone further it was per- 
 haps more from lack of ambition than from want of 
 power. He had been for years in Parliament, but pre- 
 ferred his independence to the chance of office. It is 
 impossible to tell how John's character and wishes 
 might have been modified had he married and had 
 children round him like other men. Had the tall boy 
 in the north, the young hero of Lakeside, been his, 
 what a difference would that have made in his views of 
 life ! But Philip was not his, nor Philip's mother 
 probably, as he always said to himself, from his own 
 fault. This, as the reader is aware, had always been 
 fully recognised by John himself. Perhaps in the old 
 days, in those days when everything was possible, he 
 had not even recognised that there was but one woman 
 in the world whom he could ever wish to marry. Prob- 
 ably it was only her appropriation by another that re- 
 vealed this fact to him. There are men like this to be 
 found everywhere ; not so hotly constituted as to seize 
 for themselves what is most necessary for their personal 
 happiness possessed by so many other subjects that 
 this seems a thing to be thought of by-and-by which 
 by-aud-by is generally too late.
 
 318 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 But John Tatham was neither a disappointed nor an 
 unhappy man. He might have attained a higher devel- 
 opment and more brilliant and full life, but that was 
 all ; and how few men are there of whom this could not 
 be said ! He had become Mr. Tatham of Tatham's 
 Cross, as well as Q.C. and M.P., a county gentleman 
 of modest but effective standing, a lawyer of high repu- 
 tation, quite eligible either for the bench or for political 
 elevation, had he cared for either, a member of Parlia- 
 ment with a distinct standing, and therefore importance 
 of his own. There was pi-obably throughout England 
 no society in which he could have found himself where 
 his position and impoi'tance would have been unknown. 
 He was a man approaching fifty, who had not yet lost 
 any of the power of enjoyment or begun to feel the in- 
 roads of decay, at the very height of life, and unconscious 
 that the ground would shortly begin to slope down- 
 wards under his feet ; indeed, it showed no such indi- 
 cation as yet, and probably would not do so for years. 
 The broad plateau of middle age lasts often till sixty, 
 or even beyond. There was no reason to doubt that for 
 John Tatham it would last as long as for any man. 
 His health was perfect, and his habits those of a man 
 whose self had never demanded indulgences of the vul- 
 gar kind. He had given up with some regret, but years 
 before, his chambers in the Temple : that is, he retained 
 them as chambers, but lived in them no longer. He 
 had a house in one of the streets about Belgrave Square, 
 one of those little bits of awkward, three-cornered 
 streets where there are some of the pleasantest houses 
 of a moderate kind in London ; furnished from top to 
 bottom, the stairs, the comfortable quaint landings, the 
 bits of corridor and passage, nothing naked or neglected 
 about it no cold corner ; but nothing fantastic ; not 
 very much ornament, a few good pictures, a great deal 
 of highly-polished, old-fashioned dark mahogany, with 
 a general flavour of Sherraton and Chippendale : and 
 abundance of books everywhere. John was able to per- 
 mit himself various little indulgences on which wives 
 arc said to look with jealous eyes. He had a fancy for
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 319 
 
 rare editions (in which I .sympathise) and also for bind- 
 ings, which seems to me a weakness however, it was 
 one which he indulged in moderation. He possessed in 
 his drawing-room (which was not very much used) a 
 beautiful old-fashioned harpsichord, and also he had be- 
 longing to him a fiddle of value untold. I ought, of 
 course, to say violin, or rather to distinguish the instru- 
 ment by its family name ; I have no doubt it was a 
 Stradivarius. But there is an affectionate humour in 
 the fiddle which does not consist with fine titles. He 
 had always been fond of music, but even the Stradi- 
 varius did not beguile him, in the days of which I speak, 
 to play, nor perhaps was his performance worthy of it, 
 though his taste was said to be excellent. It will be 
 perceived by all this that John Tatham's life had many 
 pleasures. 
 
 And I am not myself sorry for him because he was 
 not married, as many people will be. Perhaps it is a 
 little doleful coming home, when there is never any- 
 body looking out for you, expecting you. But then he 
 
 i V . A O 
 
 had never been accustomed to look for that, and the ef- 
 fect might have been irksome rather than pleasant. 
 His household went on velvet under the care of a re- 
 spectable couple who had " done for " Mr. Tatham for 
 years. He would not have submitted to extortion or 
 waste, but everything was ample in the house ; the 
 cook by no means stinted in respect to butter or any of 
 those condiments which are as necessary to good cook- 
 ing as air is to life. Mr. Tatham would not have under- 
 stood a lack of anything, or that what was served to 
 him should not have been the best, supplied and served 
 in the best way. Failure on such points would have so 
 much surprised him that he would scarcely have known 
 what steps to take. But Jervis, his butler, knew what 
 was best as well as Mr. Tatham did, and was quite as 
 little disposed to put up with any shortcoming. I say I 
 am not sorry for him that he was not married up to 
 this time. But, as a matter of fact, the time does come 
 when one becomes sorry for the well-to-do, highly re- 
 spectable, refined, and agreeable man who has every-
 
 320 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 thing that heart can desire, except the best things in 
 life love, and the companionship of those who are his 
 very own. When old age looms in sight everything is 
 changed. But Mr. Tatham, as has been said, was not 
 quite fifty, and old age seemed as far off as if it could 
 never be. 
 
 He was a man who was very good to a number of 
 people, and spent almost as much money in being kind 
 as if he had possessed extravagant children of his 
 own. His sister Mary, for instance, had married a 
 clergyman not very well off, and the natural result had 
 followed. How they could have existed without Uncle 
 John, much less how they could have stumbled into 
 public schools, scholarships, and all the rest of it, would 
 be difficult to tell, especially now in these days when a 
 girl's schooling ought, we are iold, to cost as much as a 
 boy's. This latter is a grievance which must be appar- 
 ent to the meanest capacity. Unless the girl binds 
 herself by the most stringent vows not to marry a poor 
 curate or other penniless man the moment that you 
 have completed her expensive education, I do not think 
 she should in any case be permitted to go to Girton, 
 It is all very well when the parents are rich or the girls 
 have a sufficiency of their own. But to spend all that on 
 a process which, instead of fructifying in other schools 
 and colleges, or producing in life a highly accomplished 
 woman, is to be lost at once and swallowed up in an- 
 other nursery, is the most unprofitable of benefactions. 
 This is what Mary Tatham 's eldest girl had just done, 
 almost before her bills at Newnham had been paid. A 
 wedding present had, so to speak, been demanded from 
 Uncle John at the end of the bayonet to show his satis- 
 faction in the event which had taken all meaning out 
 of his exertions for little Mary. He had given it in- 
 deed in the shape not of a biscuit-box, which is what 
 she would have deserved, but of a cheque but he was 
 not pleased. Neither was he pleased, as has been seen, 
 by the proceedings of Elinor, who had slighted all his 
 advice yet clung to himself in a way some women have. 
 I do not know whether men expect you to be quite as
 
 Till:: MALIUIAUE OF ELINOR. 321 
 
 much their friend us over after they have rejected your 
 counsel and taken their own (exactly opposite) way : 
 but women do, and indeed I think expect you to be 
 rather grateful that they have not taken amiss the ad- 
 vice which they have rejected and despised. This was 
 Elinor's case. She hoped that John was ashamed of 
 advising her to make her boy acquainted with his family 
 and the fact of his father's existence, and that he duly 
 appreciated the fact that she did not resent that advice ; 
 and then she expected from him the same attention to 
 herself and her son as if the boy had been guided in his 
 and not in her way. Thus it will be seen his friends 
 and relations expected a very great deal from John. 
 
 He had gone to his chambers one afternoon after he 
 left the law courts, and was there very busily engaged 
 in getting up his notes for to-morrow's work, when he 
 received a visit which awakened at once echoes of the 
 past and alarms for the future in John's mind. It 
 was very early in the year, the end of January, and the 
 House was not sitting, so that his public duties were 
 less overwhelming than usual. His room was the same 
 in which we have already seen on various occasions, and 
 which Elinor in her youth, before anything had hap- 
 pened to make life serious for her, had been in the 
 habit of calling the Star Chamber, for no reason in the 
 world except that law and penalties or judgments upon 
 herself in her unripe conviction, and suggestions of 
 what ought to be done, came from that place to which 
 Mrs. Dennistoun had made resort in her perplexities al- 
 most from the very beginning of John's reign there. 
 Mr. Tatham had been detained beyond his usual time by 
 the importance of the case for which he was preparing, 
 and a clerk, very impatient to get free, yet obliged to 
 simulate content, had lighted the lamp and replenished 
 the fire. It had always been a comfortable room. The 
 lamp by which John worked had a green shade which 
 concentrated the light upon a table covered with that lit- 
 ter of papers in which there seemed so little order, yet 
 which Mr. Tatham knew to the last scrap as if they had 
 been the tidiest in the world. The long glazed book- 
 21
 
 322 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 case which filled up one side of the room gave a dark 
 reflection of the light and of the leaping brightness of 
 the fire. The curtains were drawn over the windows. 
 If the clerk fumed in the outer rooms, here all was 
 studious life and quiet. No spectator could have been 
 otherwise than impressed by the air of absolute self- 
 concentration, with which the eminent lawyer gave him- 
 self up to his work. He was like his lamp, giving all 
 the light in him to the special subject, indifferent to 
 everything outside. 
 
 "What is it, Simmons?" he said abruptly, without 
 looking up. 
 
 " A lady, sir, who says she has urgent business and 
 must see you." 
 
 "A lady who must see me." John Tatham smiled 
 at the very ineffectual must, which meant coercion and 
 distraction to him. " I don't see how she is going to 
 accomplish that." 
 
 " I told her so," said the clerk. 
 
 " Well, you must tell her so again." He had scarcely 
 lifted his head from his work, so that it was unneces- 
 sary to return to it when the door closed, and Mr. 
 Tatham went on steadily as before. 
 
 It is easy to concentrate the light of the lamp when 
 it is duly shaded and no wind to blow it about, and it 
 is easy to concentrate a man's attention in the absolute 
 quiet when nothing interrupts him ; but when there 
 suddenly rises up a wind of talk in the room which is 
 separated from him only by a door, a tempest of chat- 
 tering words and laughter, shrill and bursting forth in 
 something like shrieks, making the student start, that 
 is altogether a different business. The lady outside, 
 who evidently had multiplied herself' unless it was 
 conceivable that the serious Simmons had made him- 
 self her accomplice had taken the cleverest way of 
 showing that she was not to be beat by any passive re- 
 sistance of busy man, though not even an audible con- 
 versation with Simmons would have startled or dis- 
 turbed his master, to whom it would have been appar- 
 ent that Lis faithful vassal was thus defending his own
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 323 
 
 stronghold and innermost retirement. But this was 
 quite independent of Simmons, a discussion in two 
 voices, one high-pitched and shrill, the other softer, but 
 both absolutely unrestrained by any consciousness of 
 being in a place where the chatter of strange voices is 
 forbidden, and stillness and quiet a condition of being. 
 The sound of the talk rang through Mr. Tatham's head 
 as if all the city bells were ringing. One of the un- 
 seen ladies had a very shrill laugh, to which she gave 
 vent freely. John fidgeted in his chair, raised up his 
 eyes above the level of his spectacles (he wore specta- 
 cles, alas ! by this time habitually when he worked) as 
 if lifting a voiceless appeal to those powers who interest 
 themselves in law cases to preserve him from disturb- 
 ance, then made a manly effort to disregard the sounds 
 that filled, the air, returning with a shake of his head to 
 his reading. But at the end of -a long day, and in the 
 dulness of the afternoon, perhaps a man is less capable 
 than at other moments to fight against interruption of 
 this kind and finally he threw down his papers and 
 touched his bell. Simmons came in full of pale indig- 
 nation, which made itself felt even beyond the circle, 
 illuminated by the lamp. 
 
 " What can I do ? " he said. "They've planted them- 
 selves by the fire, and there they mean to stay. ' Oh, 
 very well, we'll wait/ they said, quite calm. And I 
 make no doubt they will, having nothing else to do, till 
 all is blue." 
 
 Mr. Simmons had a gift of expression of which all 
 his friends were flatteringly sensible, and he was very 
 friendly and condescending to John, of whom he had 
 taken care for many years. 
 
 " What is to be done ? " said Mr. Tatham. " Can't 
 you do anything to get them away ? " 
 
 Simmons shook his head. " There's two of them," 
 he said, " and they entertain each other, and they think 
 it's fun to jabber like that in a lawyer's office. The 
 young one says, ' What a queer place ! ' and the other, 
 she holds forth about other times when she's been 
 here."
 
 3-24 TllK M. \-Wl.\Cl-: OF K/JXOR. 
 
 ' Ob, she's been here other tiihes Do you know 
 her, Simmons ? " 
 
 "Not from Adam, Mr. Tatharn or, I should say, 
 from Eve, as she's a lady. But a real lady I should say, 
 though she don't behave herself as such one of the 
 impudent ones. They are never impudent like that," 
 said Mr. Simmons, with profound observation, " unless 
 they are real high or real low." 
 
 " Hum ! " said John, hesitating. And then he added, 
 " There is a young one, you say V " 
 
 But I do not myself think, though the light-minded 
 may imagine it to be so, that it was because there was 
 a young one that John gave in. It was because he 
 could do nothing else, the noise and chatter of the 
 voices being entirely destructive of that undisturbed 
 state of the atmosphere in which work can be done. 
 It was not merely the sounds but the vibration they 
 made in the air, breaking all its harmony and concen- 
 tration. He tried a little longer, but was unsuccessful, 
 and finally in despair he said to Simmons, " You had 
 better show them in, and let me get done with them," 
 in an angry tone. 
 
 "Oh, he will see us after all," said the high-pitched 
 voice. " So good of Mr. Tatham ; but of course I 
 should have waited all the same. Dolly, take Toto ; I 
 can't possibly get up while I have him on my knee. 
 You can tell Mr. Tatham I did not send in my name to 
 disturb him, which makes it all the more charitable of 
 him to receive me ; but, dear me, of course I can tell 
 him that himself as he consents to see us. Dolly, don't 
 strangle my poor darling ! I never saw a girl that didn't 
 know how to take up a dear dog before." 
 
 " He's only a snappish little demon, and you spoil 
 him so," said the other voice. This was attended by 
 the sound of movement as if the party were getting 
 under weigh. 
 
 " My poor darling pet, it is only her jealousy : is 
 that the way? YOH, to be sure it is the next room. 
 Now, Dolly, remember this is where all the poor people 
 are ruined and done for. Leave hope behind all ye
 
 THE MARRIAGE "p ELTXOR. 325 
 
 who enter here." A little shriek of laughter emltd 
 this speech. And John, looking up, taking off his 
 spectacles, and raising a little the shade of the lamp, 
 saw in the doorway Lady Mariamne, altered- as was in- 
 evitable by the strain and stress of nearly twenty years. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 I DO not mean to assert that John Tatham had not 
 seen Lady Mariamne during these twenty years, or that 
 her changed appearance burst upon him with anything 
 like a shock. In society, when you are once a member 
 of that little world within a world, everybody sees 
 everybody else from time to time. He had not recog- 
 nised her voice, for he was not in the smallest degree 
 thinking of Lady Mariamne or of any member of her 
 family, notwithstanding that they now and then did 
 make a very marked appearance in his mind in respect 
 of the important question of that connection which 
 Elinor in her foolishn'ess tried to ignore. And John 
 was not at all shocked by the progress of that twenty 
 years, as reflected in the appearance of this lady, who 
 was about his own standing, a woman very near fifty, 
 but who had fought strenuously against every sign of 
 her age, as some women foolishly do. The result was 
 in Lady Mariauine's case, as in many others, that the 
 number of her years looked more like a hundred and 
 fifty than their natural limit A woman of her class 
 has but two alternatives as she gets old. She must get 
 stout, in which case, though she becomes unwieldy, she 
 preserves something of her bloom ; or she may grow 
 thin, and become a spectre upon which art has to do so 
 much that nature, flouted and tortured, becomes vin- 
 dictive, and withdraws every modifying quality. Lady 
 Mariamne had, I fear, false hair, false teeth, false com- 
 plexion, everything that invention could do in a poor 
 little human countenance intended for no such manipu-
 
 326 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 lation. The consequence was that every natural aclvan. 
 tage (and there are some which age confers, as well as 
 many that age takes away) was lost. The skin was 
 parchment, the eyes were like eyes of fishes, the teeth 
 too white and too perfect looked like the horrible 
 things in the dentists' windows, which was precisely 
 what they were. On such a woman, the very height 
 of the fashion, to which she so often attaches herself 
 with desperation, has an antiquated air. Everything 
 "swears," as the French say, with everything else. 
 The softness, the whiteness, the ease, the self-abnega- 
 tion of advancing age are all so many ornaments if 
 people but knew. But Lady Mariamne had none of 
 these. She wore a warm cloak in her carriage, it is 
 true, but that had dropped from her shoulders, leaving 
 her in all the bound-up rigidity in which youth is trim 
 and slim and elastic, as becomes it. It is true that many 
 a woman of fifty is, as John Tatham was, serenely dwell- 
 ing on that tableland which shows but little difference 
 between thirty-five, the crown of life, and fifty-five ; 
 but Lady Mariamne was not one of these. She had 
 gone " too fast," she would herself have allowed ; " the 
 pace " had been too much for such survivals. She was 
 of the awful order of superannuated beauties of which 
 Mr. Rider Haggard would in vain persuade us "She" 
 was not one. I ana myself convinced that " She's " 
 thousands of years were all written on her fictitious 
 complexion, and that other people saw them clearly if 
 not her unfortunate lover. And Lady Mariamne had 
 come to be of the order of "She." By dint of wiping 
 out the traces of her fifty years, she had made herself 
 look as if she might have been a thousand, and in this 
 guise she appeared to the robust, ruddy, well-preserved 
 man of her own age, as she stood, with a fantastic little 
 giggle, calling his attention, on the threshold of his 
 door. 
 
 Behind Lady Mariamne was a very different figure 
 that of the serious and independent girl without any il- 
 lusions, who is in so many cases the child of such a 
 mother, and who is in revolt so complete from all that
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 327 
 
 mother's traditions, so highly set on the crown of every 
 opposite principle, that nature vindicates itself by the 
 possibility that she may at any moment topple over 
 and become again what her mother was. He would 
 have been a bold man, however, who in the present stage 
 would have prophesied any such fate for Dolly Prest- 
 wicb, who between working at Whitechapel, attending 
 on a ward in St. Thomas's, drawing three days a week 
 in the Slade School, and other labours of equally varied 
 descriptions, had her time very fully taken up, and only 
 on special occasions had time to accompany her mother. 
 She had been beguiled on this occasion by the family 
 history which was concerned, and which, Jin de siecle 
 as Dolly was, excited her curiosity almost as much as 
 if she had been born in the " forties." Dolly was never 
 unkind, sometimes indeed was quite the reverse, to her 
 mother. When Mr. Tatham, with a man's brutal un- 
 consciousness of what is desirable, placed a chair for 
 Lady Mariamne in front of the fire, Dolly twisted it 
 round with a dexterous movement so as to shield the 
 countenance which was not adapted for any such illu- 
 mination. For herself, Dolly cared nothing, whether it 
 was the noonday sun or the blaze of a furnace that shone 
 upon her ; she defied them both to make her wink. As 
 for complexion, she scorned that old-fashioned vanity. 
 She had not very much, it is true. Having been scorched 
 red and brown in Alpine expeditious in the autumn, 
 she was now of a somewhat dry whitish-greyish hue, 
 the result of much loss of cuticle and constant encounter 
 with London fogs and smoke. She carried Toto who 
 was a shrinking, chilly Italian greyhound in a coat, 
 carelessly under one arm, and sat down beside her 
 mother, studying the papers on John's table with ex- 
 ceedingly curious eyes. She would have liked to go 
 over all his notes about his case, and form her own opin- 
 ion on it which she would have done, we may be sure, 
 much more rapidly, and with more decision, than Mr. 
 Tatham could do. 
 
 " So here I am again, you will say," said Lady Mari- 
 amne. She had taken off her gloves, and was smooth-
 
 328 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 ing her hands, from the points of (lie fingers downwards, 
 not, I believe, with any intention of demonstrating their 
 whiteness, but solely because she had once done so, 
 and the habit remained. She wore several fine rings, 
 and her hands were still pretty, and unlike the rest 
 of her younger than her age. They made a little show 
 with their sparkling diamonds, just catching the edge 
 of the tight from John's shaded lamp. Her face by 
 Dolly's help was in the shadow of the green shade. 
 " You will say so, Mr. Tat ham, I know : here she is 
 again without thinking how self-denying I have been, 
 never to come, never to ask a single question, for all 
 these years." 
 
 " The loss is mine, Lady Mariamne," said John, 
 gravely. 
 
 " It's very pretty of you to say that, isn't it, Dolly ? 
 One's old flirts don't always show up so well." And 
 here the lady gave a laugh, such as had once been sup- 
 posed to be one of Lady Mariamne's charms, but which 
 was rather like a giggle now an antiquated giggle, 
 which is much less satisfactory than the genuine article. 
 "How I used to worry you aboiit poor Phil, and that 
 little spitfire of a Nell and what a mess they have 
 made of it! I suppose you know what changes have 
 happened in the family, Mr. Tatham, since those 
 days ? " 
 
 "I heard indeed, with regret, Lady Mariamne, that 
 you had lost a brother " 
 
 " A brother ! two ! " she cried. " Isn't it extraordi- 
 nai 1 }; poor Hal, that was the picture of health ? How 
 little one knows ! He just went, don't you know, with- 
 out any one ever thinking he would go. Regg in India 
 was different you expect that sort of thing when a man 
 is in India. But poor Hal ! I told you Mr. Tatham 
 wouldn't have heard of it, Dolly, not being in our own 
 set, don't you know." 
 
 " It was in all the papers," said Miss Dolly. 
 
 "Ah, well, you didn't notice it, I suppose : or perhaps 
 you were away. I always say it is of no use being mar- 
 ried or dying or anything else in September your
 
 THE XARRTAKT. OF Ef.iyOR. 
 
 friends uever hear of it. You will wonder that I am not 
 iu black, but black .ys very unbecoming to me, 
 
 and dark grey is just as good, and doesn't make one 
 quite so ghastly. But the funny thing is that now Phil 
 who looked as if he never could be in the" running, 
 don't you know is heir presumptive. Isn't it extraor- 
 dinary? Two gone, and Phil, that Kved much faster 
 than either of them, and at one time kept up an awful 
 pace, has seen them both out. And St. Serf has never 
 married. He won't now, though I have been at him on 
 the subject for years. He says, not if he knows it, in 
 the horrid way men hav I don't wonder much, 
 
 for he ha.s had some nasty experiences, poor fellow. 
 
 There was Lady Oh, I almost forgot you were 
 
 there, Dolly." 
 
 " You needn't mind me/' said Dolly, gravely ; "I've 
 heard just as bad." 
 
 "Well," said Lady Mariamne, with a giggle, "did 
 you ever know anything like those girls? They are not 
 afraid of anything. Now, when I was a girl don't you 
 remember what an innocent dear I was, Mr. Tatham V 
 like a 1 unb ; never suspecting that there was any 
 naughtiness in the world " 
 
 John endeavoured to put on a smile, in feeble sympa- 
 thy with the uproariousness of Lady Mariamne's laugh 
 but her daughter took no such trouble. She sat as 
 grave as a young judge, never rnoviug a muscle. The 
 dog, however, held in her arms, and not at all comfort- 
 able, then making prodigious efforts to struggle on to its 
 mistress's morn- commodious lap, burst out into a respon- 
 sive bark, as shrill and not much unlike. 
 
 " Darling Toto," said Lady Mariamne, " come ! it 
 always knows what it's mummy means. Did you ever 
 see such a darling little head, Mr. Tatham ? and ' the 
 faithful pet always laughs when I laugh. What was I 
 talking of? St. Serf and his ladies. Well, it is not 
 much wonder, you know, is it? for he has always been 
 a sort of an invalid, and he will never marry now and 
 poor H-'xl being gone there's only Phil. Phil's been go- 
 ing a pace, Mr. Tatham ; but he has had a bad illness,
 
 330 TEE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 too, and the other boys going has sobered him a bit ; 
 and I do believe, now, that he'll probably mend. And 
 
 there he is, you know, tied to a Oh, of course, die 
 
 is as right as a as right as a trivet, whatever that may 
 be. Those sort of heartless people always are : and then 
 there's the child. Is it living, Mr. Tatham ? that's what 
 I want to know." 
 
 "Philip is alive and well, Lady Mariamne, if that is 
 what you want to know." 
 
 " Philip ! she called him after Phil, after all ! Well, 
 that is sornehiug wonderful. I expected to hear he 
 was John, or Jonathan, or something. Now, where is 
 he ? " said Lady Mariamne, with the most insinuating 
 air. 
 
 John burst into a short laugh. "I don't suppose you 
 expect me to tell you," he said. 
 
 "Why not? you can't hide a boy that is heir to a 
 peerage, Mr. Tatham ! it is impossible. Nell has done 
 the best she coidd in that way. They know nothing 
 about her in that awful place she was married from 
 of course you remember it a dreadful place, enough to 
 make one commit suicide, don't you know. The Cot- 
 .tage, or whatever they call it, is let, and nobody knows 
 anything about them. I took the trouble to go there, 
 I assure you, on my own hook, to see if I could find out 
 something. Toto nearly died of it, didn't you, darling? 
 Not a drop of cream to be had for him, the poor angel ; 
 only a little nasty skim milk. But Mr. Tatham has the 
 barbarity to smile," she went on, with a shrill outcry. 
 " Fancy, Toto the cruelty to smile ! " 
 
 " No cream for the angel, and no information for his 
 mistress," said John. 
 
 " You horrid, cruel, cold-blooded man ! and you sit 
 there at your ease, and will do nothing for us " 
 
 " Should you like me," said John, " to send out for 
 cream for your dog, Lady Mariamne?'' 
 
 "Cream in the Temple ?" said the lady. "What 
 sort of a compound would it be, Dolly ? All plaster of 
 Paris, or stuff of that sort. Perhaps you have tea some- 
 times in these parts "
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 331 
 
 " Very seldom," said John ; "but it might be obtain- 
 able if you would like it." He put forward his hand, 
 but not with much alacrity, to the bell. 
 
 " Mother never takes any tea," said Miss Dolly, has- 
 tily ; "she only crumbles down cake into it for that 
 little brute." 
 
 " It is you who are a little brute, you unnatural child. 
 Toto likes his tea very much he is dying for it. But 
 you must have patience, my pet, for probably it would 
 be very bad, and the cream all stucco, or something. 
 Mr. Tatham, do-tell us what has become of Nell ? Now, 
 have you hidden her somewhere in London, St. John's 
 Wood, and that sort of thing, don't you know ? or where 
 is she ? Is the old woman living? and how has that 
 boy been brought up ? At a dame's school, or some- 
 thing of that sort, I suppose." 
 
 " Mother," said Dolly, " you ought to know there are 
 now no dame's schools. There's Board Schools, which 
 is what you mean, I suppose ; and it would be veiy 
 good for him if he had been there. They would teach 
 him a great deal more than was ever taught to Uncle 
 Phil." ' 
 
 " Teach him ! " said Lady Mariamne, with another 
 shriek. " Did I ask anything about teaching? Heaven 
 forbid ! Mr. Tatham knows what I mean, Dolly. Has 
 he been at any decent place or has he been where it 
 will never be heard of ? Eton and Harrow one knows, 
 and the dame's schools one knows, but horrible Board 
 Schools, or things, where they might say young Lord 
 Lomond was brought up oh, goodness gracious ! One 
 has to bear a great many things, but I could not bear 
 that," 
 
 " It does not matter much, does it, so long as he does 
 not come within the range of his nearest relations?" 
 This was from John, who was almost at the end of his 
 patience. He began to put his papers back in a port- 
 folio, with the intention of carrying them home with 
 him, for his hour's work had been spoilt as well as his 
 temper. "I am afraid," he added, " that I cannot give 
 you any information, Lady Mariamne."
 
 332 THE MA RET AGE OF KIJNOK. 
 
 " Oh, such nousense, Mr. Tatham ! as if the beir to 
 a peerage could be bid." 
 
 It was not often that Lady Mariamne produced an 
 unanswerable effect, but against this last sentence of 
 hers John had absolutely nothing to say. He stared at 
 her for a moment, and then he returned to his papers, 
 shovelling them into the portfolio with vehemence. 
 Fortunately, she did not herself see how potent was her 
 argument. She went on diluting it till it lost all its 
 power. 
 
 " There is the 'Peerage,' if it was nothing else they 
 must have the right particulars for that. Why, Dolly 
 is at full length in it, her age and all, poor child ; and 
 Toto, too, for anything I know. Is du in the ' Peer- 
 age,' dear Toto, darling? And yet Toto can't succeed, 
 nor Dolly either. And this year Phil will be in as heir 
 presumptive and his marriage and all and then a blank 
 line. It's ridiculous, it's horrible, it's a thing that can't, 
 can't be ! Only think of all the troops of people, nice 
 people, the best people, that read the .' Peerage,' Mr. 
 Tatliam ! and that know Phil is married, and that 
 there is a child, and yet will see nothing but that blank 
 line. Nell was always a little fool, and never could see 
 things in a common-sense way. But a man ought to 
 know better and a lawyer, with chambers in the Tem- 
 ple ! Why, people come and consult you on such mat- 
 ters I might be coming to ask you to send out detec- 
 tives, and that sort of thing. How do you dare to hide 
 away that boy? ' 
 
 Lady Mariamne stamped her foot at John, \>\\i this 
 proceeding very much incommoded Toto, who, dis- 
 turbed in his position on her knee, got upon his feet 
 and began to l>;;rk furiously, first at his mistress and 
 then, following her impulse, at the gentleman opposite 
 to her, backing against the lady's shoulder and setting 
 up his little nose furiously with vibrations of rage 
 against, John, while stumbling upon the uncertain foot- 
 ing of the lap, volcanically shaken by the movement. 
 The result of this onslaught was to send Lady Mari- 
 amne into shrieks of laughter, in the midst of which
 
 TEE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 she half smothered Toto with mingled endearments and 
 attempts at restraint, until Dolly, coming to the rescue, 
 seized him summarily and snatched him away. 
 
 "The darling ! " cried Lady Marianme, " he sees it, 
 and you can't see it, a great big lawyer though you 
 are. Dolly, don't throttle my angel child. Stands up 
 for his family, don't he, the dear? Mr. Tatharn, how 
 can you be so bigoted and stubborn, when our dear lit- 
 tle Toto But you always were the most obsti- 
 nate man. Do you remember once, when I wanted to 
 take you to Lady Dogberry's dance wasn't it Lady 
 Dogberry's? well, it was Lady Somebody's and you 
 said you were not asked, and I said, what did it matter : 
 but to make you go, and Xell was with me we might 
 as well have tried to make St. Paul's go " 
 
 " My dear Lady Marianme," said John. 
 
 She held up a finger at him with the engaging play- 
 fulness of old. '" How can I be your dear Lady Mari- 
 arane, Mr. Tat ham, when you won't do a thing I ask 
 you ? What, Dolly ? Yes, we must go, of course, or I 
 shall not have my nap before dinner. I always have a 
 nap before dinner, for the sake of my complexion, don't 
 you know my beauty nap, they call it. Now, Mr. Tat- 
 ham, come to me to-morrow, and you shall give Toto his 
 cream, to show you bear no malice, and tell me all 
 about the boy. Don't be an obstinate pig, Mr. Tatham. 
 Now, I shall look for you without fail. Shan't we look 
 for him, Dolly ? and Toto will give you a paw and for- 
 give you and you must tell me all about the boy." 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXV. 
 
 To tell her all about the boy ! 
 
 John Tatham shovelled his papers into his portfolio, 
 and shut it up with a snap of embarrassment, a sort of 
 confession of weakness. He pushed buck his chair with
 
 334 THE MAURI AGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 the same sharpness, almost making a noise upon tbe old 
 Turkey carpet, and he touched his bell so that it 
 sounded with a shrill electric ping, almost like a pistol- 
 shot. Simmons understood all these signs, and he was 
 very sympathetic when he came in to take Mr. Tatham's 
 last orders and help him on with his coat. 
 
 "Spoilt your evening's work," said Simmons, compas- 
 sionately. "I knew they would. Ladies never should 
 enter a gentleman's chambers if I could help it. They've 
 got nothing to do in the Temple." 
 
 "You forget some men in the Temple are married, 
 Simmons." 
 
 "What does that matter? " said the clerk ; " let 'em 
 see their wives at home, sir. What I will maintain is 
 that ladies have no business here." 
 
 This was a little ungrateful, it must be said, for Sim- 
 mons probably got off three-quarters of an hour earlier 
 than he would have done had Mr. Tathani remained 
 undisturbed. As it was, John had some ten minutes to 
 wait before his habitual hansom drew up at the door. 
 
 It was not the first time by many times that Mr. Tat- 
 ham had considered the question which he now took 
 with him into his hansom, and which occupied him 
 more or less all the way to Halkiu Street. Lady Mari- 
 amne, however, had put it very neatly and very con- 
 clusively when she said that you can't hide the heir to 
 a peerage mojre concisely at least than John had him- 
 self put it in his many thoughts on the subject for, to 
 tell the truth, John had never considered the boy in 
 this aspect. That he should ever be the heir to a peer- 
 age had seemed one of those possibilities which so out- 
 rage nature, and are so very like fiction, that the sober 
 mind rejects them with almost a fling of impatience. 
 And yet how often they come true! He had never 
 heard a fact of which he felt partly ashamed, for it was 
 an event of too much importance to be ignored by any 
 one connected with Elinor of Hal Compton's death. 
 John was not acquainted with Hal Compton any more 
 than he was with other men who come and go in so- 
 ciety, occasionally seen, but open to no particular re-
 
 THE MAURI AGE OF ELIXOlt. 335 
 
 mark. A son of Lord St. Serf the best of the lot a 
 Compton with very little against him : these were 
 things which he had heard said and had taken little 
 notice of. Hal was healthier, less objectionable, a 
 better life than Phil's, and yet Hal was gone, who ought 
 by all rights to have succeeded his invalid brother. It 
 was true that the invalid brother, who had seen the end 
 of two vigorous men, might also see out Phil. But 
 that would make little difference in the position, unless 
 indeed by modifying Elinor's feelings and removing her 
 reluctance to make her boy known. John shook his 
 head as he went on with his thoughts, and decided 
 within himself that this was the very reason why Phil 
 Compton should survive and become Lord St. Serf, and 
 make the imbroglio worse, if worse were possible. It 
 had not required this to make it a hideous imbroglio, 
 the most foolish and wanton that ever a woman made. 
 He wondered at himself when he thought of it how he 
 had ever consented to it, ever permitted such a state 
 of affairs ; and yet what could he have done ? He had 
 no right to interfere even in the way of advice, which 
 he had given until everybody was sick of him and his 
 counsels. He could not have betrayed his cousin. To 
 tell her that she was conducting her affiiirs very fool- 
 ishly, laying up untold troubles for herself, was what 
 he had done freely, going to the very edge of a breach. 
 And he had no right to do any more. He could not 
 force her to adopt his method, neither could he betray 
 her when she took her own way. Nevertheless, there 
 can be no doubt that John felt himself almost an ac- 
 complice, involved in this unwise folly, with a sort of 
 responsibility for it, and almost guilt. It did not in- 
 deed change young Philip's moral position in any way, 
 or make the discovery that he had a father living more 
 likely to shock and bewilder him that this discovery 
 should come mingled with many extraneous wonders. 
 And yet these facts did alter the circumstances. " You 
 cannot hide the heir to a peerage." Lady Mariamue 
 was far, very far, from being a philosopher or a person 
 of genius, and yet this which she had said was in reality
 
 quite unanswerable. Phil Compton might have been 
 ignored for ever by his wife and child had he remained 
 only the ^--Honourable Phil, a younger son and a no- 
 body. But Phil Coiupton as Lord St. Serf could not 
 be ignored. Elinor had been wise enough never to 
 change her name, that is to say, she had been too proud 
 to do so, though nobody knew of the existence of that 
 prefix which was so inappropriate to her husband's 
 character. But now Mrs. Compton would no longer be 
 her name ; and Philip, the boy at the big northern 
 grammar-school, would be Lord. Lomond. An un- 
 looked-for summons like this has sometimes the power 
 of turning the heads of the heirs so suddenly ennobled, 
 but it did anything but convey elation to John's mind 
 in the prospect of its effect upon his relations. Would 
 she see reason now? Would she be brought to allow 
 that something must be done, or would she remain ob- 
 durate to the end of the chapter ? A great impatience 
 with Elinor filled John's mind. She was, as the reader 
 knows, the only woman to John Tatham ; but what 
 does that matter ? He did not approve of her any more 
 on that account. He was even more conscious of the 
 faults of which she was guilty. He was aware of her 
 obstinacy, her determined adherence lo her own way 
 as no other man in the world was. Would she acknowl- 
 edge now at last that she was wrong, and give in ? I 
 am obliged to confess that the giving in of Elinor was 
 the last spectacle in heaven or earth which John Tat- 
 ham could conceive. 
 
 Ho went over those circumstances as he drove through 
 all of London that is to some people worth calling Lon- 
 don, on that dark January night, passing from the light 
 of the busy streets into the comparative darkness of 
 those in whicn people live, without in the least remark- 
 ing where he was going, except in his thoughts. He 
 had not the least intention of accepting the invitation 
 of Lady Mariamne, nor did his mind dwell upon her or 
 the change that ag : -ought in her. But yet the 
 
 Compton family had gained an interest in John's eyes 
 which it did not possess even at the time when Elinor's
 
 THK MARRIAGE Of KUXOK. 337 
 
 marriage first brought its name into his thoughts. 
 Philip young Philip the boy, as John called him in 
 his own mind, in fond identification was as near John's 
 own child as anything ever could be in this world. He 
 had many nephews and nieces belonging to him by a 
 more authentic title, but none of these was in the least 
 like Philip, whom none of all the kindred knew but him- 
 self, and who, so far as he was aware, had but one kins- 
 man in the world, who was Uncle John. He had fol- 
 lowed the development of the boy's mind always with 
 a reference to those facts of which Philip knew nothing, 
 which would be so wonderful to him when the revela- 
 tion came. To John that little world at Lakeside where 
 the ladies had made an artificial existence for themselves, 
 which was at the same time so natural, so sweet, so full 
 of all the humanities and charities was something like 
 what we might suppose this erring world to be to some 
 archangel great enough to see how everything is, not 
 great enough to give the impulse that would put it 
 right. If the great celestial intelligences are allowed 
 to know and mark out perverse human ways, how much 
 impatience with us must mingle with their tenderness 
 and pity ! John Tatham had little perhaps that was 
 heavenly about him, but he loved Elinor and her son, 
 and was absolutely free of selfishness in respect to them. 
 Never, he was aware, could either woman or child be 
 more to him than they were now. Nay, they were every- 
 thing to him, but on their own account, not his ; he 
 desired their welfare absolutely, and not his own through 
 them. Elinor was capable at any moment of turning 
 upon him, of saying, if not in words, yet in undeniable 
 inference, what is it to you ? and the boy, though he 
 gladly referred to Uncle John when Uncle John was in 
 the way, took him with perfect composure as a being 
 apart from his life. They were everything to him, but 
 he was nothing to them. " His whole heart was set upon 
 their peace, upon their comfort and well-being, but as 
 much apart from himself as if he had not been. 
 
 Mr. Tatham was dining out that night, which was a 
 good thing for him to distract his thoughts from this 
 
 22
 
 338 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 problem, which he could only torment himself about 
 and could not solve ; and there was an evening party at 
 the same house one of those quieter, less-frequented 
 parties which are, people in London tell you, so much 
 more agreeable than in the crowd of the season. It was 
 a curious kind of coincidence that at this little assembly, 
 which might have been thought not at all in her way, 
 he met Lady Mariamne, accompanied by her daughter, 
 again. It was not in her way, being a judge's house, 
 where frivolity, though it had a certain place, was not 
 the first element. But then when there are few things 
 to choose from, people must not be too particular, and 
 those who cannot have society absolutely of their own 
 choosing, are bound, as in other cases of necessity, to 
 take what they can get. And then Dolly liked to hear 
 people talking of things which she did not understand. 
 When Lady Mariamne saw that John Tatham was there 
 she gave a little shriek of satisfaction, and rushed at him 
 as if they had been the dearest friends in the world. 
 " So delighted to see you again" she cried, giving every- 
 body around the idea of the most intimate relationship. 
 "It was the most wonderful good fortune that I got 
 my Toto home in safety, poor darling ; for you know, 
 Mr. Tatham, you would not give him any tea, and Dolly, 
 who is quite unnatural, pitched him into the carriage 
 and simply sat upon him sat upon him, Mr. Tatham ! 
 before I could interfere. Oh, you do not know half the 
 trials a woman has to go through ! And now please 
 take me to have some coffee or something, and let us 
 finish the conversation we were having when Dolly made 
 me go away." 
 
 John could not refuse his arm, nor his services in 
 respect to the coffee, but he was mute on the subject 
 on which his companion was bent. He tried to divert 
 her attention by some questions on the subject of Dolly 
 instead. 
 
 " Dolly ! oh, yes, she's a girl of the period, don't you 
 know not what a girl of the period used to be in our 
 day, Mr. Tatham, when those nasty newspaper people 
 wrote us down. Look at her talking to those two men,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 339 
 
 and laying down the law. Now, we never laid down the 
 law ; we knew beat about things in our sphere dress, 
 and the drawing-room, and what people were doing in 
 society. But Dolly would tell you how to manage your 
 next great case, Mr. Tatham, or she could give one of 
 those doctor-men a wrinkle about cutting off a leg. 
 Gracious, I should have fainted only to hear of such a 
 thing ! Tell me, are those doctor-men supposed to be 
 in society ? " Lady Maviamne cried, putting up her thin 
 shoulder (which was far too like a specimen of anatomy) 
 in the direction of a famous physician who was blandly 
 smiling upon the instruction which Miss Dolly assuredly 
 intended to convey. 
 
 " As much as lawyer-men are in society," replied 
 John. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Tatham, such nonsense! Lawyers have 
 always been in society. What are the Attorney Gen- 
 eral and Lord Chancellor and so forth ? They are all 
 Liwyers ; but I never heard of a doctor that was in the 
 Cabinet, which makes all the difference. Here is a quiet 
 corner, where nobody can disturb us. Sit down ; it 
 will be for all the world like sitting out a dance to- 
 gether : and tell me about Nell and her boy." 
 
 "And what if I have nothing to tell? "said John, 
 who did not feel at all like sitting out a dance; but, on 
 the contrary, was much more upright and perpendicular 
 than even a queen's counsel of fifty has any need to be. 
 
 "Oh, sit down, please ! I never could bear a man 
 standing over me, as if he had swallowed a poker. Why 
 did she go off and leave Phil ? Where did she go to V 
 I told you I went off on my own hook to that horrid 
 place where they lived, and knocked up the old clergy- 
 man and the woman who wanted me to put on a shawl 
 over one of the prettiest gowns I ever had. Fancy, the 
 Vandal ! But they knew nothing at all of her there. 
 Where is Nell, Mr. Tatham ? You don't pretend not 
 to know. And the boy ? Why he must be about eigh- 
 teen and if St. Serf were to die Mr. Tatham, 
 
 you know it is quite, quite intolerable, and not to be 
 borne ! I don't know what steps Phil has taken. He
 
 THE MAniilAGK Of' 1 KL1NOR. 
 
 has })eon awfully good he has never said a word. To 
 hear him you would thiuk she was far too nice to be 
 mixed up with a set of people like us. But now, you 
 know, he must be got hold of he must, he must ! Why, 
 he'd be Lomond if St. Serf were to die ! and everybody 
 would be crying out, ' Where's the heir ? ' After Phil 
 there's the Bagley Comptons, and they would set up 
 for being heirs presumptive, unless you can produce 
 that boy." 
 
 "But the boy is not mine that I should produce him," 
 said John. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Tatham ! when Nell is your relation, and 
 always, always was advised by you. You may tell that 
 to the Marines, or anybody that will believe it. You 
 need not think you can take me in." 
 
 " I hope not to take in anybody. If being advised by 
 me means persistently declining to do what I suggest 
 and recommend " 
 
 " Oh, then, you are of the same opinion as I am ! " 
 said Lady Mariamne. " Bravo ! now we shall manage 
 something. If you had been like that years ago when 
 I used to go to you, don't you remember, to beg you to 
 smooth things down but you would never see it, till 
 the smash came." 
 
 " I wish," said John, not without a little bitterness, 
 ' that I could persuade you how little influence I have. 
 There are some women, I suppose, who take advice 
 when it is given to them ; but the women whom I have 
 ever had anything to do with, I am sorry to say 
 
 "I'll promise," cried Lady Mariamne, putting her 
 hands and rings together in an attitude of supplication, 
 " to do what you tell me faithfully, if you'll advise me 
 where I'll find the boy. Oh, let Nell alone, if you want 
 to keep her to yourself I sha'n't spoil sport, Mr. Tat- 
 ham, I promise you," she cried, with hrr shrill laugh ; 
 "only tell me where I'll find the boy. What is it you 
 want, Dolly, coming after me like a policeman ? Don't 
 you see I am busy ? We are sitting out the dance, Mr. 
 Tatham and I. " 
 
 Dolly did not join in her mother's laugh nor unbend
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF EL] NOR. 341 
 
 in the least. "As there is no dancing," she said, "and 
 everybody is going, I thought you would prefer to go 
 too." 
 
 "But we shall see you to-morrow, Mr. Tatham? 
 Now, I cannot take any refusal. You must come, if it 
 were only for Toto's sake ; and Dolly will go out, I 
 hope, on one of her great works and will not come to 
 disturb us, just when I have persuaded you to speak 
 for you were just going to open your mouth. Now 
 you know you were ! Five o'clock to-morrow, Mr. 
 Tatham, whatever happens. Now remember ! and you 
 are to tell me everything." She held up her finger to 
 him, half threatening, half coaxing, and then, with a 
 peal of laughter, yielded to Dolly, and was taken 
 away. 
 
 " I did not know, Tatham," said the Judge who was 
 his host, " that you were on terms of such friendship 
 Avith Lady Mariamne." 
 
 "Nor did I," said John Tatham, with a yawn. 
 
 " Queer thing this is about that old business, in 
 which her brother was mixed up haven't you heard ? 
 one of those companies that came to smash somewhere 
 about twenty years ago. The manager absconded, and 
 there was something queer about the books. Well, 
 the fellow, the manager, has been caught at last, and 
 there will be a trial. It's in your way you will be of- 
 fered a brief, no doubt, with refreshers every day, you 
 lucky fellow. I have just as much troiible and no re- 
 freshers. What a fool a man is, Tatham, ever to 
 change the Bar for the Bench ! Don't you do it, my 
 dear fellow take a man's advice who knows." 
 
 " At least I shall wait till I am asked," said John. 
 
 " Oh, you will be asked sooner or later but don't 
 do it take example by those who have gone before 
 you," said the great functionary, shaking his learned 
 head. 
 
 And the Judge's wife had also a word to say. " Mr. 
 Tatham," she said, as he took his leave, "I know now 
 what I have to do when I want to secure Lady Mari- 
 amne I shall ask you."
 
 342 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR, 
 
 "Do you ofteu want to secure Lady Mariamne?' 
 said John. 
 
 " Oh, it is all very well to look as if you didn't care ! 
 She is, perhaps, a little passee, but still a great many 
 people think her charming. Isn't there a family con 
 nection?" Lady Wigsby said, with a curiosity which 
 she tried not to make too apparent, for she was ac- 
 quainted with the ways of the profession, and knew 
 that was the last thing likely to procure her the infor- 
 mation she sought. 
 
 "It cannot be called a connection. There was a 
 marriage which turned out badly." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Tatham, if the question 
 was indiscreet ! I hear Lord St. Serf is worse again, 
 and not likely to last long ; and there is some strange 
 story about a lost heir." 
 
 "Good-night, Lady Wigsby," John replied. 
 
 And he added, "Confound Lord St. Serf," under his 
 breath, as he went down-stairs. 
 
 But it was not Lord St. Serf, poor man, who had 
 done him no harm, whom John wished to be confound- 
 ed because at last, after many threaten ings, he was 
 about to be so ill-advised as to die. It was some one 
 very different. It was the woman who for much more 
 than twenty years had been the chief object of John 
 Tatham's thoughts. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THINGS relapsed into quietness for some time after 
 that combination which seemed to be directed against 
 John's peace of mind. If I said that it is not unusual 
 for the current of events to run very quietly before a 
 great crisis, I should not be saying anything original, 
 since the torrent's calmness ere it dash below has 
 been remarked before now. But it certainly was so in 
 this instance. John, I need scarcely say, did not pre- 
 sent himself at Lacl_) Mariamne's on the afternoon at
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 343 
 
 five when he was expected. He wrote a very civil note 
 to say that he was unable to come, and still less able to 
 give the information her ladyship required ; and, to tell 
 the truth, in his alarm lest Lady Mariamne should re- 
 peat her invasion, Mr. Tatham was guilty of concerting 
 with his clerk, the excellent Simmons, various means 
 of eluding such a danger. And he exercised the great- 
 est circumspection in regard to his own invitations, and 
 went nowhere where there was the least danger of 
 meeting her. In this way for a few months he had 
 kept himself safe. 
 
 It may be imagined, then, how great was his annoy- 
 ance when Simmons came in again, very diffident, 
 coughing behind his hand, and taking shelter in the 
 shaded part of the room, with the hesitating statement 
 that a lady who would take no denial, who looked as if 
 she knew the chambers as well as he did, and could 
 hardly be kept from walking straight in was waiting 
 to see Mr. Tatham. John sprang to his feet with 
 words which were not benedictions. " I thought," he 
 -said, " you ass, that you knew exactly what to say." 
 
 " But, sir," said Simmons, " it is not the same lady 
 it is not at all the same lady. It is a lady who " 
 
 But here the question was summarily settled, for the 
 door was pushed open though Simmons still held it 
 with his hand, and a voice, which was more like the 
 voice of Elinor Dennistoun at eighteen than that of 
 Mrs. Compton, said quickly, " I know, John, that your 
 door can't be shut for me." 
 
 "Elinor ! " he said, getting up from his chair. 
 
 " I know," she repeated, " that there must be some 
 mistake that your door could not be shut for me." 
 
 " No, of course not," he said. " It is all right, Sim- 
 mons ; but who could have thought of seeing you 
 here? It was a contingency I never anticipated. 
 When did you come? where are you staying? Is Philip 
 with you ? " He overwhelmed her with questions, per- 
 haps by way of stopping her mouth lest she should put 
 questions still more difficult to answer to himself. 
 
 " Let me take breath a little," she said. " I scarcely
 
 -'544 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 have taken breath since the thing happened which 
 has brought me here ; but I feel a little confidence now 
 with the strong backing I have in you, John." 
 
 " My dear Elinor," he said, " I am afraid you must 
 not look for any strong backing in me." 
 
 " Why?" she cried. "Have you judged it all before- 
 hand ? And do you know are you quite, quite sure, 
 John, that I cannot avoid it in any way, that I am 
 obliged at all costs to appear? I would rather fly the 
 country, I would rather leave Lakeside altogether and 
 settle abroad. There is nothing in the world that I 
 would not rather do." 
 
 " Elinor," said John, with some sternness, " you can- 
 not believe that I would oppose you in any possible 
 thing. Your pleasure has been a law to me. I may 
 have differed with you, but I have never made any dif- 
 ference." 
 
 "John ! you do not mean to say," she cried, turning 
 pale, " that you are going to abandon me now ? " 
 
 " Of course, that is merely a figure of speech," he 
 said. " How could I abandon you ? But it is quite 
 true what that woman says, and I entirely agree with 
 her and not with you in this respect, that the heir to a 
 peerage cannot be hid ' 
 
 " The heir to a peerage ! " she faltered, looking at 
 him astonished. Gradually a sort of slowly growing 
 light seemed to diffuse itself over her face. " The heir 
 to a peerage, John ! I don't know what you mean." 
 
 " Is this not your reason for coming to town ? " 
 
 " There is nothing that I know of about the heir 
 to a peerage. Who is this heir to a peerage ? I don't 
 know what you mean, but you frighten me. Is that a 
 reason why I should be dragged out of my seclusion 
 and made to appear in his defence ? Oh, no surely 
 no ; if he is that, they will let him off. They will not 
 press it. I shall not be wanted. John, the more rea- 
 son that you should stand by me " 
 
 "We are at cross-purposes, Elinor. What has 
 brought you to London ? Let me know on your side 
 and then I shall understand what I have got to do."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 345 
 
 " TJiat has brought me to London." She handed 
 him a piece of paper which John knew very well the 
 appearance of. He understood it better than she did, 
 and he was not afraid of it, which she was, but he 
 opened it all the same with a great deal of surprise. 
 It was a subpoena charging Elinor Compton to appear 
 and bear testimony in the case of the Qit?fn versus 
 Bran- n. 
 
 "The fjiwti versus Brown! What have you got to 
 do witli such a case ? You, Elinor, of all people in the 
 world ! Oh !" he said suddenly as a light, but a dim 
 one, began to break upon him. It was the case of which 
 his friend the judge had spoken, and in which he had 
 been offered a retainer, as a matter of fact, shortly after 
 that talk. He had been obliged to refuse, his time be- 
 ing already fully taken up, and he had not looked into 
 the case. But now it began slowly to dawn upon him 
 that, the trial was that of the once absconded manager 
 of a certain joint-stock company, and that this was pre- 
 cisely the company in which Elinor's money had been 
 all but invested by her husband. It might be upon 
 that subject that she had to appear. 
 
 " Well," he said, " I can imagine a possible reason 
 why you should be called, and yet not a good one ; for 
 it was not of course you who were acting, but your 
 husband for you. It is he that should appear, and not 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, John," she cried. "Oh, John ! " wringing her 
 hands. She had followed his looks eagerly, noticing 
 the light that seemed to dawn over his face with a 
 strange anxiety and keen interest. But John, it was 
 evident, had not got the clue which she expected, and 
 her face changed into impatience, disappointment, ex- 
 asperation. " You have not heard anything about it," 
 she said ; " you don't know." 
 
 "It was brought to me," he said, "but I could not 
 take it up no, I don't know except that it's curious 
 from the lapse of time twenty years or thereabouts : 
 that's all I know.' 1 
 
 "The question is," she said, "about a date. There
 
 346 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 were some books destroyed, and it is not known who 
 did it. Suspicion fell upon one who might have been 
 guilty : but that on that day he arrived at the house 
 of the girl whom he was going to marry : and conse- 
 quently could not have been there 
 
 " Elinor ! " 
 
 "Yes," she said, "that is what I am wanted for, John, 
 an excellent reason after all these years. I must ap- 
 pear to clear my husband : and that is how Pippo 
 will find out that I have a husband and he a father. 
 Oh, John, John ! support me with your approval, and 
 help me, oh, help me to go away." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " was all that John could say. 
 
 " I should have gone first and asked you after," she 
 cried, " for you are a lawyer, and I suppose you will 
 think you must not advise any one to fly in the face of 
 the law. And I don't even know whether it will be of 
 any use to fly. Will they have it in the papers all 
 the same ? Will they put it in that his wife re- 
 fused to appear on his behalf, that she had gone away 
 to avoid the summons ? Will it be all there for Pippo 
 to guess and wonder at the name and come to me with 
 questions, mother, who is this ? and mother, what is 
 that? John, can't you answer me, you that I came to 
 to guide me, to tell me what I must do ; have you noth- 
 ing, nothing to say ? " 
 
 "I am too much bewildered to know what I ana do- 
 ing, Elinor. This is all sprung upon me like a mine : 
 and there was plenty before." 
 
 " There was nothing before," she cried, indignantly, 
 " it was all plain sailing before. He knew nothing of 
 family troubles how should he, poor child, being so 
 young ? That was simple enough. And I think I see ' 
 a way still, John. I will take him off at Easter for a 
 trip abroad, and when we have started to go to Switzer- 
 land or somewhere, I will change my mind, and make 
 him think of Greece or somewhere far, far away the 
 East whore there will be no newspapers. Tell me when 
 the trial will come on, and how long you think it will 
 last, and I will keep him away till it is all over. John !
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 347 
 
 you have nothing surely to say against that ? Think 
 from how much it will save the boy." 
 
 "It is impossible, Elinor, that the boy can be saved. 
 I never knew of this complication, but there are other 
 circumstances, of which I have lately heard." 
 
 " What can any other circumstances have to do with 
 it. John, even if he must hear? I know, I know, you 
 have always been determined upon that. Is that the 
 way you would have him hear, not only that he has a 
 father, but that his father was involved in in transac- 
 tions like that befoi^e ever he was born? " 
 
 "Elinor, let us understand each other," said Mr. 
 Tatham. " You mean that you have it in your power 
 to exonerate your husband, and he has had you subpoe- 
 naed, knowing this? " 
 
 She looked at him with a look which he could not 
 fathom. Was it reluctance to save Phil Comptou that 
 was in Elinor's eyes ? Was she ready to leave her hus- 
 band to destruction when she could prevent it, in order 
 to save her boy from the knowledge of his existence ? 
 John Tatham was horrified by the look she fixed upon 
 him, though he could not read it. He thought he 
 could read it, and read it that way, in the way of hate 
 and deliberate preference of her own will to all law and 
 justice. There could be no such tremendous testimony 
 to the power of that long continued, absolutely-faithful, 
 visionary love which John Tatham bore to Elinor than 
 that this discovery which he thought he had made did 
 not destroy it. He was greatly shocked, but it made 
 no difference in his feelings. Perhaps there was more 
 of the brotherly character in them than he thought. 
 For a moment they looked at each other, and he 
 thought he made this discovery while she met his 
 eyes with that look which she did not know was inscru- 
 table, which she feared was full of self-betrayal. "I 
 believe," she said, bending her head, " that that is 
 what he thinks." 
 
 "If it had been me," said John Tatham, moved out 
 of his habitual calm, "I would rather be proved guilty 
 of anything than owe my safety to such an expedient as
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELTNOR. 
 
 that. Drag in a woman who hat<;s 1110 to prove my alibi 
 as if she loved me! By Jove, Elinor ! you women have 
 the gift of drawing out everything that's worst in men." 
 
 "It seems to make you hate me, John, which I don't 
 think I have deserved." 
 
 " Oh, no, I don't liate you. It's a consequence, I 
 suppose, of use arid wont. It makes little difference to 
 me " 
 
 She gave him another look which he did not under- 
 stand a wistful look, appealing to something, he did 
 not know what to his ridiculous partiality, he thought, 
 and that stubborn domestic affection to which it was of 
 so little importance what she did, as long as she was 
 Elinor ; and then she said with a woman's soft, endless 
 pertinacity, " Then you think I may go ? " 
 
 He sprang from his seat with that impatient despair 
 which is equally characteristic of the man. " Go ! " he 
 said, " when you are called upon by law to vindicate a 
 man's character, and that man your husband ! I ought 
 not to be surprised at anything with my experience, 
 but, Elinor, you take away my breath." 
 
 She only smiled, giving him once more that look of 
 appeal. 
 
 "How can you think of it?" he said. "The subpu'iia 
 is enough to keep any reasonable being, besides the 
 other motive. You must not budge. I should feel my 
 own character involved, as well as yours, if after con- 
 sulting me on the subject you were guilty of an evasion 
 after all." 
 
 "It would not be your fault, John." 
 
 " Elinor ! you are mad it must not be done," he 
 cried. " Don't defy me, I am capable of informing 
 upon you, and having you stopped by force if you 
 do not give this idea up." 
 
 "By force !" she said, with her nostril dilating. "I 
 shall go, of course, if I am threatened." 
 
 " Then Philip must not go. Do you know what has 
 happened in the family to which he belongs, and must 
 belong, whether yon like it or not? Do you know 
 that the boy may be Lord Lomond before the week is
 
 THE MARRIAGK OF ELINOR. 349 
 
 out ? that his uncle is dying, and that your husband is 
 the heir ? " 
 
 She turned round upon him slowly, fixing her eyes 
 upon his, with simple astonishment and no more in her 
 look. Her mind, so absorbed in other thoughts, hardly 
 took in what he could mean. 
 
 " Have you not heard this, Elinor? " 
 
 "But there is Hal," she said, "Hal the other 
 brother who comes first." 
 
 " Hal is dead, and the one in India is dead, and Lord 
 St. Serf is dying. The boy is the heir. You must not, 
 you cannot, take him away. It is impossible, Elinor, it 
 is against all nature and justice. You have had him 
 for all these years ; his father has a right to his heir." 
 
 " Oh, John ! " she cried, in a bitter note of reproach, 
 " oh, John, John ! " 
 
 " Well," he cried, "is not what I tell you the truth ? 
 Would Philip give it up if it were offered to him ? He 
 is almost a man let him judge for himself." 
 
 " Oh, John, John ! when you know that the object 
 of my life has been to keep him from knowing to 
 shut that chapter of my life altogether ; to biing him 
 up apart from all evil influences, from all instruc- 
 tions " 
 
 "And from his birthright, Elinor ? " 
 
 She stopped, giving him another sudden look, the 
 natural language of a woman brought to bay. She 
 drew a long breath in impatience and desperation, not 
 knowing what' to reply ; for what could she reply? His 
 birthright ! to be Lord Lomond, Lord St. Serf, the 
 head of the house. What was that ? Far, far better 
 Philip Deunistoun, of Lakeside, the heir of his mother 
 and bis grandmother, two stainless women, with 
 enough for everything that was honest and of good re- 
 port, enough to permit him to be an unworldly scholar, 
 a lover of ari, a traveller, any play-profession that he 
 chose if he did not incline to graver work. Ah ! but 
 she had not been so wise as that, she had not brought 
 him up as Philip Dennistoun. He was Philip Comp- 
 ton, she had not been bold enough to change his name.
 
 350 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 She stood at bay, surrounded as it were by her ene- 
 mies, and confronted John Tatham, who had been her 
 constant companion and defender, as if all that was 
 hostile to her, all that was against her peace was em- 
 bodied in him. 
 
 "I must go a little further, Elinor," said John, 
 " though God knows that to add to your pain is the 
 last thing in the world I wish. You have been left un- 
 molested for a very long time, and we have all thought 
 your retreat was unknown. I confess it has surprised 
 ine, for my experience has always been that everything 
 is known. But you have been subpoenaed for this trial, 
 therefore, my dear girl, we must give up that idea. 
 Everybody, that is virtually everybody, all that are of 
 any consequence, know where you are and all you are 
 about now." 
 
 She sank into a chair, still keeping her eyes upon 
 him, as if it were possible that he might take some ad- 
 vantage of her if she withdrew them ; then, still not 
 knowing what to reply, seized at the last words because 
 they were the last, and had little to do with the main 
 issue. "All about me?" she said faintly, as if there 
 had been something else besides the place of her refuge 
 to conceal. 
 
 " You know what I mean, Elinor. The moment that 
 your home is known all is known. That Philip lives 
 and is well, a promising boy ; that you have brought 
 him up to do honour to any title or any position." 
 
 He could not help saying this, and partly in the tes- 
 timony to her, partly for love of the boy, John Tat- 
 harn's voice faltered a little and the water came into his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Ah, John! you say that!" she cried, as if it had 
 been an admission forced from him against his will. 
 
 " What could I say otherwise ? Elinor, because I 
 don't approve of all your proceedings, because I don't 
 think you have been wise in one respect, is that to say 
 that I do not understand and know you ? I am not 
 such a fool or a formalist as you give me credit for be- 
 ing. You have made him all that the fondest and
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 351 
 
 proudest could desire. You have done far better for 
 
 him, I do not doubt for a moment, than But, my 
 
 dear cousin, my dear girl, my poor Nellie " 
 
 "Yes, John?" 
 
 He paused a moment, and then he said, " Eight is 
 right, and .justice is justice at the end of all." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVH. 
 
 WHEN* Elinor received the official document which 
 had so extraordinary an effect upon her life, and over- 
 turned in a moment all the fabric of domestic quiet 
 and security which she had been building up for years, 
 it wus outside the tranquil Avails of the house at Lake- 
 side, in the garden which lay between it and the high- 
 road, opening upon that not very much-frequented road 
 by a pair of somewhat imposing gates, which gave the 
 little establishment an air of more pretension than it 
 really possessed. Some fine trees shrouded the little 
 avenue, and Elinor was standing under one of them, 
 stooping over a little nest of primroses at its roots, from 
 which the yellow buds were peeping forth, when she 
 heard behind her the sound of a vehicle at the gates, 
 and the quick leap to the ground of someone who 
 opened them. Then there was a pause ; the carriage, 
 whatever it was, did not come farther, and presently 
 she herself, a little curious, turned round to see a man 
 approaching her, whom she did not know. A dog-cart 
 driven by another, whose face she recognized, waited 
 in the road while the stranger came forward. " You 
 are Mrs. Compton, ma'am ? " he said. A swift thrill of 
 alarm, she could scarcely tell why, ran over Elinor from 
 head to foot. She had been settled for nearly eighteen 
 years at Lakeside. What could happen to frighten her 
 now '? but it tingled to her very fingers' ends. And 
 then he said something to her which she scarcely un- 
 derstood, but which sent that tingle to her very heart 
 and brain, and gave her the suspicious looking blue
 
 TUB MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 paper which he hold in his hand. It all passed in a 
 moment of time to her dazed yet excited consciousness. 
 The early primrose which she had gathered had not 
 had time to droop in her grasp, though she crushed the 
 stalk unconsciously in her fingers, before the gates were 
 closed again, the sound of the departing wheels grow- 
 ing faint on the road, and she herself standing like one 
 paralyzed with that thing in her hand. A subpoena ! 
 what was a subpcena ? She knew as little, perhaps less, 
 than the children in the parish school, who began to 
 troop along the road in their resounding clogs at their 
 dinner hour. The sound of this awoke her a little to a 
 frightened sense that she had better put this document 
 out of sight, at least until she could manage to under- 
 stand it. And then she sped swiftly away past the 
 pretty white house lying in the sunshine, with all its 
 doors and windows open, to the little wood behind, 
 where it would be possible to think and find out at her 
 leisure what this was. It was a small wood and a pub- 
 lic path ran through it ; but where the public was so 
 limited as at Lakeside this scarcely impaired the pri- 
 vacy of the inhabitants, at least in the morning, when 
 everybody in the parish was at work. Elinor hurried 
 past the house that her mother might not see her, and 
 climbed the woody hillock to a spot which was pecul- 
 iarly her own, and where a seat had been placed for 
 her special use. It was a little mount of vision from 
 which she could look out, up and down, at the long 
 winding line of the lake cleaving the green slopes, and 
 away to the rugged and solemn peaks among which lay, 
 in his mountain fastnesses, Helvellyn, with his hoary 
 brethren crowding round him. Elinor had watched the 
 changes of many a north-country day, full of endless 
 vicissitudes, of flying clouds and gleams of sunshine, 
 from that seat, and had hoped and tried to believe that 
 nothing, save these vicissitudes of nature, would ever 
 again disturb her. Had she really believed that ? Her 
 heart thumping against her breast, and the pulses of her 
 brain beating loud in her ears, answered " No." She 
 had never believed it she had known, notwithstanding
 
 TUK MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 all her obstinacy, and indignant opposition to all who 
 warned her, that some day or other her home must be 
 broken up, and the storm burst upon her. But even 
 such a conviction, desperately fought against and re- 
 sisted, is a very different matter from the awful sense 
 
 of certainty that it has come, now 
 
 The trees were thick enough to conceal her from any 
 passer-by on the path, the young half-unfolded foliage 
 of the birches fluttered over her head, while a solid fir 
 or two stood, giim guardians, yet catching pathetic 
 airs from every passing wind to soothe her. But Eli- 
 nor neither heard nor saw lake, mountain, nor sun- 
 shine, nor spring breezes, but only the bit of paper in 
 her hand, and the uncomprehended words she had 
 heard when it was given to her. It was not long, how- 
 ever, before she perceived and knew exactly what it 
 meant. It was a subpceua in the case of "The Queen 
 * Brown," to attend and give evidence on a certain 
 dny in May. in London. It was for a few minutes a 
 mystery to her as great as it was alai'ming, notwith- 
 standing the swift and certain mental conviction she 
 had that it concerned infallibly the one secret and mys- 
 tery of her life. But as she sat there pondering, those 
 strange strays of recollection that come to the mind, of 
 things unnoted, yet unconsciously stored by memory, 
 drew gradually about her, piecing out the threads of 
 conviction. She remembered to have heard her mother 
 read, among the many scraps which Mrs. Denuistoun 
 loved to read out when the newspaper arrived, some- 
 thing about a man who had absconded, whose name 
 was Brown, who had brought ruin on many, and had at 
 length, after a number of years, ventured back to Eng- 
 land and had been caught. It was one of the weak- 
 nesses of Mrs. Denuistoun's advancing years to like 
 these bits of news, though there might be little interest 
 in them to so quiet a household ; and her daughter 
 was wont to listen with a very vague attention, noting 
 but a word now and then, answering vaguely the lively 
 remarks )>er mother would make on the subjects. In 
 this case even she had paid no attention ; and yet, the 
 
 23
 
 354 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 moment that strong keynote had been struck, which vi- 
 brated through her whole being, this echo suddenly 
 woke up and resounded as if it had been thundered in 
 her ears " Brown ! " She began to remember bit by 
 bit and yet what had she to do with Brown ? He had 
 not defrauded her ; she had never seen him ; she knew 
 nothing about his delinquencies. Then there came an- 
 other note faintly out of the distance of the years : her 
 husband's image, I need not say, had come suddenly 
 into her sight with the first burst of this new event. 
 His voice seemed to be in the air saying half-forgotten 
 things. What had he to do with this man ? Oh, she 
 knew very well there was something something ! 
 which she would have given her life not to recollect ; 
 which she knew in another moment would flash com- 
 pletely upon her as she tried not to remember it. And 
 then suddenly her working mind caught another string 
 which was not that ; which was a relief to that for 
 the moment. Brown ! who was it that had talked 
 of Brown? rand the books that were destroyed and 
 
 the and the day that Phil Compton arrived at 
 
 Windyhill ? 
 
 Elinor rose up from her seat with a gasp. She put 
 her arm round the rough stem of the fir-tree to support 
 herself, but it shook with her though there was no 
 wind, only the softest of morning airs. She saw before 
 her a scene very different from this the flowery gar- 
 den at the cottage with the copse and the sandy road 
 beyond, and the man whom Phil had expected, whom 
 he had been so anxious to see and his fingers catching 
 hers, keeping her by him, and the questions to which 
 she had replied. Twenty years ! What a long time it 
 is ! time enough for a boy to grow into almost a man 
 who had not been born or thought of and yet what a 
 moment, what a nothing ! Her mind flashed from that 
 scene in the garden to the little hall in the cottage, the 
 maid stooping down fastening the bolt of the door, the 
 calendar hanging on the wall with the big 6 showing so 
 visible, so obtrusive, forcing itself as it were on the 
 notice of all. " Only ten days, Nell ! " And the maid's
 
 TUB MARllIA'rE OF ELINOR. 355 
 
 glance upwards of shy sympathy, and the blank of Mrs. 
 Dennistoun's face, and his look. Oh, that look of his ! 
 which was true and yet so false ; which meant so much 
 besides, and yet surely, surely meant love too ! 
 
 The young fir-tree creaked and swayed in Elinor's 
 grip. She unloosed it as if the slim thing had cried 
 under the pressure, and sat down again. She had 
 nothing to grasp at, nothing. Oh, her life had not been 
 without support ! Her mother how extraordinary had 
 been her good fortune to have her mother to fall back 
 upon when she was shipwrecked in her life to have a 
 home, a shelter, a perpetual protector and champion, 
 who, whether she approved or disapproved, would for- 
 sake her never. And then the boy, God bless him ! 
 who might quiver like the little fir if she flung herself 
 upon him, but who, she knew, would stand as true. 
 Oh, God forbid, God forbid that he should ever know ! 
 Oh, God help her, God help her ! how was she to keep 
 it from his knowledge ? Elinor flung herself down upon 
 the mossy knoll in her despair as this came pouring into 
 her mind a flood of horrible light, of unimaginable 
 bitterness. He must not know, he must not know ; and 
 yet how was it to be kept from his knowledge ? It was 
 a public thing ; it could not be hid. It would be in all 
 the papers, his father's name : and the boy did not 
 know he had a father living. And his mother's evi- 
 dence on behalf of her husband ; and the boy thought 
 she had no husband. 
 
 This was what had been said to her again and again 
 and again. Sometime the boy must know and she had 
 pushed it from her angrily, indignantly asking why 
 should he know? though in the bottom of her own 
 heart she too was aware that it was the delusion of a 
 
 fool, and that the time must come But how could 
 
 she ever have thought that it would come like this, that 
 the boy would discover his father through the summons 
 of his mother to a public court to defend her husband 
 from a criminal accusation ? Oh, life that pardons 
 nothing ! Oh, severe, unchanging heaven ! that this 
 should be the way !
 
 356 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 And then there came into Elinor's mind wild thoughts 
 of flight. She was not a woman whose nature it was 
 to endure. When things became intolerable to her 
 she fled from them, as the reader knows ; escaped, 
 shutting her ears to all advice and her heart to all 
 thoughts except that life had become intolerable, and 
 that she could bear it no longer. It is not easy to hold 
 the balance even in such matters. Had Elinor fulfilled 
 what would appear to many her first duty, and stood by 
 Phil through neglect, ill-treatment, and misery, as she 
 had vowed, for better, for worse, she would by this 
 time have been not only a wretched but a deteriorated 
 woman; and her son most probably would have been 
 injured both in his moral and intellectual being. What 
 she had done was not the abstract duty of her marriage 
 vow, but it had been better had it not been better 
 for them both ? In such a question who is to be the 
 judge ? And now again there came surging up into 
 Elinor's veins the impulse of flight. To take the boy 
 and fly. She could take him where he wished most to 
 go, to the scenes of that literature and history of which 
 his schoolboy head was full, to the happiest ideal wan- 
 dering, his mother and he, two companions almost bet- 
 ter than lovers. How his eyes would brighten at the 
 thought ! among the summer seas, the golden islands, 
 the ideal countries away from all the trouble and 
 cares, all the burdens of the past, all the fears of the 
 future ! Why should she be held by that villainous 
 paper and obey that dreadful summons? Why allow 
 all her precautions, all the fabric of her life to fall in a 
 moment ? Why pour upon the boy the horror of that 
 revelation, when everything she had done and planned 
 all his life had been to keep it from him ? In the sud- 
 den energy of that new possibility of escape Elinor rose 
 up again from the prostration of despair. She saw 
 once more the line of shining water at her feet full of 
 heavenly splendour, the mountain tops sunning them- 
 selves in the morning light, the peace and the beauty 
 that was over all. And there was nothing needed but 
 along journey, which would be delightful, full of pleas-
 
 THE XAKRIAO-E OF ELINOR. 357 
 
 ure and refreshment, to secure her peace to her, and to 
 SRTC her boy. 
 
 When she had calmed herself with this new project, 
 which, the moment it took form in her mind seemed of 
 itself, without reference to the cause, the moat delight- 
 ful project in the world and full of pleasure Elinor 
 smoothed back her hair, put her garden hat, which had 
 got a little out of order, straight, and took her way 
 again towards the house. Her heart had already es- 
 caped from the shock and horror and was beating 
 softly, exhausted yet refreshed, in her bosom. She 
 felt almost like a child who had sobbed all its troubles 
 out, or like a convalescent recovering from a brief but 
 violent illness, and pathetically happy in the cessation 
 of pain. She went along quietly, slowly, by the wood- 
 land path among the trees full of the sweetness of the 
 morning which seemed to have come back to her. 
 Should she say anything about it to her mother, or only 
 by degrees announce to her the plan she had begun to 
 form for Pippo's pleasure, the long delightful ramble 
 which would come between his school-time and the 
 university ? She had almost decided that she would do 
 this when she went into the house ; but she had not 
 been half an hour with her mother when her intention 
 became untenable, for the good reason that she had 
 already told Mrs. Dennistoun of the new incident. 
 They were not in the habit of keeping secrets from 
 each other, and in that case there is nothing in the 
 world so difficult. It requires training to keep one's 
 affairs to one's self in the constant presence of those 
 who are our neai'est and dearest. Some people may be 
 capable of this effort of self-control, but Elinor was 
 not. She had showed that alarming paper to her 
 mother with a partial return of her own terror at the 
 sight of it before she knew. And I need not say that 
 fur a short time Mrs. Dennistoun was overwhelmed by 
 that natural horror too. 
 
 " But," she said, " what do you know, what can you 
 tell about this Mr. Brown, Elinor ? You never saw him 
 in your life."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " I think I know what it means," said Elinor, with a 
 sudden dark glow of colour, which faded instantly, 
 leaving her quite pale. She added hurriedly, " There 
 were some books destroyed. I cannot tell you the 
 rights of the story. It is too dreadful altogether, but 
 another was exculpated by the date of the day he ar- 
 rived at "Windyhill. This must be the reason I am 
 called." 
 
 "The date he arrived before your marriage, Elinor ? 
 But then they might call me, and you need not ap- 
 pear." 
 
 " Not for the world, mother ! " cried Elinor. The 
 colour rose again and faded. " Besides, you do not re- 
 member." 
 
 "Oh, I could make it out," said Mrs. Dennistoun 
 " It was when he came from Scotland, and went off in 
 the evening next day. I don't at this moment remem- 
 ber what the day was, but I could make it out. It was 
 about a fortnight before, it was 
 
 " Do you remember, mother, the little calendar in 
 the hall, and what it marked, and what he said ? " 
 
 " I remember, of course, perfectly well the little cal- 
 endar in the hall. You gave it me at Christmas, and it 
 was always out of order, and never kept right. But I 
 could make it out without that." 
 
 " You must not think of it for a moment," cried 
 Elinor, with a shudder. There had been so many 
 things to think of that it had scarcely occurred to her 
 what it was to which she had to bear witness. She 
 told her mother hurriedly the story of that incident, 
 and then she added, without stopping to take breath. 
 " But I will not appear. I cannot appear. We must 
 keep it out of the papers, at every cost. Mother, do 
 not think it dreadful of me. I will run away with 
 Pippo ; far away, if you will not be anxious. This is 
 just his chance between school and college. I will take 
 him to GP 
 
 " To Greece, Elinor ? " Mrs. Deunistoun cried, with 
 almost a shriek. 
 
 "Mother, dear, it is not so very far away."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 359 
 
 "I am not thinking- how far away it is, Elinor. Ami 
 leave his father's reputation to suffer? Leave him per- 
 haps to be ruined by a false charge ? " 
 
 "Oh, mother," cried Elinor, starting to her feet. 
 She was quite unprepared for such remonstrance. 
 
 " My dear, I have not opposed you ; though there 
 have been many things I have scarcely approved of. 
 But, Elinor, this must not be. Eun away from the 
 law ? Allow another to suffer when you can clear him ? 
 Elinor, Elinor, this must not be unless I can go and 
 be his witness in your place. I might do that," said 
 Mrs. Dennistoun, seriously. She paused a moment, 
 and then she said, "But I think you are wrong about 
 the sixth. He stayed only one night, and the night he 
 went away was the night that Alick Hudson who was 
 going up for his examination. I can make it out ex- 
 actly, if you will give me a little time to think it over. 
 My poor child ! that you should have this to disturb 
 your peace. But I will go, Elinor. I can clear him as 
 well as you." 
 
 Elinor stood up before her, pallid as a ghost. " For 
 God's sake, mother, not another word," she said, with 
 a dreadful solemnity. " The burden is mine, and I 
 must bear it. Let us not say a word more." 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVIH. 
 
 I WILL not confuse the reader with a description- of 
 all Elinor's thoughts during the slow progress of that 
 afternoon and evening, which were as the slow passing 
 of a year to her impatient spirit. She took the usual 
 afternoon walk with her mother soberly, as became 
 Mrs. Dennistoun's increasing years, and then she made 
 a pretext of some errands in the village to occupy her 
 until dark, or rather to leave her free to twist the 
 thread of her own thoughts as she went along the silent 
 country road. Her thoughts varied in the afternoon
 
 360 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 from those which had seized upon her with such vult- 
 iire's claws in the morning ; but they were not less 
 overwhelming in that respect. Her mother's sugges- 
 tion that she and not Elinor should be the witness of 
 that date, and then her ponderinga as to that date, her 
 slow certainty that she could make it out, or puzzle it 
 out, as Elinor in her impatience said, which was the 
 last of all things to be desired had stung the daughter 
 into a new and miserable realization of what it was that 
 was demanded of her, which nobody could do but she. 
 What was it that would be demanded of her? To 
 stand up in the face of God and man and swear to toll 
 the truth, and tell a lie : or else let the man who had 
 been her husband, the love of her youth, the father of 
 her boy, sink into an abyss of shame She thought 
 rapidly, knowing nothing, that surely there could be no 
 punishment for him, even if it were proved, at the long 
 interval of twenty years. But, shame there would be 
 slianie. Nothing could save him from that. Shame 
 which would descend more or less to his son. And 
 then Elinor reflected, with hot moisture coming out 
 upon her forehead against the cold breeze of the 
 spring night, on what would be asked of her. Oh, no 
 doubt, it would be cleverly done ! She would be 
 asked if she remembered his visit, and why she remem- 
 bered it. She would be led on carefully to tell the 
 story of the calendar in the hall, and of how it was but 
 ten days before her marriage the last hurried, unex- 
 pected visit of the lover before he came as a bridegroom 
 to take her away. It would be all true, every word, 
 and yet it would be a lie. And standing up there in 
 that public place, she would be made to rt-pcat it, as 
 she had done in the flowery garden, in the sunshine, 
 twenty years ago then dazed and bewildered, not 
 knowing what she did, and wifh wmothing of the 
 blind confidence of youth and lovo in saying what she 
 was told to say ; but now with clearer insight, with a 
 horrible certainty of the falsehood of that (rue story, 
 and the object with which it was required of her. 
 Happily for herself, Elinor did not think of the ordeal
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOK. 361 
 
 of cross-examination through which witnesses have to 
 pass. She would not, I think, have feared that if the 
 instinct of combativeness had been roused in her : 
 her quick wit and ready spirit would not have failed in 
 defending herself, and in maintaining the accuracy 
 of the fact to which she had to bear witness. It was 
 herself, and not an opposing counsel, that was alarm- 
 ing to Elinor. But I have promised that the reader 
 should not be compelled to go through all the trouble 
 and torment of her thoughts. 
 
 Dinner, with the respect which is necessary for the 
 servant who waits, whether that may be a solemn but- 
 ler with his myrmidons, or a little maid always makes 
 a pause in household communications ; but when the 
 ladies were established afterwards by the pleasant fire- 
 side which had been their centre of life for so many 
 years, and with the cheerful lamp on the table between 
 them which had lighted so many cheerful talks, read- 
 ings, discussions, and consultations, the new subject of 
 anxiety and interest immediately came forth again. It 
 was Mrs. Dennistoun who spoke first. She had grown 
 older, as we all do ; she wore spectacles as she worked, 
 and often a. white shawl on her shoulders, and was as 
 sometimes her daughter felt, with shame of herself to 
 remark it a little slower in speech, a little more per- 
 tinacious and insistent, not perhaps perceiving with 
 such quick sympathy the changes and fluctuations of 
 other minds, and whether it was advisable or not to 
 follow a subject to the bitter end. She said, looking 
 up from her knitting, with a little rhetorical movement 
 of her hand which Elinor feared,, and which showed 
 that she felt herself on assured and certain ground : 
 
 " My dear, I have been thinking I have made it 
 out day by day. God knows there were plenty of land- 
 marks in it to keep any one from forgetting. I can 
 now make out certainly the day of which we were 
 speaking ; and if you will give me your attention for a 
 minute or two, Elinor, you will see that whatever the 
 calendar said which I never noticed, for it was as 
 often wrong as right you are making a mis "
 
 362 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven's sake, mother," cried Elinor, " don't 
 let us talk of that any more ! " 
 
 "I have no desire to talk of it, my dear child ; but 
 
 for what you said I should never But of course we 
 
 must take some action about this thing this paper you 
 have got. And it seems to me that the best thing 
 would be to write to John, and see whether he could 
 not manage to get it transferred from you to me. I 
 can't see what difficulty there could be about that." 
 
 " I would not have it for the world, mother ! And 
 what good would it do ? The great thing in it, the 
 dreadful thing, would be unchanged. Whether you 
 appear or me, Pippo would be made to know, all the 
 same, what it has been our joint object to conceal from 
 him all his life." 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun did not say anything, but she would 
 not have been mortal if she had not, very slightly, but 
 yet very visibly to keen eyes, shaken her head. 
 
 " I know what you mean," said Elinor, vehemently, 
 " that it has been I, and not we, whose object has been 
 to conceal it from him. Oh, yes, I know yon are right ; 
 but at least you consented to it, you have helped in it, 
 it is your doing as well as mine." 
 
 " Elinor, Elinor ! " cried her mother, who, having 
 always protested, was not prepared for this accusation. 
 
 "Is there any advantage to be got," said Elinor, like 
 an injured and indignant champion of the right, " in 
 opening up the whole question over again now ? " 
 
 What could poor Mrs. Dennistoun do? She was 
 confounded, as she often had been before, by those 
 swift and sudden tactics. She gave a glance up at her 
 daughter over her spectacles, but she said nothing. 
 Argument, she -knew by long experience, was difficult 
 to keep up with such an opponent. 
 
 "But John is an idea," said Elinor. "I don't know 
 why I should not have thought of him. He may sug- 
 gest something that could be done." 
 
 " I thought of him, of course, at once," said Mrs. 
 Deunistoun, not able to refrain from that small piece 
 of self-assertion. " It is not a time that it would be
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 363 
 
 easy for him to leave town ; but at least you could 
 write and lay your difficulties before him, and sug- 
 gest " 
 
 " Oh, you may be sure, mother," cried Elinor, " I 
 know what I have to say." 
 
 "I never doubted it, my dear," said Mrs. Dennis- 
 toun, gently. 
 
 And then there was a little pause. They sat and 
 worked, the elder lady stumbling a little over her knit- 
 ting, her thoughts being so much engaged ; the 
 younger one plying a flying needle, the passion and 
 impetus of her thoughts lending only additional swift- 
 ness and vigour to everything she did. And for ten 
 minutes or more there was nothing to be heard in the 
 room but the little drop of ashes from the fire, the sud- 
 den burst of a little gas-flame from the coals, the rustle 
 of Elinor's arm as it moved. The cat sat with her tail 
 curled round her before the fire, the image of dignified 
 repose, winking at the flames. The two human inhab- 
 itants, save for the movements of their hands, might 
 have been in wax, they were so still. Suddenly, how- 
 ever, the quietness was broken by an energetic move- 
 ment. Elinor threw her work down on the table and 
 rose from her chair. She went to the window and 
 drew the curtain aside, and looked out upon the night. 
 She shut it carefully again, and going to the writing- 
 table, struck a match and lighted the candles there, 
 and sat down and began, or appeared to begin, to 
 write. Then she rose quickly again and returned to 
 the table at which Mrs. Dennistoun was still seated, 
 knitting on, but watching every movement of her rest- 
 less companion. " Mother," she said, " I can't write, I 
 have far too much to say. I will run up to town to- 
 morrow myself and see John." 
 
 " To town, Elinor, by yourself ? My dear, you for- 
 get it is not an hour's journey, as it was to "Windyhill." 
 
 " I know that very well, mother. But even the jour- 
 ney will be an advantage. The movement will do me 
 good, and I can tell John much better than I could 
 write. Who could write about a complicated business
 
 TffS MAKRIAG& OF ELINOR. 
 
 like this? Ho will understand me when he sees me at 
 half a word, whereas in writing one can never explain. 
 Don't oppose me, please, mother ! I feel that to do 
 something, to get myself in motion, is the only thing 
 for me now." 
 
 "I will not oppose you, Elinor. I have done so, 
 perhaps, too little, my dear ; but we will not speak of 
 that. No doubt, as you say, you will understand each 
 other better if you tell him the circumstances face to 
 face. But, oh, my dear child, do nothing rash ! Be 
 guided by John ; he is a prudent adviser. The only 
 thing is that he, no more than I, has ever been able to 
 resist you, Elinor, if you had set your heart upon any 
 course. Oh, my dear, don't go to John with a fore- 
 gone conclusion. Hear first what he has to say ! " 
 
 Elinor came behind her mother with one of those 
 quick returns of affectionate impulse which were nat- 
 ural to her, and put her arms suddenly round Mrs. 
 Dennistoun. " You have always been far too good to 
 me, mamma," she said, kissing her tenderly, "both 
 John and you." 
 
 And next morning she carried out her swiftly con- 
 ceived intention and went to town, as the reader is 
 aware. A long railway journey is sometimes soothing 
 to one distracted with agitation and trouble. The 
 quiet and the noise, which serves as a kind of accom- 
 paniment, half silencing, half promoting too active 
 thought ; the forced abstraction and silence, and semi- 
 imprisonment of mind and body, which are equally 
 restless, but which in that enclosure are bound to 
 self-restraint, exercise, in spite of all struggles of the 
 subject, a subduing effect. And it was a strange thing 
 that in the seclusion of the railway compartment in 
 which she travelled alone there came for the first time 
 to Elinor a softening thought, the sudden sensation of 
 a feeling, of which she had not been sensible for years, 
 towards the man whose name she bore. It occurred 
 to her quite suddenly, she could not tell how, as if 
 some one invisible had thrown that reflection into her 
 mind (and I confess that I am of opinion they do :
 
 THE MARHIAUE OF ELINOR. 365 
 
 those who are around us, who are unseen, darting into 
 our souls thoughts which do not originate with us, 
 thoughts not always of good, blasphemies as- well as 
 blessings) it occurred to her, I say, coming into her 
 mind like an arrow, that after all she had not been so 
 well hidden as she thought all these years, seeing that 
 she had been found at ouce without difficulty, it ap- 
 peared, when she was wanted. Did this mean that he 
 had known where she was all the time known, but 
 never made any attempt to disturb her quiet ? The 
 thought startled her very much, revealing to her a 
 momentary glimpse of something that looked like mag- 
 nanimity, like consideration and generous self-restraint. 
 Could these things be ? He could have hurt her very 
 much had he pleased, even during the time she had 
 remained at Wiudyhill, when certainly he knew where 
 she was : and he had not done so. He might have 
 taken her child from her : at least he might have made 
 her life miserable with fears of losing her child : and 
 he had not done so. If indeed it was true that he had 
 known where she was all the time and had never done 
 anything to disturb her, what did that mean ? This 
 thought gave Elinor perhaps the first sense of self-re- 
 proach aud guilt that she had ever known towards this 
 man, who was her husband, yet whom she had not seen 
 for more than eighteen years. 
 
 Aud then there was another thing. After that 
 interval he was not afraid to put himself into her 
 hands to trust to her loyalty for his salvation. He 
 knew that she could betray him and he knew equally 
 . well that she would not do so, notwithstanding the 
 eighteen years of estrangement and mutual wrong that 
 lay between. It did not matter that the loyalty he 
 felt sure of would be a false loyalty, an upholding of 
 what was not true. He would think little of that, as 
 likely as not he had forgotten all about that. He 
 would know that her testimony would clear him, and 
 lie would not think of anything else ; and even did he 
 think of it the fact of a woman making a little mis- 
 statement like that would never have affected Philip.
 
 366 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 But the strange thing was that he had no fear she 
 would revenge herself by standing up against him no 
 doubt of her response to his appeal ; he was as ready 
 to put his fate in her hands as if she had been the most 
 devoted of wives his constant companion and cham- 
 pion. This had the most curious effect upon her mind, 
 almost greater than the other. She had shown no 
 faith in him, but he had faith in her. Reckless and 
 guilty as he was, he had not doubted her. He had put 
 it in her power to convict him not only of the worst 
 accusation that was brought against him, but of a 
 monstrous trick to prove his alibi, and a cruel wrong to 
 her compelling her to uphold that as true. She A\ ;is 
 able to expose him, if she chose, as no one else could 
 do ; but he had not been afraid of that. This second 
 thought, which burst upon Elinor without any volition 
 of her own, had the most curious effect upon her. 
 She abstained carefully, anxiously, from allowing 
 herself to be drawn into making any conclusion 
 from these darts of unintended thoughts. But they 
 moved her in spite of herself. They made her think 
 of him, which she had for a long time abstained from 
 doing. She had shut her heart for years from an}' 
 recollection of her husband, trying to ignore his exist- 
 ence in thought as well as in fact. And she had suc- 
 ceeded for a long time in doing this. But now in a 
 moment all her precautions were thrown to the winds. 
 He came into her memory with a sudden rush for 
 which she was no way responsible, breaking all the 
 barriers she had put up against him : that he should 
 have known where she was all this time, and never dis- 
 turbed her, respected her solitude all these years that 
 when the moment of need came he should, without a 
 word to conciliate her, without an explanation or an 
 
 apology, have put his fate into her hands To the 
 
 reader who understands I need not say more of the 
 effect upon the mind of Elinor, hasty, generous, im- 
 patient as she was of these two strange facts. There 
 are nuiny in the world who would have given quite a 
 different explanation who would have made out of
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELISOR. 367 
 
 the fact that he had not disturbed her only the ex- 
 planation that Phil Coinpton was tired of his wife and 
 glad to get rid of her at any price : and who would 
 have seen in his appeal to her now only audacity com- 
 bined with the conviction that she would not coin- 
 promise herself by saying anything more than . she 
 could help about him. I need not say which of these 
 interpretations would have been the true one. But the 
 first will understand and not the other what it was that 
 for the first time for eighteen years awakened a struggle 
 and controversy which she could not ignore, and vainly 
 endeavoured to overcome, in Elinor's heart. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ELINOR had not been- three days gone, indeed her 
 mother had but just received a hurried note announc- 
 ing her arrival in London, when as she sat alone in the 
 hou.se which had become so silent, Mrs. Dennistoun 
 suddenly became aware of a rising of sound of the most 
 jubilant, almost riotous description. It began by the 
 barking of Yarrow, the old colley, who was fond of 
 lying at the gate watching in a philosophic way of his 
 own the mild traffic of the country road, the children 
 trooping by to school, who hung about him in clusters, 
 with lavish offerings of crust and scraps of biscuit, and 
 all the leisurely country fldiieurs whom the good dog 
 despised, not thinking that he himself did nothing but 
 fldner at his own door in the sun. A bark from Yarrow 
 was no small thing in the stillness of the spring after- 
 noon, and little Urisk, the terrier, who lay wrapt in 
 dreams at Mrs. Denuistoun's faet, heard where he lay 
 entranced in the folds of sleep and cocked up an eager 
 ear and uttered a subdued interrogation under his 
 breath. The next thing was no bark, but a shriek of 
 joy from Yarrow, such as could mean nothing in the 
 world but " Philip ! " or Pippo, which was what no
 
 THE MAlilUAdK Ob' ELINOR. 
 
 doubt the dogs called him between following their 
 mistress. Urisk heard find understood. He made but 
 one spring from the footstool on which he lay and 
 flung himself against the door. Mrs. Denuistoun sat 
 for n moment and listened, much disturbed. "When 
 some troublous incident occurs in the deep quiet of 
 domestic life how often is it followed by another, and 
 her heart turned a little sick. She was not comforted 
 even by the fact that Urisk was waggling not his tail 
 only, but his whole little form in convulsions of joy, 
 barking, crying aloud for the door to open, to let him 
 forth. By this time all the friendly dogs about had 
 taken up the sound out of sympathy with Yarrow's yells 
 of delight and into this came the clang of the gate, 
 the sound of wheels, an outcry in a human voice, that 
 of Barbara, the maid and then a young shout that rang 
 through the air "Where's my mother, Barbara, where's 
 granny?" Philip, it may be imagined, did not wait for 
 any answer, but came in headlong. Yarrow leaping after 
 him, Uiisk springing into the air to meet him him- 
 self in too great a -hurry to heed either, flinging him- 
 self upon the astonished lady who rose to meet him, 
 with a sudden kiss, and a " Where's my mother, 
 granny ? " of eager greeting. 
 
 "Pippo! Good gracious, boy, what's brought you 
 home now ? " 
 
 "Nothing but good news," he said, "so good I 
 thought I must come. I've got it, granny : where is my 
 mother " 
 
 " You've got it ? " she said, so full of other thoughts 
 that she could not recollect what it was he meant. 
 Pippo thought, as Elinor sometimes thought, that his 
 granny was getting slow of understanding not so 
 bright as she used to be in her mind. 
 
 " Oh, granny, you've been dozing : the scholarship ! 
 I've got it I thought you would know the moment you 
 heard me at the door " 
 
 "My dear boy," she said, putting her arms about 
 him, while the tall boy stood for the homage done to 
 him the kiss of congratulation. " You have got the
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 scholarship ! notwithstau cling Howard and Musgrave 
 and the hard fight there was to be " 
 
 Pippo nodded, with a bright face of pleasure. 
 "But," he said "I can't say I'm sorry I've got it, 
 granny but I wish there had been another for Mus- 
 grave : for he worked harder than I did, and he wanted 
 so to win. But so did I, for that matter. And where 
 is my mother all this time? " 
 
 " How delighted she will be : and what a comfort to 
 her just now when she is upset and troubled ! My 
 dear, it'll be a dreadful disappointment to you : your 
 mother is in London. She had to hurry off the day 
 before yesterday on business." 
 
 " In London ! " cried Pippo. His countenance fell : 
 he was so much disappointed that for a moment, big 
 boy as he was, he looked ready to cry. He had come 
 in bursting with his news, expecting a reception almost 
 as tumultuous as that given him by the dogs outside. 
 And he found only his grandmother, who forgot what 
 it was he was " in for " and no mother at all ! 
 
 "It is a disappointment, Pippo and it will be such 
 a disappointment to her not to hear it from your own 
 lips : but you must telegraph at once, and that will be 
 next best. She has some worrying business things 
 that she hates to look after and this will give her a 
 little heart." 
 
 " What a bore ! " said Pippo, with hi:, crest down and 
 the light gone out of him. He gave himself up to the 
 dogs who had been jumping about him, biding their 
 time. " Yarrow knew/' lie said, laughing, to get the 
 water out of his eyes. " He gave me a cheer whenevf r 
 he saw me, dear old fellow and little Risky too " 
 
 "And only granny forgot," said Mrs. Dennistoun ; 
 " that was very hard upon you, Pippo ; my thoughts 
 were all with your mother. And I couldn't think how 
 you could get back at this time 
 
 '' Well," said the boy, " my work's over, you know. 
 
 There's nothing for a fellow to do after he's got the 
 
 scholarship. I needn't go back at all unless you 
 
 and my mother wish it. I've in a sort of a way, 
 
 24"
 
 370 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 done everything that I can do. Don't laugh at me, 
 granny ! " 
 
 " Laugh at you, my boy ! It is likely I should 
 laugh at you. Don't you know I am as proud of you 
 as your mother herself can be? I am glad and proud," 
 said Mrs. Dennistoun, " for I ain glad for her as well 
 as for you. Now, Pippo, you want something to eat." 
 
 The boy looked up with a laugh. " Yes, granny," he 
 said, " you always divine that sort of thing. I do." 
 
 Mrs. Dennistoun did not occupy her mind with any 
 thought of that little unintentional and grateful jibe 
 that she always divined that sort of thing. Among the 
 other great patiences of her life she had learnt to know 
 that the mother and son, loving and tender as they 
 were, had put her back unconsciously into the proper 
 place of the old woman always consulted, always 
 thought of, never left out ; but divining chiefly that 
 sort of thing, the actual needs, the more apparent 
 thoughts of those about her. She knew it, but she did 
 not dwell upon it sometimes it made her smile, but it 
 scarcely hurt her, and never made her bitter, she com- 
 prehended it all so well. Meanwhile Pippo, left alone, 
 devoted himself to the dogs for a minute or two, mak- 
 ing them almost too happy. Then, at the very climax 
 of riotous enjoyment, cast them off with a sudden, 
 " Down, Yarrow ! " which took all the curl in a moment 
 out of the noble tail with which Yarrow was sweeping 
 all the unconsidered trifles off Mrs. Dennistoun's work- 
 table. The young autocrat walked to the window as 
 he shook off his adoring vassal, and stared out for a 
 little with his hands deeply dug into his pockets. And 
 then a new idea came into Pippo's head ; the most 
 brilliant new idea, which restored at once the light to 
 his eyes and elevation to his crest. He said nothing of 
 this, however, till he had done justice to the excellent 
 luncheon, while his grandmother, seated beside him in 
 the dining-room with her knitting, looked on with 
 pride and pleasure and saw him eat. This was a thing, 
 they were all of accord, which she always thoroughly 
 understood.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELiyfjR. 371 
 
 " You will run out now and telegraph to jour mother. 
 She is in the old rooms in Ebury Street, Pippo." 
 
 " Yes, granny ; don't you think now a fellow of my 
 age, having done pretty well and all that, might be 
 trusted to make a little expedition out of his own 
 head ? " 
 
 " My dear ! you have always been trusted, Pippo, 
 you know. I can't remember when your mother or I 
 either have shown any want of trust 
 
 "Oh, it's not that," said Pippo, confused. "I know 
 I've had lots, lots far more than most fellows of my 
 own way. It was not that exactly. I meant without 
 consulting any one, just to do a thing out of my own 
 head." 
 
 " I have no doubt it will be quite a right thing, 
 Pippo ; but I should know better if you were to tell 
 me." 
 
 " That would scarcely be doing it out of my own 
 head, would it, granny ? But I can't keep a thing to 
 myself ; now Musgrave can, you know ; that's the great 
 difference. I suppose it is having nobody but my 
 mother and you, who always spoil me, that has made 
 me that I can't keep a secret." 
 
 " It is something about making it up to Musgrave 
 for not winning the scholarship ? " 
 
 Philip grew red all over with a burning blush of 
 shame. "What a beast I am!" he said. " You will 
 scarcely believe me, but I had forgotten that though 
 
 I do wish I could. I do wish there was any way 
 
 No, granny, it was all about myself." 
 
 "Well, my dear?" she said, in her benignant, all- 
 indulgent grandmother's voice. 
 
 "It is no use going beating about the bush," he 
 said. " Granny, I'm not going to telegraph to mam- 
 ma. I'll run up to London by the night mail." 
 
 "Pippo!" 
 
 " Well, it isn't so extraordinary ; naturally I should 
 like to tell her better than to write. It didn't quite 
 come off, rny telling it to you, did it ? but my mother 
 will be excited about it and then it will be a surprise
 
 372 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 seeiug me at all and then if she is worried by buai 
 ness it will be a good thing to have me to stand by her. 
 And why there tire a hundred reasons, granny, as you 
 must see. And then I should like it above all." 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Denuistoun, trembling a lit- 
 tle. She had time during this long speech to collect 
 herself, to get over the first shock, but her nerves still 
 vibrated. " In ordinary circumstances, I should think 
 it an excellent plan. And you have worked well for it, 
 and won your holiday ; and your mother always enjoys 
 wandering about town with you. Still, Pippo " 
 
 " Now what can there be against it ? " the boy said, 
 with the same spark of fire coming into his blue eyes 
 which had often been seen in Elinor's hazel ones. He 
 was like the Comptons, a refined image of his father, 
 with the blue eyes and very dark hair which had once 
 made Phil Compton irresistible. Pippo had the habit, 
 I am sorry to say, of being a little impatient with hia 
 grandmother. Her objections seemed old-world and 
 obsolete at the first glance. 
 
 " The chief thing against it is that I don't think your 
 mother would wish it, Pippo." 
 
 " Mamma think me a bore, perhaps ! " the lad cried, 
 with a laugh of almost scornful amusement at this ridic- 
 ulous idea. 
 
 " She would never, of course, think you a bore in 
 any circumstances but she will be very much confined 
 she could not take you with her to lawyers' offices. 
 She will scarcely have any time to herself." 
 
 " What is this mysterious business, granny ? " 
 
 "Indeed, Pippo, I can scarcely tell you. It is some- 
 thing connected with old times that she wishes to 
 have settled and done with. I did not inquire very 
 closely ; neither, I think, should you. You know your 
 poor mother lias had troubles in her life 
 
 "Has she?" said Pippo, with wide open eyes. "I 
 have never seen any. I think, perhaps, don't you know, 
 granny, ladies make mountains of molehills or so 
 at least people say " 
 
 "Do they?" said Mrs. Dennistoun, with a laugh.
 
 TUB MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 373 
 
 " So you Lave begun to learn that sort of thing already, 
 Pippo, even here at the end of the world ! " 
 
 Pippo was a little mortified by her laugh, and a little 
 ashamed of what he had said. It is very tempting at 
 eighteen to put on a man's superiority, yet he was con- 
 scious that it was perhaps a little ungenerous, he who 
 owed all that he was and had to these two ladies ; but 
 naturally he was the more angry because of this. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, " that what is in every book 
 that ever was written is likely to be true! But that 
 has nothing to do with the question. I won't do any- 
 thing against you if you forbid me absolutely, granny ; 
 but short of that I will go " 
 
 Mrs. Denuistouu looked at the boy with all the heat 
 in him of his first burst of independence. It is only 
 wise to compute the forces opposed to one before one 
 launches a command which one may not have force to 
 ensure obedience to. He said that he would not dis- 
 obey her " absolutely " with his lips ; but his eyes ex- 
 pressed a less dutiful sentiment. She had no mind to 
 be beaten in such a struggle. Elinor had complained 
 of her mother in her youth that she was too reasonable, 
 too unwilling to command, too reluctant to assume the 
 responsibility of an act ; and it was not to be supposed 
 that she had mended of this, in all the experience she 
 had had of her impatient daughter, and under the in- 
 fluence of so many additional years. She looked at 
 Philip, and concluded that he would at least find some 
 way of eluding her authority if she exercised it, and it 
 did not consist with her dignity to be either " abso- 
 lutely " or partially disobeyed. 
 
 " You forget," she said, " that I have never taken 
 such authority upon me since you were a child. I will 
 not forbid you to do what you have set your heart 
 upon. I can only say, Philip, that I don't think your 
 mother would wish you to go " 
 
 "If that's all, granny," said the boy, "I think I can 
 take my mother into my own hands. But why do you 
 call ine Philip ? You never call me that but when you 
 are angry."
 
 374 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " Was I ever angry ? " she said, with a smile ; " but 
 if we are to consider you a man, looking down upon 
 women, and taking your movements upon your own 
 responsibility, my dear, it would be ridiculous that you 
 should be little Pippo any more." 
 
 " Not little Pippo," he said, with a boyish, compla- 
 cent laugh, rising up to his full height. A young man 
 nearly six feet high, with a scholarship in his pocket, 
 how is he to be expected to take the law from his old 
 grandmother as to what he is to do ? 
 
 And young Philip did go to town triumphantly by 
 the night mail. He had never done such a thing be- 
 fore, and his sense of manly independence, of daring, 
 almost of adventure, was more delightful than words 
 could say. There was not even any one, except the 
 man who had driven him into Penrith, to see him 
 away, he who was generally accompanied to the last 
 minute by precautions, and admonitions, and farewells. 
 To feel himself dart away into the night with nobody 
 to look back to on the platform, no gaze, half smiling, 
 half tearful, to follow him, was of itself an emancipation 
 to Pippo. He was a good boy and no rebel against the 
 double maternal bond which had lain so lightly yet so 
 closely upon him all his life. It was only for a year or 
 two that he had suspected that this was unusual, or 
 even imagined that for a growing man the sway of two 
 ladies, and even their devotion, might make others 
 smile. Perhaps he had been a little more particular in 
 his notions, in his manners, in his fastidious dislike to 
 dirt and careless habits, than was common in the some- 
 what rough north country school which bad so risen in 
 scholastic note under the last head master, but which 
 was very far from the refinements of Eton. And lately 
 it had begun to dawn upon him that a mother and a 
 grandmother to watch over him and care for him in 
 everything might be perhaps a little absurd for a young 
 man of his advanced age. Thus his escapade, which 
 was against the will of his elder guardian, and without 
 the knowledge of his mother which was entirely his 
 own act, and on his own responsibility, went to Philip's
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 3 75 
 
 head, and gave him a sort of intoxication of pleasure. 
 That his mother should be displeased, really displeased, 
 should not want him incredible thought ! never en- 
 tered into his mind save as an accountable delusion of 
 granny's. His mother not want him ! All the argu- 
 ments in the world would never have got that into 
 young Pippo's head. 
 
 Mrs. Deunistoun waking up in the middle of the 
 night to think of the boy rushing on through the dark 
 on his adventurous way, recollected only then with 
 much confusion and pain that she ought to have tele- 
 graphed to Elinor, who might be so engaged as to 
 make it very embarrassing for her in her strange cir- 
 cumstances to see Pippo that the boy was coming. 
 In her agitation she had forgotten this precaution. 
 Was it perhaps true, as the young ones thought, that 
 she was getting a little slower in her movements, a 
 little dulled in her thoughts ? 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 JOHN TATHAM had in vain attempted to persuade Eli- 
 nor to come to his house, to dine there in comfort he 
 was going out himself so that at least in this time of 
 excitement and trouble she might have the careful 
 service and admirable comfort of his well-managed 
 house. Elinor preferred her favourite lodgings and a 
 cup of tea to all the luxuries of Halkin Street. And 
 she was fit for no more consultations that night. She 
 had many, many things to think of, and some new 
 which as yet she barely comprehended. The rooms in 
 Ebury Street were small, and they were more or less 
 dingy, as such rooms are ; but they were comfortable 
 enough, and had as much of home to Elinor as repeated 
 visits there with all her belongings could give them. 
 The room in which she slept was next to that in which 
 her boy had usually slept. That was enough to make
 
 nTO THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 it no strange place. 'And I need not say that it became 
 the scene of many discussions during the few days that 
 followed. The papers by this time were full of the 
 strange trial which was coming on : the romance of 
 commercial life and ruin the guilty man who had been 
 absent so long, enjoying his ill-gotten gains, and who 
 now was dragged back into the light to give an account 
 of himself and of other guilt perhaps less black than 
 his own, yet dreadful enough to hear of. The story of 
 the destroyed books was a most remarkable and pictu- 
 resque incident in the narrative. The leading papers 
 looked up their own account of the facts given at the 
 time, and pointed out how evidently justified by the 
 new facts made known to the public Mas the theory 
 they had themselves given forth. As these theories, 
 however, were very different, and as all claimed to be 
 right, perhaps the conclusion was less certain than this 
 announcement gave warrant to believe. But each and 
 all promised " revelations " of the most surprising 
 kind involving some of the highest aristocracy, the 
 democratic papers said bringing to light an exciting 
 story of the private relations between husband and 
 wife, said those of society, and revealing a piquant 
 chapter of social history hushed up at the time. It 
 was a modest print indeed that contented itself with 
 the statement that its readers would find a romance of 
 real life involved in the trial which was about to take 
 place. Elinor did not, fortunately, see all these com- 
 ments. The Times and the Mornbicj Post were dignified 
 and reticent, and she did not read, and Avas indeed 
 scarcely cognisant of the existence of most of the 
 others. But the faintest reference to the trial was 
 enough, it need hardly be said, to make the blood boil 
 in her ^eins. 
 
 It was a curious thing in her state of mind, and with 
 the feelings she had towards her husband's family, that 
 one of the first things she did on establishing herself in 
 her Ebury Street rooms, was to look for an old "Peer- 
 age " which had lain for several years she remembered 
 on a certain shelf. Genteel lodgings in Ebury Street
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 377 
 
 which did not possess somewhere an old "Peerage" 
 would be out of the world indeed. She found it in the 
 same corner as of old, where she had noted it so often 
 and avoided it as if it had been a serpent ; but now the 
 first thing she did, as soon as her tray was brought her, 
 and all necessary explanations given, and the door shut, 
 was to take the book furtively from its place, almost aa 
 if she were afraid of what she should see. What a list 
 there was of sons of Lord St. Serf ! some she had 
 never known, who died young : and Reginald in India, 
 and Hal, who was so kind what a good laugh he had, 
 she remembered, not a joyless cackle like Mariamne's, 
 a good natural laugh, and a kind light in his eyes : 
 and he had been kind. She could remember ever so 
 many tilings, nothings, things that made a little differ- 
 ence in the dull, dull cloudy sky of a neglected wife. 
 Poor Hal ! and he too was gone, and St. Serf dying, 
 
 and Pippo the heir ! Pippo was perhaps, for any 
 
 thing she knew, Lord Lomond now. 
 
 To say that this did not startle Elinor, did not make 
 her heart beat, did not open new complications and 
 vistas in life, would be a thing impossible. Pippo 
 Lord Lomond ! Pippo, whom she had feared to expose 
 to his father's influence, whom she had kept apart, who 
 did not know anything about himself except that he 
 was her son had she kept and guarded the boy thus 
 in the vei'y obscurity of life, in the stillest and most 
 protected circumstances, only to plunge him suddenly 
 at last, without preparation, without warning, into the 
 fiery furnace of temptation, into a region where he 
 might pardonably (perhaps) put himself be}'ond her 
 influence, beyond her guidance ? Poor Elinor 1 and 
 yet she was not wholly to be pitied either. For her 
 heart was fired by the. thought of her boy's elevation 
 in spite of herself. It did not occur to her that such 
 an elevation for him meant something also for her. 
 That view of the case she did not take into consider- 
 ation for a moment. Nay, she did not think of it. 
 But that Pippo should be Lord Lomond went through 
 her like an arrow like an arrow that gave a wound,
 
 378 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 acute and sharp, vet no pain, if such a thing could be 
 said. That he should discover his father had been the 
 danger before her all his life, but if he must find out that 
 he had a father that was a way in which it might not be 
 all pain. I do not pretend that she was very clear in 
 all these thoughts. Indeed, she was not clear at all. 
 John Tatham, knowing but one side, had begun to 
 think vaguely of Elinor what Elinor thought of her 
 mother, that her mind was not quite as of old, not so 
 bright nor so vivid, not so clear in coming to a conclu- 
 sion ; had he known everything he might not have been 
 so sure even on that point. But then had he known 
 everything that Elinor knew, and been aware of what 
 it was which Elinor had been summoned by all the 
 force of old fidelity and the honour of her name to do, 
 John would have been too much horrified to have been 
 able to form an opinion. No, poor Elinor was not at 
 all clear in her thoughts less clear than ever after these 
 revelations the way before her seemed dark in what- 
 ever way she looked at it, complications were round her 
 on every side. She had instinctively, without a word 
 said, given up that idea of flight. Who was it that 
 said the heir to a peerage could not be hid ? John 
 had said it, she remembered, and John was always 
 right. If she was to take him away to the uttermost 
 end of the earth, they would seek him out and find 
 him. And then there was his father, who had known 
 all the time, had known and never disturbed her 
 No wonder that poor Elinor's thoughts were mixed 
 and complicated. She walked up and down the room, 
 not thinking, but letting crowds and flights of thoughts 
 like birds fly through her mind ; no longer clear indeed 
 as she had been wont to be, no longer coming to 
 sudden, sharp conclusions, admitting possibilities of 
 which Elinor once upon a time would never have 
 thought. 
 
 - And day by day as he saw her, John Tatham under- 
 stood her less and less. He did not know what she 
 meant, what she was going to do, what were her senti- 
 ments towards her husband, what were her intentions
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 379 
 
 towards her son. He had found out a great deal about 
 the case, merely as a case, and it began to be clear to 
 him where Elinor's part came in. Elinor Compton 
 could not have appeared on her husband's behalf, and 
 whether there might not arise a question whether, 
 being now his wife, her evidence could be taken on 
 what had happened before she was his wife, was by no 
 means sure "Why didn't they call your mother?" 
 John said, as Mrs. Denuistoun also had said but he 
 did not at all understand, how could he? the dismay 
 that came over Elinor, and the "Not for the world," 
 which came from her lips. He had come in to see her 
 in the morning as he went down to his chambers, on 
 the very morning when Pippo, quite unexpected and 
 also not at all desired, was arriving at Euston Square. 
 
 "It would have been much better," he said, " in 
 every way if they had called } r our mother who of 
 course must know exactly what you know, Elinor, in 
 respect to this matter ' 
 
 " Xo," said Elinor with dry lips. " She knows noth- 
 ing. She calculates back by little incidents she 
 does not remember : I do " 
 
 " That's natural, I suppose," said John, with an im- 
 patient sigh and a half-angry look. " Still my 
 aunt " 
 
 " Would do no good at all : you may believe me, 
 John. Don't let us speak of this any more. I know 
 what has to be done : my mother would twist herself 
 up among her calculations about Alick Hudson's ex- 
 amination and I know not what. Whereas I there 
 is nothing, nothing more to be said. I thought I 
 could escape, and it is your doing if I now see that I 
 cannot escape. I can but hope that Providence will 
 protect my boy. He is at school, where they have lit- 
 tle time for reading the papers. He may never even 
 see or at least if he does he may think it is another 
 Compton some one whom he never heard of " 
 
 "And how if he becomes Lord Lomond, as I said, 
 before the secret is out ? " 
 
 "Oh, John, "cried Elinor, wringing her hands "don't,
 
 380 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 don't torment me with that idea now let only this 
 be past and then : Oh, I see, I see I am not a fool I 
 perceive that I cannot hide him as you say if that hap- 
 pens. But oh, John, for pity's sake let this be over 
 first ! Let us not hurry everything on at the same 
 time. He is at school. What do schoolboys care for 
 the newspapers, especially for trials in the law courts? 
 Oh, let this be over first ! A boy at school and he 
 need never know " 
 
 It was at this moment that a hansom drew up, and a 
 rattling peal came at the door. Hansoms are not rare 
 in Ebury Street, and how can one tell in these small 
 houses if the penl is at one's door or the next? Elinor 
 was not disturbed. She paid no attention. She ex- 
 pected no one, she was afraid of nothing new for the 
 present. Surely, surely, as she said, there was enough 
 for the present. It did not seern possible that any new 
 incident should come now. 
 
 "I do not want to torment you, Elinor you may 
 imagine I would be the last I would only save you if 
 
 I could from what must be What ! what ? who's 
 
 this ? PHILIP ! the boy ! " 
 
 The door had burst open with an eager, impatient 
 hand upon it, and there stood upon the threshold, in 
 all the mingled excitement and fatigue of his night 
 journey, pale, sleep in his eyes, yet happy expectation, 
 exultation, the certainty of open arms to receive him, 
 and cries of delight the boy. He stood for a second 
 looking into the strange yet familiar room. John 
 Tatham had sprung to his feet and stood startled, hesi- 
 tating, while young Philip's eyes, noting him with a 
 glance, flashed past him to the other more important, 
 more beloved, the mother whom he had expected to 
 rush towards him with an outcry of joy. 
 
 And Elinor sat still in her chair, struck dumb, grown 
 pale like a ghost, her eyes wide open, her lips apart. 
 The sight of the boy, her beloved child, her pride and 
 delight, was as a horrible spectacle to Elinor. She 
 stared at him like one horrified, and neither moved nor 
 spoke.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 381 
 
 "Elinor!" cried John, terrified, "there's nothing 
 wrong. Don't you see it's Philip ? Boy, what do you 
 mean by giving her such a fright? She's fainting, I 
 believe." 
 
 " I give her a fright ! " cried, half in anguish, half 
 in indignation, the astonished boy. 
 
 " No, I'm not fainting. Pippo ! there's nothing 
 wrong at home ?" Elinor cried, holding out her hand 
 to him coming to herself, which meant only awaken- 
 ing to the horror of a danger far more present than she 
 had ever dreamt, and to the sudden sight not of her 
 boy, but of that Nemesis which she had so carefully 
 prepared for herself, and which had been awaiting her 
 for years. She was not afraid of anything wrong at 
 home. It was the first shield she could find in the 
 shock which had almost paralysed her, to conceal her 
 terror and distress at the sight of him from the aston- 
 ished, disappointed, mortified, and angry boy. 
 
 " I thought," he said, " you would have been glad to 
 see me, mother ! No, there's nothing wrong at home." 
 
 " Thank heaven for that ! " cried Elinor, feeling her- 
 self more and more a hypocrite as 'she recovered from 
 the shock. " Pippo, I was saying this moment that 
 you were at school. The words were scarcely off my 
 lips and then to see you in a moment, standing 
 there." 
 
 "I thought," he repeated again, trembling with the 
 disappointment and mortification, wounded in his 
 cheerful, confident affection, and in his young pride, 
 the monarch of all he surveyed " I thought you would 
 have been pleased to see me, mother ! " 
 
 " Of course," said John, cheerfully, " your mother is 
 glad to see you : and so am I, you impetuous boy, 
 though you don't take the trouble of shaking hands 
 with me. He wants to be kissed and coddled, Elinor, 
 and I must be off to my chambers. But I should like 
 to know first what's up, boy ? You've got something 
 to say." 
 
 " Pippo, what is it, my dearest ? You did give me a 
 great fright, and I am still nervous a little. Tell rue,
 
 382 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 Pippo ; something has brought you your uncle John 
 is right. I can see it in your eyes. You've got some- 
 thing to tell me ! " 
 
 The tired and excited boy looked from one to an- 
 other, two faces both full of a veiled but intense anx- 
 iety, looking at him as if what they expected was no 
 good news. He burst out into a big, hoarse laugh, the 
 only way to keep himself from crying. "You don't 
 even seem to remember anything about it," he cried, 
 flinging himself down in the nearest chair ; "and for 
 my part I don't care any longer whether any one knows 
 or not." 
 
 And Elinor, whose thoughts were on such different 
 things whose whole mind was absorbed in the ques- 
 tion of what he could have heard about the trial, about 
 his father, about the new and strange future before 
 him gazed at him with eyes that seemed hollowed out 
 all round with devouring anxiety. "What is it? " she 
 said, " what is it ? For God's sake tell me ! What 
 have you heard ? " 
 
 It goes against all prejudices to imagine that John 
 Tatharn, a man who never had had a child, an old 
 bachelor not too tolerant of youth, should have divined 
 the boy better than his mother. But he did, perhaps 
 because he was a lawyer, and accustomed to investigate 
 the human countenance and eye. He saw that Philip 
 was full of something of his own, immediately interest- 
 ing to himself ; and he cast about quickly in his mind 
 what it could be. Not that the boy was heir to a peer- 
 age : he would never have come like this to announce 
 that : but something that Philip was cruelly disap- 
 pointed his mother did not remember. This passed 
 through John's mind like a flash, though it takes a 
 long time to describe. "Ah," he said, "I begin to 
 divine. Was not there something about a scholar- 
 ship ? " 
 
 " Pippo ! " cried Elinor, lighting up great lamps of 
 relief, of sudden ease and quick coming joy, in her 
 brightened eyes and face. " My boy ! you've won 
 your battle ! You've got it, you've got it, Pippo !
 
 - THE MARRIAGE OF ELI X OR. 
 
 And your foolish, stupid mother that thought for a mo- 
 ment you could rush to her like this with anything but 
 good news ! " 
 
 It took a few moments to soothe Pippo down, and 
 mend his wounded feelings. "I began to think no- 
 body cared," he said, "and that made me that I didn't 
 care myself. I'd rather Musgrave had got it, if it had 
 not been to please you all. And you never seemed so 
 much as to remember only Uncle John ! " he added 
 after a moment, with a half scorn -which made John 
 laugh at the never-failing candour of youth. 
 
 ' Only the least important of all," he said. "It was 
 atrocious of the ladies, Philip. Shake hands, my boy, 
 I owe you five pounds for the scholarship. And now 
 111 take myself off, which will please you most of all." 
 
 He went down-stairs laughing to himself all the way, 
 but got suddenly quite grave as he stepped outside 
 whether because he remembered that it does not be- 
 come a Q.C. and M.P. to laugh in the street, or for 
 other causes, it does not become us to attempt to say. 
 
 And Elinor meanwhile made it up to her boy amply, 
 and while her heart ached with the question what to do 
 with him, how to dispose of him during those dreadful 
 following days, behaved herself as if her head too was 
 half turned with joy and exultation, only tempered by 
 the regret that Musgrave, who had worked so hard, 
 could not have got the scholarship too. 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 ELINOR made much of her boy during that day and 
 the following days, to take away the sense of disappoint- 
 ment which even after the first great mortification was 
 got over still haunted young Philip's mind. It sur- 
 prised him beyond measure to find that she did not 
 wish to go out with him, indeed in so far as was possible 
 avoided it altogether, save for a hurried drive to a few
 
 384 77/7? MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 places, during which she kept her veil down and shel- 
 'tered herself with an umbrella in the most ridiculous 
 way. " Are you afraid of your complexion, mother ? " 
 the boy asked of her with disdain. "It looks like it," 
 she said, but with a laugh that was full of embarrass- 
 ment, " though it is a little late in the day." Elinor 
 was perhaps better aware than Pippo was that she had 
 a complexion which a girl might have envied, and was 
 still as fresh as a rose, notwithstanding that she was a 
 year or two over forty ; but I need not say it was not of 
 her complexion she was thinking. She had been care- 
 ful to choose her time on previous visits to London so 
 as to risk as little as possible the chance of meeting her 
 husband. But now there was no doubt that he was in 
 town, and not the least that if he met her anywhere with 
 Pippo, her secret, so far as it had ever been a secret, 
 would be in his hands. Even when John took the boy 
 out it was with a beating heart that his mother saw him 
 go, for John was too well known to make any secret 
 possible about his movements, or who it was who was 
 with him. Perhaps it was for this reason that John 
 desired to take him out, and even cut short his day's 
 work on one or two occasions to act as cicerone to 
 Philip. He took him to the House, to the great ex- 
 citement and delight of the boy, who only wished that 
 the entertainment could have been made complete by a 
 speech from Uncle John, which was a point in which 
 his guide, philosopher, and friend, though in every 
 other way so complaisant, did not humour Pippo. On 
 one occasion during the first week they had an en- 
 counter which made John's middle-aged pulses move a 
 little quicker. When they were walking along through 
 Hyde Park, having sti-olled that way in the fading of 
 the May afternoon, when the carriages were still prom- 
 enading up and down, before they returned to Halkin 
 Street to dinner, where Elinor awaited them it hap- 
 pened to Mr. Tatham to meet the roving eyes of Lady 
 Mariamne, who lay back languidly in her carriage, 
 wrapped in a fur cloak, and shivering in the chill of the 
 evening. She was not particularly interested in any-
 
 THE MA1UUAOK OP XLiyOR. 3*5 
 
 or any person whom she had seen, and was a 
 little cross and desirous of getting home. But when 
 she saw John she roused up immediately, and gave a 
 sign to Dolly, who sat by her, to pull the check- string. 
 " Mr. Tathaui ! " she cried, in her shrill voice. Lady 
 Mariana ne was not one of the people who object to hear 
 their voice in public or are reluctant to make their 
 wishes known to everybody. She felt herself to be of 
 the cast in which everybody is interested, and that the 
 public liked to know whom she honoured with her ac- 
 quaintance. "Mr. Tatham! are you going to cany 
 your rudeness so far as not to seem to know me ? Oh, 
 come here this moment, you impertinent man ! " 
 
 " Can I be of any use to you, Lady Mariamne ? " said 
 John, gravely, at the carriage door. 
 
 "Oh, dear no; you can't be of any use. What 
 should I have those men for if I wanted you to be of 
 use? Come and talk a moment, that's all ; or get into the 
 carriage and I'll take you anywhere. Dolly and I have 
 driven round and round, and we have not seen a 
 ci-eature we cared to see. Yes! there was a darling, 
 darling little Maltese terrier, with white silk curls hang- 
 ing over his eyes, on an odious woman's lap ; but I can- 
 not expect you to find that angel for me. Mr. Tatham, 
 who is that tall boy ? " 
 
 "Pippo," said John, quickly (though probably he had 
 never in his life before used that name, which he dis- 
 approved of angrily, as people often do of a childish 
 name which does not please them), " go on. I'll come 
 after you directly. The boy is a cousin of mine, Lady 
 Mariamne, just from school." 
 
 " Mr. Tatham, I am quite sure it is NelFs boy. Call 
 after him. What's his name ? Bring him back ! John 
 Thomas, run after that young gentleman, and say with 
 my compliments " 
 
 " Nothing," said John, stopping the footman with a 
 lifted hand and a still more emphatic look. "He is 
 hastening home to an engagement. And it's evident 
 I had better go too for your little friend there is show- 
 ing his teeth." 
 
 25
 
 386 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " The darling !" said Lady Mariamne, "did it show 
 its little pearls at the wicked man that will not do what 
 its mummy says ? Dolly, can't you jump down and run 
 after that boy ? I am sure it is your Uncle Philip's 
 boy." 
 
 "He is out of sight, mother," said Miss Dolly, calmly. 
 
 "You are the most dreadful, wicked, unkind people, 
 all of you. Show its little teeth, then, darling ! Go's 
 the only one that has any feeling. Mr. Tatham, do tell 
 me something about this trial. What is going to be 
 done ? Phil is mixed up in it. I know he is. Can they 
 do anything to anybody after all this time? They 
 can't make you pay up, I know, after a certain time. 
 Oh, couldn't it all be hushed up and stopped and kept 
 out of the newspapers? I hate the newspapers, always 
 chuckling over every new discovery. But this cannot 
 be called a new discovery. If it's true it's old, as old 
 as the old beginning of the world. Don't you think 
 somebody could get at the newspaper men and have it 
 hushed up ? " 
 
 " I doubt if you could get hold of all of them, their 
 name is legion," said John. 
 
 " Oh, I don't care what their name is. If you will 
 help me, Mr. Tatham, we could get hold of most of 
 them won't you ? You know, don't you, poor St. 
 Serf is so bad ; it may be over any day and then only 
 think what a complication ! Dolly, turn your head the 
 other way ; look at that silly young Huutsfield capering 
 about to catch your eye. I don't want you to hear 
 what I have got to say." 
 
 " I don't in the least way want to hear what you have 
 got to say, dear mamma," said Dolly. 
 
 " That would have made me listen to every word," 
 said Lady Mariamne ; " but girls are more queer now- 
 adays than anything that ever was. Mr. Tatham" 
 she put her hand upon his, which was on the carriage 
 door, and bent her perfumed, powdered face towards 
 him " for goodness' sake think how awkward it 
 would be a man just succeeding to a title and that 
 sort of thing put in all the papers about him. Do,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 387 
 
 do stop it, or try something to stop it, for goodness' 
 sake ! " 
 
 " I assure you," said John, " I can do nothing to stop 
 it. I am as powerless as you are." 
 
 "Oh, I don't say that I am powerless," .said Lady 
 Mariamne, with her shrill laugh. "One has one's little 
 ways of influence." Then she put her hand again upon 
 John with a sudden grip. " Mr. Tatham," she said, 
 " tell me, in confidence, was that Phil's boy ? " 
 
 "I have told you, Lady Mariamne, it is a nephew of 
 mine." 
 
 " A nephew oh, I know what kind of a nephew & 
 la mode de firetagne ! " 
 
 She turned her head to the other side, where her 
 daughter was gazing calmly in front of her. 
 
 " Dolly ! I was sure of it," she cried, " don't you hear? 
 Polly, don't you hear ? " 
 
 "Which, mamma?" said Dolly, gravely ; "of course 
 I could not help hearing it all. Which part was I to 
 notice ? about the newspapers or about the boy ? " 
 
 Lady Mariamne appealed to earth and heaven with 
 the loud cackle of her laugh. " He can't deny it," she 
 said ; " he as good as owns it. I am certain that's the 
 boy that will be Lomond." 
 
 "Uncle St. Serf is not dead yet," said Dolly, reprov- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Poor Serf ! but he's so very bad," said Lady Ma- 
 riamne, " that it's almost the same thing. Mr. Tatham, 
 can't we take you anywhere ? I'm so glad I've seen 
 Nell's boy. Can't we drive you home ? Perhaps you've 
 got Nell there too ? " 
 
 John stood back from the carriage door, just in time 
 to escape the start of the horses as the remorseless 
 string was touched and the footman clambered up into 
 his seat. Lady Mariamne's smile went off her face, 
 and she had forgotten all about it, to judge from ap- 
 pearances, before he had got himself in motion again. 
 And a little farther on, behind the next tree, he found 
 young Philip waiting, full of curiosity and questions. 
 
 " Who was that lady, Uncle John.? Was she asking
 
 388 ////; .v.'.'UtiAiti-; />/ KIJXOR. 
 
 about me ? I thought I heard her call. I had half a 
 mind to run back and say 'Here I am.'" 
 
 "It was much bci'er that you didn't do anything of 
 the kind. Never pay any attention when you think you 
 hear a fine lady calling you, Philip. It is better not to 
 hear the Siren's call." 
 
 "When they're elderly Sirens like that!" said the 
 boy, with a laugh. "But I say, Uncle John, if you 
 won't tell me who the lady is, who is the girl ? She 
 has a paii- of eyes ! not like Sirens though eyes that 
 go through you like like a pair of lancets." 
 
 " A surgical operation in fact : and I shouldn't 
 wonder if she meant to be a doctor," said John. " The 
 mother has done nothing all her life, therefore the 
 daughter means to do much. It is the natural reaction 
 of the generations. But I never noticed that Miss Dolly 
 had any eyes to speak of," said the highly indifferent 
 middle-aged man. 
 
 The boy flushed with a sense of indignation. " Per- 
 haps you think the old lady's were finer ? " he said. 
 
 "I never admired the old lady, as you call her," said 
 John, shortly ; and then he turned Philip's attention to 
 sometbiug, possibly with the easily satisfied conviction 
 of a spectator that the boy thought of it no more. 
 
 " We met my Lady Mariamne in the park," he said 
 to Elinor when they sat at dinner an hour later at that 
 bachelor table in Halkin Street, where everything was 
 so exquisitely cared for. It was like Elinor, but most 
 unlike the place in which she found herself, that she 
 started so violently as to shake the whole table, crying 
 out in a tone of consternation, "John!" as if he did 
 not know very well what he might venture to say, or 
 as if he had any intention of betraying her to her son. 
 
 " She was very anxious," he said, perhaps playing a 
 little with her excitement, " to have Philip presented to 
 her : but I sent him on that is to say, I thought I sent 
 him on. The fellow went no farther than to the next 
 tree, where he stood and watched Miss Dolly, not feel- 
 ing any interest in the old lady, as he said." 
 
 "Well, Uncle John did you expect me to look at
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 389 
 
 the old lady ? You are not so fond of old ladies your- 
 self." 
 
 " And who is Miss Dolly ? " said Elinor, trying to 
 conceal the beating of her heart and the quiver on her 
 lips with a smile ; and then she added, with a little 
 catch of her breath, " Oh, yes, I remember there was a 
 little girl." 
 
 " You will be surprised to hear that we are by way 
 of being great friends. Her ladyship visits me in my 
 chambers " 
 
 Again Elinor uttered that startled cry, "John ! " but 
 she tried this time to cover it with a tremulous laugh. 
 " Are you becoming a flirt in your old age?" 
 
 " It appears so," said John. And then he added, 
 " That aphorism, which struck you as it struck me, Eli- 
 nor, by its good sense about the heir to a peerage is 
 really her production, and not mine." 
 
 " Miss Dolly's ? And what was the aphorism, Uncle 
 John ? " cried Philip. 
 
 " No, it was not Miss Dolly's, my young man. It 
 was the mother's, and so of course does not interest 
 you any more." 
 
 It did not as a matter of fact : the old lady was su- 
 premely indifferent to Pippo ; but as he looked up say- 
 ing something else which did not bear upon the sub- 
 ject, it occurred to the boy, as it will sometimes occur 
 by the merest chance to a young observer, to notice his 
 mother. She caught his eye somehow in the most ac- 
 cidental way ; and Pippo was too well acquainted with 
 her looks not to perceive that there was a thrill in every 
 line of her countenance, a slight nervous tremble in her 
 hands and entire person, such as was in no way to be 
 accounted for (he thought) by anything that had been 
 -said or done. There was nothing surely to disquiet 
 her in dining at Uncle John's, the three alone, not even 
 one other guest to fill up the vacant side of the table. 
 Philip had himself thought that Uncle John might have 
 asked some one to meet them. He should have re- 
 membered that he himself, Philip, was now of an age 
 to dine out, and see a little society, and go into the
 
 390 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 world. But what in the name of all that was wonder- 
 ful was there in this entertainment to agitate his 
 mother ? And John Tatham had a look which Philip 
 did not understand the look of a man who was suc- 
 cessful in argument, who was almost crushing an op- 
 ponent. It was as if a duel had been going on between 
 them, and the man was the victor, which, as was natu- 
 ral, immediately threw Philip violently on the other side. 
 
 " You're not well, mother," he said. 
 
 " Do you think not, Pippo ? Well, perhaps you are 
 right. London is too much for me. I am a country 
 bird," said Elinor, with smiling yet trembling lips. 
 
 "You shall not go to the theatre if you are not up to 
 it," said the boy in his imperious way. 
 
 She gave him an affectionate look, and then she 
 looked across the table at John. What did that look 
 mean ? There was a faint smile in it : and there was a 
 great deal which Philip did not understand, things un- 
 derstood by Uncle John who was after all what you 
 might call an outsider, no more and not by him, her 
 son ! Could anything be so monstrous ? Philip blazed 
 up with sudden fire. 
 
 "No," said John Tatham ; "I think Philip's right. 
 We'll take her home to be coddled by her maid, and 
 we'll go off, two wild } r oung fellows, to the play by 
 ourselves." 
 
 " No," said Philip, " I'll leave her to be coddled by no 
 maid. I can take care of my mother myself." 
 
 "My dear boy," said Elinor, "I want no coddling. 
 But I doubt whether I could stand the play. I like 
 you to go with Uncle John." 
 
 And then it began to dawn upon Philip that his mother 
 had never meant to be of the party, and that this was 
 what had been settled all along. He was more angry,- 
 more wounded and hurt in his spirit than he had of 
 course the least occasion to be. He was of opinion that 
 his mother had never had any secrets from him, that 
 she had taken him into her confidence since he was a 
 small boy, even things that Granny did not know ! 
 And here all at once there was risine; between them a
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 391 
 
 cloud, a mist, which there was no reason for. If he had 
 done anything to make him less worthy he would have 
 understood ; had there been a bad report from school, 
 had he failed in his work and disappointed her, there 
 might have been some reason for it., But he had done 
 nothing of the kind ! Never before had he been so de- 
 serving of confidence ; he had got his scholarship, he 
 had finished the first phase of his education in triumph, 
 and fulfilled all her expectations. And now just at this 
 point of all others, just when he was most fit to under- 
 stand, most worthy of trust, she turned from him. His 
 heart swelled as if it would burst, with anger first, al- 
 most too strong to be repressed, and with that sense of 
 injured merit which is of all things the most hard to 
 bear. It is hard enough even when one is aware one 
 deserves no better. But to be conscious of your worth 
 and to feel that you are not appreciated, that is indeed 
 too much for any one. There was not even the satis- 
 faction of giving up the play which he had looked for- 
 ward, to, making a sacrifice of it to his mother, in which 
 there would have been a severe pleasure. But she did 
 not want him ! She preferred that he should leave her 
 by herself to be coddled by her maid, as Uncle John 
 (vulgarly) said. Or perhaps was there somebody else 
 coming, some old friend whom he knew nothing of, 
 somebody, some one or other like that old witch in the 
 carriage whom Pippo was not meant to know ? 
 
 It ended, however, in the carrying out of the plan 
 settled beforehand by those old conspirators. The old 
 conspirators do generally manage to carry out their 
 plans for the management of rebellious youth, however 
 injured the latter may feel. Pippo wound himself up 
 in solemn dignity and silence when he understood that 
 it was ordained that he should proceed to the play with 
 John Tatham. And the pair had got half way to Drury 
 Lane or it may have been the Lyceum, or the Hay- 
 market, or any of half-a-dozen other theatres, for here 
 exact information fails before he condescended to open 
 his lips for more than Yes or No. But Philip's gloom 
 did not survive the raising of the curtain, and he had
 
 392 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 forgotten all offences and had taken his companion into 
 favour again, and was talking to Uncle John between the 
 acts with all the excitement of a country youth to whom 
 a play still was the greatest of novelties and delights, 
 when he suddenly saw a change come over John Tathaiu's 
 countenance and a slight bow of recognition directed 
 towards a box, which made Philip turn round and look 
 too. And there was the old witch of the carriage, and, 
 what was more interesting, the girl with the keen eyes, 
 who looked out suddenly from the shade of the draperies, 
 and fixed upon Philip Philip himself a look which 
 startled that young hero much. Nor was this all ; for 
 later in the evening, after another act of the play, some 
 one else appeared in the same box, and fixed the daik 
 and impassive stare of a long pair of opera-glasses upon 
 Philip. It amused him at first, and afterwards it halt 
 frightened him, and finally made him very angry. The 
 gazer was a man, of whom, however, Philip could make 
 nothing out but his white shirt front and his tall stature, 
 and the long black tubes of the opera-glass. Was it at 
 him the man was looking, or perhaps at Uncle John ? 
 But the boy thought it on the whole unlikely that any- 
 body should stare in that way at anything so little out 
 of the ordinary as Uncle John. 
 
 "I say," he said, in the next interval, "who is that 
 fellow staring at us out of your old lady's box ? " 
 
 "Staring at the ladies behind us, you mean," said 
 John. " Pippo, do you think we could make a rush for 
 it the moment the play's over ? I've got something to 
 look over when I get home. Are you game to be out 
 the very first before the curtain's down ? " 
 
 " Certainly I'm game," said Philip, delighted, " if you 
 wish it, Uncle John." 
 
 "Yes, I wish it," said the other, and he put his hand 
 on the boy's shoulder as the act finished and the char- 
 acters of the piece drew together for the final tableau. 
 And the pair managed it triumphantly, and were the 
 very first to get out at the head of the crowd, to Philip's 
 immense amusement and John Tatham's great relief. 
 The elder hurried the younger into the first hansom, nil
 
 THE MARRIAf ,' JXOR. 393 
 
 in the twinkling of an eye : and then for the first time 
 :-uvity relaxed. Philip took it all for a great joke 
 till they reached Ebury Street. But wheu his com- 
 panion left him, and he had time to think of it, he began 
 to ask himself why ? 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 I WILL not say that Philip's sleep was broken by this 
 question, but it undoubtedly recurred to his mind the 
 first thing in the morning when he jumped out of bed 
 very late for breakfast, and the events of the past 
 night and the lateness of the hour at which he got to 
 rest came back upon him as excuses in the first place 
 for his tardiness. And then, which was remarkable, it 
 was not the scene in the play in which he had been 
 most interested which came to his mind, but a vision 
 of that box and the man standing in front of it staring 
 at him through the black tubes of the opera-glass 
 which came before Philip like a picture. Uncle John 
 had said it was at the ladies behind, but the boy felt 
 sure it was no lady behind, but himself, on whom that 
 stare was fixed. Who would care to stare so at him ? 
 It faintly gleamed across his thoughts that it might bo 
 some one who had heard of the scholarship, but he dis- 
 missed that thought instantly with a blush. It also 
 gleamed upon him with equal vagueness like a momen- 
 tary but entirely futile light, consciously derived from 
 story books, and of which he was much ashamed, that 
 the inexplicable attention given to himself might have 
 something to do with the girl who had such keen eyes. 
 Philip blushed fiery red at this involuntary thought, 
 and chased it from his mind like a mad dog ; but he 
 could not put away the picture of the box, the girl put- 
 ting aside the curtain to look at him, and the OIK in- 
 glass fixed upon his face. And then why was Uncle 
 John in such a hurry to get away? It had seemed a 
 capital joke at that moment, but when he came to think
 
 M THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 of it, it was rather strange that a man who might be 
 Solicitor-General to-morrow if he liked, and probably 
 Lord Chancellor in a few years, should make a school- 
 boy rush from the stalls of a theatre with the object of 
 being first out. Philip disapproved of so undignified 
 a step on the part of his elderly relation. And he saw 
 now in the serious morning that Uncle John was very 
 unlikely to have done it for fun. What, then, did it 
 mean ? 
 
 He came down full of these thoughts, and rather 
 ashamed of being late, wondering whether his mother 
 would have waited for him (which would have annoyed 
 him), or if she would have finished her breakfast (which 
 would have annoyed him still more). Happily for 
 Elinor, she had hit the golden mean, and was pouring 
 out for herself a second cup of coffee (but Philip was 
 not aware it was the second) when the boy appeared. 
 She was quite restored to her usual serenity and fresh- 
 ness, and as eager to know how he had enjoyed himself 
 as she always was. He gave her a brief sketch of the 
 play and of what pleased him in it as in chity bound. 
 " But," he added, " what interested me almost more 
 was that we had a sort of a little play of our own." 
 
 "What?" she cried, with a startled look in her eyes. 
 One thing that puzzled him was that she was so very 
 easily startled, which it seemed to Philip had never 
 been the case before. 
 
 " Well," he said, " the lady was there whom Uncle 
 John met in the park and the girl with her and I 
 believe the little dog. She made all sorts of signs to 
 him, but he took scarcely any notice. But that's not 
 all, mother 
 
 "It's a good deal, Pippo ' 
 
 "Is it? Why do you speak in that choked voice, 
 mother? I suppose it is just one of his society ac- 
 quaintances. But the thing was that before the last act 
 somebody else came forward to the front of the box, 
 and fixed I was going to say his eyes, I mean his 
 opera-glasses upon us." 
 
 Philip had meant to say upon me but he had pro?
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 395 
 
 duced already so great an effect on his mother's face 
 that he moderated instinctively the point of this de- 
 scription. "And stared at us," he added, "all the 
 rest of the time, paying not the least attention to any- 
 thing that was going on. It's a queer sensation," he 
 went on, with a laugh, " to feel that black mysterious- 
 looking thing like the eyes of some monster with no 
 speculation in them, fixed upon you. Now, I want you 
 to tell me What's the matter, mother ? " 
 
 " Nothing, Pippo ; nothing," said Elinor, faintly, 
 stooping to lift up a book she had let fall. " Go ou 
 with your story. I am very much interested ; and 
 .then, my dear ? " 
 
 "Mother," cried Philip, "I don't know what has 
 come over you, or over me. There's something going 
 on I can't understand. You never used to have any 
 secrets from me. I was always in your confidence 
 wasn't I, mother ? " 
 
 It was not a book she had let fall, but a ring that 
 she had dropped from 'her finger, and which had to be 
 followed over the carpet. It made her red and flushed 
 when she half raised her head to say, "Yes, Pippo 
 you know I have always told you " 
 
 Philip did not remark that what his mother said was 
 nothing after all. He got up to help her to look for 
 her ring, and put his arm round her waist as she knelt 
 on the floor. 
 
 " Yes, mamma," he said, tenderly, protectingly, " I 
 do know : but something's changed ; either it's in me 
 that makes you feel you can't trust me or else it is in 
 you. And I don't know which would be worst." 
 
 "There is no change," she said, after a moment, for 
 she could not help the ring being found, and immedi- 
 ately when his quick, young eyes came to the search : 
 but she did not look him in the face. "There is no 
 change, dear. There is only some worrying business 
 which involves a great many troubles of my old life be- 
 fore you were born. You shall hear everything in a 
 little while : but I cannot enter into it all at this mo- 
 ment. It is full of complications and secrets that
 
 39fi THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 belong to other people. Pippo, you must promise me 
 to wait patiently, and to believe to believe always 
 the best you can of your mother." 
 
 The boy laughed as be raised her up, still holding 
 her with his arm. " Believe the best I can 1 Well, I 
 don't think that will be a great effort, mother. Only 
 to think that you can't trust me as you always have 
 done makes me wretched. We've been such friends, 
 haven't we, mamma ? I've always told you everything, 
 or at least everything except just the nonsense at 
 school : and you've told me everything. And if we 
 tire going to be different now 
 
 " You've told me everything ! " the boy was as sure 
 of it as that he was born. She had to hold by him to 
 support herself, and it cost her a strong effort to re- 
 strain the shiver that ran through her. " We are not 
 going to be different," she said, " as soon as we leave 
 London or before you shall know everything about 
 this business of mine, Pippo. Will that satisfy you? 
 In the meantime it is not pleasant business, dear ; and 
 you must bear with me if I am abstracted sometimes, 
 and occupied, and cross." 
 
 "But, mother," said Philip, bending over her with 
 that young celestial foolish look of gravity and good 
 advice with which a neophyte will sometimes address 
 the much-experienced and heavily-laden pilgrim, " don't 
 you think it would be easier if it was all open between 
 us, and I took my share ? If it is other people's se- 
 crets I would not betray them, you know that." 
 
 Unfortunately Elinor here murmured, scarcely know- 
 ing what words came from her lips, "That is what 
 John says." 
 
 "John," said the boy, furious with the quick rage of 
 injured tenderness and pride, " Uncle John ! and you 
 tell him more, him, an outsider, than you tell me ! " 
 
 He let her go then, which was a great relief to Eli- 
 nor, for she could command herself better when he 
 was a little farther off, and could not feel the thrill that 
 was in her, and the thumping of her heart. 
 
 "You must remember, Pippo," she said, "what I
 
 THE MARRIAGE <>F ELINOR. 397 
 
 have told you, that my present very disagreeable, very 
 painful business is about things that happened before 
 you were born, which John knew everything about. 
 He was my adviser then, as far as I would take any ad- 
 vice, which I am afraid never was much, Pippo," she 
 said ; " never, alas ! all rny life. Granny will tell you 
 that. But John, always the kindest friend and the 
 best brother in the world, did everything he could. 
 And it would have been better for us all if I had taken 
 his advice instead of always, I fear, always my own way." 
 
 Strangely enough this cheered Pippo and swept the 
 tloud from his face. " I'm glad you didn't take any- 
 body's advice, mother. I shouldn't have liked it. I've 
 more faith in you than anybody. Well, then, now 
 about this man. What man in the world I really 
 mean in the world, in what is called society, for that is 
 the kind of people they were could have such a curi- 
 osity about me ? " 
 
 She had resumed her seat, and her face was turned 
 away from him. Also the exquisite tone of complacen- 
 cy and innocent self-appreciation with which Philip ex- 
 pressed this wonder helped her a little to surmount 
 the situation. Elinor could have laughed had her heart 
 been only a trifle less burdened. She said : " Are you 
 sure it was at you ? " 
 
 " Uncle John said something about ladies behind us, 
 but I am sure it was no ladies behind. It might, of 
 course," the boy added, cautiously, "have been him, 
 you know. I suppose Uncle John's a personage, isn't 
 he ? But after all, you know, hang it, mother, it isn't 
 easy to believe that a fellow like that would stare so at 
 Uncle John." 
 
 " Poor John ! It is true there is not much novelty 
 about him," said Elinor, with a tremble in her voice, 
 which, if it was half agitation, was yet a little laughter 
 too : for there are scarcely any circumstances, however 
 painful, in which those who are that way moved by 
 nature are quite able to quench the unconquerable 
 laugh. She added, with a falter in which there was no 
 laughter, "and what was the fellow like?"
 
 398 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "All that I could see was that be was a tall man. I 
 saw Ins large shirt-front and his black evening clothes, 
 and something like grey hair above those two big, black 
 goggles " 
 
 "Grey hair!" Elinor said, with a low suppressed cry. 
 
 " He never took them away from his eyes for a mo- 
 ment, so of course I could not see his face, or anything 
 much except that he was more than common tall like 
 myself," Pippo said, with a little air of pleased vanity in 
 the comparison. 
 
 Like himself ! She did not make any remark. It is 
 very doubtful whether she could have done so. There 
 came before her so many visions of the past, and such 
 a vague, confused, bewildering future, of which she 
 could form no definite idea what it would be. Was it 
 with a pang that she foresaw that drawing towards an- 
 other influence : that mingled instinct, curiosity, per- 
 haps admiration and wonder, which already seemed to 
 move her boy's unconscious mind? Elinor did not 
 even know whether that would hurt her at all. Even 
 now there seemed a curious pungent sense of half- 
 pleasure in the pain. Like himself ! So he was. And 
 if it should be that it was his father, who for hours had 
 stood there, not taking his eyes off the boy (for hours 
 her imagination said, though Pippo had not said so), 
 his father who had known where she was and never 
 disturbed her, never interfered with her ; the man who 
 had summoned her to perform her martyrdom for him, 
 never doubting Phil, with grey hair ! To say what 
 mingled feelings swept through Elinor's mind, with all 
 these elements in them, is beyond my power. She saw 
 him with his face concealed, standing up unconscious 
 of the crowded place and of the mimic life on the strge, 
 his eyes fixed upon his son whom he had never seen 
 before. Where was there any drama in which there 
 was a scene like this? His son, his only child, the 
 heir ! Unconsciously even to herself that fact had some 
 influence, no doubt, on Elinor's thoughts. And it 
 would be impossible to say how much influence had 
 that unexpected subduing touch of the grey hair : and
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 399 
 
 the strange change in the scene altogether. The fool- 
 ish, noisy, " fast " woman, with her tourbillon of men 
 and dogs about her, turned into the old lady of Pippo's 
 careless remark, with her daughter beside her far more 
 important than she : and the tall figure in the front of 
 
 the box, with grey hair 
 
 Young Philip had not the faintest light or guidance 
 in the discovery of his mother's thoughts. He was 
 much more easy and comfortable now that there had 
 been an explanation between them, though it was one of 
 those explanations which explained nothing. He even 
 forgave Uncle John for knowing more than he did, 
 moved thereto by the consolatory thought that John's 
 advice had never been taken, and that his mother had 
 always followed her own way. This was an incalcu- 
 lable comfort to Pippo's mind, and gave him composure 
 to wait calmly for the clearing up of the mystery, and 
 the restoration of that perfect confidence between his 
 mother aud himself which he was so firmly convinced 
 had existed all his life. He was a great deal happier 
 after, and gave her an excellent account of the play, 
 which he had managed to see quite satisfactorily, not- 
 withstanding the other " little play of our own " which 
 ran through everything. At Philip's age one can see 
 two things at once well enough. I knew a boy who at 
 one and the same moment got the benefit of (1st) his 
 own story book, which he read lying at full length be- 
 fore the fire, half buried in the fur of a great rug ; and 
 (2nd) of the novel which was being read out over his 
 head for the benefit of the other members of the family 
 or at least he strenuously asserted he did, and indeed 
 proved himself acquainted with both. Philip in the 
 same way had taken in everything in the play, even 
 while his soul was intent upon the opera-glass in the 
 box. He had not missed anything of either. He gave 
 an account of the first, from which the drama might 
 have been written down had fate destroyed it : and had 
 noticed the minauderies of the heroine, and the. eager 
 determination not to be second to her in anything 
 which distinguished the first gentleman, as if lie had
 
 400 THE MARRLAdE Ob' KL1SOR. 
 
 nothing else in his mind : while all the time he h;ul 
 been under the fascination of the two black eyeholes 
 brn</ ii.es upon him, the mysterious gaze as of a ghost 
 from eyes which he never saw. 
 
 This occupied some part of the forenoon, and Philip 
 was happy. But when he had completed his tale and 
 began to feel the necessity of going out, and remem- 
 bered that he had nowhere to go and nothing to do, 
 the prospect was not alluring. He tried very hard to 
 persuade his mother to go out with him, but this was a 
 risk from which Elinor shrank. She shrank, too, from 
 his proposal at last to go out to the park by himself. 
 
 " To the Eow. I sha'n't know the people except 
 those who are in launch every week, and I shall envy the 
 fellows riding but at least it will be something to see." 
 
 "I wish you would not go to the Row, Pippo." 
 
 "Why, mother? Doesn't everybody go ? And you 
 never were here at this time of the year before." 
 
 " No," she said, with a long breath of despair. No ; 
 of all times of the year this was the one in which she 
 had never risked him in London. And, oh ! that he 
 had been anywhere iu the world except London now ! 
 
 Philip, who had been watching her countenance with 
 great interest, here patted her on the shoulder with 
 condescending, almost paternal, kindness. " Don't you 
 be frightened, mother. I'll not get into any mischief. 
 I'll neither be rode over, nor robbed, nor run away. Ill 
 take as great care of myself as if you had been there." 
 
 "I'm not afraid that you will be ridden over or 
 robbed," she said, forcing a smile ; "but there is one 
 thing, Pippo. Don't talk to anybody whom you don't 
 know. Don't let yourself be drawn into If you 
 should meet, for instance, that lady who was in the 
 theatre last night." 
 
 "Yes, mother?" 
 
 " Don't let her make acquaintance with j'ou ; don't 
 speak to her, nor the girl, nor any one that may be with 
 her. At the risk even of being uncivil 
 
 " Why, mother," he said, elevating his eyebrov.'s, 
 " how could I be uncivil to a lady?"
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 401 
 
 " Because I tell you," she cried, " because you must 
 because I shall sit here in terror counting every mo- 
 ment till you conie back, if you don't promise me this." 
 
 He looked at her with the most wondering counte- 
 nance, half disapproving, half pitying. Was she going 
 mad? what was happening to her? was she after all, 
 though his mother, no better than the jealous foolish 
 women in books, who endeavoured at all costs to sepa- 
 rate their children from every influence but their own ? 
 How could Pippo think such things of his mother? and 
 yet what else could he think ? 
 
 " I had better," he said, " if that is how you feel, 
 mother, not go to the Row at all." 
 
 "Much better, much better!" she cried. "I'll tell 
 you what we'll do, Pippo you have never been to see 
 the Tower." She had run over all the most far-off 
 and unlikely places in her mind, and this occurred to 
 her as the most impossible of all to attract any visitor 
 of whom she could be afraid. " I have changed my 
 mind," she added. " We'll have a hansom, and I will 
 go with you to see the Tower." 
 
 "So long as you go with me," said Pippo, "I don't 
 care where I go." 
 
 And -they set out almost joyfully as in their old happy 
 expeditious of old, for that long drive through London 
 in the hausoni. And yet the boy was only lulled for 
 the moment, and in his heart was more and more per- 
 plexed what his mother could mean. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIK 
 
 FORTUNE was favourable to Elinor that day. At the 
 Tower, where she duly went over everything that was 
 to be seen with Pippo, conscious all the time of his 
 keen observance of her through all that he was doing, 
 and even through his interest in what he saw and feel- 
 ing for the first time in her life that there was between 
 
 26
 
 402 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 her boy and her something that he felt, something that 
 was not explained by anything she had said, and that 
 awaited the dreadful moment when everything would 
 have to be told at the Tower, as I say, they met some 
 friends from -the north, the rector of the parish, who 
 had come up with his son to see town, and was natu- 
 rally taking his boy, as Elinor took hers, to see all that 
 was not town, in the usual sense of the word. They 
 were going to Woolwich and Greenwich next day, and 
 with a pang of mingled trouble and relief in her mind 
 Elinor contrived to engage Pippo to accompany them. 
 On the second day I think they were to go to St. Kath- 
 eriue's Docks, or the Isle of Dogs, or some other equally 
 important and interesting sight far better no doubt 
 for the two youths than to frequent such places as the 
 Bow, and gaze at the stream of gaiety and luxury which 
 they could not join. Pippo in ordinary circumstances 
 would have been delighted to see Woolwich and the 
 docks but it was so evident to him that his mother 
 was anxiously desirous to dispose of him so, that his 
 satisfaction was much lessened. The boy, however, 
 was magnanimous enough to consent without any ap- 
 pearance of reluctance. In the many thoughts which 
 filled his mind Philip showed his fine nature, by having 
 already come to consent to the possibility that his 
 mother might have business of her own into which he 
 had no right to enter unless at her own time and with 
 her full consent. It cost him an effort, I allow, to come 
 to that : but yet he did so, and resolved, a little pride 
 helping him, to inquire no more, and if possible to 
 wonder or be offended no more, but to wait the time 
 she had promised, when the old rule of perfect confi- 
 dence should be re-established between them. The 
 old rule ! if Pippo had but known ! nothing yet had 
 given Elinor such a sense of guilt as his conviction that 
 she had told him everything, that there had been no 
 secrets between them during all the happy life that was 
 past. 
 
 How entirely relieved Elinor was when he started to 
 Join his friends next morning it would be impossible to
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 403 
 
 put into words. She watched all his lingering move- 
 ments before he went with eyes in which she tried to 
 quench the impatience, and look only with the fond ad- 
 miration and interest she felt upon all his little prepara- 
 tions, his dawning sense of what was becoming in 
 apparel, the flower in his coat, the carefully rolled 
 umbrella, the hat brushed to the most exquisite smooth- 
 ness, the handkerchief just peeping from his breast- 
 pocket. It is always a revelation to a woman to find 
 that these details occupy as much of a young man's 
 attention as her own toilette occupies hers ; and that he 
 is as tremulously alive to "what is worn " in many small 
 particulars that never catch her eye, as she is to details 
 which entirely escape him. She smiles at him as he 
 does at her, each in that conscious superiority to the 
 other, which is on the whole an indulgent sentiment. 
 Underneath all her anxiety to see him go, to get rid of 
 him (was that the dreadful truth in this terrible crisis 
 of her affairs?), she felt the amusement of the boy's 
 little coquetries, and the mother's admiration of his 
 fresh looks, his youthful brightness, his air of distinc- 
 tion ; how different from the Rector's boy, who was a 
 nice fellow enough, and a credit to his rectory, and 
 whose mother, I do not doubt, felt in his ruddy good 
 looks something much superior in robustness, and 
 strength, and manhood to the too-tall and too-slight 
 golden youth of the ladies at Lakeside ! It even flitted 
 across Elinor's mind to give him within herself the title 
 that was to be his, everybody said Lord Lomond ! And 
 then she asked herself indignantly what honour it could 
 add to her spotless boy to have such a vain distinction ; 
 a name that had been soiled by BO much ignoble use ? 
 Elinor had prided herself all her life on an indifference 
 to, almost a contempt for, the distinctions of rank : and 
 that it should occur to her to think of that title as an 
 embellishment to Pippo nay, to think furtively, with- 
 out her own knowledge, so to speak, that Pippo looked 
 every inch a lord and heir to a peerage, was an invol- 
 untary weakness almost incredible. She blushed for 
 herself as she realised it : a peerage which had meant
 
 -I o-i Tin-: v.\nni.-\ni-; or 
 
 so little that was excellent a name connected with so 
 many undesirable precedents : still I suppose when it is 
 his own even the veriest democrat is conscious at least 
 of the pictuiesqueness, the superiority, as a mode of 
 distinguishing one man from another, of anything 
 that can in the remotest sense be called a historical 
 name. 
 
 When Pippo was out of sight Elinor turned from the 
 window with a sigh, and came back to the dark chamber 
 of her own life, full at this moment of all the gathered 
 blackness of the past and of the future. She put her 
 hands over her eyes, and sank down upon a seat, as if 
 to shut out from herself all that was before her. But 
 shut it out as she might, there it was the horrible court 
 with the judgment-seat, the rows of faces bent upon her, 
 the silence through which her own voice must rise alone, 
 saying what ? What was it she was called there to say 1 
 Oh, how little they knew who suggested that her mother 
 should have been called instead of her, with all her 
 minute old-fashioned calculations and exact memory, 
 who even now, when all was over, would probably con- 
 vict Elinor of a mistake ! Even at that penalty what 
 would not she give to kave it over, the thing said, the 
 event done with, whatever it might bring after it ! And 
 it could now be only a very short time till the moment 
 of the ordeal would come, when she should stand up in 
 the face of her country, before the solemn judge on his 
 bench, before all the gaping, wondering people before, 
 oh ! thought most dreadful of all, which we would not, 
 could not, contemplate before one who knew every- 
 thing, and say - She picked herself up trembling as 
 it were, and uncovered her eyes, and protested to her- 
 self that she would say nothing that was not true. Noth- 
 ing that was not true ! She would tell her story 
 so well remembered, so often conned ; that story that 
 had been put into her lips twenty years ago which 
 she had repeated then confused, not knowing how it 
 was that what was a simple fact should neverthe- 
 less not be true. Alas ! she knew that very well now, 
 and yet would have to repeat it before God and
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELTXOR. 405 
 
 the world. But thinking would make it no better 
 thinking could only make it worse. She sprang up 
 again, and began to occupy herself with something 
 she had to do : the less it was thought over the better : 
 for now the trial had begun, and her ordeal would soon 
 be done too. If only the boy could be occupied, kept 
 away if only she could be left alone to do what she 
 had to do ! That he should be there was the last aggra- 
 vation of which her fate was capable ; there in idleness, 
 reading the papers in the morning, which was a thing 
 she had so lately calculated a boy at school was unlikely 
 to do ; and what so likely as that his eye would be 
 caught by his own name in the report of the trial, which 
 would be an exciting trial and fully reported a trial 
 which interested society. The boy would see his o\vn 
 name : she could almost hear him cry out, looking up 
 from his breakfast, " Hallo, mother ! here's something 
 about a Philip Conipton ! " And all the questions that 
 would follow "Is he the same Comptons that we are? 
 What Comptons do we belong to ? You never told me 
 anything about inv family. Is this man any relation, I 
 
 *. t/ m 
 
 wonder? Both surname and Christian name the same. 
 It's strange if there is no connection ! " She could 
 almost hear the words he would say all that and more 
 and what should she reply ? 
 
 " I have only one thing to say, Elinor," said John, to 
 whom in her desperation she turned again, as she always 
 did, disturbing him, poor man, in his chambers as he was 
 collecting his notes and his thoughts in the afternoon 
 after his work was over : "it is the same as I have al- 
 ways said ; even now make a clean breast of it to the 
 boy. Tell him everything ; better that he should hear 
 it from your own lips than that it should burst upon 
 him as a discovery. He has but to meet Lady 
 Mariamne in the park, the most likely thing in the 
 world " 
 
 "No, John," cried Elinor, "no; the Marshalls are 
 here, our Rector from Lakeside, and he is taking his 
 boy to see all the sights. I have got Pippo to go with 
 them. They are going to Woolwich to-day, and after-
 
 406 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 wards to quite a long list of things oh, entirely out of 
 everybody's way." 
 
 Her little look of uneasy triumph and satisfaction 
 made John smile. She was not half so sure as she 
 tried to look ; but, all the same, had a little pride, a lit- 
 tle pleasure in her own management, and in the happy 
 chance of the Marshalls being in London, which was a 
 thing that could not have been planned, an interven- 
 tion of Providence. He could not refuse to smile 
 partly with her, partly at her simplicity but, all the 
 same, he shook his head. 
 
 "The only way- in which there is any safety the 
 only chance of preserving him from a shock, a painful 
 shock, Elinor, that may upset him for life 
 
 " How do you mean, upset him for life ? " 
 
 " By showing him that his mother, whom he believes 
 in like heaven, has deceived him since ever he was born." 
 
 She covered her face with her hands, and burst into 
 a sobbing cry. " Oh, John, you don't know how true 
 that is ! He said to me only yesterday, ' You have al- 
 ways told me everything, mother. There has never 
 been any secret between us.' Oh ! John, John, only 
 think of having that said to me, and knowing what I 
 know ! " 
 
 " Well, Elinor ; believe me, my dear, there is but 
 one thing to do. The boy is a good boy, full of love 
 and kindness." 
 
 " Oh, isn't he, John ? the best boy, the dearest 
 
 "And adores his mother, as a boy should." John 
 got up from his chair and walked about the room for 
 a little, and then he came behind her and put his hand 
 on her shoulder. " Tell him, Elinor : my dear Kelly, 
 as if I had never said a word on the subject before, I 
 beseech you tell him, trust him fully, even now, at the 
 eleventh hour." 
 
 She raised her head with a quivering, wistful smile. 
 " The moment the trial is over, the moment it is over J 
 I give you my word, John." 
 
 " Do not wait till it is over, do it now ; to-night 
 when he comes home."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 407 
 
 She began to tremble so that John Tatham was 
 alarmed and kept looking at him with an imploring 
 look, her lips quivering and every line in her counte- 
 nance. " Oh, not to-night. Spare me to-night ! After 
 the trial ; after my part of it. At least after after 
 oh, give me till to-morrow to think of it ! " 
 
 " My dear Elinor, I count for nothing in it. I am 
 not your judge ; I am your partisan, you know, whatever 
 you clo. But I am sure it will be the better done, and 
 even the easier done, the sooner you do it." 
 
 "I will I will: at the very latest the day after I 
 have done my part at the trial. Is not that enough to 
 think of at one time, for a poor woman who has never 
 stood up before the public in all her life, never had a 
 question put to her ? Oh, John ! oh, John ! " 
 
 "Elinor, Elinor! you are too sensible a woman to 
 make a fuss about a simple duty like this." 
 
 " There speaks the man who has stood before the 
 world all his life, and is not afraid of any public," she 
 said, with a tremulous laugh. But she had won her 
 moment's delay, and thus was victorious after a fashion, 
 as it was her habit to be. 
 
 I do not know that young Philip much amused him- 
 self at Wool wich that day. He did and he did not. 
 He could not help being interested in all he saw, and he 
 liked the Marshalls well enough, and in ordinary cir- 
 cumstances would have entered very heartily into any 
 sight-seeing. But he kept thinking all the time what 
 his mother was doing, and wondering over the mysteri- 
 ous business which was to be explained to him sooner 
 or later, and which he had so magnanimously promised 
 to wait for the revelation of, and entertain no suspicious 
 about in the meantime. The worst of such magnanim- 
 ity is that it is subject to dreadful failings of the heart 
 in its time of waiting never giving in, indeed, but yet 
 feeling the pressure whenever there is a moment to 
 think. This matter mixed itself up so with all Philip 
 saw that he never in after life saw a great cannon, or a 
 pyramid of balls (which is not, to be sure, an every-day 
 sight) without a vague sensation of trouble, as of some-
 
 408 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 thing lying behind which was concealed from "him, and 
 which he would scarcely endure to have concealed. 
 When he left his friends in the evening, however, it was 
 with another engagement for to-morrow, and several 
 to-morrows after, and great jubilation on the part of 
 both father and son, as to their good luck in meeting, 
 and having his companionship in their pleasures. And, 
 in fact, these pleasures were carried on for several days, 
 always with the faint bitter in them to Philip, of that 
 consciousness that his mother was pleased to be rid of 
 him, glad to see his back turned, the most novel, ex- 
 traordinary sensation to the boy. And it must also be 
 confessed that he kept a very keen eye on all the pass- 
 ing carriages, always hoping to see that one in which 
 the witch, as he called her, and the girl with the keen 
 eyes were for he had not picked up the name of Lady 
 Mariamne, keen as his young ears were, and though 
 John had mentioned it in his presence, partly, perhaps, 
 because it was so very unlikely a name. As for the 
 man with the opera-glasses, he had not seen his face at 
 all, and therefore could not hope to recognise him. 
 And yet he felt a little thrill run through him when any 
 tall man with grey hair passed in the street. He al- 
 most thought he could have known the tall slim figure 
 with a certain swaying movement in it, which was not 
 like anybody else. I need not say, however, that even 
 had these indications been stronger, Woolwich and the 
 Isle of Dogs were unlikely places in which to meet 
 Lady Mariamne, or any gentleman likely to be in atten- 
 dance on her. In Whitechapel, indeed, had he but 
 known, he might have met Miss Dolly : but then in 
 Whitechapel there were no sights which virtuous youth 
 is led to see. And Philip's man with the opera-glass was, 
 during these days, using that aid to vision in a very dif- 
 ferent place, and had neither leisure nor inclination to 
 move vaguely about the world. 
 
 For three days this went on successfully enough : 
 young Philip Compton and Ralph Marshall saw enough 
 to last them all the rest of their lives, and there was no 
 limit to the satisfaction of the good country clergyman,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 409 
 
 who felt that he never couM have succeeded so com- 
 pletely in improving his sou's mind, instead of deliver- 
 ing him over to the frivolous amusements of town, if it 
 h-id not been for the companionship of Philip, who 
 made Ralph feel that it was all right, and that he was 
 not being victimised for nothing. But on the fourth 
 day a hitch occurred. .John Tat ham had been made 
 to give all sorts of orders and admissions for the party 
 to see every nook and corner of the Temple, much to 
 Elinor's alarm, who felt that place was too near to be 
 safe ; but she was herself in circumstances too urgent 
 to permit her dwelling upon it. She had left the 
 house on that particular morning long before Philip 
 was ready, and every anxiety was dulled in her mind 
 for the moment by the overwhelming sense of the crisis 
 arrived. She went to his room before he had left it, 
 and gave him a kiss, and told him that she might be de- 
 tained for a long time ; that she did know exactly at 
 what hour she should return. She was very pale, paler 
 than he had ever seen her, and her manner had a sup- 
 pressed agitation in it which startled Philip ; but she 
 managed to smile as she assured him she was quite 
 well, and that there was nothing troubling her. 
 hing, nothing that has to do with us a little dis- 
 turbed for a friend but that will be all over," she said, 
 "to-night, I hope." Philip made a leisurely breakfast 
 after she was gone, and it happened to him that morn- 
 ing for the first time as he was alone to make a study 
 of the papers. And the consequence was that he said 
 to himself really those words which his mother in 
 imagination had so often heard him say, " Hallo ! 
 Philip Compton, my name ! I wonder if he is any 
 relation. I wonder if we have anything to do with 
 those St. Serf Comptons." Then he reflected, but 
 vaguely, that he did not know to what Comptons he be- 
 longed, nor even what county he came from, to tell the 
 truth. And then it was time to hurry over his break- 
 fast, to swallow his cup of tea, to snatch up his hat and 
 gloves, and to rush off to meet his friends. But on 
 that day Philip was unlucky. When he got to the
 
 410 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 place of meeting he found nothing but a telegram from 
 Ralph, announcing that his father was so knocked up 
 with his previous exertions that they were obliged 
 to take a quiet day. And thus Philip was left in the 
 Temple, of all places in the world, on the day when his 
 mother was to appear in the law-courts close by on 
 the day of all others when if she could have sent him 
 for twenty-four hours to the end of the earth she 
 would have done so on the day when so terrible was 
 the stress and strain upon herself that for once in the 
 world even Pippo had gone as completely out of her 
 mind as if he had not been. 
 
 The boy looked about him for awhile, and reflected 
 what to do, and then he started out into the Strand, 
 conscientiously waiting for the Marshalls before he 
 should visit the Temple and all its historical ways ; and 
 then he was amused and excited by seeing a barrister 
 or two in wig and gown pass by ; and then he thought 
 of the trial in the newspapers, in which somebody who, 
 like himself, was called Philip Compton, was involved. 
 Philip was still lingering, wondering if he could get into 
 the court, a little shy of trying, but gradually growing 
 eager, thinking at least that he would try and get a 
 sight of the wonderful grand building, still so new, 
 when he suddenly saw Simmons, his uncle John's clerk, 
 passing through the quandrangle of the law-courts. 
 Here was his chance. He rushed forward and caught 
 the clerk by the arm, who was in a great hurry, as 
 everybody seemed to be. " Oh, Simmons, can you get 
 me into that Brown trial? " cried Philip. " Brown ! " 
 Simmons said. "Mr. Tatham is not on in that." "Oh, 
 never mind about Mr. Tatham," said the boy. " Can't 
 you get me in ? I have never seen a trial, and I take 
 an interest in that." "I advise yon," said Simmons, 
 " to wait for one that your uncle's in." "Can't you get 
 me in ? " said Philip, impatiently : and this touched 
 the pride of Simmons, who had many friends, if not in 
 high places, yet in low.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 411 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 PHILIP had never been in a court of law before. I 
 am almost as ignorant as he was, yet I cannot imagine 
 anything more deeply interesting than to find one's self 
 suddenly one of a crowded assembly trying more or 
 less for is not the public but a larger jury, sometimes 
 contradicting the verdict of the other, and when it does 
 so almost invariably winning the cause ? a fellow- 
 creature, following out the traces of his crime or his 
 innocence, looking on while a human drama is unrolled, 
 often far more interesting than any dramatic represen- 
 tation of life. He was confused for the moment by the 
 crowd, by the new and unusual spectacle, by the be- 
 wilderment of seeing for the first time what he had so 
 often heard of, the judge on the bench, the wigged 
 barristers below, the one who was speaking, so different 
 from any other public speaker Philip had ever heard, 
 addressing not the assembly, but the smaller circle 
 round him, interrupted by other voices : the accused 
 in his place and the witness standing there more dis- 
 tinctly at the bar than the culprit was bearing his tes- 
 timony before earth and heaven, with the fate of another 
 hanging on his words. The boy was so full of the 
 novel sight which yet he had heard of so often that 
 he could identify every part of it, and soon perceived 
 the scope of what was going on that he did not at 
 first listen, so full was he of the interest of what he saw. 
 The imperturbable judge, grave, letting no emotion ap- 
 pear on his face ; the jury, just the reverse, showing 
 how this and that piece of evidence affected them ; the 
 barristers who were engaged, so keenly alive to every- 
 thing, starting up now and then when the witness 
 swerved from the subject, when the opposition pro- 
 posed a leading question, or one that was irrelevant to 
 the issue ; the others who were not "in it," as Simmons 
 said, so indifferent ; and then the spectators who had 
 places about or near the central interest. Philip saw,
 
 412 THE MARHIAQE OF ELINOR. 
 
 with a sudden leap of bis heart, the ladies of the theatre 
 and park, the witch and the girl with the keen eyes, in 
 a conspicuous place ; the old lady, as he called her, full 
 of movement and gesture, making signs to others near 
 her, keeping up an interrupted whispering, the girl at 
 her side as impassive as the judge himself. And then 
 Pippo's roving eye caught a figure seated among the 
 barristers with an opera-glass, which made his heart 
 jump still more. Was that the man ? He had, at the 
 moment Philip perceived him, his opera-glass in his 
 hand : a tall man leaning back with a look of interest, 
 very conspicuous among the wigged heads about him, 
 with grey hair in a mass on his forehead as if it had 
 grown thin and had been coaxed to cover some de- 
 nuded place, and a face which it seemed to Philip he 
 had seen before, a face worn was it with study, was it 
 with trouble? Pippo knew of no other ways in which 
 the eyes could be so hollov;ed out, and the lines so 
 deeply drawn. A man, perhaps, hard worn with life 
 and labor and sorrow. A strange sympathy sprang up 
 in the boy's mind : he was sure he knew the face. It 
 was a face full of records, though young Philip could 
 not read them the face, he thought, of a man who 
 had had much to bear. Was it the same man who had 
 fixed so strange a gaze upon himself at the theatre ? 
 And what interest could this man have in the trial that 
 was going on ? 
 
 The accused at the bar was certainly not of a kind to 
 arouse the interest which sprang into being at sight of 
 this worn and noble hero. He had the air of a com- 
 fortable man of business, a man evidently well off, sur- 
 prised at once and indignant to find himself there, 
 sometimes bursting with eagerness to explain, some- 
 times leaning back with an air of affected contempt 
 not a good man in trouble, as Philip would have hked 
 to think him, nor a criminal fully conscious of what 
 might be awaiting him ; but a man of the first respect- 
 ability, indignant and incredulous that anything 
 should be brought against him. Philip felt himself 
 able to take no interest whatever in Mr. Brown.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 413 
 
 It was not till he had gone through all these sur- 
 prises and observations that he began to note what was 
 being said. Philip was not learned in the procedure 
 of the law, nor did he know anything about the case ; 
 but it became vaguely apparent to him after awhile 
 that the immediate question concerned the destruction 
 of the books of a joint-stock company, of which 
 Brown was the manager, an important point which the 
 prosecution had some difficulty in bringing home to 
 him. After it had been proved that the books had 
 been destroyed, and that so far as was known it was to 
 Brown's interest alone to destroy them, the evidence 
 as to what had been seen on the evening on which this 
 took place suddenly took a new turn, and seemed to 
 introduce a new actor on the scene. Some one had 
 been seen to enter the office in the twilight who could 
 not be identified with Brown ; whom, indeed, even 
 Philip, with his boyish interest in the novelty of the 
 proceedings, vaguely perceived to be another man. 
 The action of the piece, so to speak (for it was like a 
 play to Philip), changed and wavered here and he be- 
 gan to be sensible of the character of the different 
 players in it. The counsel for the prosecution was a 
 well-known and eminent barrister, one of the most 
 noted of the time, a man before whom witnesses trem- 
 bled, and even the Bench itself was sometimes known 
 to quail. That this was the case on the present occa- 
 sion Philip vagualy perceived. There were points con- 
 tinually arising which the opposing counsel made ob- 
 jections to, appealing to the judge ; but it rarely failed 
 that the stronger side, which was that of the prosecu- 
 tion, won the day. The imperious accuser, whose re- 
 sources of precedent and argument seemed boundless, 
 carried everything with a high hand. The boy, of 
 course, was not aware of the weakness of the represen- 
 tative of the majesty of the law, nor the inferiority, in 
 force and skill, of the defence ; but he gradually came 
 to a practical perception of how the matter stood. 
 
 Philip listened with growing interest, sometimes 
 amused, sometimes indignant, as the remorseless pros-
 
 414 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 ecutor ploughed his way through the witnesses, whom 
 he bullied into admissions that they were certain of 
 nothing, and that in the dusk of that far-off evening, 
 the man whom they had sworn at the time to be quite 
 unlike him, might in reality have been Brown. Philip 
 got greatly interested in this question. He took up 
 the opposite side himself with much heat, feeling as 
 sure as if he had been there that it was not Brown : 
 and he was delighted in his excitement, when there 
 stood up one man who would not be bullied, a man 
 who had the air of a respectable clerk of the lower 
 class, and who held his own. He had been an office 
 boy, the son apparently of the housekeeper in charge 
 of the premises referred to when the incident occurred, 
 and the gist of his evidence was that the prisoner at 
 the bar so awful a personage once to the little office 
 boy, so curtly discussed now as Brown had left the 
 office at four o'clock in the afternoon of the 6th of Sep- 
 tember, and had not appeared again. 
 
 "A different gentleman altogether came in the even- 
 ing, a much taller man, with a large moustache." 
 
 " Where was it that you saw this man ? " 
 
 "Slipping in at the side door of the office as if he 
 didn't want to be seen." 
 
 " Was that a door which was generally open, or used 
 by the public ? " 
 
 " Never, sir ; but none of the doors were used at 
 that time of night." 
 
 "And how, then, could any one get admittance there ? " 
 
 " Only those that had private keys ; the directors 
 had their private keys." 
 
 "Then your conclusion was that it was a director, 
 and that he had a right to be there?" 
 
 " I knew it was a director, sir, because I knew the 
 gentleman," the witness said. 
 
 " You say it was late in the evening of the 6th of 
 September. Was it daylight at the time ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, sir ; nearly dark a sort of a half light." 
 
 " Did the person you saw go in openly, or make any 
 attempt at concealment ? "
 
 THB MARRIAGE OF ELIXOR. 415 
 
 "He had a light coat on, like the coats gentlemen 
 wear when they go to the theatre, and something muf- 
 fled round his throat, and his hat pulled down over his 
 face." 
 
 " Like a person who wished to conceal himself ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the witness. 
 
 " And how, then, if he was muffled about the throat, 
 and his hat pulled over his face, in the half light late in 
 the evening, could you see that he had a large mous- 
 tache?" 
 
 The witness stood and stai-ed with his mouth open, 
 and made no reply. 
 
 The counsel, with a louder voice and those intonations 
 of contemptuous insinuation which are calculated to 
 make a man feel that he is convicted of the basest per- 
 jury, and is being held up to the reprobation of the 
 world, repeated the question, " How could you see that 
 he had a large moustache ? " 
 
 "I saw it," said the witness, hotly, "because I knew 
 the gentleman." 
 
 "And how did you know the gentleman? You 
 thought you recognised the gentleman, and therefore, 
 though you could not possibly perceive it, you saw his 
 moustache ? I fear that is not an answer that will sat- 
 isfy the jury." 
 
 " I suomit," said the counsel for the defence, " that 
 it is very evident what the witness means. He recog- 
 nised a man with whose appearance he was perfectly 
 familiar."" 
 
 " I saw liim," said the witness, " as clear as I see you, 
 sir." 
 
 " What : in the dark, late on a September night, with 
 a coat collar up to his ears, and a hat pulled down over 
 his face ! You see my learned friend in broad daylight, 
 and with the full advantage of standing opposite to him 
 and studymg his looks at your leisure. You might as 
 well say because you know the gentleman that you could 
 see his haif was dark and abundant under his wig." 
 
 At this laugh ran through the court, at which Philip, 
 listening, was furiously indignant, as it interrupted the
 
 I lf> THE MMUIIAGK Of-' KL1SOR. 
 
 course of the investigation. It was through the sound 
 of this laugh that he heard the witness demand loudly, 
 "How could I be mistaken, when I saw Mr. Compton 
 every day '? " 
 
 Mr. Comptou ! Philip's heart began to beat like the 
 hammers of a steam-engine. Was this, then, the real 
 issue? And who was Mr. Compton? He could not 
 have told how it was that he somehow identified the 
 man whom the witness had seen, or had not seen, with 
 the man who had the opera-glass, and who had fixed a 
 dreadful blank stare upon the other in the witness-box 
 during a great part of this discussion. Was it, lie who 
 was on his trial, and not Brown? And who was he ? 
 And where was it that Philip had known and grown 
 familiar with that face, which, so far as he could re- 
 member, he had never seen before, but which belonged 
 to the man who bore his own name ? 
 
 When the counsel for the prosecution had turned the 
 unfortunate witness outside in, and proved that he knew 
 nothing and had seen nobody : and that, besides, he wav 
 a man totally unworthy of credit, who had lied from hi* 
 cradle, and whose own mother and friends put no trust in 
 him, the court adjourned for lunch. But Philip forgot, 
 that he required any lunch. His mind was filled will;. 
 echoes of that name. He began to feel a strange certain- 
 ty that it was the same man who had fixed him with the 
 same gaze in the theatre. Who was Mr. Compton, and 
 what was lie ? The question took the boy's breath away, 
 
 He sat through the interval, finding a place where he 
 could see better, through the kind offices of the usher 
 to whom Simmons had commended him, and waiting 
 with impatience till the trial should be resumed. No- 
 body remarked the boy among the crowd of the ordi- 
 nary public, many of whom remained, as he did, to see 
 it out. Philip cared nothing about Brown : all that he 
 wanted to know was about this namesake of his thi* 
 Compton, this other man, who was not Brown. If \* 
 was the man with the opera-glass, he was not so much 
 excited as his young namesake, for he went to luncheon 
 with the rest ; while the boy remained counting th
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR, 417 
 
 minutes, eager to begin the story, the drama, again. 
 The impression left, however, on Philip's impartial mind 
 was that the last witness, though driven and badgered 
 out of what wits lie had by the examination, had really 
 seen a man whom he perfectly knew, his recognition of 
 whom was not really affected either by the twilight or 
 the disguise. 
 
 The thrill of interest which he felt running through 
 all his veins as the court filled again was like, but 
 stronger than, the interest with which he had ever seen 
 the curtain rise in the theatre. His heart beat : he felt 
 as if in some sort it was his own fate that was going to 
 be decided : all his prepossessions were in favour of that 
 other accused, yet not openly accused, person who was 
 not Brown ; and yet he felt almost as sure as if he had 
 been there that the office boy of twenty years ago had 
 seen that man stealing in at the side door. 
 
 Young Philip did not catch the name of the next wit- 
 ness who was called ; such a thing will happen some- 
 times even with the quickest ear at a moment when 
 every whisper is important. If he had heard he would 
 probably have thought that he was deceived by his ex- 
 citement, impossible as it was that such a name should 
 have anything to do with this or any other trial. The 
 shock therefore was unbroken when, watching with all 
 the absorbed interest of a spectator at the most exciting 
 play, the boy saw a lady come slowly forward into the 
 witness-box. Philip had the same strange sense of know- 
 ing who it was that lie had felt the previous witness to 
 have in respect to the man whom he could not see, but 
 yet had infallibly recognised : but he said to himself, No ! 
 it was not possible ! No ! it was not possible ! She 
 came forward slowly, put up the veil that had covered 
 her face, and gi-asped the bar before her to support her- 
 self ; and then the boy sprang to his feet, in the terrible 
 shock which electrified him from head to feet ! His 
 movements, and the stifled cry he uttered, made a little 
 commotion in the crowd, and called forth the cry of 
 "Silence in the court." His neighbours around. him 
 hustled him back into his place, where he sank down 
 
 27
 
 418 THE MAR1UAGE OF K1JNOR. 
 
 incapable indeed of movement, knowing that he could 
 not go and pluck her from that place could not rush 
 to her side, could do nothing but sit there and gasp and 
 gaze at his mother. His mother, in such a place ! in 
 such a case ! with which surely, surely she could have 
 nothing to do. Elinor Compton, at the time referred 
 to Elinor Dennistouu, of Windyhill, in Surrey there 
 was no doubt about the name now. And Philip had 
 time enough to identify everything, name and person, 
 for there rose a vague surging of contention about the 
 first questions put to her, which were not evidence, ac- 
 cording to the counsel on the other side, which he felt 
 with fury was done on purpose to prolong the agony. 
 During this time she stood immovable, holding on by 
 the rail before her, her eyes fixed upon it, perfectly pale, 
 like marble, and as still. Among all the moving, rus- 
 tling, palpitating- crowd, and the sharp volleys of the 
 lawyers' voices, and even the contradictory opinions 
 elicited from the harassed judge himself to look at 
 that figure standing there, which scarcely seemed to 
 breathe, had the most extraordinary effect. For a time 
 Philip was like her, scarcely breathing, holding on in an 
 unconscious sympathy to the back Of the seat before 
 him, his eyes wide open, fixed upon her. But as his 
 nerves began to accustom themselves to that extraor- 
 dinary, inconceivable sight, the other particulars of the 
 scene came out of the mist, and grew apparent to him 
 in a lurid light that did not seem the light of day. He 
 saw the eager looks at her of the ladies in the privileged 
 places, the whispers that were exchanged among them. 
 He saw underneath the witness-box, almost within reach 
 of her, John Tatham, with an anxious look on his face. 
 And then he saw, what was the most extraordinary of 
 all, the man who had been the centre of his interest 
 till now the man whose name was Philip Compton, 
 like his own ; he who fixed the last witness with the 
 stare of his opera-glass, who had kept it in perpetual 
 use. He had put it down now on the table before him, 
 his arms were folded on his breast, and his head bent. 
 Philip thought he detected now and then a furtive look
 
 THK llAHIirAVE OF ELiyoil. 
 
 under his brows ;it tlie motionless witness 
 through the storm of words the moment when her turn 
 would come ; but though he had leant forward all the 
 tiuio, following every point of the proceedings with in- 
 terest, he now drew back, effaced himself, retired as it 
 were from the scene. What was there between these 
 two ? Was there any link between them ? What was 
 the drama about to be played out before Pippo's in- 
 nocent and ignorant eyes? At last the storm and 
 wrangling seeaied to come to an end, and there came 
 out low but clear the sound of her voice. It seemed 
 only now, when he heard his mother speak, that he was 
 certified that so inconceivable a thing as that she should 
 be here was a matter of fact : his mother here ! Philip 
 fixed his whole being upon her eyes, thoughts, ab- 
 sorbed attention, he scarcely seemed to breathe except 
 through her. Could she see him, he wondered, through 
 all that crowd '? But then he perceived that she saw 
 nothing with those eyes that looked steadily in front of 
 her, not turning a glance either to the right or left. 
 
 For some time Philip was baffled completely by the 
 questions put, which were those to which the counsel 
 on the other side objected as not evidence, and which 
 seemed, even to the boy's inexperienced mind, to be 
 mere play upon the subject, attempts to connect her in 
 some way with the question as to Brown's guilt or inno- 
 cence. Spmethiug in the appearance, at this stage, of 
 a lady so unlike the other witnesses, seemed to exercise 
 a certain strange effect, however, quickening everybody's 
 interest, and when the examining counsel approached 
 the question of the date which had already been shown 
 to be so momentous, all interruptions were silenced, and 
 the court in general, like Philip, held its breath. There 
 were many there expecting what are called in the news- 
 papers " revelations : " the defence was taken by sur- 
 prise, and did not know what new piece of evidence 
 was about to be produced : and even the examining 
 counsel was, for such a man, subdued a little by the 
 other complicating threads of the web among which he 
 had to pick his way.
 
 120 TILE A1AWUAUE OF ELINOti. 
 
 " You recollect," be said in his most soothing 
 " the evening of the 6th September, 1863 ? " 
 
 She bowed her head in reply. And then as if that 
 was sparing herself too much, added a low "Yes." 
 
 " As I am instructed, you were not then married, but 
 engaged to Mr. Philip Compton. Is that so ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " One of the directors of the company of which the 
 defendant was manager ? " 
 
 " I believe so." 
 
 "I am sorry to have to enter upon matters so pri- 
 vate : but there was some question, I believe, about an 
 investment to be made of a portion of your fortune in 
 the hands of this company?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You received a visit from Mr. Compton on the sub- 
 ject on the day I have mentioned." 
 
 The witness made a slight movement and pause : 
 then answered as before, but more firmly, "Yes:" she 
 added, " not on this subject," in a lower tone. 
 
 " You can recollect, more or less exactly, the time of 
 his arrival ? " 
 
 " Yes. It was in the evening, after dinner ; in the 
 darkening before the lamps were lit." 
 
 " Were you looking for him on that night ? " 
 
 " No, ; it was an unexpected visit. He was going to 
 Ireland, and paused on his way through town to come 
 down to Windy hill." 
 
 " You have particular reasons for remembering the 
 date, which make it impossible that there could be any 
 mistake ? " 
 
 " No ; there could be no mistake." 
 
 " You will perhaps inform the court, Mrs. Compton, 
 why your memory is so exact on this point." 
 
 Once more she hesitated for a moment, and then re- 
 plied 
 
 "It was exactly ten days before my marriage." 
 
 " I think that will do, Mrs. Compton. I will trouble 
 you no further," the counsel said. 
 
 The hubbub which sprang up upon this seemed to
 
 THE 'MARRIAGE Of F.LIN OR. 4'21 
 
 Philip for fhc moment as if it were directed against bis 
 mother, which, of course, was not the case, but, intended 
 to express the indignant surprise of the defence at the 
 elaborate examination of a witness who had nothing to 
 say on the main subject. 
 
 The leader on the other side, however, though taken 
 by surprise, and denouncing the trick which his learned 
 brother had played upon the court by producing evi- 
 dence which had really nothing to do with the matter, 
 announced his intention to put a further question or 
 two to Mrs. Compton. Young Philip in the crowd 
 started again from his seat with the feeling that he 
 would like to fly at that man's throat. 
 
 " Twenty years is a long time," he said, " and it is 
 difficult to be sure of any circumstance at such a dis- 
 tance. Perhaps the witness will kindly inform us what 
 were the circumstances which fixed this, no doubt one 
 of many visits, on her mind ? " 
 
 Elinor turned for the first time to the side from 
 which the question came with a little movement of that 
 impatience which was habitual to her, which three per- 
 sons in that crowd recognised in a moment as charac- 
 teristic. One of these was John Tatham, who had 
 brought her to the court, and kept near that she might 
 feel that she was not alone ; the other was her son, of 
 whose presence there nobody knew ; the third, sat with 
 his eyes cast down, and his arms folded on his breast, 
 not looking at her, yet seeing every movement she made. 
 
 " It was a very simple circumstance," she said with 
 the added spirit of that impetuous impulse : but then 
 the hasty movement failed her, and she came back to 
 herself and to a consciousness of the scene in which she 
 stood. A sort of tremulous shiver came into her voice. 
 She paused and then resumed, "There was a calendar 
 hinging in the hall ; it caught Mr. Compton's eye, and 
 he pointed it out to me. It marked the 6th. He said, 
 ' Just ten days ' ' 
 
 Here her voice stopped altogether. She could say no 
 more. And there was an answering pause throughout the 
 whole crowded court, a holding of the general breath,
 
 422 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 the response to a note of passion seldom struck in such a 
 place. Even in the cross-examination there was a pause. 
 
 " Till when ? What was the other date referred to ? " 
 
 " The sixteenth of September," she said in a voice 
 that was scarcely audible to the crowd. She added 
 still more low so that the judge curved his hand over 
 his ear to hear her, " Our wedding day." 
 
 "I regret to enter into private matters, Mrs. Cornp- 
 ton, but I believe it is not a secret that your married 
 life came to a more rapid conclusion than could have 
 been augured from such a beginning. May I ask what 
 your reasons were for " 
 
 But here the other counsel sprung to his feet, and the 
 contention arose again. Such a question was not clearly 
 permissible. And the prosecution was perfectly satis- 
 fied with the evidence. It narrowed the question by 
 the production of this clear and unquestionable testi- 
 mony the gentleman whom it had been attempted to 
 involve being thus placed out of the question, and all 
 the statements of the previous witness about the mous- 
 tache which he could not see, etc., set aside. 
 
 Philip, it may be supposed, paid little attention to 
 this further discussion. His eyes and thoughts were 
 fixed upon his mother, who for a minute or two stood 
 motionless through it, as pale as ever, but with her 
 head a little thrown back, facing, though not looking 
 at, the circling lines of faces. Had she seen anything 
 she must have seen the tall boy standing up as pale as 
 she, following her movements with an unconscious repe- 
 tition which was more than sympathy, never taking his 
 gaze from her face. 
 
 And then presently her place was empty, and she 
 was gone. 
 
 Philip was not aware how the discussion of the law- 
 yers ended, but only that in a moment there was 
 vacancy where his mother had been standing, and his 
 gaze seemed thrown back to him by the blank where 
 she had been. He was left in the midst of the crowd, 
 which, after that one keen sensation, fell back upon the 
 real trial with interest much less keen.
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 4-'3 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 PHILIP did not know how long he remained, almost 
 paralysed, in the court, dazed in his mind, incapable of 
 movement. He was in the centre of a long row of 
 people, and to make his way out was difficult. He felt 
 that the noise would cah 1 attention to him, and that he 
 might be somehow identified identified, as what? 
 He did not know his head was not clear enough to 
 give any reason. When he came more to himself, and 
 his eyes regained a little their power of vision, it seemed 
 to him that everybody had stolen away. There was the 
 judge, indeed, still sitting imperturbable, the jury rest- 
 less in their box, the lawyers going on with their eternal 
 quarrel over a bewildered witness, all puppets carrying 
 on some unintelligible, wearisome, automaton process, 
 contending, contending for ever about nothing. But all 
 that had secured Philip's attention was gone. John 
 Tatham's head was no longer visible under the witness- 
 box ; the ladies had disappeared from their elevated 
 seats ; the man with the opera-glass was gone. They 
 were all gone, and the empty husks of a question which 
 only concerned the comfort and life of the commonplace 
 culprit in the dock were being turned over and over 
 like chaff by the wind. And yet it was some time be- 
 fore poor young Pippo, shy of attracting attention, feel- 
 ing some subtle change even in himself which he did 
 not understand, afraid to have people look at him and 
 divine him, knowing more of him perhaps than he him- 
 self knew, could make up his mind to move. He might 
 have remained there till the court broke up but for the 
 movement of some one beside him, who gathered up his 
 hat and umbrella, and with some commotion pushed his 
 way between the rows of seats. Philip followed, thank- 
 ful of the opportunity, and, as it happened, the sensa- 
 tion of the day being over, many others followed too, 
 and thus he got out into the curious, wondering day-
 
 4 24: THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 light, which seemed to look him in the face, as if this 
 Philip had never been seen by it before. That was the 
 impression given him that when he first came out the 
 atmosphere quivered round him with a strange novelty, 
 as if he were some other being, some one without a 
 name, new to the world, new to himself. He did not 
 seem sure that he would know his way home, and yet 
 he did not call a passing hansom, as he would have 
 done yesterday, with a schoolboy's pleasure in assuming 
 a man's careless, easy ways. It is a long way from the 
 Law Courts to Ebury Street, but it seemed a kind of 
 satisfaction to be in motion, to walk on along the 
 crowded streets. And, as a matter of fact, Philip did 
 lose his way, and got himself entangled in a web of 
 narrow streets and monotonous little openings, all so 
 like each other that it took him a long time to extricate 
 himself and find again the thread of a locality known to 
 him. He did not know what he was to do when he got 
 in. Should he find her there, in the little dingy drawing- 
 room as usual, with the tea on the table? Would she re- 
 ceive him with her usual smile, and ask where he had 
 been and what he had seen, and if the Musgraves had 
 enjoyed it, exactly as if nothing had happened ? Even 
 this wonder was faint in Philip's mind, for the chief 
 wonder to him was himself, and to find out how he had 
 changed since the morning what he was now, who he 
 was ? what were the relations to him of other people, of 
 that other Philip Compton who had been seated in the 
 court with the opera-glass, who had arrived at Windy- 
 hill to visit Elinor Dennistoun on the 6th of September, 
 1863, twenty years ago? Who was that man? and 
 what was he, himself Philip Compton, of Lakeside, 
 named Pippo, whom his mother had never once in all 
 his life called by his real name ? 
 
 To his great wonder, and yet almost relief, Philip 
 found thai his mother had not yet returned when he 
 got to Ebury Street. " Mrs. Compton said as she would 
 very likely be late. Can I get you some tea. sir ? or, 
 perhaps you haven't had your lunch ? you're looking 
 tired and worrited," said the landlady, who had known
 
 THE MARRIAGE (<F ELINOR. 425 
 
 Pippo all his life. He consented to Lave tea, partly io 
 till up the time, aud went up languidly to the deserted 
 room, which looked so miserable and desert a place 
 without her who put a soul into it and made it home. 
 He did not know what to do with himself, poor boy, 
 but sat down vacantly, and stared into empty space, 
 seeing, wherever he turned, the rows of faces, the ladies 
 making signs to each other, the red robes of the judge, 
 the lawyers contending, and that motionless pale figure 
 in the witness-box. He shut hisheyes and saw the whole 
 scene, then opened them again, and still saw it the 
 dingy walls disappearing, the greyness of the afternoon 
 giving a depth and distance to the limited space. Should 
 he always carry it about with him wherever he went, 
 the vision of that court, the shock of that revelation ? 
 And yet he did not yet know what the revelation was ; 
 the confusion in his mind was too great, and the dust 
 and mist that rose up about him as all the old building 
 of his life crumbled and fell away. 
 
 " I'm sure as it's that nasty trial, sir, as has been turn- 
 ing your mamma all out of her usual ways," said the 
 landlady, appearing with her tray. 
 
 " Oh, the trial ! Did you know about the trial ? " 
 said Philip. 
 
 ' ; Xot, Mr. Pippo, as ever she mentioned it to me. 
 Mrs. Conipton is a lady as isn't that confidential, though 
 always an affable lady, and not a bit proud ; but when 
 you've known folks for years and years, and take an in- 
 terest, aud put this and that together Dear, clear, 
 I hope as you don't think it's taking a liberty. It's 
 more kindness nor curiosity, and I hope as you won't 
 mention it to your mamma." 
 
 Pippo shook his head and waved his hand, at once to 
 satisfy the woman and dismiss her if possible ; but this 
 was not so easy to do. 
 
 "And Lord St Serf so bad, sir," she said. "Lord, 
 
 to think that before we know where we are there may 
 
 be such changes, and new names, and no knowing what 
 
 to say ! But it's best not to talk of it till it comes to 
 
 for there's many a slip between the cup and the
 
 420 THE MARRIAGE OP ELINOR 
 
 lip, and there's no saying what will happen with a man 
 that's been adying for years and years." 
 
 What did the woman mean ? He got rid of her at 
 length, chiefly by dint of making no reply : and then, 
 to tell the truth, Pippo's eye had been caught by the 
 pile of sandwiches which the kind woman, pitying his 
 tired looks, had brought up with the tea. He was 
 ashamed of himself for being hungry in such a dreadful 
 emergency as this, but he was so, and could not help 
 it, though nothing would have made him confess so 
 much, or even touch the sandwiches till she had gone 
 away. He pretended to ignore them till the door was 
 shut after her, but could not help vividly remember- 
 ing that he had eaten nothing since the morning. The 
 sandwiches did him a little good in his mind as well as 
 in his body. He got rid of the vision of the faces and 
 of the red figure on the bench. He began to believe 
 that when he saw her she would tell him. Had she 
 not said so ? That after awhile he should hear every- 
 thing, and that all should be as it was before ? All as 
 it was before in the time when she told him every- 
 thing, even things that Granny did not know. But she 
 had never told him this, and the other day she had told 
 him that it was other people's secret's, not her own, that 
 she was keeping from him. " Other people's secrets " 
 the secrets of the man who was Philip Compton, who 
 went to Windyhill on the 6th of September, ten days 
 before Elinor Dennistoun's marriage day. " "What 
 Philip Compton ? Who was he ? What had he to do 
 with her ? What, oh, what," Pippo said to himself, " has 
 he to do with me ? " After all, that was the most tre- 
 mendous question. The others, or anything that had 
 happened twenty years ago, were nothing to that. 
 
 Meanwhile Elinor, of all places in the world, .was in 
 John Tatham's chambers, to which he had taken her to 
 rest. I cannot tell how Mr. Tatham, a man so much 
 occupied, managed to subtract from all he had to do 
 almost a whole day to see his cousin through the trial, 
 and stand by her, sparing her all the lesser annoyances 
 which surround and exaggerate such a great fact. He
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 427 
 
 had brought her out into the fresh air, feeling that 
 movement was the best thing for her, and instead of 
 taking her home in the carriage which was waiting, had 
 made her walk with him, supported on his arm, oil 
 which she hung in a sort of suspended life, across the 
 street to the Temple, hoping thus to bring her back, by 
 the necessity of exertion, to herself. And indeed she 
 was almost more restored to herself by this remedy than 
 John Tatham had expected or hoped. For though he 
 placed her in the great easy-chair, in which her slender 
 person was engulfed and supported, expecting her to 
 rest there and lie motionless, perhaps even to faint, as 
 women are supposed to do when it. is particularly in- 
 convenient and uncomfortable, Elinor had not been 
 there two minutes before she rose up again and began 
 to walk about the room, with an aspect so unlike that 
 of an exhausted and perhaps fainting woman, that even 
 John, used as he was to her capricious ways, was con- 
 founded. Instead of being subdued and thankful that 
 it was over, and this dreadful crisis in her life accom- 
 plished, Elinor walked up and down, wringing her 
 hands, moaning and murmuring to herself ; what was it 
 she was saying ? " God forgive me ! God forgive me ! " 
 over and over and over, unconscious apparently that she 
 was not alone, that any one heard or observed her. X o 
 doubt there is in all our actions, the very best, much 
 for God to forgive ; mingled motives, imperfect deeds, 
 thoughts full of alloy and selfishness ; but in what her 
 conscience could accuse her now he could not under- 
 stand. She might be to blame in respect to her hus- 
 band, though he was very loth to allow the possibility ; 
 but in this act of her life, which had been so great a 
 strain upon her, it was surely without any selfishness, 
 for his interest only, not for her own. And yet John 
 had never seen such a fervour of penitence, so strong a 
 consciousness of evil done. He went up to her and laid 
 his hand upon her arm. 
 
 " Elinor, you are worn out. You have done too 
 much. Will you try and rest a little here, or shall I 
 take you home ? "
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 She started violently when he touched her. " What 
 was I saying ? " she said. 
 
 "It does not matter what you were saying. Sit 
 down and rest. You will wear yourself out. Don't 
 think any more. Take this and rest a little, and then 
 I will take you home." 
 
 " It is easy to say so," she said, with a faint smile. 
 " Don't think ! Is it possible to stop thinking at one's 
 pleasure ? " 
 
 "Yes," said John, "quite possible ; we must all do 
 it or we should die. And now your trial's over, Nelly, 
 for goodness' sake exert yourself and throw it off. You 
 have done your duty." 
 
 " My duty ! do you think that was my duty ? Oh, 
 John, there are so many ways to look at it." 
 
 " Only one way, when you have a man's safety in 
 vour hands." 
 
 V 
 
 " Only one way when one has a man's safety his 
 honour, honour ! Do you think a woman is justified in 
 whatever she does, to save that? " 
 
 " I don't understand you, Elinor ; in anything you 
 have done, or could do, certainly you are justified. 
 My dear Nelly, sit down and take this. And then I 
 will take you home." 
 
 She took the wine from his hand and swallowed a 
 little of it ; and then looking up into his face with the 
 faint smile which she put on when she expected to be 
 blamed, and intended to deprecate and disarm him, as 
 she had done so often : "I don't know," she said, 
 " that I am so anxious to get home, John. You were 
 to take Pippo to dine with you, and to the House to- 
 night." 
 
 " So I was," ho said. "We did not know what day 
 you would be called. It is a great nuisance, but if you 
 think the boy would be disappointed not to go 
 
 "He would be much, much disappointed. The first 
 chance he has had of hearing a debate." 
 
 " He would be much better at home, taking care of 
 you." 
 
 "As if I wanted taking care of ! or as if the boy,
 
 TILL MARh 
 
 who has always been the object of everybody's care 
 himself, would be the proper person to do it ! If he 
 had been a girl, perhaps but it is a little late at this 
 time of day to wish for that now." 
 
 " You were to tell him everything to-night, Elinor." 
 
 " Oh, I was to tell him ! Do you thiuk I have not 
 had enough for one day ? enough to wear me out body 
 and soul? You have just been telling me so, John." 
 
 He shook his head. "You know," he said, "and I 
 know, that in any case you will have it your own way, 
 Elinor ; but you have promised to tell him." 
 
 " John, you are unkind. You take advantage of me 
 being here, and so broken down, to say that I will have 
 my own way. Has this been my own way at all ? I 
 would have fled if I could, and taken the boy far, far 
 away from it all ; but you would not let me. Yes, yes, 
 I have promised. But I am tired to death. How 
 
 could I look him in the face and tell him " She 
 
 hid her face suddenly in her hands with a moan. 
 
 " It will be in the papers to-morrow morning, Eli- 
 nor." 
 
 "Well! I will tell him to-morrow morning," she 
 said. 
 
 John shook his head again ; but it was done behind 
 her, where she could not see the movement. He had 
 more pity of her than words could say. "When she 
 covered her face with her hands in that most pathetic 
 of attitudes, there was nothing that he would not have 
 forgiven her. What was to become of her now ? Her 
 position through all these years had never been so 
 dangerous, in John's opinion, never so sad, as now. 
 Philip Compton had been there looking on while she 
 put his accusers to silence, at what cost to herself John 
 only began dimly to guess to divine, to forbid himself 
 to inquire. The fellow had been there all the time. 
 Ho had the grace not to look at her, not to distract her 
 with the sight of him probably for his own sake, 
 John thought bitterly, that she might not risk break- 
 ing down. But he was there, and knew where she was 
 to be found. And he had seen the boy, and had cared
 
 430 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. . 
 
 enough to fix his gaze upon him, that gaze which John 
 had found intolerable at the theatre. And lie was on 
 the eve of becoming Lord St. Serf, and Pippo his heir. 
 What was to be the issue of these complications? 
 What was to happen to her who had hid the boy so 
 long, who certainly could hide him no more? 
 
 He took her home to Ebury Street shortly after, 
 where Philip, weary of waiting, and having made a meal 
 he much wanted off the sandwiches, had gone out again 
 in his restlessness and unhappiness. Elinor, who had 
 become paler and paler as the carriage approached 
 Ebury Street, and who by the time she reached the 
 house looked really as if at last she must swoon, her 
 heart choking her, her breathing quick and feverish, had 
 taken hold of John to support herself, clutching at his arm, 
 when she was told that Philip was out. She came to 
 herself instantly on the strength of that news. " Tell 
 him when he comes in to make haste," she said, " for 
 Mr. Tatham is waiting for him. As for me I am fit for 
 nothing but bed. I have had a very tiring day." 
 
 " You do look tired, ma'am," said the sympathetic 
 landlady. "I'll run up and put your room ready, and 
 then I'll make you a nice cup of tea." 
 
 John Tatham thought that, notwithstanding her ex- 
 haustion, her anxiety, all the realities of troubles present 
 and to come that were in her mind and in her way, there 
 was a flash something like triumph in Elinor's eyes. 
 " Tell Pippo," she said, " he can come up and say good- 
 night to me before he goes. I am good for nothing but 
 my bed. If I can sleep I shall be able for all that is 
 before me to-morrow." The triumph was quenched, 
 however, if there had been triumph, when she gave him 
 her hand, Avith a wistful smile, and a sigh that filled 
 that to-morrow with the terror and the trouble that 
 must be in it, did she do what she said. John went up 
 to the little drawing-room to wait for Pippo, with a 
 heavy heart. It seemed to him that never had Elinor 
 been in so much danger. She had exposed herself to 
 the chance of losing the allegiance of her son : she was 
 at the mercy of her husband, that husband whom she
 
 THE MAnklACK OF ELINOR. 431 
 
 bar] renounced, yet whom she had not refused lo s-ivo, 
 whose call she had obeyed to help him, though slio liad 
 thrown off all the bonds of love and duty towards him. 
 She had not had the strength either way to b^ consist- 
 ent, to carry out one steady policy. It was cruel of 
 John to say this, for but for him and his remonstrances 
 Elinor would, or might have, fled, and avoided this last 
 ordeal. But he had not done so, and now here she was 
 in the middle of her life, her frail ship of safety driven 
 about among the rocks, dependent upon the magna- 
 nimity of the husband from whom she had fled, and the 
 child whom she had deceived. 
 
 " Your mother is very tired, Philip," he said, when 
 the boy appeared. " I was to tell you to go up and bid 
 her good-night before you went out ; for it will proba- 
 bly be late before you get back, if you think you are 
 game to sit out the debate." 
 
 "I will sit it out," said Philip, with no laughter in 
 his eye, with an almost solemn air, as if announcing a 
 grave resolution. He went up-stairs, not three steps at 
 a time, as was his wont, but soberly, as if his 'years had 
 been forty instead of eighteen. And he showed no 
 surprise to find the room darkened, though Elinor was a 
 woman who loved the light. He gave his mother a kiss 
 and smoothed her pillow with a tender touch of pity. 
 " Is your head very bad ? " he said. 
 
 "It is only that I am dreadfully tired, Pippo. I 
 hope I shall sleep: and it will help me to think you are 
 happy with Uncle John." 
 
 " Then I shall try to be happy with Uncle John," he 
 said, with a sort of smile. " Good-night, mother ; I 
 hope you'll be better to-morrow." 
 
 "Ola, yes," she said. "To-morrow is always a new 
 day." 
 
 He seemed in the half light to nod his head, and then 
 to shake it, as one that assents, but doubts having 
 many troubled thoughts and questions in his mind. 
 But Pippo did not at all expect to be happy with Uncle 
 John.
 
 432 THE MARRIAGE OF EL1XOH. 
 
 CHAPTEK XLVI. 
 
 IT cannot be' said that Uncle John was very happy 
 with Philip, ,but that was a thing the others did not 
 take into account. John Tatharn was doing for the boy 
 as much as a man could do. A great debate was ex- 
 pected that evening, in which many eminent persons 
 were to speak, and Mr. Taihani gave Philip a hasty 
 dinner in the House so that he should lose nothing, and 
 he found him a corner in the distinguished strangers' 
 gallery, telling him with a smile that he expected him 
 hereafter to prove his title to such a place. But Philip's 
 smile in return was very unlike the flush of pleasure 
 that would have lighted it up only yesterday. John felt 
 that the boy was not at all the delightful young compan- 
 ion, full of interest in everything, that he had been. Per- 
 haps he was on his good behaviour, on his dignity, bent 
 upon showing how much of a man he was and how little 
 influenced by passing sentiments, as some boys do. 
 Anyhow it was certain that he was. much less agreeable 
 in his self-subdued condition. But John was fort unately 
 much interested in the discussion, in which, indeed, he 
 took himself a slight part, and, save for a passing 
 wonder and the disappointment of the moment, did not 
 occupy himself so very much with Pippo. When he 
 looked into the corner, however, in a lull of the debate, 
 when one of those fools who rush in at unguarded 
 moments, when the Speaker chances to look their way, 
 had managed to get upon his foolish feet to the de- 
 spair of all around, the experienced man of the world 
 received a curious shock from the sight of young- 
 Philip's intense gravity, and the self-absorbed, uncon- 
 scious look he wore. The boy had the look of hearing 
 nothing, seeing nothing that was around him, of being- 
 lost in thoughts of his own, thoughts far too serious 
 and troubled for his age. Had he discovered t- 
 thing? What did he know? This was the instinctive 
 question that rose in John's mind, and not an amused
 
 THE IIAIUITAGI-: OF EL1XOR. 
 
 anticipation of Pippo's original boyish view of the 
 question and the speakers, such as Lad delighted him 
 on the boy's previous visits to the House. And indeed 
 Philip's attention was little fixed upon the debate. He 
 tried hard to bring it buck, to keep it there, to get the 
 question into his mind, but in spite of himself his 
 thoughts flew back to the other public assembly in 
 which he had sat unnoticed that day : till gradually the 
 aspect of things changed to him, the Speaker became 
 the judge, the wigged secretaries the pleaders, and he 
 almost expected to see that sudden apparition, that 
 sight that had plucked him out of his cureless life of 
 boyhood and trust, the sight of his mother standing 
 before the world on trial for her life. Oh, no, no, not 
 on trial at all ! he was aware of that : a harmless witness, 
 doing only good. The judge could have nothing but 
 polite regard for her, the jury admiration and thanks for 
 the clear testimony which took a weight from their shoul- 
 ders. But before her sou she was on her trial, her trial 
 for more than life and he who said with so much assur- 
 ance that his mother had no secrets from him ! until thb 
 moment arrived, without any warning, in the midst of 
 his security, which proved that everything had been 
 secret, and that all was mystery all mystery ! and 
 nothing sure in life. 
 
 It crossed Philip's mind more than once to question 
 John Tat ham upon this dreadful discovery of his John, 
 who was a relation, who had been the universal referee 
 of the household as long as he could remember, Uncle 
 John must know. But there were two things which 
 hell him hack : first, the recollection of his own dis- 
 dainful ou'en -e at the suggestion that Uncle John, an 
 outsider, could know more than he did of the family 
 concerns ; and partly from the proud determination to 
 ask no questions, to seek no information that was not 
 freely given to him. He made up his mind to this 
 while he looked out from his corner upon the lighted 
 House, seeing men move up and down, and voices 
 going on, and the sound of restless members coming 
 and going, while the business of the country went on. 
 
 2-,
 
 434 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 It was far more important than any private affairs that 
 could be passing in an individual brain, and Philip 
 knew with what high-handed certainty he would have 
 put down the idea that to himself at his age there could 
 be anything private half so exciting, half so full of in- 
 terest, as a debate on the policy of the country which 
 might carry with it the highest issues. But conviction 
 comes readily on such subjects when the personal in- 
 terest comes which carries every other away. It was 
 while a minister was speaking, and everything hanging 
 on his words, that the boy made up his mind finally 
 that he would ask no questions. He would ignore 
 that scene in the Law Courts, as if it had not been. He 
 would say nothing, try to look as if nothing had passed, 
 and wait to see if any explanation would come. 
 
 It was not, perhaps, then to be wondered at if John 
 found him a much less interesting companion than ever 
 before, as they walked home together in the small 
 hours of the night. Mr. Tatham's own speech had been 
 short, but he had the agreeable consciousness that it 
 had been an effective one, and he was prepared to find 
 the boy excited by it, and full of applause and satis- 
 faction. But Philip did not say a word about the 
 speech. He was only a boy, and it may be supposed 
 that any applause from him would have had little im- 
 portance for the famous lawyer the highly-esteemed 
 member who kept his independence, and whose 
 speeches always secured the attention of the House, 
 and carried weight as among the few utterances which 
 concerned the real import of a question and not its 
 mere party meaning. But John was hurt more than 
 he could have thought possible by Philip's silence. He 
 even tried to lead the conversation artfully to that 
 point in the debate, thinking perhaps the boy was shy 
 of speaking on the subject but with no effect. It was 
 exceedingly strange. Had he been deceived in Philip? 
 had the boy really no interest in subjects of an elevated 
 description? or was he ill? or what was the matter 
 with him ? It troubled John to let him go on alone 
 from Halkin Street to his lodging, with a vague sense
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 435 
 
 that something might happen. But that was, of con rso, 
 
 'surd. " Tell your mother I'll come round in the 
 
 toon to-morrow, as soon as I am free," he said, 
 
 holding Philip's hand. And then he added, paternally, 
 
 still holding that hand, "Go to bed at once, boy. 
 
 You've had a tiring day." 
 
 "Yes I suppose so," said Philip, drawing his hand 
 away. 
 
 " I hope you haven't done too much," said John, still 
 lingering. "You're too young for politics and to sit 
 ) late. I was wrong to keep you out of bed." 
 
 " I hope I'm not such a child as that," said Philip, with 
 a half-smile : and then he went away, and John Tatham, 
 with an anxious heart, closed behind him his own door. 
 If it were not for Elinor and her boy what a life free of 
 anxiety John would have had ! Never any need to 
 think with solicitude of anything outside that peaceful 
 door, no trouble with other people's feelings, with in- 
 vestigations what this or that look or word meant. 
 But perhaps it was Elinor and her boy, after all (none 
 of his ! thinking of him as an outsider, having nothing 
 to do with their most intimate circle of confidence and 
 natural defence), who, by means of that very anxiety, 
 kept alive the higher principles of humanity in John 
 Tatham's heart. 
 
 Philip went home, walking quickly through the silent 
 streets. They were very silent at that advanced hour, 
 yet not so completely but that there was a woman who 
 came up to the boy at the corner. Philip neither knew 
 nor desired to know what she said. He thought noth- 
 ing about her one way or another. He took a shilling 
 out of his pocket and threw it to her as he passed 
 walking on with the quick, elastic step which the sud- 
 den acquaintance he had made with care had not been 
 able to subdue. He saw that there was still a faint 
 light in his mother's window when he reached the 
 house, but he would not disturb her. How little 
 would he have thought of disturbing her on any other 
 occasion ! " Are you asleep, mother ? " he would have 
 said, looking in ; and the time had never been when
 
 436 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 Elinor was asleep. She had always heard him, always 
 replied, always been delighted to hear the account of 
 what he had been doing, and how he had enjoyed him- 
 self. But not to-night. With a heart full of longing, 
 yet of a sick revolt against the sight of her, he went 
 past her door to his room. He did not want to see 
 her, and yet oh, if she had only called to him, if she 
 had but said a word ! 
 
 Elinor for her part was not asleep. She had' slept a 
 little while she was sure that Philip was safely disposed 
 of and herself secured from all interruption ; but when 
 the time came for his return she slept no longer, and 
 had been lying for a long time holding her breath, 
 listening to every sound, when she heard his key in the 
 latch and his foot on the stair. Would he come in as 
 he always did ? or would he remember her complaint 
 of being tired, a complaint she so seldom made? It 
 was as a blow to Elinor when she heard his step go on 
 past her door : and yet she was glad. Had he come in 
 there was a desperate thought in her mind that she 
 would call him to her bedside and in the dark, with his 
 hand in hers, tell him all that there was to tell. But 
 it was again a relief vhen he passed on, and she felt 
 that she was spared for an hour or two, spared for the 
 new day, which perhaps would give her courage. It 
 was an endless night, long hours of dark, and then 
 longer hours of morning light, too early for anything, 
 while still nobody in the house was stirring. She had 
 scarcely slept at all during that long age of weary and 
 terrible thought. For it was not as if she had but one 
 thing to think of. When her mind turned, like her 
 restless body, from one side to another, it was only to 
 a change of pain. What was it she had said, standing 
 up before earth and heaven, and calling God to witness 
 that what she said was true? It had been true, and yet 
 she knew that it was not, and that she had saved her 
 husband's honour at the cost of her own. Oh, not in 
 those serious and awful watches of the night can such a 
 defence be accepted as that the letter of her testimony 
 was true ! She did not attempt to defend herself. She
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 437 
 
 only iritd to turn to another thought that might be less 
 bitter : and then she was confronted by the confession 
 that she must make to her boy. She must tell him that 
 she had deceived him all his life, hid from him what he 
 ought to have known, separated him from his father and 
 his family, kept him in ignorance, despite ah 1 that had 
 been said to her, despite every argument. And when 
 Elinor in her misery fled from that thought, what was 
 there else to think of ? There was her husband, Pippo's 
 father, from whom he could no longer be kept. If she 
 had thought herself justified in stealing her child away 
 out of fear of the influence that father might have upon 
 him, how would it be now when they must be restored 
 to each other, at an age much more dangerous for the 
 boy than in childhood, and with all the attractions of 
 mystery and novelty and the sense that his father had 
 been wronged ! When she escaped from that, the most 
 terrible thought of all, feeling her brain whirl and her 
 heart burn as she imagined her child turning from the 
 mother who had deceived him to the father who had been 
 deprived of him, her mind went off to that father him- 
 self, from whom she had fled, whom she had judged and 
 condemned, but who had repaid her by no persecution, 
 ao interference, no pursuit, but an acceptance of her 
 verdict, never molesting her, leaving her safe in the 
 possession of her boy. Perhaps there were other ways 
 in which Phil Comptou's magnanimity have been looked 
 at, in which it would have shown in less favourable 
 colours. But Elinor was not ready to take that view. 
 Her tower of justice and truth and honour had crumbled 
 over her head. She was standing among her ruins, 
 feeling that nothing was left to her, nothing upon which 
 she could build herself a structure of self-defence. All 
 was wrong ; a series of mistakes and failures, to say no 
 worse. She had driven on ever wilful all through, 
 escaping from every pang she could avoid, throwing off 
 every yoke that she did not choose to bear : until now 
 here she stood to face all that she had fled from, unable 
 to elude them more, meeting them as so many ghosts 
 in her way. Oh, how true it was what John had said
 
 438 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 to her so long, so long ago that she was not one who 
 would bear, who if she were disappointed and wronged 
 could endure and surmount her trouble by patience ! 
 Oh, no, no ! She had been one who had put up with 
 nothing, who had taken her own way. And now she 
 was surrounded on every side by the difficulties she had 
 thrust away from her, but which now could be thrust 
 away no more. 
 
 It may be imagined what the night was which Elinor 
 spent sleepless, struggling one after another with these 
 thoughts, finding no comfort anywhere wherever she 
 turned. She had not been without many a struggle 
 even in the most quiet of the years that had passed 
 in one long dream of peace as it seemed now ; but never 
 as now had she been met wherever she turned by an- 
 other and another lion in the way. She got up very 
 early, with a feeling that movement had something lull- 
 ing and soothing in it, and that to lie there a prey to all 
 these thoughts was like lying on the rack to the great 
 surprise of the kind landlady, who came stealing into 
 her room with the inevitable cup of tea, and whose in- 
 quiry how the poor lady was, was taken out of her 
 mouth by the unexpected apparition of the supposed 
 invalid, fully dressed, moving about the room, with all 
 the air of having been up for hours. Elinor asked, with 
 a sudden precaution, that the newspapers might be 
 brought up to her, not so much for her own satisfac- 
 tion for it made her heart sick to think of reading 
 over in dreadful print, as would be done that morning 
 at millions of breakfast-tables, her own words : perhaps 
 with comments on herself and her history, which might 
 fall into Pippo's hands, and be read by him before he 
 knew : which was a sudden spur to herself and evidence 
 of the dread necessity of letting him know that story 
 from her own lips, which had not occurred to her be- 
 fore. She glanced over the report with a sickening 
 sense that all the privacy of sheltered life and honour- 
 able silence was torn off from her, and that she was ex- 
 posed as on a pillory to the stare and the remarks of 
 the world, and crushed the paper away like a noxious
 
 THE CARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 439 
 
 tliiug into a drawer where the boy at least would never 
 find it. Vain thought ! as if there was but one paper 
 in the world, as if he could not find it at every street 
 corner, thrust into his hand even as he walked along ; 
 but at all events for the moment he would not see it, 
 and she would have time time to tell him before that 
 revelation could come in his way. She went down-stairs, 
 with what a tremor in her and sinking of her heart it 
 would be impossible to say. To have to condemn her- 
 self to her only child ; to humble herself before him, 
 her boy, who thought there was no one like his mother ; 
 to let him know that he had been deceived all his life, 
 he who thought she had always told him everything. 
 Oh, poor mother ! and oh, poor boy ! 
 
 She was still sitting by the breakfast-table, waiting, 
 in a chill fever, if such a thing can be, for Philip, when 
 a thing occurred which no one could have thought of, 
 and yet which was the most natural thing in the world 
 which came upon Elinor like a thunderbolt, shatter- 
 ing all her plans again just at the moment when, after 
 so much shrinking and delay, she had at last made up 
 her mind to the one thing that must be done at once. 
 The sound of the driving up of a cab to the door made 
 her go to the window to look out, without producing 
 any expectation in her mind : for people were coining 
 and going in Ebury Street all day long. She saw, how- 
 ever, a box which she recognised upon the cab, and then 
 the door was opened and Mrs. Dennistoun stepped out. 
 Her mother! the wonder was not that she came now, 
 but that she had not come much sooner. No letters for 
 several days, her child and her child's cbild in town, 
 and trouble in the air ! Mrs. Dennistoun had borne it 
 as long as she could, but there had come a moment 
 when she could bear it no longer, and she too had fol- 
 lowed Pippo's example and taken the night mail. Eli- 
 nor stood motionless at the window, and .saw her mother 
 arrive, and did not feel capable of going to meet her, 
 or of telling whether it was some dreadful aggravation 
 of evil, or an interposition of Providence to save her 
 for another hour at least from the ordeal before her.
 
 440 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR, 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 MRS. DENNISTOTW had a great deal to say about her- 
 self and the motives which had at the last been too much 
 for her, which had forced her to come after her children 
 at a moment's notice, feeling that she could bear the 
 uncertainty about them no longer ; and it was a thing 
 so unusual with her to have much to say about herself 
 that there was certainly something apologetic, some- 
 thing self -defensive in this unaccustomed outburst. 
 Perhaps she had begun to feel a little the unconscious 
 criticism that gathers round the elder person in a house, 
 the inclination involuntarily which every one would 
 repudiate, yet which nevertheless is true to attribute 
 to her a want of perception, perhaps oh, not unkindly ! 
 a little blunting of the faculties, a suggestion quite 
 unintentional that she is not what she once was. She 
 explained herself so distinctly that there was no doubt 
 there was some self-defence in it. "I had not had a 
 letter for three days." 
 
 And Elinor WHS far more humble than her wont. "I 
 know, mother : I felt as if it were impossible to write 
 till it was over " 
 
 "My darling! I thought at last I must come and 
 stand by you. I felt that I ought to have seen that all 
 the time that you should have had your mother by 
 your side to give you countenance." 
 
 " I had John with me, mother." 
 
 " Then it is over ! " Mrs. Dennistoun cried. 
 
 And at that moment Pippo, very late, pale, and with 
 eyes which were red with sleeplessness, and perhaps 
 with tears, came in. Elinor gave her mother a quick 
 look, almost of blame, and then turned to the boy. She 
 did not mean it, and yet Mrs. Dennistoun felt as if the 
 suggestion, " He might never have known had you not 
 called out like that," was in her daughter's eyes. 
 
 " Pippo ! " she said. " Why, Elinor ! what have you 
 been doing to the boy ? "
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 441 
 
 "He does not look well," said Elinor, suddenly wak- 
 ing up to that anxiety which had been always so easily 
 roused in respect to Pippo. " He was very late last 
 night. He was at the House with John," she added, 
 involuntarily, with an apology to her mother for the 
 neglect which had extended to Pippo too. 
 
 "There is nothing the matter with me," he said, with 
 a touch of sullenness in his tone. 
 
 The two women looked at each other with all the 
 vague trouble in their eyes suddenly concentrated upon 
 young Philip, but they said nothing more, as he sat 
 down at table and began to play with the breakfast, for 
 which he had evidently no appetite. No one had ever 
 seen that sullen look in Pippo's face before. He bent 
 his head over the table as if he were intent upon the 
 food which choked hirn when he tried to eat, and which 
 he loathed the very sight of and did not say a word. 
 They had certainly not been very light-hearted before, 
 but the sight of the boy thus obscured and changed 
 made all the misery more evident. There was always a 
 possibility of over-riding the storm so long as all was 
 well with Pippo : but his changed countenance veiled 
 the very sun in the skies. 
 
 " You don't seem surprised to see me here," his grand- 
 mother said. 
 
 " Oh ! no, I ana not surprised. I wonder you did 
 not come sooner. Have you been travelling all night ? " 
 he said. 
 
 " Just as you did, Pippo. I drove into Penrith last 
 night and caught the mail train. I was seized with a 
 panic about you, and felt that I must see for myself." 
 
 " It is not the first time you have taken a panic about 
 us, mother," said Elinor, forcing a smile. 
 
 "No ; but it is almost the first time I have acted up- 
 on it," said Mrs. Dennistoun, with that faint instinct of 
 self-defence ; " but I think you must have needed me 
 more than usual to keep you in order. You must have 
 been going out too much, keeping late hours. You are 
 pale enough, Elinor, but Pippo Pippo has suffered 
 still more."
 
 442 TEE MAURI AGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 " I tell you," said Philip, raising his shoulders and 
 stooping his head over the table, " granny, that there 
 is nothing the matter with me." 
 
 And he took no part in the conversation as they went 
 on talking, of any subjects but those that were most 
 near their hearts. They had, indeed, no thoughts at 
 all to spare but those that were occupied with the situ- 
 ation, and with this new feature in it, Pippo's worn and 
 troubled looks, yet had to talk of something, of noth- 
 ing, while the meal went on, which was no meal at 
 all for any of them. When it was over at last Pippo 
 rose abruptly from the table. 
 
 " Are you going out ? " Elinor said, alarmed, rising 
 too. "Have you any engagement with the Marshalls 
 for to-day ? " 
 
 "I don't know," Philip said; "Mr. Marshall was ill 
 yesterday. I didn't see them. I'm not going out. I 
 am going to my room." 
 
 " You've got a headache, Pippo ! " 
 
 "Nothing of the kind ! I tell you there is noth- 
 ing the matter with me. I'm only going to my 
 room." 
 
 Elinor put her hands on his arm. "Pippo, I have 
 something to say to you before you go out. Will you 
 promise to let me know before you go out ? I don't 
 want to keep you back from anything, but I have some- 
 thing that I must say." 
 
 He did not ask with his usual interest what it was. 
 He showed no curiosity ; on the contrary, he drew his 
 arm out of her hold almost rudely. " Of course," he 
 said, " I will come in here before I go out. I have no 
 intention of going out now." 
 
 And thus he left them, and went with a heavy step, 
 oh, how different from Pippo's flying foot : so that they 
 could count every step, up-stairs. 
 
 "What is the matter, what is the matter, Elinor?" 
 
 "I know nothing," she said; "nothing! He was 
 like himself yesterday morning, full of life. Unless he 
 is ill, I cannot understand it. But, mother, I have to 
 tell him everything to-day."
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 443 
 
 " God grant it may not be too late, Elinor ! " Mrs. 
 Dennistoun said. 
 
 ' Too late ? How can it be too late ? Yes ; perhaps 
 you are right, John and you. He ought to have known 
 from the beginning ; he ought to have been told when 
 he was a child. I acknowledge that I was wrong ; but 
 it is no use," she said, wiping away some fiery tears, 
 "to go back upon that now." 
 
 " John could not have told him anything ? " Mrs. 
 Dennistoun said, doubtfully. 
 
 " John ! my best friend, who has always stood by me. 
 Oh, never, never. How little you know him, mother ! 
 He has been imploring me every day, almost upon his 
 knees, to tell Pippo everything ; and I promised to do 
 it as soon as the time was come. And then last night I 
 was so glad to think that he was engaged with John, 
 and I so worn out, not fit for anything. And then this 
 morning " 
 
 e< Then this morning I arrived, just when I would 
 have been better away ! " 
 
 " Don't say that, mother. It is always, always well 
 you should be with your children. And, oh, if I had 
 but taken your advice years and years ago ! " 
 
 How easy it is to wish this when fate overtakes us, 
 when the thing so long postponed, so long pushed 
 away from us, has to be done at last ! There is, I fear, 
 no repentance in it, only the intolerable sense that 
 the painful act might have been over long ago, and 
 the soul free now of a burden which is so terrible to 
 bear. 
 
 Philip did not leave his room all the morning. His 
 mother, overwhelmed now by the new anxiety about 
 his health, which had no part in her thoughts before, 
 went to his door and knocked several times, always 
 with the intention of going in, of insisting upon the re- 
 moval of all barriers, and of telling her story, the story 
 which now was as fire in her veins and had to be told. 
 But he had locked his door, and only answered from 
 within that he was readiug getting up something that 
 he had forgotten and begged her to leave him undis-
 
 444 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 turbed till lunch. Poor Elinor ! Her story was, as I 
 have said, like fire in her veins ; but when the moment 
 came, and a little more delay, an hour, a morning was 
 possible, she accepted it like a boon from heaven, 
 though she knew very well all the same that it was but 
 prolonging the agony, and that to get it accomplished 
 to get it over was the only thing to desire. She 
 tried to arrange her thoughts, to think how she \vas 
 to tell it, in tho hurrying yet flying minutes when she 
 sat alone, listening now and then to Philip's movements 
 over her head, for he was not still as a boy should 
 be who was reading, but moved about his room, with a 
 nervous restlessness that seemed almost equal to her 
 own. Mrs. Dennistoun, to leave her daughter free for 
 the conversation that ought to take place between 
 Elinor and her son, had gone to lie down, and lay in 
 Elinor's room, next door to the boy, listening to every 
 sound, and hoping, hoping that they would get it over 
 before she went down-stairs again. She did not believe 
 that Philip would stand out against his mother, whom 
 he loved. Oh, if they could but get it over, that expla- 
 nationif the boy but knew ! But it was apparent 
 enough, when she came down to luncheon, where Eli- 
 nor awaited hex*, pale and anxious, and where Philip 
 followed, so iinlike himself, that no explanation had yet 
 taken place between them. And the luncheon was as 
 miserable a pretence at a meal as the breakfast had 
 been worse as a repetition, yet better in so far that 
 poor Pippo, with his boyish wholesome appetite, was 
 by this time too hungry to be resti'ained even by the 
 unusual burden of his uuhappiness, and ate heartily, 
 although he was bitterly ashamed of so doing : which 
 perhaps made him a little better, and certainly did a 
 great deal of good to the ladies, who thus were con- 
 vinced that whatever the matter might be, he was not 
 ill at least. He was about to return up-stairs after 
 luncheon was over, but Elinor caught him by the arm : 
 " You are not going to your room again, Pippo ? " 
 
 " I have not finished my reading," he said. 
 
 " I have a claim before your reading. I have a great
 
 THE XAURIMH-; <>}' ELINOR. 4-K> 
 
 deal to say to you, and I cannot put it off any longer. 
 It must be said " 
 
 "As you please, mother," he replied, with an air of 
 endurance. And he opened the door for her and 
 followed her up to the drawing-room, the three genera- 
 tions going one before the other, the anxious grand- 
 mother first, full of sympathy for both ; the mother 
 trembling in every limb, feeling the great crisis of her 
 life before her ; the boy with his heart seared, half bit- 
 ter, half contemptuous of the explanation which he had 
 forestalled, which came too late. Mrs. Dennistoun 
 turned and kissed first one and then the other with 
 quivering lips. " Oh, Pippo, be kind to your mother ; 
 she never will have such need of your kindness again in 
 all your life." The boy could almost have struck her for 
 this advice. It raised a kind of savage passion in him 
 to be told to be kind to his mother kind to her, when 
 he had held her above all beings on the earth, and 
 prided himself all his life upon his devotion to her ! 
 What Mrs. Deunistoun said to Elinor I cannot tell, but 
 she clasped her hands and gave her an imploring look, 
 which was almost as bitterly taken as her appeal to 
 Philip. It besought her to tell everything, to hide noth- 
 ing ; and what was Elinor's meaning but to tell every- 
 thing, to lay bare her heart ? 
 
 But once more at this moment an interruption the 
 most wonderful and unthought-of of all interruptions 
 came. I suppose it must have been announced by 
 the usual summons at the street-door, and that in their 
 agitation they had not heard it. But all that I know 
 is, that when Mrs. Dennistoun turned to leave the 
 mother and son to their conversation, which was so full 
 of fate, the door of the drawing-room opened almost 
 upon her as she was about to go out, and with a little 
 demonstration and pride, as of a name which it was a 
 distinction even to be permitted to say, of a visitor 
 whose arrival could not be but an honour and delight- 
 ful surprise, the husband of the landlady the man of 
 the house, once a butler of the highest pretensions, now 
 only condescending to serve his lodgers when the occa-
 
 446 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 sion was dignified swept into the room, noiseless and 
 solemn, holding open the door, and announced " Lord 
 St. Serf." Mrs. Dcnnistoun fell back as if she had met 
 a ghost ; and Elinor, too, drew back a step, becoming 
 as pale as if she had been the ghost her mother saw. 
 The gasp of the long breath they both drew made a 
 sound in the room where the very air seemed to tingle ; 
 and young Philip, raising his head, saw, coming in, the 
 man whom he had seen in court the man who had 
 gazed at him in the theatre, the man of the opera-glass. 
 But was this then not the Philip Compton for whom 
 Elinor Dennistoun had stood forth, and borne witness 
 before all the world ? 
 
 He came in and stood without a word, waiting for a 
 moment till the servant Avas gone and the door closed ; 
 and then he advanced with a step, the Very assurance 
 and quickness of which showed his hesitation and un- 
 certainty. He did not hold out his hands much less 
 his arms to her. "Nell?" he said, as if he had been 
 asking a question, "Nell?" 
 
 She seemed to open her lips to speak, but brought 
 forth no sound ; and then Mrs. Dennistoun came in 
 with the grave voice of every day, " Will you sit down ? " 
 
 He looked round at her, perceiving her for the first 
 time. " Ah," he said, " mamma ! how good that you 
 are here. It is a little droll though, don't you think, 
 Avhen a man comes into the bosom of his family after 
 an absence of eighteen years, that the only thing that is 
 said to him should be, ' Will you sit down ? ' Better 
 that, however, a great deal, than 'Will you go away ? "' 
 
 He sat down as she invited him, with a short laugh. 
 He was perfectly composed in manner. Looking round 
 him with curious eyes, "Was this one of the places," he 
 said, " Nell, that we stayed in in the old times ? " 
 
 She amwered " No " under her breath, her paleness 
 suddenly giving way to a hot flush of feverish agitation. 
 And then she took refuge in a vacant chair, unable to 
 support herself, and he sat too, and the party looked 
 but for that agitation in Elinor's 1'aoo, which she could 
 not master as if the ladies were receiving and he pay-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 447 
 
 ing a morning call. The other two, however, did not sit 
 down. Young Philip, confused and excited, went away 
 to the second room, the little back drawing-room of the 
 little London house, which can never be made to look 
 anything but an anteroom never a habitable place 
 and went to the window, and stood there as if he were 
 looking out, though the window was of coloured glass, 
 and there was nothing to be seen. Mrs. Denni.stoun 
 stood with her hand upon the back of a chair, her 
 heart beating too, and yet the most collected of them 
 all, waiting, with her eyes on Elinora, sign to know her 
 will, whether she should go or stay. It was the visitor 
 who was the first to speak. 
 
 "Let me beg you," he said, with a little impatience 
 in his voice, " to sit down too. It is evident that Nell's 
 reception of me is not likely to be so warm as to make 
 it unpleasant for a third party. There was a fourth 
 party in the room a minute ago, if my eyes did not de- 
 ceive me. Ah ! " his glance went rapidly to where 
 Philip's tall boyish figure, with his back turned, was 
 visible against the further window " that's all right," 
 he said, "now I presume everybody's here." 
 
 "Had we expected your visit," said Mrs. Dennistoun, 
 faltering, after a moment, as Elinor did not speak, " we 
 should have been better prepared to receive you, Mr. 
 Compton." 
 
 "That's not spoken with your usual cleverness," he 
 said, with a laugh. " You used to be a great deal too 
 clever for me, you and Nell too. But if she did not ex- 
 pect to see me, I don't know what she thought I was 
 made of everything that is bad, I suppose : and yet 
 you know I could have worried vour life out of you if I 
 had liked, Nell." 
 
 She turned to him for the first time, and, putting her 
 hands together, said almost iuaudibly, "I know I 
 know. I have thought of that, and I am not un- 
 grateful." 
 
 " Grateful ! Well, perhaps you have not much call 
 for that, poor little woman, t don't doubt I behaved 
 like a brute, and you were quite right in doing what
 
 44 S .7777-; MAlilt/Affh' OF KUXOR. 
 
 you did ; but you've taken it out of me since, Nell, all 
 the same." 
 
 Then there was again a silence, broken only by the 
 labouring, which she could not quite conceal, of her 
 breath. 
 
 " You wouldn't believe me," he resumed after a mo- 
 ment, " if I were to set up a sentimental pose, like a 
 sort of a disconsolate widower, eh, would you ? Of 
 course it was a position that was not without its advan- 
 tages. I was not much made for a family man, and 
 both in the way of expense and in other ways, it 
 suited me well enough. Nobody could expect me to 
 marry them or their daughters, don't you see, when 
 they knew I had a wife alive? So I was allowed my 
 little amusements. You never went in for that kind of 
 thing, Nell ? Don't snap me up. You know I told you 
 I never was against a little flirtation. It makes a wom- 
 an more tolerant, in my opinion, just to know how to 
 amuse herself a little. But Nell was never one of that 
 kind 
 
 "I hope not, indeed," said Mrs. Dennistoun, to whom 
 he had turned, with indignation. 
 
 " I don't see where the emphasis comes in. She was 
 one that a man could be as sure of as of Westminster 
 Abbey. The heart of her husband rests upon her isn't 
 that what the fellow in the Bible says, or words to that 
 effect ? Nell was always a kind of a Bible to me. And 
 you may say that in that case to think of her amusing 
 herself ! But you will allow she always did take every- 
 thing too much au grand serieux. No ? to be sure, you'll 
 allow nothing. But still that was the truth. However, 
 I'll allow something if you won't. I'm past my first 
 youth. Oh, you, not a bit of it ! You're just as fresh 
 and as pretty, by George ! as ever you were. When 
 I saw you stand up in that court yesterday looking as 
 if not a week had passed since I saw you last, by Jove ! 
 
 Nell- And how you were hating it, poor old girl, 
 
 and had come out straining your poor little conscience, 
 and saying what you didn't want to say for the sake of 
 a worthless fellow like me "
 
 TUB MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 449 
 
 A sob came out of Elinor's breast, and something half 
 inaudible besides, like a name. 
 
 'I can tell you this," he said, turning to Mrs. Den- 
 nistoun again. '' I couldn't look at her. I'm an unlikely 
 brute for that sort of thing, but if I had looked at her I 
 should have cried. I daresay you don't believe me. 
 Never mind, but it's true." 
 
 " I do believe you," said the mother, very low. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, with a laugh. " I have always 
 said for a mother-in-law you were the least difficult to 
 get on with I ever saw. Do you remember giving me 
 that money to make ducks and drakes of? It was aw- 
 fully silly of you. You didn't deserve to be trusted 
 with money to throw it away like that, but still I have 
 not forgotten it. Well ! I came to thank you for yes- 
 terday, Nell. And there are things, you know, that we 
 must talk over. You never gave up your name. That 
 was like your pluck. But you will have to change it 
 no\v. It was indecent of me to have myself announced 
 like that and poor old St. Serf not in his grave yet. But 
 I daresay you didn't pay any attention. You are Lady 
 Sr. Serf now, my dear. You don't mind, I know, but it's 
 a change not without importance. Well, who is that 
 fellow behind there, standing in the window ? I think 
 you ought to present him to me. Or I'll present him 
 to you instead. I saw him in the theatre, by Jove ! 
 with that fellow Tatharn, that cousin John of yours that 
 I never could bear, smirking and smiling at him as if it 
 were his son ! 'but / saw the boy then for the first time. 
 Nell,. I tell you there are some things in which you have 
 taken it well out of me " 
 
 Mr. Gomptou," she said, labouring to speak. 
 " Lord St. Serf. Oh, Phil, Phil ! " 
 
 "Ah, "he said, with a start, "do you remember at 
 the garden at that poky old cottage with all the 
 flowers, and the days when you looked out for wild 
 Phil Compton that all the world warned you against ? 
 And here I am an old fogey, without either wife or 
 child, and Tatham taking my boy about and Nell never 
 looking me in the face." 
 
 29
 
 450 THE MARRIAdK OF ELI A' OR. 
 
 Philip, at the window looking out at nothing through 
 the hideous-coloured glass, had heard every word, with 
 wonder, with horror, with consternation, with dread- 
 ful disappointment and sinking of the heart. For in- 
 deed he had a high ideal of a father, the highest, such 
 as fatherless boys form in their ignorance. And every 
 word made it more sure that this was his father, this 
 man who had so caught his eyes and filled him with sucli 
 a fever of interest. But to hear Phil Compton talk had 
 brought the boy's soaring imagination down, down to 
 the dust. He had not been prepared for anything like 
 this. Some tragic rending asunder he could have 
 believed in, some wild and strange mystery. But this 
 man of careless speech, of chaff and slang, so little 
 noble, so little serious, so far from tragic ! The dis- 
 appointment had been too sudden and dreadful to 
 leave him with any ears for those tones that went to 
 his mother's heart. He had no pity or sense of the 
 pathos that was in them. He stood in his young ab- 
 solutism disgusted, miserable. This man his fathei ! 
 this man ! so talking, so thinking. Young Philip 
 stood with his back to the group, more miserable than 
 words could say. He heard some movement behind, 
 but he was too sick of heart to think what it was, until 
 suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and most un- 
 willingly suffered himself to be turned round to meet 
 his father's eyes. He gave one glance up at the face, 
 which he did not now feel was worn with study and 
 care which now that he saw it near was full of lines 
 and wrinkles which meant something else, and which 
 even the emotion in it, emotion of a kind which Pippo 
 did not understand, hidden by a laugh, did not make 
 more prepossessing and then he stood with his eyes 
 cast down, not caring to see it again. 
 
 The elder Philip Compton had, I think, though he 
 was, as he said, an unlikely subject for that mood, tears 
 in his eyes and he had no inclination to see anything 
 that was painful in the face of his son, whose look he 
 had never read, whose voice he had never heard, till 
 now. He held the boy with his hands on his shoulders,
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 451 
 
 with a grasp more full perhaps of the tender strain of 
 love (though he did not know him) than ever he had 
 laid upon any human form before. The boy's looks 
 were not only satisfactory to him, but filled his own 
 with an unaccustomed spring of pride and delight 
 his stature, his complexion, his features, making up 
 as it were the most wonderful compliment, the utmost 
 sweetness of flattery that he had ever known. For the 
 Loy was himself over again, not like his mother, like 
 the unworthy father whom he had never seen. It took 
 him some time to master the sudden rush of this emo- 
 tion which almost overwhelmed him : and then he drew 
 the boy's arm through his own and led him back to 
 where the two ladies sat, Elinor still too much agitated 
 for speech. ; ' I said I'd present my son to you, Xell 
 if you wouldn't present him to me," he said, with a 
 break in his voice which sounded like a chuckle to that 
 son's angry ears. " I don't know what you call the. fel- 
 low but he's big enough to have a name of his own, 
 and he's Lomond from this day." 
 
 Pippo did not know what was meant by those words : 
 but he drew his arm from his father's and went and 
 stood behind Elinor's chair, forgetting in a moment all 
 grievances against her, taking her side with an energy 
 impossible to put into words, clinging to his mother as 
 he had done when he was a little child. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVHL 
 
 IT was while this conversation was going on that 
 John Tatham, anxious and troubled about many things, 
 knocked at the door in Ebury Street. He was anxious 
 to know how the explanations had got accomplished, 
 how the boy took it, how Elinor had borne the strain 
 Mpon her of such a revelation. Well as he knew Elinor, 
 he still thought, as is generally thought in circum- 
 stances so painful, that a great crisis, a great mental 
 effort, would make her ill. He wanted to know how she
 
 452 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 was, he wanted to know how Pippo had borne it, what 
 the boy thought. It had glanced across him that young 
 Philip might be excited by so wonderful a new thing, 
 and form some false impression of his father (whom 
 doubtless she would represent under the best light, 
 taking blame upon herself, not to destroy the boy's 
 ideal), and be eager to know him which was a thing, 
 John felt, which would be very difficult to bear. 
 
 The door was opened to him not by good Mrs. Jones, 
 the kind landlady, but by the magnificent Jones him- 
 self, who rarely appeared. John said " Mrs. Compton ? " 
 as a matter of course, and was about to pass in, in his 
 usual familiar way. But something in the man's air 
 made him pause. He looked at Jones again, who was 
 bursting with importance. "Perhaps she's engaged ?" 
 he said. 
 
 "I think, sir," said John, "that her ladyship is en- 
 gaged his lordship is with her ladyship up-stairs." 
 
 " His what ? " John Tatbam cried. 
 
 " His lordship, Mr. Tatham. I know, sir, as the title 
 is not usually assumed till after the funeral ; but in the 
 very .'ouse where her ladyship is residing for the mo- 
 ment, there's allowances to be made. Naturally we're 
 a little excited over it, being, if I may make so bold as 
 to say so, a sort of 'unable friends, and long patronized 
 by her ladyship, and young Lord Lomond too." 
 
 "Young Lord Lomond too!" John Tatham stood 
 for a moment and stared at Mr. Jones ; and then he 
 laughed out, and turned his back and walked away. 
 
 Young Lord Lomond too ! The boy ! who had been 
 more like John's boy than anything else, but now tricked 
 out in a new name, a new position, his father's heir. 
 Oh, yes, it was John himself who had insisted on that 
 only a few days ago ! " The heir to a peerage can't be 
 hid." It was he that had quoted this as an aphorism 
 worthy of a social sage. But when the moment came 
 and the boy was taken from him, and introduced into 
 that other sphere, by the side of that man who had once 
 been the cte-Honourable Phil ! Good heavens, what 
 changes life is capable of ! What wrongs, what cruel-
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELIN0K. 453 
 
 ties, what cuttings-off, what twists and alterations of 
 every sane thought and thing ! John Tatham was a 
 seusible man as well as an eminent lawyer, and knew 
 that between Elinor's son, who was Phil Cornptou's son, 
 and himself, there was no external link at all nothing 
 but affection and habit, and the ever-strengthening link 
 that had been twisted closer and closer with the prog- 
 ress of these years ; but nothing real, the merest 
 shadow of relationship, a cousin, who could count how 
 often removed? And it was he who had insisted, forced 
 upon Elinor the necessity of making his father known 
 to Philip, of informing him of his real position. No- 
 body had interfered in this respect but John. He had 
 made himself a weariness to her by insisting, never giv- 
 ing over, blaming her hourly for her delay. And yet 
 now, when the thing he had so worked for, so constant- 
 ly urged, was done ! 
 
 He smiled grimly to himself as he walked away : they 
 were all together, the lordship and the ladyship, young 
 Lord Lomond too ! and Phil Cornptqn, whitewashed, 
 a peer of the realm, and still, the scoundrel ! a handsome 
 fellow enough : with an air about him, a man who 
 might still dazzle a youngster unaccustomed to the 
 world. He had re-entered the bosom of his family, and 
 doubtless was weeping upon Philip's neck, and ban- 
 dying about that name of "Nell" which had always 
 seemed to John an insult an insult to himself. And 
 in that moment of bitterness John did not know how 
 she would take it, what effect it would produce upon 
 her. Perhaps the very sight of the fellow who had 
 once won her heart, the lover ' of her youth, with 
 whom John had never for a moment put himself in 
 competition, notwithstanding the bitter wonder in his 
 heart that Elinor Elinor of all people ! could ever 
 have loved such a man. Yet she had loved him, and 
 the sight of him again after so many years, what effect 
 might it not produce ? As he walked away, it was the 
 idea of a happy family that came into John Tatham's 
 mind mutual forgiveness, mutual return to the old 
 traditions which are the most endearing of all ; expan-
 
 454 THE 3iAkliIA(.;-iJ OF 
 
 sions, confessions, recollections, raid lives of reunion. 
 Something more than a prodigal's return, the return of 
 a sinner bringing a coronet in his hand, bringh". 
 tinction, a place and position enough to dazzle any boy, 
 enough to make a woman forgive. And -was not this 
 what John wished above all things, every advancement 
 for the boy, and an assured place in the world, as well as 
 every happiness that might be possible happiness ! 
 yet it was possible she might think it so for Elinor ? 
 Yes, this was what he had wished for, been ready to 
 make any sacrifice to secure. In the sudden shock Mr. 
 Tatham thought of the only other person who perhaps 
 yet only perhaps might feel a little as he did the 
 mother, Mrs. Dennistouc, upon whom he thought all 
 this would come like a thunder-clap, not knowing that 
 she was up-stairs in the family party, among the lord- 
 ships and the ladyship too. 
 
 He went home and into his handsome library, and 
 shut the door upon himself, to have it out there or 
 rather to occupy himself in some more sensible way 
 and shut this foolish subject out of his mind. It oc- 
 curred to him, however, when lie sat down that the best 
 thing to do would be to write an account of it all to 
 Mrs. Dennistoun, who doubtless in the excitement 
 would have a long time to wait for news of this 
 change. He drew his blottiug-book towards him with 
 this object, and opened it, and dipped his pen in the 
 ink, and wrote " My dear Aunt ; " but he did not get 
 much further. He raised his head, thinking how to 
 introduce his narrative, for which she would in all like- 
 lihood be wholly unprepared, and in so doing looked 
 round upon his book-cases, on one shelf of which the 
 reflection of a ray of afternoon sunshine caught in the 
 old Louis Treize mirror over the mantelpiece was throw- 
 ing a shaft of light. He got up to make sure that it 
 was only a reflection, nothing that would harm the 
 binding of a particular volume upon which he sot great 
 store though of course he knew very well that it could 
 only be a reflection, no impertinent reality of sunshine 
 being permitted to penetrate there. And then he paused
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 455 
 
 a little to draw his hand lovingly over the line of choice 
 books very choice worth a little fortune, which he 
 laughed at himself a little for being proud of, fully 
 knowing that what was inside them (which generally is 
 the cream of a book, as of a letter, according to Tony 
 Lumpkin) was in many cases worth nothing at all. And 
 then John went and stood upon the hearth-rug, and 
 looked round him upon this -the heart of his domain. 
 It was a noble library, any man might have been proud 
 of it. He asked himself whether it did not suit him 
 better, with all the comforts and luxuries beyond it, than 
 if he had been like other men, with an entirely differ- 
 ent centre of life up-stairs in the empty drawing-room, 
 and the burden upon him of setting out children, boys 
 and girls, upon the world. 
 
 When a man asks himself this question, however com- 
 placent may be the reply, it betrays perhaps a doubt 
 whether the assurance he has is so very sure after all ; 
 and he returned to his letter to Mrs. Dennistoun, which 
 would be quite easy to write if it were only once well 
 begun. But he had not written above a few words, 
 having spent some time in his previous reflections, when 
 he paused again at the sound of a tumultuous summons 
 at the street-door. As may be well supposed, his ser- 
 vant took more time than usual to answer it, resenting 
 a noise so out of character with the house, during which 
 John listened half-angrily, fearing, yet wishing for, a 
 diversion. And then his own door burst open, not, I 
 need not say, by any intervention of legitimate hands, 
 but by the sudden rush of Philip, who seemed to come 
 in in a whirl of long limbs and eager eyes, flinging 
 himself into a chair and fixing his gaze across the cor- 
 ner of the table upon his astonished yet expectant 
 friend. " Oh, Uncle John ! " the boy cried, and had not 
 breath to sayany more. 
 
 John put forth his hand across the table, and grasped 
 the young flexible warm hand that wanted something 
 to hold. "Well, my boy," he said. 
 
 "I suppose you know." said Philip. "I have nothing 
 to tell you, though it is all so strange to me."
 
 456 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 "I know nothing about what interests me most at 
 present yourself, Pippo, and what has happened to 
 you." 
 
 John had always made a great stand against that par- 
 ticular name, but several times had used it of late, not 
 knowing why. 
 
 " I don't know what you thought of me last night," 
 said the boy, " I was so miserable. May I tell you 
 everything, Uncle John ? " 
 
 What balm that question was ! He clasped Pippo's 
 hand in his own, but scarcely could answer to bid him 
 go on. 
 
 " It was unnecessary, all she wanted to tell me. I 
 fought it off all the morning. I was there yesterday in 
 the court and heard it all." 
 
 " In the court ! At the trial ? " 
 
 "I had no meaning in it," said Philip. "I went by 
 chance, as people say, because the Marshalls had not 
 turned up. I got Simmons to get me into the court. 
 I had always wanted to see a trial. And there I saw 
 my mother stand up my mother, that I never could 
 bear the wind to blow on, standing up there alone with 
 all these people staring at her to be tried for her life." 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Philip,'' said John Tatham, drop- 
 ping his hand ; " tried ! she was only a witness. And 
 she was not alone. I was there to take care of her." 
 
 "I saw you but what was that? She was alone all 
 the same ; and for me, it was she who was on her trial. 
 What did I know about any other ? I heard it, every 
 word." 
 
 " Poor boy ! " 
 
 " So what was the use of making herself miserable 
 to tell me ? She tried to all this morning, and I fought 
 it off. I was miserable enough. W T hy should I be 
 made more miserable to hear her perhaps excusing her- 
 self to me ? But at last she had driven me into a cor- 
 ner, angry as I was "Uncle John, I was angry, fiuious, 
 with my mother fancy ! with my mother.' 
 
 John did not say anything, but he nodded his head 
 in assent. How well he understood it all !
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 457 
 
 "And just then, at that moment, he came. I am an- 
 gry with her no more. I know whatever happened 
 she was right. Angry with her, my poor dear, dearest 
 mother ! Whatever happened she was right. It was 
 best that she should not tell me. I am on her side all 
 through all through ! Do you hear me, Uncle John ! 
 I have seen you look as if you blamed her. Don't again 
 while I am there. Whatever she has done it has been 
 the right thing all through ! " 
 
 " Pippo," said John, with a little quivering about the 
 mouth, "give me your hand again, old fellow, you're 
 my own boy." 
 
 "Nobody shall so much as look as if they blamed 
 her," cried the boy, " while I am alive ! " 
 
 Oh, how near he was to crying, and how resolute not 
 to break down, though something got into his throat 
 and almost choked him, and his eyes were so full that 
 it was a miracle they did not brim over. Excitement, 
 distress, pain, the first touch of human misery he had 
 ever known almost overmastered Philip. He got up 
 and walked about the room, and talked and talked. He 
 who had never concealed anything, who had never had 
 anything to conceal. And for four-and-twenty hours 
 he had been silent with a great secret upon his soul. 
 John was too wise to check the outpouring. He lis- 
 tened to everything, assented, soothed, imperceptibly 
 led him to gentler thoughts. 
 
 " And what does he mean," cried the boy at last, 
 "with his new name? I shall have no name but my 
 own, the one my mother gave me. I am Philip Comp- 
 ton, and nothing else. What right has he, the first time 
 he ever saw me, to put upon me another name ? " 
 
 " What name ? " 
 
 "He called me Lomond or something like that," 
 said young Philip : and then there came a sort of still- 
 ness over his excitement, a lull in the storm. Some 
 vague idea what it meant came all at once into the boy's 
 mind : and a thrill of curiosity, of another kind of ex- 
 citement, of rising thoughts which he did not hardly 
 understand, struggled up through the other zone of
 
 458 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 passion. He was half ashamed, having just poured 
 forth all his feelings, to show that there was something 
 else, something that was no longer indignation, nor 
 anger, nor the shock of discovery, something that had 
 a tremor perhaps of pleasure in it, behind. But John 
 was far too experienced a man not to read the boy 
 through and through. He liked him better in the first 
 phase, but this was natural too. 
 
 " It happens very strangely," he said, "that all these 
 things should come upon you at once : but it is well 
 you should know now all about it. Lomond is the 
 second title of the Comptons, Earls of St. Serf. Haven't 
 I heard you ask what Comptons you belonged to, Philip? 
 It has all happened within a day or two. Your father 
 was only Philip Compton yesterday at the trial, and a 
 poor man. Now he is Lord St. Serf, if not rich, at least 
 no longer poor. Everything has changed for you your 
 position, your importance in the world. The last Lord 
 Lomond bore the name creditably enough. I hope you 
 will make it shine." He took the boy by the hand and 
 grasped it heartily again. "I am thankful for it," said 
 John. " I would rather you were Lord Lomond 
 than " 
 
 " What ! Uncle John ? " 
 
 " Steady, boy. I was going to say Philip Compton's 
 son ; but Lord St. Serf is another man." 
 
 There was a long pause in the room where John Tat- 
 ham's life was centred among his books. He had so 
 much to do with all this business, and yet so little. It 
 would pass away with all its tumults, and he after being 
 absorbed by it for a moment would be left alone to his 
 own thoughts and his own unbroken line of existence. 
 So much the better ! It is not good for any man to be 
 swept up and put down again at the will of others in 
 mat tors in which he has no share. As for Philip, he 
 was silent chiefly to realise this great thing that had 
 come upon him. He, Lord Lomond, a peer's son, who 
 was only Pippo of Lakeside like any other lad -in the 
 parish, and not half so important at school as Musgrave, 
 who did not get that scholarship. What the sehool
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. -15.? 
 
 would say ! the tempest that would arise ! They would 
 ask a holiday, aud the head master would grant it. 
 Compton a lord ! Philip could hear the roar aud rus- 
 tle among the boys, the scornful incredulity, the assev- 
 erations of those who knew it was true. And a flush 
 that was pleasure had come over his musing face. It 
 would have been strange if in the wonder of it there 
 had not been some pleasure too. 
 
 He had begun to tolerate his father before many days 
 were over, to cease to be indignant and angry that he 
 was not the ideal father of his dreams. That was not 
 Lord St. Serf's fault, who was not at all aware of his 
 son's dreams, and had never had an ideal in his life. 
 But John Tatham was right in saying that Lord St. 
 Serf was another man. The shock of a new responsibil- 
 ity, of a position to occupy and duties to fulfil, were 
 things that might not hare much moved the dis- 
 Houourable Phil two years before. But he was fifty, 
 and beginning to feel himself an old fogey, as he con- 
 fessed. And his son overawed Lord St. Serf. His 
 sou, who was so like him, yet had the mother's quick, 
 impetuous eyes, so rapid to see through everything, so 
 disdainful of folly, so keen in perception. He was 
 afraid to bring upon himself one of those lightning 
 flashes from the eyes of his boy, and doubly afraid to 
 introduce his son anywhere, to show him anything that 
 might bring upon him the reproach of doing harm to 
 Pippo. His house, which had been very decent and 
 orderly in the late Lord St. Serf's time, became almost 
 prim in the terror Phil had lest they should say that it 
 was bad for the boy. 
 
 As for Lady St. Serf, it was popularly reported that 
 the reason why she almost invariably lived in the 
 country was her health, which kept her out of society 
 a report, I need not say, absolutely rejected by 
 society itself, which knew all the circumstances better 
 than you or I do : but which sufficed for the outsiders 
 who knew nothing. When Elinor did appear upon 
 great occasions, which she consented to do, her matured 
 beauty gave the fullest contradiction to the pretext on
 
 460 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 
 
 which she continued to live her own life. But old 
 Lord St. Serf, who got old so long before he need to 
 have done, with perhaps the same sort of constitutional 
 weakness which had carried off all his brothers before 
 their time, or perhaps because he had too much abused 
 a constitution which was not weak grew more and more 
 fond in his latter days of the country too, and kept ap- 
 pearing at Lakeside so often that at last the ladies re- 
 moved much nearer town, to the country-house of the 
 St. Serfs, which had not been occupied for ages, where 
 they presented at last the appearance of a united fam- 
 ily ; and where " Lomond " (who would have thought 
 it very strange now to be addressed by any other 
 name) brought his friends, and was not ill-pleased to 
 hear his father discourse, in a way which sometimes 
 still offended the home-bred Pippo, but which the other 
 young men found very amusing. It was not in the way 
 of morals, however, that Lord St. Serf ever offended. 
 The fear of Elinor kept him as blameless as any good- 
 natured preacher of the endless theme, that all is van- 
 ity, could do. 
 
 These family arrangements, however, and the modi- 
 fied happiness obtained by their means, were still all 
 in the future, when John Tatham, a little afraid of the 
 encounter, yet anxious to have it over, went to Ebury 
 Street the day after these occurrences, to see Elinor for 
 the first time under her new character as Lady St. Serf. 
 He found her in a languor and exhaustion much un- 
 like Elinor, doing nothing, not even a book near, lying 
 back in her chair, fallen upon herself, as the French 
 say. Some of those words that mean nothing passed 
 between them, and then she said, "John, did Pippo 
 tell you that he had been there ? " 
 
 He nodded his head, finding nothing to say. 
 
 " Without any warning, to see his mother stand up 
 before all the world to be tried for her life." 
 
 " Elinor," said John, " you are as fantastic as the 
 boy." 
 
 " I was being tried for my life before him as the 
 judge. And he has acquitted me ; but, oh, I wonder, I
 
 THE MARRIAGE OF ELINOR. 461 
 
 wonder if he would have done so had he known all that 
 I know ? " 
 
 " I do so," said John, "perhaps a little more used to 
 the laws of evidence than Pippo." 
 
 " Ah, you ! " she said, giving him her hand, with a 
 look which John did not know how to take, whether as 
 the fullest expression of trust, or an affectionate dis- 
 dain of the man in whose partial judgment no justice 
 was. And then she asked a question which threw per- 
 haps the greatest perplexity he had ever known into 
 John Tatham's life. " When you tell a fact that is 
 true : with the intention to deceive : John, you that 
 know the laws of evidence, is that a lie ? " 
 
 THE END.
 
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