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 ^WEUNIVERS-//
 
 EFFIE OGILVIE.
 
 PUBLISHED BV 
 
 JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK. 
 London, .... Hamilton, Adams and Co. 
 Cambridge, . . . Macmillan and Bo7vcs. 
 Edinburgh,. . . Douglas and FouUs. 
 
 MDCCCLXXXVI,
 
 EFFIE OGILVIE 
 
 THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. OLIPHANT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " CHRONICLES OF CARLINfiFORD," ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 
 ; v '"' y\ ^ 
 
 
 ' ' «' ' " " '. • ' » 1 ■» 
 
 ) ' 
 
 GLASGOW: 
 
 
 JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS, 
 
 
 ^abltsltcrs to the Unibcrsit)). 
 
 
 LONDON: MACMIIXAN AND CO. 
 
 
 1 88G. 
 
 
 All rifjhts reserved.
 
 
 Q 
 
 XI 
 C 
 
 CO 
 CD 
 
 EFFIE OGILVIE 
 
 THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE. 
 
 (X. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 The family consisted of Effie's father, her 
 stepmother, her brother Eric who was in the 
 army, and a little personage, the most, im- 
 portant of all, the only child of the second 
 Mrs. Ogilvie, the pet and plaything of the 
 house. You may think it would have been 
 more respectful and becoming to reverse 
 this description, and present Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ogilvie first to the notice of the reader, 
 which we shall now proceed to do. The 
 only excuse we can offer for the irregularity 
 of the beginning consists in the fact that
 
 6 Effle Otjilvie 
 
 it is the nature of their proceedings in 
 respect to the young people, and particuhirly 
 to Mr. Ogilvie's (hiughter Ettie, which in- 
 duces us to disturb the decorous veil which 
 hangs over the doors of every respectal)le 
 family, in the case of these worthy persons. 
 In their own lives, had we time and space 
 to recount all tliat befell them, there would, 
 no doubt, be many interesting particulars, as 
 in the lives of most other people : but when 
 a country gentleman has attained the age of 
 fifty or a little more, with enough of money 
 for his necessities, and no more ambition than 
 can be satisfied by the regulation of the affairs 
 of the parish, it is inevitaljly through the 
 fortunes of a, son or daughter that he comes 
 within reach of the sympathies of the world. 
 These trouljlesome productions, of whom we 
 take so little thought at first, who are no- 
 thing but playthings and embellishments of 
 our own estate for so many years, have a 
 way of pushing us out of our commanding
 
 The Story of a Yoiuuj Life 7 
 
 position as the chief actors in our own 
 lives, setting us aside into a secondary place, 
 and conferring upon us a quite fictitious 
 interest as influences upon theirs. It is an 
 impertinence of fate, it is an irony of <dr- 
 cumstance ; but still it is so. And it is, 
 consequently, as Effie's fiither, a character in 
 which he hy no means knew himself, that 
 Mr. Ogilvie of Gilston, a gentleman as much 
 respected as any in his county, the chief 
 heritor in his parish, and a deputy-lieutenant, 
 has now to be presented to the world. 
 
 He was a good man in his way, not per- 
 fect, as in the general he \vas himself very 
 willing to allow, though he did not, any 
 more than the rest of us, like that niggling 
 sort of criticism which descends to particulars. 
 He was a man who would have sufl:ered a 
 little personal inconvenience rather than do 
 anything which he was convinced was wrong, 
 which most of us, who are old enough to 
 l)e acquainted with (jur own ways, will be
 
 8 Effic Ogilvic 
 
 aware is no small thing to say. But, or- 
 dinarily, also like most of us, his wrong 
 acts were done without takino' time to 
 identify them as wrong, on the spur of the 
 moment, in the heat of a present impulse 
 which took from them all the sting of 
 premeditation. 
 
 Thus, when he gave good Glen, the vir- 
 tuous collie, as he came forward smiling and 
 cheerful, with a remark upon the beauty of 
 the morning glistening in his bright eyes 
 and waving majestically in his tail, that 
 sudden kick which sent the good fellow oft' 
 howling, and oppressed his soul all day with 
 a sense of crime, Mr. Ogilvie did not do it 
 by intention, did not come out with the 
 purpose of doing it, but only did it because 
 he had just got a letter which annoyed him. 
 Glen, who had a tender conscience, lived 
 half the day under a weight of unnecessary 
 remorse, convinced that he must himself 
 have done something very wicked, though
 
 The Story of a Young Life 9 
 
 a confused moral sense and the absence of a 
 recognized code made him sadly incapable of 
 discovering what it was ; but his master 
 had not the slightest intention of inflicting 
 any such mental torture. 
 
 He treated his human surroundings in 
 something of the same way, convincing Eftie 
 sometimes, by a few well-chosen words, of 
 her own complete mental and physical in- 
 competency ; as, for example, when she ran 
 into his library to call his attention to some- 
 thing quite unimportant at the very moment 
 when he was adding up his " sundries," and 
 had nearly arrived at a result. 
 
 " If you had any sense of propriety in 
 you, and were not a born idiot that never 
 can be taught there's a time for everything, 
 you would know better than to dart in like 
 a whirlwind in your high heels, and all 
 that nonsense in your mouth, to drive a 
 man frantic ! " 
 
 Etiic would withdraw in tears. But
 
 10 Efflc Ogilvie 
 
 Mr. • Ogilvie had not really meant any 
 liaini. 
 
 He had succeeded to his father's little 
 estate when he was still in his twenties, 
 and liad many as})irations. He had not 
 intended to withdraw from the bar, although 
 he had few clients to speak of. He had 
 indeed fully intended to follow up his pro- 
 fession, and it had not seemed impossible 
 that he might attain to the glorious position 
 of Lord Advocate, or, if not, to that of 
 Sheriff-Substitute, wdiich was perhaps more 
 probable. But by degrees, and especially 
 after his marriage, he had found out that 
 professional work was a great " tie," and 
 that there w^ere many things to be done 
 at home. 
 
 His first wife had been the only daughter 
 of the minister, which concentrated his affec- 
 tions still more and more in his own locality. 
 AVhen she died, leaving him with two child- 
 ren, who had never been troublesome to
 
 Tlic Story of a Youiig Life 11 
 
 liim before, tlie neiglibourliood was moved 
 with the deepest sympathy for poor Ogilvie. 
 Some people even thought he woiikl not 
 survive it, they had been so united a couple, 
 and lived so entirely for each other : or, at 
 least, that he would go away, abandoning 
 the scene of his past happiness. 
 
 But, on the contrary, he stayed at home, 
 paying the tribute of the profoundest dulness 
 for one year to the lost partner of his life, 
 cheering up a little decorously afterwards, 
 and at the end of the second year marry- 
 ing again. All this was done, it will loe 
 seen, in the most resj^ectable and well- 
 regulated way, as indeed was everything 
 that Mr. Ogilvie did when he took time to 
 think of it, being actuated ])y a conscien- 
 tious desire to do his duty, and set an 
 example to all honest and virtuous men. 
 
 Mrs. Ogilvie was not too young to be the 
 second wdfe of a gentleman of fifty. She 
 was "quite suitable," everybody said — which,
 
 12 ]^ffi,G Ogilvie 
 
 seeing that lie might have married a chit of 
 twenty, as mature widowers have been known 
 to do, was considered by everybody a virtu- 
 ous abstinence and concession to the duties 
 of the position. She was thirty-five, good- 
 looking, even handsome, and very conscien- 
 tious. If it was her husband's virtuous 
 principle to submit to personal inconvenience 
 rather than do anything that he knew to be 
 wrong, she went many steps farther in the 
 way of excellence, and seldom did anything 
 unless she was convinced that it was right. 
 
 With this hio'h meanino; she had come to 
 Gilston, and during the four years of her 
 reign there had, not sternly — for she w\as 
 not stern : but steadily, and she was a woman 
 of great steadiness of mind and purpose — 
 adhered to it. 
 
 These years had been very important years, 
 as may be supposed, in the life of the two 
 young people whom Mrs. Ogilvie described 
 as " the first family." The boy had been
 
 The Story of a Young Life 13 
 
 seventeen and the girl fifteen wlien slie came 
 home a bride. And their mother had been 
 dead only two years : an age at which criti- 
 cism is more uncompromising, or circumstances 
 under which it would be more difficult to 
 begin married life, could scarcely be. They 
 gazed at her with two pairs of large eyes, 
 and countenances which did not seem able to 
 smile, noting everything she did, putting a 
 mute criticism upon the silent record, object- 
 ing dumbly to everything, to her entrance 
 there at all, to her assumption of their 
 mother's chair, their mother's name, all that 
 was now legally and honourably hers. 
 
 Can any one imagine a more terrible or- 
 deal for a woman to go through ? She con- 
 fided to her sister afterwards that if she had 
 acted upon impulse, as Robert, poor dear, so 
 often did, the house would have become a 
 hell on earth. 
 
 " I would have liked to have put that boy 
 to the door a hundred times a day : and as
 
 14 Ejlk 0(jilcic 
 
 for Effie ! — I never can tell till this day how 
 it was that I kept my hands off her," she said, 
 reddening with the recollection of many exas- 
 perations past. Women who have filled the 
 office of stepmother, aunt, or any other such 
 domestic anomaly, will understand and sym- 
 j^athize. And yet, of course, there was a great 
 deal to be said on the other side too. 
 
 The children had heard with an indignation 
 beyond words of their ftither's intention. It 
 had been said to them, with that natural 
 hypocrisy which is so transparent and almost 
 pardonal)le, that he took this stej) very much 
 for their sakes, to give them a new mother. 
 
 A new mother ! Seven and five mioht have 
 taken this in with wondering ears and made 
 no remark ; but seventeen and fifteen ! The 
 boy gloAved with fierce wrath ; the girl shed 
 torrents of hot tears. They formed j^lans of 
 leaving Gilston at once, going away to seek 
 their fortunes — to America, to Australia, who 
 could tell where ? Effie was (-ertain that she
 
 Tlic Story of a Yomir/ Life 15 
 
 would mind no hardship, that she could cook 
 and wash, and do everything in the hut, while 
 Eric (boys are always so much luckier than 
 girls !) sjDent the day in the saddle after the 
 cattle in the ranche. 
 
 Or they would go orange -farming, ostrich- 
 farming — what did it matter which ? — any- 
 thing, in fact, but stay at home. Money was 
 the great difficulty in this as in almost all 
 other cases, besides the dreadful fact that Effie 
 was a girl, a thing which had always been 
 hard upon her in all their previous adventures, 
 but now more than ever. 
 
 "We migrht have sfone to sea and worked 
 our passages l^efore the mast, if you had only 
 been a laddie and not a lassie," Eric said with 
 a sigh and a profound sense of the general 
 contrariety of events. This unalterable mis- 
 fortune, which somehow seemed (though it 
 was she who suffered from it most) her fault, 
 stopped Effie's tears, and brought instead a 
 look of despair into her round face. There
 
 16 Effic Ogihie 
 
 flashed tliroiigli her iiiiiul iiii idea of the possi- 
 Inlity of neutralizing this disability l)y means 
 of costume. Rosalind did so in Shakespeare, 
 and Viola, and so had other heroines in less 
 distant regions. 
 
 But at the idea of trousers Effie's counten- 
 ance flamed, and she rejected the thought. It 
 was quite possible to endure being unhapj^y, 
 even in her small experience she was well 
 aware of that — but unwomanly ! Oh, what 
 would mamma say ? That utterance of habit, 
 the words that rose to her lips without think- 
 ing, even now when mamma was about to 
 have a successor — a new mother ! brous^ht 
 back the tears in torrents. She flung herself 
 upon Eric's shoulder, and he, poor fellow, gave 
 her with quivering lips a little furtive kiss, 
 the only consolation he could think of, though 
 they were not at all used to caressing each 
 other. Poor children ! and yet Mr. Ogilvie 
 had done nothing cruel, and Mrs. Ogilvie was 
 the best-intentioned woman in the world.
 
 The Story of a Youn/j Life 17 
 
 It was lucky that they were found at this 
 critical moment l:)y an individual who is of 
 great importance in this little record of events, 
 as he was in the parish and the neighbour- 
 hood generally, — that is Uncle John. He was 
 the minister of Gilston ; he was their mother's 
 brother ; and he was one of the men selected 
 l)y Providence for the consolation of their 
 fellow-creatures. 
 
 Perhaps he was not always very wise. He 
 was too much under the sway of his heart to 
 be infallil)le in the way of advice, although 
 that heart was so tender and full of sympathy 
 that it often penetrated secrets which were 
 undiscoverable to common men. But in his 
 powers of comfort-giving he was perfect. The 
 very sight of him soothed the angry and 
 softened the obdurate, and he dried the tears 
 of tlie young l)y some inspiration given to 
 him alone. 
 
 " WliJit is the matter ? " he said in his large 
 soft voice, wliicli was deep bass and very
 
 18 E^ic Oyilvic 
 
 masculine, yet had something in it too of the 
 wood-pigeon's brooding tones. They were 
 seated at the foot of a tree in the little wood 
 that protected Gilston House from the east, on 
 the roots of the big ash which were like gray 
 curves of rock among the green moss and the 
 fallen leaves. He came between them, sitting- 
 down too, raising Effie with his arm. 
 
 " But I think I can guess. You are just 
 raging at Providence and your father, you two 
 unOTateful bairns." 
 
 " Ungrateful ! " cried Effie. She was the 
 most speechless of the two, the most prostrate, 
 the most impassioned, and therefore was most 
 ready to reply. 
 
 " Oh, what have we to be grateful for ? — 
 our own mamma gone away and we'll never 
 see her more ; and another woman — another — 
 
 a Mistress Ogilvie " In her rao^e and 
 
 despair she pronounced every syllable, with 
 what bitterness and burning scorn and fury ! 
 Uncle John drew her little hands down from
 
 The Story of a Yoitiuj Life 19 
 
 her face and held them in his own, which 
 were not .small, but very firm, though they 
 were soft. 
 
 " Your own mother was a very good woman, 
 Effie," said Uncle John. 
 
 The girl paused and looked at him with 
 those fiery eyes which Avere not softened, but 
 made more angry, by her tears, not seeing how 
 this bore upon the present crisis of affairs. 
 
 " Have you any reason to suppose that being 
 herself, as we know she is, with the Lord 
 whom she loved " — and here Uncle John took 
 off his hat as if he were saluting the dearest 
 and most revered of friends — "that she would 
 like you and the rest to be miserable all your 
 lives because she was away ? " 
 
 " Miserable ! " cried Eftie. " We were not 
 miserable ; we were quite happy ; we wanted 
 nothing. Papa may care for new people, but 
 we were happy and wanted nothing, Eric 
 and me." 
 
 Then, my little Effie," said Uncle John, 
 
 a Tl
 
 1^0 Effic Oiilldc 
 
 " it is not because of your own mother that 
 you are looking like a, little fury — for you 
 see you have learned to let her go, and do 
 without her, and l)e quite contented in a new 
 way — hut only because your father has done 
 the same after his fashion, and it is not the 
 same way as yours." 
 
 " Oh, Uncle John, I am not contented," 
 cried Eftie, conscience-stricken ; "I think of 
 mamma every day." 
 
 " And are quite happy," he said with a 
 smile, " as you ought to be. God bless her up 
 yonder, behind the veil. She is not jealous 
 nor angry, but happy too. And we will be 
 very good friends with Mistress Ogilvie, you 
 and me. Come and see that everything is 
 f^ ready for her, for she will not have an easy 
 handful with you two w^atching her night 
 and day."
 
 The Storij of a Yoniuj Life 21 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Though Mr. Moubray said tins, it is not to be 
 supposed that lie liked liis l)rother-in-law's 
 second maiTiao;e. It was not in flesli and 
 blood to do that. 
 
 Gilston House must [dways l)e the most 
 important house in that parish to the minister; 
 for it is at once nearest to the manse, and the 
 house in which he is most likely to find people 
 who have at least the outside gloss of educa- 
 tion. And he had been used to oo there famili- ^ 
 arly for nearly twenty years. He had been a 
 favourite with the old })e(jple, ^Ir. Ogilvie's 
 father and mother, and when their son suc- 
 ceeded them he was already engaged to the 
 minister's young sister. There was therefore
 
 22 Effir Ogilvie 
 
 a daily lial)it of ini'ctinii: foi- nearly a lifetime. 
 The two men had not always agreed. Indeed 
 it was not in lumian nature that they should 
 not have sometimes disagreed strenuously, one 
 being the chief heritor, restraining every 
 expenditure, and the other the minister, who 
 was always, by right of his position, wanting 
 to have somethino' done. 
 
 But after all their quarrels they "just 'greed 
 again," which is the best and indeed the only 
 policy in such circumstances. And though the 
 laird would thunder against that "pig-headed 
 fellow, your brother John," Mrs. Ogilvie had 
 always been able to smile, knowing that on 
 the other hand she would hear nothing worse 
 from the minister than a recommendation to 
 '' remind Robert that schoolhouse roofs and 
 manse windows are not eternal." 
 
 And then the children had woven another 
 link between the two houses. Eric had been 
 Uncle John's pupil since the boy had been old 
 enough to trot unattended through the little
 
 The Story of a Yomuj Life 23 
 
 wood and across the two fields which separated 
 the manse from the House ; and Eftie had 
 trotted by his side when the days were fine, 
 and when she pleased — a still more important 
 stipnlation. They liad Ijeen the children of 
 the manse almost as much as of the House. 
 
 The death of the mother had for a time 
 drawn the tie still closer, Ogilvie in his first 
 desolation throwing himself entirely upon 
 the succour and help of his brother-in-law ; 
 and the young ones clinging with redoubled 
 tenderness to the kind Uncle John, whom 
 for the first time they found out to be " so 
 like mamma ! " There never was a day in 
 which he did not ajjpear on his way to his 
 visiting, or to a session meeting, or some 
 catechising or christening among the hills. 
 They were dependent upon him, and he 
 upon them. But now this constant associa- 
 tion had come to an end. No, not to an 
 end — that it could never do ; but, in all 
 likeliliood, it must now change its conditions
 
 24 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 John Moubray was an old bachelor with- 
 out chick or child : so most people thought. 
 In reality, he was not a bachelor at all ; 
 but his married life Inid lasted only a year, 
 and that was nearly thirty years ago ! The 
 little world about mioht 1)e excused for for- 
 settino; — or himself even — for what is one 
 year out of fifty-four ? Perhaps that one 
 year had given him more insight into the 
 life of men ; perhaps it had made him softer, 
 tenderer to the weak. That mild celibacy, 
 which the Church of Rome has found so 
 powerful an instrument, was touched per- 
 haps to a more benignant outcome still in 
 this Scotch minister, by the fact that he 
 had loved like his fellows, and been as 
 other men in his time, a triumphant bride- 
 ofroom, a woman's husband. But the ex- 
 perience itself was long past, and had left 
 no trace behind ; it was to him as a dream. 
 Often he felt uncertain whether there had 
 been any reality in it at all — whether it
 
 The Story of a Yoking Life 25 
 
 was not a golden vision such as is permitted 
 to youth. 
 
 In these circumstances, it may be sup- 
 posed that the closing upon him in any 
 degree of the house which had heen his 
 sister's, which 1)elonged to the most intimate 
 friend of everyday life, and which was the 
 home of children who were almost his own 
 children, was very serious to Uncle John. 
 
 Mrs. Ogilvie, to do her justice, was anxious 
 to obviate any feeling of this kind. The 
 very first time he dined there after her 
 marriage, she took him aside into a corner 
 of I the drawing-room, and talked to liim 
 privately. 
 
 " I hope there will be no difference, Mr. 
 Moubray," she said ; "I hope you will not 
 let it make any difference that I am here." 
 
 "Difference?" said Julin, startled a little. 
 He had already felt the difference, but had 
 nindc up his mind to it as a, thing that 
 must Ijc.
 
 26 Effie 0(jilvie 
 
 "I know," said the lady, "that I'm not 
 clever enough to take your sister's place ; 
 but so far as a G;ood meanino- p-oes, and a 
 real desire to be a mother to the children, 
 and a friend to 3^ou, if you will let me, no- 
 l)ody could be better disposed than I am, if 
 you will just take me at my word." 
 
 The minister was so unprepared for any 
 such speech that he stammered a little over 
 his reply. 
 
 "My sister," he said, "had no pretensions 
 to be clever. That was never the ground 
 my poor Jeanie took up. She was a good 
 
 woman, and very dear to very dear to 
 
 those she belonged to," he said, with a 
 huskiness in his voice. 
 
 " That's just what I say. I come here in 
 a way that is hard upon a woman, with one 
 before me that I will always be compared 
 to. But this one thing I must say, that I 
 hope you will come about the house just as 
 often as you used to do, and in the same
 
 The Story of a Young Life 27 
 
 way, coming in whenever it enters your head 
 to do so, and believing that you are always 
 w^elcome. Always welcome. I don't say I 
 will always be here, for I think it only right 
 to keep up with society (if it were but for 
 Effie's sake) more than the last Mrs. Ogilvie 
 did. But I will never be happy if you don't 
 come out and in just in your ordinary, Mr. 
 Moubray, just as you've always been accus- 
 tomed to do." 
 
 John Moubray went home after this address 
 with a minoled sense of humour and vexa- 
 tion and approval. It made him half angry 
 to 1)6 invited to his brother-in-law's house 
 in this way, as if he required invitation. 
 But, at the same time, he did not den}- that 
 she meant well. 
 
 And she did mean well. She meant to 
 make Effie one of the most complete of 
 young ladies, and Gilston the model country- 
 seat of a Scots gentleman. She meant to 
 do her duty to the most minute particular.
 
 28 Effie OijUme 
 
 She meant her liusbaiid to l)e happy, and 
 her chihlren to 1)e clothed in scarlet and 
 prosperity, and comfort to l)e diffused around. 
 
 All these preliminaries were long past at 
 the point at which this narrative begins. 
 Eftie had grown up, and Eric was a,way in 
 India with his regiment. He had n(jt Ijeen 
 intended for a soldier, but whether it was 
 that Mrs. Ogilvie's opinion, expressed very 
 frankly, that the army was the right thing 
 for him, influenced the mind of the family 
 in o-eneral, or whether the lad found the new 
 rule too unlike the old to take much pleasure 
 in his home, the fact was that he went into 
 the army and disappeared, to the great grief 
 of Eflie and Uncle John, but, so far as ap- 
 peared, of no one else, for little Roderick had 
 just been born, and Mr. Ogilvie was ridicu- 
 lously delighted with the ba1)y, which seemed 
 to throw his grown-up son altogether into 
 the shade. 
 
 It need scarcely be said that both before
 
 The Stan/ of a Yoiou/ Life 29 
 
 and after this event there was great trouble 
 and many struggles with Eftie, who had been 
 so used to her own way, Mrs. Ogilvie said, 
 that to train her was a task almost beyond 
 mortal powers. Yet it had been done. So 
 loDo- as Eric remained at home, the difti- 
 culties had been great. 
 
 And then there was all but the additional 
 drawback of a premature love story to make 
 matters worse. But that had been happily, 
 silently, expeditiously smothered in the bud, 
 a triumph of which Mrs. Ogilvie was so proud 
 that it was with. difHculty she kept it from 
 Efhe herself; and she did not attempt to 
 keep it from Mr. i\Ioul)ray, to whom, after 
 the lads were safely gone, she confided the 
 fact that young Ronald Sutherland, who had 
 been constantly about the house before her 
 marriage, and who since that had spent as 
 much of his time with the brother and sister 
 out-of-doors as had been possible, had come 
 to Mr. Ogilvie a few days l)efore his departure
 
 30 Effic Ogilvie 
 
 — " What for, (;;iu you imagine ? " tlic lady 
 said. 
 
 Now Ronald was a neighbour's son, the 
 companion by nature of the two children of 
 Gilston. He had got his commission in the 
 same regiment, and joined it at the same 
 time as Eric. He was twenty when Eric was 
 eighteen, so much in advance and no more. 
 The minister could have divined, perhaps, had 
 he set his wits to the task, but he had no 
 desire to forestall the explanation, and he 
 shook his head in reply. 
 
 " With a proposal for Eliie, if you please ! " 
 Mrs. Ogilvie said, " and she only sixteen, not 
 half-educated, nor anything like what I want 
 her to be. And, if you will believe me, Robert 
 was half-disposed — well, not to accept it ; but 
 to let the boy speak to her, and bring another 
 bonny business on my hands." 
 
 They are too young," said Uncle John. 
 Too young ! They are too — everything 
 
 u Tl 
 
 ii fP, 
 
 that can be thought of — too ridiculous I would
 
 Tin: Story of a Yomuj Life 31 
 
 say. Fortunately Robert spoke to me, and I 
 got him to make the hid promise not to say a 
 word to Effie or to any one till he comes back. 
 It will be a. long time l)efore he can come 
 back, and who knows wdiat may happen in the 
 meantime ? Too young ! There is a great 
 deal more than being merely too young. 1 
 mean Effie to make a much better match 
 than that." 
 
 " He is a good boy," said Mr. Moubray ; " if 
 he were older, and perhaps a little richer, I 
 would not wish a better, for my part." 
 
 " If all ministers were as unworldly as you ! 
 — it is what is sorely wanted in the Church, 
 as Robert always says. But parents may be 
 pardoned if they look a little more to interest 
 in the case of their children. I will very 
 likely never have grown-up daughters of my 
 own. And Effie must make a good match ; 
 I have set my heart on that. She is growing 
 up a pretty creature, and she will l)e far more 
 quiet and manageable for her education now
 
 32 Effic Of/ilvic 
 
 that, lieiiveii be [)i'aise(l, those boys are 
 away," 
 
 " As one of tlie boys (tarries a large j)iece of 
 my heart with him, you will not expect me 
 to be so pions and so tliaiikfiil," tlie minister 
 said. 
 
 " O Uncle John ! I am sure you would 
 like Effie to get the l)est of educations. She 
 never would have settled down to it, never ! 
 if that lad had got his way," 
 
 Mr, Moul)ray could not say a w^ord against 
 this, for it was all true ; 1)ut he could not 
 meet Eliie's wistful eyes when she cre^jt to 
 his side, in his study or out-of-doors when- 
 ever they met, and hung upon his arm, and 
 asked him where he thought they would be 
 l)y now ? It was Eric chiefly they were both 
 thinking of, yet Effie unawares said "they." 
 How far would they l)e on their journey ? It 
 was not then the quick way such as we are 
 happily used to now, but a long, long journey 
 round the stormy CajDe, three lingering months
 
 I'he Story of a Young Life 33 
 
 of sea, and so long, so long before any news 
 could come. 
 
 The uncle and niece, who were now more 
 close companions than ever, were found in the 
 minister's study one day with a map stretched 
 out before them, their heads closely bent over 
 it, his all clad wdtli vigorous curls of gray, 
 hers shining in soft locks of brown, their eyes 
 so intent that they did not hear the opening- 
 door and the rustle of Mrs. Ogilvie's silk 
 gown. 
 
 " Wliat are you doing with your heads so 
 close together ? " that lady said. And the two 
 started like guilty things. But Uncle John 
 explained calmly that Effie was feeble in her 
 geography, and no more w^as said. 
 
 And so everything settled down. Efiie, it 
 
 was true, was much more manageable after 
 
 her Ijrotlicr was aw^ay. She had to confine 
 
 herself to shorter walks, to give up much of 
 
 that freedom of movement which a girl can 
 
 •july be indulged in when she has a brother 
 
 c
 
 34 EJ)lc Ogilvic 
 
 by her side. She was very dull for a time, 
 and rather rebellious ; but that too wore out, 
 as everything will wear out if we Ijut wait 
 lono; enough. 
 
 And now she was nineteen, on the threshold 
 of her life — a, pretty creature, as her step- 
 mother had said, not a great beauty like those 
 that bewitch the world when they are seen, 
 which is but rarely. Effie was pretty as the 
 girls are l)y dozens, like the flowers, overflow- 
 ing over all the face of the country, making 
 it sweet. Her hair and her eyes were brown, 
 like most other peoj)le's. She was no wonder 
 or prodigy, but fair and honest and true, a 
 pleasure to behold. And after all those youth- 
 ful tribulations she was still a happy girl 
 enough at home. 
 
 Mrs. Ogilvie, when all was said, was a well- 
 meaning woman. There was no tyranny nor 
 unkindness in the house. 
 
 So this young soul expanded in the hands 
 of the people who had the care of it, and
 
 The Story of a Youiif) Life 35 
 
 who had cared for it so far well, though not 
 with much understanding ; how it sped in 
 the times of action, and in the crisis that 
 was approaching, and how far they did their 
 duty by it, we have now to see.
 
 36 Effie Ogilvic 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 The parish of Gilston is not a wealthy one. 
 It lies not far from the Borders, where there 
 is much moorland and pasture-land, and not 
 much high farmino;. The form houses are 
 distant and scattered, the j)opulation small. 
 The greatest house in the district, indeed, 
 stands within its boundaries, but that was 
 shut up at this moment, and of use to 
 nobody. There were two or three country 
 houses of the smaller sort scattered about, 
 at four and five miles' distance from each 
 other, and a cluster of dwellings near the 
 church, in which amid a few cottages rose 
 the solid square house of the doctor, which 
 he called Gowanbrae, and the cottage of
 
 The Story of a Young Life 37 
 
 the Miss Dempsters, wliicli tliey called 
 Rosebank. 
 
 The doctor, whose name was Jardine, had 
 a great deal to do, and rode about the 
 country early and late. The Miss Demp- 
 sters had nothing to do except to keep up 
 a general supervision of the proceedings of 
 the neighbours and of all that happened in 
 the country side. It was a supervision not 
 unkind. 
 
 They were good neighbours, always handy 
 and ready in any case of fomily aiSiction or 
 rejoicing. They were ready to lend any- 
 thing and everything that might l^e re- 
 (juired — pepper, or a lemon, or cloves, or 
 soap, or any of the little things that so 
 generally give out l)efore the storeroom is 
 replenished, when you are out of reach of 
 co-operative stores or grocers' shops ; or 
 their glass and cliina, or knives, or lamps — 
 or even a fine }Kiir of silver candlesticks 
 w^liich they were very })roud of — when their 
 
 293573
 
 38 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 neighbours liud company : or good advice 
 to any extent, which sometimes was not 
 wanted. 
 
 It was perhai)S Ijecanse everybody ran to 
 them in case of need that they were so 
 well acquainted with everybody's affairs. 
 And then people were so unreasonable as 
 to find fault and call the Miss Dempsters 
 gossips. It was undeserved : they spoke ill 
 of nobody unless there was good cause ; 
 they made no mischief: but they did know 
 everything, and they did more or less 
 superintend the life of the jjarish, having 
 leisure and unbounded interest in life. 
 
 The neighbours grumbled and sometimes 
 called them names — old maids, old cats, and 
 many other pretty titles : which did not 
 prevent them from borrowing the spoons 
 or the candlesticks, or sending for Miss 
 Robina when anything haj^pened. Had these 
 excellent ladies died the parish would have 
 mourned sincerely, and they would have
 
 The Story of a Younfi Life 39 
 
 been univei'sally missed : but as they were 
 alive and well tliey were called the old 
 cats. Human nature is subject to such 
 perversities. 
 
 The rural world in general had thus an 
 affectionate hostility to the all-seeing, all- 
 knowing, all-aiding ladies of Rosebank ; but 
 between them and Dr. Jardine the feeling 
 was a great deal stronger. Hatred, it was 
 understood, was not too strong a word. 
 Rosebank stood a little higher than Gowan- 
 brae : it was raised, indeed, upon a knoll, 
 so that the house, though in front only one 
 storey, was two storeys behind, and in reality 
 a much laro-er house than it looked. The 
 doctor's house was on the level of the 
 village, and the Miss Dempsters from their 
 [)oint of vantage commanded him com- 
 pletely. 
 
 He was of opinion that they watched all 
 his proceedings from the windows of their 
 drawing-room, wliicli in summer were always
 
 40 Effic Ogilvie 
 
 open, Mitli white curtains fluttering, and 
 baskets of flowers so arranged that it was 
 hopeless to attempt to return the insjjection. 
 There was a garden bench on tlic path that 
 ran in front of the windows, and on fine 
 days Miss Robina, who was not at all rheu- 
 matic, would sit there in order to see the 
 doctor's doings more distinctly. So at least 
 the doctor thought. 
 
 " You may say it's as good as a lady at 
 the head of my table," said the doctor. 
 *' That old cat counts every bite I put into 
 my mouth. She knows what Merran has 
 got for my dinner, and watches me eat. 1 
 cannot take a glass of wine, when I'm tired, 
 but they make a note of it." 
 
 " Then, doctor, you should draw down 
 your blind," said the minister, who was 
 always a peacemaker. 
 
 " Me ! " cried Dr. Jardine, with a fine 
 Scotch contempt for the other pronoun. 
 "Me eive the old hasr that satisfaction. Not 
 
 O O
 
 The Story of a Yoiinj Life 41 
 
 for the half of Scothind ! I am doino; 
 nothing that I am ashamed of, I hope." 
 
 Miss Robina on her side expressed other 
 views. She had a soft, sHghtly-indistinct 
 voice, as if that })roverl)ial Ijutter that 
 " would not melt in her mouth " was held 
 there when she spoke. 
 
 " It's a great vexation," she said, in her 
 placid way, " that we cannot look out at 
 our own windows without beino; affronted 
 with the sio'ht of that hideous house. It's 
 
 o 
 
 just an oftence : and a man's house that is 
 shameless — that will come to the window 
 and take off his dram, and nod his head 
 as if he were saying, Here's to ye. It is 
 just an offence," Miss Robina said. 
 
 Miss Robina was th(.' youngest. She was 
 a large woman, soft and imperfectly laced, 
 like a cusliion badly stuffed and bulging 
 here and there. Her hair was still yellow 
 as it had l)een in her youth, l)ut her com- 
 plexion had not worn so well. Her features
 
 42 J^ffic Ogilvic 
 
 were large like her person. Miss Dempster 
 was smaller and ora^-, which slie considered 
 mucli more distinguished than the yellow 
 braids of her sister. 
 
 " It's common to suppose Beenie dyes 
 her hair ; hut I'm thankful to say nobody 
 can doubt me," she would say. " It was 
 very bonny hair when we were young; but 
 when t]ie face gets old there's something 
 softeninix in the white. I would have 
 everybody gray at our age ; not that Beenie 
 dyes — oh no. She never had that much 
 thought." 
 
 Miss Beenie was always in the fore- 
 ground, taking up much more room than 
 her sister, and able to be out in all 
 weathers. But INliss Dempster, though rheu- 
 matic, and often confined to the house, was 
 the real head of everything. It was she 
 who took upon her chiefly the care of the 
 manners of the young people, and especially 
 of Eftie Ogilvie, who was the foremost object
 
 The Story of a Young Life 43 
 
 of regard, inspection, and criticism to these 
 ladies. They knew everything about her 
 from her birth. She could not have a 
 headache without their knowledge (though 
 indeed she gave them little trouble in this 
 respect, her headaches being few) ; and as 
 for her wardrobe, even her new chemises 
 (if the reader will not be shocked) had to 
 be exhibited to the sisters, who had an 
 exasperating way of investigating a hem, 
 and inspecting the stitching, which, as they 
 were partly made by Effie herself, made that 
 young lady's brow burn. 
 
 " But I approve of your trimmings," Miss 
 Dempster said; " none of your common cotton 
 stuff. Take my word for it, a real lace is ten 
 times thriftier. It will w^ear and wear — while 
 that rubbish has to be thrown into the fire." 
 
 " It was some we had in the house," Mrs. 
 Ogilvie said ; " I could not let her buy thread 
 lace for her underclothes." 
 
 " Oh ay, it would be some of her mother's,"
 
 44 Effic Ocjilvlc 
 
 said Miss RoLina, with a nod and a tone which , 
 as good as said, " That accounts for it." 
 And this made Mrs. Ogilvie indignant too. 
 
 The Miss Dempsters had taken a great in- 
 terest in Ronald Sutherhmd. They knew (of 
 course) how it was that Mrs. Ogilvie so skil- 
 fully had baulked that young hero in his 
 intentions, and they did not approve. The 
 lady defended herself stoutly. 
 
 "An engagement at sixteen!" she cried, 
 " and with a long-legged lad in a marching 
 regiment, with not enough money to buy 
 himself shoes." 
 
 "And how can ye tell," said Miss Robina, 
 " that she will ever get another offer ? He 
 was a nice lad — and nice lads are not so 
 plentiful as they were in our days." 
 
 " For all so plentiful as they were, neither 
 you nor me, Mrs. Ogilvie is thinking, ever 
 came to that advancement," said Miss Demp- 
 ster. " And that's true. But I'm not against 
 young engagements, for my part. It is a great
 
 The Story of a Young Life 45 
 
 divert to them both, and a very good thing 
 for the young man ; where there's hand and 
 sea between them that they cannot fash their 
 neighbours I can see no harm in it ; and 
 Ronald w^as a good Lad." 
 
 " Without a jDenny ! " 
 
 " The pennies will come where there's good 
 conduct and a good heart. And I would 
 have let her choose for herself. It's a great 
 divert " 
 
 " I must do my own business my own way, 
 Miss Dempster, and I think I am the best 
 judge of what is good for Effie. I and her 
 father." 
 
 " Oh, no doubt — you, and her ftither ; her 
 mother might have been of a different opinion. 
 But that's neither here nor there, for the 
 poor thing is dead and gone." 
 
 "Well, Sarah," said Miss Robina, "it's to 
 lie hoped so, or the laird, honest man, would 
 1)C in a sad position, and our friend here no 
 l)ctter. It's unljecoming to discourse in that
 
 46 Efflc Ogilvic 
 
 loose way. No, no ; we are meaning no inter- 
 ference. AVc've no right. Wc are not even 
 cousins or kinswomen, only old friends. But 
 Ronald, ye see — Ronald is a kind of connec- 
 tion. We are wae for Ronald, poor lad. But 
 he's young, and there's plenty of time, and 
 there's no saying what may haj^pen." 
 
 " Nothing shall hap})en if I can help it ; and 
 I hope there will not be a word said to put 
 anything in Effie's head," said Mrs. Ogilvie. 
 And ever since this discussion she had been 
 more severe than ever against the two old 
 ladies. 
 
 " Take care that ye put no confidence in 
 them," she said to her stepdaughter. " They 
 can be very sweet when it suits their purpose. 
 But I put no faith in them. They will set 
 you against your duties — they will set you 
 against me. No doubt I'm not your mother : 
 Ijut I have always tried to do my duty by 
 you." 
 
 Effie had replied with a few words of ac-
 
 The Story of a Youmj Life 47 
 
 knowledgment. Mrs. Ogilvie was always very 
 kind. It was Uncle John's conviction, which 
 had a great deal of weight with the girl, that 
 she meant sincerely to do her duty, as she 
 said. But, nevertlieless, the doors of Effie's 
 heart would not open ; they yielded a little, 
 just enough to w^arrant her in feeling that she 
 had not closed them, but that was all. 
 
 She w^as much more at ease with the Miss 
 Dempsters than with her stepmother. Her 
 relations with them were quite simple. They 
 had scolded her and (juestioned her all her 
 life, and she did not mind wdiat they said 
 to her. Sometimes slie would l)laze into 
 sudden resentment and cry, or else avenge 
 herself with a few hot words. But as there 
 was no l)ond of duty in respect to her old 
 friends, there was perfect freedom in their 
 intercourse. If they hurt her she cried out. 
 But when Mrs. Ogilvie hurt her she was silent 
 and thought the more. 
 
 Eftie was just nineteen wlien it began to be
 
 48 E^e Ofjihic 
 
 rumoured over the country that the mansion- 
 liouse of Allonby was let. There was no pLace 
 like it within twenty miles. It was an old 
 house, with the remains of a house still older by 
 its side — a proof that the Allonbies had been 
 in the countryside since the old days when 
 life so near the Border was full of disturbance. 
 The house lay low on the side of a stream, 
 which, after it had passed decorously by the 
 green lawns and park, ran into a dell which 
 was famed far and near. It was in itself a 
 l^eautiful little ravine, richly wooded, in the 
 midst of a country not very rich in wood ; 
 and at the opening of the dell or dene, as 
 they called it, was one of those little lonely 
 churchyards which are so pathetic in Scotland, 
 burying-places of the past, which are to be 
 found in the strangest unexpected j)laces, 
 sometimes without any trace of the protect- 
 ing chapel which in the old times must have 
 consecrated their loneliness and kept the dead 
 like a faithful watcher.
 
 The Storii of a Young Life 49 
 
 In the midst of this little cluster of graves 
 there were, however, the ruins of a humble 
 little church very primitive and old, which, 
 l)ut for one corner of masonry with a small 
 lancet window still standing, would have 
 looked like a mound somewhat larger than 
 the rest ; and in the shadow of the ruin 
 w^as a tombstone, with an inscription which 
 recorded an old tragedy of love and death ; 
 and this it was which brought pilgrims to 
 visit the little shrine. 
 
 The proprietor of the house was an old 
 Lady Allonby, widowed and childless, who 
 had long lived in Italy, and was very unlikely 
 ever to return ; consequently it made a great 
 excitement in Gilston when it became known 
 that at last she had been persuaded to let her 
 house, and that a very rich family, a very gay 
 family, people with plenty of money, and the 
 most liberal inclinations in the way of spend- 
 ing, were coming to Allonl)y. 
 
 Tliey were people who had been in busi- 
 
 D
 
 50 Effir Ogilvic 
 
 ncss, rich people, people from London. There 
 were at least one son and some daughters. 
 The inhabitants of the smaller houses, the 
 Ogilvies, the Johnstons, the Hopes, and even 
 the Miss Dempsters — all the families who con- 
 sidered themselves county people, — had great 
 talks and consultations as to whether they 
 should call. There were some who thouglit 
 it was their duty to Lady Allonby, as an old 
 friend and neighbour ; and there were some 
 who thought it a duty to themselves. 
 
 The Diroms, which was the name of the 
 strangers, were not in any case people to be 
 ignored. They gave, it was said, everything 
 that could be given in the way of enter- 
 tainment ; the sons and the daughters at 
 least, if not the father and mother, were well 
 educated. 
 
 But there were a few people who were not 
 convinced by these arguments. The Miss 
 Dempsters stood in the front of this resisting 
 party. They did not care for entertainments.
 
 TJii' Story of a Young Life 51 
 
 and they did not like parvenoos. The doctor 
 on the other hand, who had not much family 
 to brag of, went to Allonby at once. He 
 said, in his rough way, that it was a provi- 
 dence there was so much influenza fleeing 
 about, which had made it necessary to send 
 for him so soon. 
 
 " I went, you may be sure, as fast as 
 Bess's four legs could carry me. I'm of 
 opinion there are many guineas for me lying 
 about there, and it would be disgraceful 
 not to take them," the doctor said with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " There's no guineas in the question for 
 Beenie and me," said Miss Dempster. " I'm 
 thinking we'll keep our view of the cjuestion. 
 I'm not fond of new people, and I think 
 Lady Allonby, after staying so long away, 
 might just have stayed to the end, and let 
 the heirs do what they liked. She cannot 
 want the money ; and it's just an abomina- 
 tion to put strange folk in the house of your
 
 52 E£w Of/ilvir 
 
 fathers ; and folk that would have l)eeii sent 
 down to the servants' hall in other days." 
 
 "Not so bad as that," said the minister, 
 " unless perhaps you are going back to feudal 
 times. Money has always had its acknow- 
 ledgment in modern society — and has paid 
 for it sweetly." 
 
 " We will give it no acknowledgment," 
 said the old lady. " AVe're but little likely 
 to be the better for their money." 
 
 This conversation took place at a little 
 dinner in Gilston House, convened, in fact, 
 for the settlement of the question. 
 
 " That accounts for the difference of opin- 
 ion," said the doctor. " I'll be a great deal 
 the better for their money ; and I'm not 
 minding about the blood — so long as they'll 
 keep it cool with my prescriptions," he added, 
 with a laugh. He was a coarse man, as the 
 Rosebank ladies knew, and what could 3''ou 
 exjDect ? 
 
 <( n^ 
 
 There is one thing," said Mrs. Ogilvie,
 
 The Storij of a Youiuj Life 53 
 
 "that lias a great effect upon me, and that is, 
 that tliere are young people in the house. 
 There are not many young people in the 
 neighliourhood, which is a great disadvantage 
 for Effie. It would l)e a fine thing for her 
 to have some companions of her own age. 
 But I would like to hear something more 
 about the family. Can anybody tell me who 
 she was ? The man may lie a 'parvenoo, but 
 these sort of persons sometimes get very nice 
 wives. There was a friend of my sister's that 
 married a person of the name of Dirom. And 
 she was a Maitland : so there is no telling." 
 
 " There are Maitlands and ]\Iaitlands," said 
 Miss Robina. " It's a very good name : Init 
 our niece that is married in the north had 
 a butler that was John Maitland. I said 
 she should just call him John. But he did 
 not like that. And then there was a joke 
 that they would call him Lauderdale. But 
 the man was just very mu(;h (jffended, and 
 said the name was his own name, as much
 
 54 Ejfic Ogilvir 
 
 as if he was a duke : in wliicli, no doubt, 
 lie was rig] it." 
 
 " That's the way with all Scots names." 
 said her sister. " There are Dempsters that 
 T woukl not hire to wait at my table. We 
 are not setting u[) to ])e 1)etter than our 
 neighbours. I'm not standing on a name. 
 But I would not encourage these mere monied 
 folk to come into a (juiet neighbourhood, and 
 flaunt their big purses in our faces. They'll 
 spoil the servants, they'll learn the common 
 folk ill ways. That's always what happens. 
 Ye'll see the very chickens will Ix' dearer, 
 and Nancy Miller at the shoj) will set u[) 
 her saucy fjice, and tell ye they're all ordered 
 for AUonby ; so they shall have no counten- 
 ance from me." 
 
 " There is something in that," said Mrs. 
 Ogilvie ; " but we have plenty of chickens 
 of our own : I seldom need to buy. And 
 then there is Effie to take into consideration. 
 They will be giving balls and parties. I
 
 The Storij of a Young Life 55 
 
 have Effie to think of. I am thinking I will 
 have to go." 
 
 " I hope Effie will keep them at a dis- 
 tance," said I\Iiss Robina. Effie heard this 
 discussion w^ithout taking any part in it. 
 She had no objection to l^alls and parties, 
 and there was in her mind the vague excite- 
 ment with wdiich a girl always hears of 
 possible com^^anions of her own age. 
 
 What mig;ht be comino- with them ? new 
 adventures, new exj^eriences, eternal friend- 
 ship perhaps — perhaps — who can tell what ? 
 Wliether the mother was a- Maitland or the 
 father a parvenoo, as the ladies said, it 
 mattered little to Effie. She had few com- 
 panions, and her heart was all on the side 
 of the new people with a thoughtlessness in 
 respect to their antecedents which perhaps 
 was culpable. 
 
 But then Effie was but nineteen, which 
 made a difference, Miss Eobina herself was 
 the first to allow.
 
 50 Ejfie Ogilvic 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " We will just go without Wciiting uny longer," 
 said Mrs. Ogilvie. "We are their nearest 
 neighbours — and they will take it kind if we 
 lose no time. As for these old cats, it will 
 l)e little matter to the Diroms what they do — 
 but your papa, that is a different affair. It 
 can do no harm, for everybody knows who we 
 are, Eflfie, and it may do good. So we will 
 be on the safe side, whatever happens. And 
 there is nothing much doing for the horses 
 to-day. Be you ready at three o'clock, and we 
 will take Kory in the carriage for a drive." 
 
 Eftie obeyed her stepmother with alacrity. 
 She had not taken any part in the argument, 
 but her imagination had found a great deal
 
 r I- 
 
 Thc Story of a Youny Life 57 
 
 to say. She had seen tlie young Dironis 
 out ridino-. She had seen them at church. 
 There were two girls al^out her own age, 
 and there was a brother. The brother was 
 of quite secondary importance, she said to 
 herself; nevertheless, there are always per- 
 adventures in the air, and when one thinks 
 that at any moment one's predestined com- 
 panion — he whom heaven intends, whatever 
 men may think or say — may walk round 
 the corner ! 
 
 The image of Ronald, which had never 
 been very deeply imprinted, had faded out 
 of Effie's imagination. It had never reached 
 any farther than her imagination. And in her 
 little excitement and the pleasurable quicken- 
 ing of her jjulsations, as she set out upon 
 this drive with her stepmother, there was 
 that vao-ue sense that there was no tellinij: 
 what mioht come of it which a;ives zest to 
 the proceedings of youth. It was the nearest 
 a})pi()ach to setting out upon a career of
 
 5S Ejjic Oijihir 
 
 a< 
 
 Iventurc which had ever fallen to Effie's 
 
 share. She was going to discover a world. 
 She was a new little C*olunibus, setting her 
 sail towards the unknown. 
 
 Mrs. Ogilvie ran on all the wa}^ with a 
 sort of monologue, every sentence of which 
 began with, "I wonder." 
 
 "Dear me, I wish 1 could have found out 
 who she was. I wonder if it will turn out 
 to be my sister's friend. She was a great 
 deal older than I am, of course, and might 
 very well have grown-up sons and daughters. 
 For Mary is the eldest of us all, and if she 
 had ever had any children, they would have 
 been grown up by this time. We will see 
 whether she will say anything al)out Mary. 
 And I wonder if you will like the girls. 
 They will always have been accustomed to 
 more luxury than would be at all becoming 
 to a country gentleman's daughter like you. 
 And I wonder if the young man — the 
 brother — will be always at Allonl)y. We
 
 The Story of a Younij Life 59 
 
 will have to ask them to their dinner. And 
 
 I wonder " But here Mrs. Ogilvie's 
 
 wonderings w^ere cut short on her lips ; and 
 so great was her astonishment that her lips 
 dropped apart, and she sat gaping, incapal)le 
 of speech. 
 
 " I declare ! " she cried at last, and could 
 say no more. The cause of this consterna- 
 tion was that, as they entered the avenue 
 of Allonby, another vehicle met them coming 
 down. And this turned out to be the car- 
 riage from the inn, which was the only one 
 to be had for ten miles round, conveying 
 Miss Dempster and Miss Beenie, in their 
 best apparel. The Cxilston coachman stopped, 
 as was natural, and so did the driver of the 
 cal). 
 
 " Well," cried Miss Dempster, waving her 
 hand, " ye arc going, I see, after all. We've 
 just been having our lunch with them. Since 
 it was to be done, it was just as well to do 
 it in good time. And a very nice luncheon
 
 GO JE^Lc 0(jihie 
 
 it was, and nicely set upon the table, that I 
 must say — l)ut how can you wonder, with 
 such a number of servants ! If they're not 
 good for that, they're good for nothing. 
 There was just too much, a great deal too 
 much, upon the table ; and a fine set-out 
 of })late, and " 
 
 " Sarah, Mrs, Oo-ilvie is not mindino- about 
 that." 
 
 " Mrs. Ogilvie is like other folk, and likes 
 to hear our first imj^ressions. And, Effie, 
 you will need just to trim up your beaver ; 
 for, though they are not what you can call 
 fine, they are in the flower of the fashion. 
 We'll keep you no longer. Sandy, you may 
 drive on. Eh ! no — stop a moment," cried 
 the old lady, flourishing her umbrella. 
 
 The Gilston coachman had put his horses 
 in motion also ; so that when the two car- 
 riages were checked again, it was oblicpiely 
 and from a distance, raising her voice, that 
 Miss Dempster shouted this piece of inform-
 
 The Story of a You7ig Life 61 
 
 atiou : " Ye'll be gratified to hear that she 
 ivas a Miss Maitland," the old Lidy cried. 
 
 " Well, if ever I heard the like ! " said 
 Mrs. Ogilvie, as they went on. " There to 
 their lunch, after vowing they would never 
 
 Sfive their countenance ! That shows 
 
 how little you can trust even your nearest 
 neighbours. They are just two old cats ! 
 But I am glad she is the person I thought. 
 As Mary's sister, I will have a diflerent kind 
 of a standing from ordinary strangers, and 
 you wdll profit by that, Effie. I would not 
 wonder if you found them a, great acquisi- 
 tion ; and your father and me, we would be 
 very well pleased. We've heard nothing 
 about the gentlemen of the house. I wonder 
 if they're always at home. As I was saying, 
 I wonder if that brother of theirs is an idle 
 man about the place, like so many. I'm not 
 fond of idle men. I wonder " 
 
 And for twenty minutes more Mrs. Ogil- 
 vie continued wondering, until the carriage
 
 62 Ejlu' Ogilvic 
 
 drew 11}) ;it the door of Allonby, which was 
 open, admitting a. view of a, couple of fine 
 footmen and two Lirge dogs, wliich hist got 
 up and came forward with hizy cordiality 
 to welcome the visitors. 
 
 " Dear me ! " Mrs. Ogilvie said aside. " I 
 am always distressed with Glen for lying 
 at the door. I wonder if it can be the 
 fashion. I wonder " 
 
 There was time for these remarks, for 
 there was a lono; corridor to ero tlirousjh 
 before a door was softly opened, and the 
 ladies found themselves, much to their sur- 
 2)rise, in what Mrs, Ogilvie after^vards called 
 "the dark." It was a room carefully shaded 
 to that twilight wdiich is dear at the pre- 
 sent period to fashionable eyes. The sun 
 is never too overpowering at Gilston ; but 
 the Miss Diroms were young women of 
 their generation, and scorned to discrimi- 
 nate. They had sunl)linds without and 
 curtains within, so that the light was tern-
 
 The Story of a Young Life 63 
 
 pered into an obscurity in wliicli the robust 
 eyes of country people, coming out of that 
 broad vulgar daylight to which they were 
 accustomed, could at first distinguish nothing. 
 
 Effie's young and credulous imagination 
 was in a quiver of anticipation, admiration, 
 and wonder. It was all new to her — -the 
 great house, the well-regulated silence, the 
 poetic gloom. She held her breath, ex- 
 pecting what might next Ije revealed to 
 her, with the awe and entranced and won- 
 dering satisfaction of a novice about to be 
 initiated. The noiseless figures that rose 
 and came forward and with a soft pressure 
 of her hand, two of them mistily white, the 
 other (only the mother, who didn't count) 
 dark, imjoressed her beyond description. 
 
 The only thing that a little diminished 
 the spell was the voices, more highly pitched 
 than those native to the district, in unac- 
 customed modulations of " high English." 
 Efiie murmured quite unconsciously an in-
 
 04 l^ffi*' Ogllme 
 
 distinct " Very well, thank you " in answer 
 to their greetings, and then they all sat 
 down, and it heeame gradually possible to 
 
 see. 
 
 The two Miss Diroms were tall and had 
 what are called fine figures. They came 
 and sat on either side of Effie, one clasping 
 her hands round her knees, the other lean- 
 ino- back in a corner of the deep sofa with 
 her head against a cushion. The sofa and 
 the cushion were covered with yellow da- 
 mask, as-ainst wdiich the white dress made 
 a pretty harmony, as Efiie's eyes got ac- 
 customed to the dimness. But Efhe, sitting 
 very straight and properly in her chair, 
 was mucli l)ewildered by the ease with 
 which one young lady threw her arms over 
 her head, and the other clasped them round 
 her knees. 
 
 " How good of you to come ! " said the 
 one on the sofa, who was the eldest. " We 
 were wondering if you would call."
 
 The Stury of a Young Life 65 
 
 " We saw yoiT at clinrcli on Sunday," 
 said the otlier, " and we tliought yon looked 
 so nice. What a fnnny little church ! I 
 suppose we ought to say k'k." 
 
 " Miss Ogilvie will tell us what to say, 
 and how to talk to the natives. Do tell 
 us. We have l)een half over the world, but 
 never in Scotland before." 
 
 " Oh then, you will perhaps have been in 
 India," said Effie ; "my brother is there." 
 
 "Is he in the army'? Of course, all 
 Scotch people have sons in the army. Oh 
 no, we've ne\er been in India." 
 
 " India," said tlie other, " is not in the 
 world — it's outside. AVe've been every- 
 where where people go. Is he coming back 
 soon 1 Is he good at tennis and that 
 sort of thing ? Do you play a great deal 
 here ? " 
 
 "They do at Lochlee," said Effie, "and 
 at Kirkconnel : but not me. For I have 
 nol)ody to play with."
 
 6 6 I'Jffie Ogilvic 
 
 "Poor little thing!" said the young lady 
 on the sofa, ])atting her on the arm : and 
 then they botli laughed, while Effie grew 
 crimson with shy pride and confusion. She 
 did not sec what she had said that was 
 laughable ; but it was evident that they 
 did, and this is not an agreeable sensation 
 even to a little girl. 
 
 " You shall come here and play," said the 
 other. " AVe are havino- a new court made. 
 And Fred^ — where is Fred, Phyll '? — Fred 
 will be so pleased to have such a pretty 
 little thing to play with." 
 
 " How should I know where he is V — • 
 mooning al)out somewhere, sketching or 
 somethino;." 
 
 "Oh," said Effie, 'Mo you sketch"? Per- 
 haps she was secretly mollified, though she 
 said to herself that she w^as yet more 
 offended, l)y Ijciiig called a pretty little 
 thing. 
 
 "Not I; l)ut my l)rother, that is Fred:
 
 The Story of a Youikj Life GV 
 
 and I am Phyllis, and she is Doris. Now 
 tell us your name, for we can't go on call- 
 in ir each other Miss, can we 1 Such near 
 neighbours as we are, and going to see so 
 much of each other." 
 
 " No, of course we can't go on saying 
 Miss. What should you say was her name, 
 Ph3dl % Let us guess. People are always 
 like their names. I should say Violet." 
 
 " Dear no, such a mawkish little senti- 
 mental name. She is not sentimental at 
 all — are you ? What is an Ogilvie name 'i 
 You have all family names in Scotland, 
 haven't you, that go from mother to 
 daughter ? " 
 
 Effie sat confused while they talked over 
 her. She was not accustomed to this sud- 
 den familiarity. To call the girls l)y their 
 names, when she scarcely had formed their 
 acquaintance, seemed terrible to her — alarm- 
 ing, yet pleasant too. She Ijlushed, yet felt 
 it was time to stop the discussion.
 
 68 Effie Ogilvic 
 
 "They call me Effie," she said. "That 
 is not all my name, but it is my name at 
 home." 
 
 " They call me Effie," repeated Miss Doris, 
 with a faint mockery in her tone ; " what a 
 pretty way of saying it, just like the Italians ! 
 If you are going to be so conscientious as 
 that, I wasn't christened Doris, I must tell 
 you : but I was determined Phyll should 
 not have all the luck. We are quite eight- 
 eenth century here — furniture and all." 
 
 " But I can't see the furniture," said Effie, 
 making for the first time an original remark. 
 " Do you like to sit in the dark ? " 
 
 At this both the sisters laughed again, and 
 said that she was a most amusing little thing. 
 " But don't say that to mamma, or it will 
 quite strengthen her in her rel^ellion. She 
 would like to sit in the sun, I believe. She 
 was brought up in the barbarous ages, and 
 doesn't know any better. There she is mov- 
 ing off into the other room with your mother.
 
 The Story of a Yomuj Life 69 
 
 Now the two old ladies will put tlieir heads 
 together " 
 
 " Mrs. Ogilvie is not an old lady," said 
 Effie hastily ; " she is my stepmother. She is 
 
 almost as young as " Here she paused, 
 
 with a glance at Miss Phyllis on the sofa, who 
 was still lying back with her head against the 
 cushion. Effie felt instinctively that it would 
 not be wise to finish her sentence. " She is a 
 great deal younger than you would su|)pose," 
 she added, once more a little confused. 
 
 " That explains why you are in such good 
 order. Have you to do what she tells you ? 
 Mamma is much better than that — we have 
 her very well in hand. Oh, you are not going 
 yet. It is impossible. There must be tea 
 before you go. Mamma likes everybody to 
 have something. And then Fred — you must 
 see Fred — or at least he must see you- " 
 
 " Here he is," said the other, with a sudden 
 grasp of Effie's arm. 
 
 Effie was much startled by this call u])on
 
 70 Ejjir Ofjilvii' 
 
 her attention. 81ie tui'iicd round hastily, fol- 
 h)wing the movement of lier new friends. 
 There eoukl not have l)een a more dramatic; 
 appearance. Fred was coniing in l»y a door 
 at the end of the room. He had lifted a 
 eurtain which hung over it, and stood in 
 the dim light outside holding back the heavy 
 folds — looking, it appeared, into the gloom to 
 see if any one was there. 
 
 Naturally, coming out of the daylight his 
 eyes at first made out nothing, and he stood 
 for some time in this highly effective atti- 
 tude — a spectacle which was not unworth}^ 
 a, maiden's eye. He was tall and slim like 
 his sisters, dark, almost olive in his com- 
 plexion, with black hair clustering closely in 
 innumerable little curls about his head. He 
 was dressed in a gray morning suit, with a 
 red tie, wdiicli was the onl}' spot of colour 
 visible, and had a great effect. He peered 
 into the gloom, curving his eyelids as if he 
 had been shortsighted.
 
 The Story of a Young Life 71 
 
 Then, when sufficient time had elapsed to 
 fix his sight upon Effie's sensitive imagination 
 like a sun picture, he spoke : " Are any of 
 )ou girls there ? " This was all, and it was 
 not much that Fred said. He was answered 
 by a chorus of laughter from his sisters. They 
 were very fond of laughing, Effie thought. 
 
 " Oh yes, some of us girls are here — three 
 of us. You can come in and l)e presented," 
 Phyllis said. 
 
 " If you think you are worthy of it," said 
 Doris, once more grasping Effie's arm. 
 
 They had all held their breath a little when 
 the hero thus dramatically presented himself. 
 Doris had kept her hand on Effie's wrist ; per- 
 haps because she wished to feel those little 
 pulses jump, or else it was because of that 
 inevitable peradventure which presented itself 
 to them too, as it had done to Effie. This was 
 the first meeting, but how it might end, or 
 what it might lead to, who could tell ? The 
 girls, though they were so unlike each other,
 
 72 Effie Ogilvir 
 
 all three held their breath. And then the 
 sisters laughed as he approached, and the little 
 excitement dropped. 
 
 " I wish vou wouldn't sit in the dark," said 
 Fred, dropping the curtain behind him as he 
 entered. " I can't see where you are sitting, 
 and if I am not so respectful as I ought to 
 be, I hope I may be forgiven, for 1 can sec 
 nothing. Oh, here you are ! " 
 
 " It is not the princess ; you are not ex- 
 pected to go on your knees," said his sisters, 
 while Effie once more felt herself blush furi- 
 ously at being the subject of the conversation. 
 " You are going to be presented to Miss Ogil- 
 vie — don't you know^ the young lady in white ? 
 — oh, of course, you remember. Effie, my 
 brother Fred. And now^ you know ns all, and 
 we are going to be the best of friends." 
 
 " This is very familiar," said Fred. " Miss 
 Ogilvie, you must not visit it upon me if 
 Phyll and Dor are exasperating. They always 
 are. But when you come to know them they
 
 The Story of a Youny Life 73 
 
 are not so bad as you might think. They 
 have it all their own way in this house. It 
 has always been the habit of the family to let 
 the girls have their own way — and we find 
 it works well on the whole, though in point 
 of manners it may leave something to be 
 desired." 
 
 He had thrown himself carelessly on the 
 sofa beside his sister as he spoke. Effie sat 
 very still and erect on her chair and listened 
 with a dismay and amazement which it would 
 be hard to put into words. She did not know 
 what to say to this strange group. She was 
 afraid of them, brother and sisters and alto- 
 fifether. It was the OTeatest relief to her when 
 Mrs. Ogilvie returned into the room again, 
 discoursing in very audible tones with the 
 mistress of the house, 
 
 " I am sure I am very glad to have met 
 with you," Mrs. Ogilvie was saying. " They 
 will Ijc so pleased to hear everything. Poor 
 thing ! she is l)ut lonely, with no children
 
 74 Jilfic Ogikie 
 
 about her, and her liu.sl)aii(l dead this five 
 years and more. lie was a great loss to 
 lier — the kindest man, and always at her call. 
 But ^ve must just make up our mind to take 
 the ]»itter witli tlic sweet in this life. Ettie, 
 where are you ? We must really l)e going. 
 We have Rory, that is my little l)oy, with us 
 in the carriage, and he will be getting very 
 tired of waiting. I hope it will not be long 
 before we see you at Gilston. Good-bye, Mrs. 
 Dirom ; Effie, T hope you have said to the 
 young ladies that we will be glad to see 
 them — and you too," giving her hand to 
 Fred — ■" you especially, for we have but few 
 young men in the country," 
 
 " I accept your invitation as a compliment 
 to the genus young man, Mrs. Ogilvie — not to 
 me. 
 
 " AVell, that is true," she said with a laugh ; 
 " but I am sure, from what I can see of you, 
 it will soon be as particular as you could wish. 
 Young people are a great want just in this
 
 The Story of a Yonny Life 75 
 
 corner of the country. Ettie, poor thing, has 
 felt it all her life : but I hope better things 
 will be comino- for her now." 
 
 " She shall not be lonely if we can help it," 
 said the sisters. They kissed her as they 
 parted, as if they had known her for years, 
 and called her " dear Effie ! " waving their 
 hands to her as she disappeared into the 
 light. They did not go out to the door 
 with the visitors, as Ettie in the circum- 
 stances would have done, l)ut yet sent her 
 away dazzled by their affectionateness, their 
 offers of regard. 
 
 She felt another creature, a girl with friends, 
 a member of society, as she drove away. 
 What a thing it is to have friends ! She 
 had been assured often by her stepmother 
 that she was a hapjjy girl to have so many 
 people who took an interest in her, and 
 would always be glad to give her good advice. 
 Effie knew where to lay hei- hand upon a 
 great deal of good advice at any moment ;
 
 70 EJfie Ogilvie 
 
 but that is not everything that is required 
 in life. 
 
 PhylKs and Doris ! they were like names 
 out of a book, and it was like a jjicture in 
 her memory, the slim figure in white sunk 
 deep in the yellow damask of the sofa, with 
 her dark hair relieved against the big soft 
 puffy cushion. Exactly like a picture ; 
 whereas Effie herself had sat straight up like 
 a little country girl. Mrs. Ogilvie ran on 
 hke a purling stream as they drove home, 
 expressing her satisfaction that it was Mary's 
 friend who was the mistress of the house, 
 and describing all the varieties of feeling in 
 her own mind on the subject — her conviction 
 that this was almost too good to be true, 
 and just more fortunate than could be 
 hoped. 
 
 But Effie listened, and paid no attention. 
 She had a world of her own now to escape 
 into. Would she ever be bold enough to 
 call them Phyllis and Doris ? — and then
 
 The Story of a Young Life 77 
 
 Fred — but nobody surely would expect her 
 to call him Fred. 
 
 Effie was disturbed in these deligfhtful 
 thoughts, and Mrs. Ogilvie's monologue was 
 suddenly broken in upon by a sound of 
 horses' hoofs, and a dust and commotion 
 upon the road, followed by the apparition of 
 Dr. Jardine's mare, with her head almost into 
 the carriage window on Effie's side. The 
 doctor's head above the mare's was pale. 
 There Avas foam on his lips, and he carried 
 his riding whip short and savagely, as if he 
 meant to strike some one. 
 
 " Tell me just one thing," he said, with- 
 out any preliminary greetings ; " have these 
 women been there ? " 
 
 " Dear me, doctor, what a fright you have 
 given me. Is anything wrong with Kobert ; 
 has anything happened ? Bless me, the 
 women ! what women ? You have just taken 
 my Ijreath away." 
 
 " These confounded women that spoil
 
 78 Effi,c Oijilvie 
 
 everything — will ye let me know if they 
 were there ? " 
 
 " Oh, the Miss — ■ — Well, yes — I was as 
 much surprised as you, doctor. With their 
 best bonnets on, and all in state in Mr. 
 Ewing's carriage ; they w^ere there to their 
 lunch." 
 
 The doctor swore a solemn oath — by ! 
 
 something which he did not say, which is 
 
 always a safe proceeding. 
 
 " You'll excuse me for stopping you, but I 
 
 could not believ(^ it. The old cats ! And to 
 
 their lunch ! " At this he gave a loud laugh. 
 
 " They're just inconcei viable ! " And rode 
 away.
 
 The Story of a Youikj Life. 79 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The acquaintance thus lbraio<l Ijctwccn the 
 houses of Allonby and (iilston was followed 
 l)y much and close interc()urse. In the 
 natural order of thmgs, there came two dinner 
 parties, the first of which was given by Mrs. 
 Ogilvie, and was a very ehiborate business. 
 The hidy of Gilston l)egan lier preparations 
 as soon as she returned from that first 
 momentous call. She spent a long time 
 going over the list of possible guests, making 
 marks upon the sheet of })aper on which Effie 
 had written out the names. 
 
 " Johnstones — three — no, l)ut that Avill 
 never do. Him and hci- we must have, of 
 course : but Mar}' must just stay at home,
 
 80 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 or come after dinner ; wlierc am I to get a 
 gentleman for her ? Tliere will have to be 
 two extra, gentlemen anyway for Eftie, and 
 one of the Miss Diroms. Do ye think I'm 
 just made of men ? No, no, Mary Johnstone 
 will haA-^e to stay at home. The Duncans ? — 
 well, he's cousin to the Marquis, and that is 
 always something ; but he's a foolish creature, 
 and his wife is not much better. Mrs. Heron 
 and Sir John — Oh, yes ; she is just a credit 
 to see at your table, with her diamonds ; and 
 though he is rather doited, poor man, he is 
 a great person in the county. Well, and 
 what do you say to the Smiths ? They're 
 nobody in particular, so far as birth goes ; 
 but the country is getting so dreadfully 
 democratic that what does that matter ? And 
 they're monied people like the Diroms them- 
 selves, and Lady Smith has a great deal to 
 say for herself. We will put down the 
 Smiths. But, Eftie, there is one thing that 
 just drives me to despair "
 
 The Story of a Young Life 81 
 
 " Yes ? " said Eftie, looking up from the 
 list ; " and what is that ? " 
 
 " The Miss Dempsters ! " cried her stepmother 
 in a tone which might have touched the hardest 
 heart. That was a question indeed. The Miss 
 Dempsters would have to ))e asked for the loan 
 of their forks and spoons, and their large lamp, 
 and hoth the silver candlesticks. How after 
 that would it be possible to leave them out ? 
 And how. put them in ? And how provide 
 two other men to balance the old ladies? 
 Such questions as these are enough to turn 
 any woman's hair gray, as Mrs. Ogilvie 
 said. 
 
 Then when that was settled there came the 
 bill of fare. The entire village knew days 
 before what there was to be for dinner, and 
 about the fish that was sent for from Dumfries, 
 and did not turn out all that could have been 
 wished, so that at the last moment a mere 
 common salmon from Sol way, a thing made no 
 account of, had to be put in the pot. 
 
 F
 
 82 Effw Ogilvie 
 
 Mrs. Moffatt at the shop had a sight of the 
 pastry, which was "just remarkable" she said. 
 And a dozen little groups were admitted on the 
 afternoon of the great day to see the table set 
 out, all covered with Howers, with the napkins 
 like snowy turrets round the edge, and the 
 silver and crystal shining. The Ogilvies 
 possessed an epergne won at some racing 
 meeting long before, which was a grejit work 
 of art, all in frosted silver, — a huntsman stand- 
 ing between a leash of dogs ; and this, with the 
 Dempster candlesticks on each side, made a 
 l)rilliant centre. And the schoolmaster recorded 
 afterwards amid his notes of the rainfall and 
 other interesting pieces of information, that the 
 fine smell of the cooking came as far as the 
 school, and distracted the bairns at tlieir les- 
 sons, causing that melting sensation in the 
 jaws which is described by the country folk 
 as watering of the mouth. 
 
 Effie was busy all the morning with the 
 flowers, with writing out little cards for the
 
 The Storif of a Yovu;/ Lifr 83 
 
 guests' mimes, and other such ornamental 
 arrangements. 
 
 Glen, confused in his mind and full of 
 curiosity, followed her aljout everywhere, softly 
 waving his great tail like a fan, sweeping off a 
 light article here and there from the crowded 
 tallies, and asking in his sujDerior doggish way, 
 what all this fuss and excitement (which he 
 rather enjoyed on the whole) w^as about ? till 
 somebody sent him away with a, kick and an 
 adjuration as being "in everybody's gait" — 
 which was a sad end to his impartial and 
 interested spectatorship. 
 
 Little Rory toddled at his sister's heels on 
 the same errand, jjut could not l)e kicked like 
 Glen — and altogether there was a great deal of 
 confusion. But you never would have divined 
 this when Mrs. Ogilvie came sweeping down 
 stairs in her pink silk, as if the dinner had all 
 Deen arranged by her major-domo, and she had 
 never argued with the cook in her life. 
 
 It may easily be supposed that the members
 
 84 Effic OgUvie 
 
 of the family had littk' time to compaTc notes 
 while theii- i>-ucsts remained. And it was not 
 till the last carriage liad rolled away and the 
 lady of the house had made her last smiling 
 protestation tliat it was still just ridiculously 
 early, that this meritorious woman threw her- 
 self into her favourite corner of the sofa, with 
 a profound sigh of pleasure and relief. 
 
 " Well ! " she said, and repeated that long- 
 drawn breath of satisfaction. " Well ! — it's 
 been a terrible trouble ; but I cannot say l)ut 
 I'm thoroughly content and pleased now that 
 it's past." 
 
 To this her husband, standing in front of 
 the expiring fire (for even in August a little 
 fire in the evening is not inapproj^riate on the 
 Border), replied with a suppressed growl. 
 
 "You're easy pleased," he said, "but wdiy 
 ye should take all this troulde to fill people 
 with good things, as the Scripture says, that 
 are not hungry and don't want them — " 
 
 " Oh, Robert, just you hold your peace !
 
 The Slorij (if (( YoiiiKj Life 85 
 
 You're always very well pleased to go (jut t(.) 
 your dinner. And as for the Allonby family, 
 it was a clear duty. When you speak oi Scrip- 
 ture }"ou surely forget that we're bidden to 
 entertain strangers unawares. No, that's not 
 iust rioiit, it's an!>els we entertain unawares." 
 
 " There's no angels in that house, or 1 am 
 mistaken," said ]Mr. ( jgilvie. 
 
 "Well, there's two very well-dressed girls, 
 which is the nearest to it : and there's another 
 person, that may turn <>ut e\en more important." 
 
 "And who nia}^ that be C 
 
 "Whist," said j\lrs. Ogilvie, holding u]) a 
 finger of admonition as the others approached. 
 " Well, Uncle John ! And Ethe, come you here 
 and rest. Poor thing, you're done out. Now 
 I would like to have your frank opinion. Mine 
 is that though it took a, great deal of trinible, 
 it's been a. grcnit success." 
 
 "The salmon was excellent," said Mr. 
 j\Ioubray. 
 
 "And the table looked very ]»i'etty."
 
 so Ep- ihjii 
 
 nc 
 
 " Aiul yon o-imise were iiut bad at all." 
 
 "Oh," (-ried JMr.s. Ogilvie, throwing up lier 
 liaiids, "ye tiresome peoj)le ! Am I thinking 
 of the salmon or the grouse ; was there any 
 chance they would be bad in my house ? I am 
 meaning the part}' : and my o}>inion is that 
 everybody was just very well pleased, aiid that 
 everything went off to a wish." 
 
 " That woman Lady Smith has a tongue 
 that would denv(^ a miller," said the master 
 of the house. " 1 request you will put her 
 at a distance from me, Janet, if she ever dines 
 here again." 
 
 " And wdiat will you do when she asks us ? " 
 cried his wife. " If she gives you anything 
 but her right hand — my word ! l)ut you will 
 be ill pleased." 
 
 To this argument her husband had no reply 
 handy, and after a moment she resumed — 
 
 " I am very orhxd to see you are sroino- 
 to be such friends with tlie Diroms, Effie ; 
 they're fine girls. Miss Doris, as they call
 
 The Story of a Youncj Life 87 
 
 her, might have had her dress a little higher, 
 but no doubt that's the fault of those grand 
 dressmakers that will have their own way. 
 But the one I like is Mr. Fred. He is a very 
 fine lad ; he takes nothing upon him." 
 
 " "What should he take upon him ? He's 
 nothing or nobody, but only a rich man's 
 son. 
 
 " Rol;)ert, you are just the most bigoted, 
 inconsiderate person ! Well, I think it's very 
 difticult when you are just a, rich person to 
 be modest and young like yon. If you are 
 a young duke that's different ; but to have 
 nothing l)ut money to stand upon — and not 
 to stand upon that — " 
 
 "It is very well said," said Uncle John, 
 making her a Ijow. " There's both charity 
 and observation in what Mrs. Ogilvie says." 
 
 "Is there not?" cried the lady in a Hush 
 01 pleasure. " Oh no, I'm not meaning it is 
 clever of me ; Ijut when a, young man has 
 nothing else, and is just pleasant, and never
 
 SS E(fir <h/ilvie 
 
 .seems to mind, but singles out a l)it little 
 tliino- of a U'irl in a white IVoclv — " 
 
 This made them all look at Eftie, who as 
 yet said nothing. She was leaning back in 
 the other corner, tired yet flushed with the 
 pleasure and novelty of finding herself so 
 important a i)erson. Her white frock was 
 very simple, but yet it was the best she had 
 ever had ; and never before had Effie been 
 " singled out," as her stepmother said. The 
 dinner })arty was a great event to her. 
 Nothing so important had occurred befcn-e, 
 nothino- in which she herself had been so 
 prominent. A pretty Hush of colour came 
 over her face. 
 
 There had been a jj-reat deal in Fred 
 Dirom's eyes which was quite new, mysterious, 
 and even, in its novelty, delightful to Ettie. 
 She could scarcely help laughing at the 
 recollection, and yet it made a warmth about 
 her heart. To be flattered in that silent 
 way — not by any mere compliment, l)ut by
 
 The Story of <( Youn;/ Life SD 
 
 the homage of a pair of eloquent eyes — is 
 startliiif!', stranoe never luisweet to a <'irL 
 It is a more siihtle eomino- of ai>e than any 
 birthday can bring. It shows tliat she has 
 passed out of the band of little girls into 
 that of tliose vouno- itrincosses wlinm all the 
 })oets have combined to praise. This first sen- 
 sation of the awakenins:'- (•(jnsciousness has some- 
 
 o 
 
 thing exquisite in it not to be put into words. 
 
 Her blush grew deeper as she saw the 
 group round all looking at her — her step- 
 mother with a, lauo'h of satisfaction, her 
 father with a olance in which the usual 
 drawing together of his shaggy eyel)rows 
 was a very poor simulation of a frown, and 
 Uncle John with a licpiid look of teu(hn^ 
 s^mipathy not unmingled with tender I'idicule 
 and full of love withal. 
 
 "Why do you all look at me like that?" 
 Effie cried, to throw oft" the frrowino; em- 
 barrassment. "I am not the only one that 
 hail a white fro<.'k,"
 
 90 EJjie Ogilvie 
 
 "'Well. I would not call yon a white frock 
 that was drooping otl' Doris Dirom's shoul- 
 ders," said Mrs. Ooilvie ; "hut we'll say no 
 moi'e al)out that. 80 far as I could see, 
 everybody was pleased : and they stayed a 
 most unconscionable time. Bless me 1 it's 
 past eleven o'clock. A little license may 
 always be given on a, great occasion; but 
 though it's a pleasure to talk it all over, 
 and everything has l)een just a great success, 
 1 think, Etiie, you should go to your l)ed. 
 Its later than your ordinary, and you have 
 l)een about the most of the day. Good-nisht, 
 my dear. You looked very nice, and your 
 flowers were just l)eautiful : everybody was 
 s[)eaking of them, and I gave the credit 
 where it was due." 
 
 " It is time for me to go too," said Uncle 
 •lohn. 
 
 "Oh, wait a moment." Mrs. Ogilvie 
 waited till Eltie had gone out of the room 
 with her candle, vevy tired, ver}^ i^'ippy?
 
 The Story of a Young Life 91 
 
 and glad to get away from so much eml)ar- 
 rassiug observation. The stepmother waited 
 a little until all was safe, and then she gave 
 vent to the suppressed triumph. 
 
 " You will just mark my words, you two 
 gentlemen," she cried. "They have met hut 
 three times — once when we called, once when 
 they were playing their tennis, or whatever 
 they call it — and to-night ; but if Effie is 
 not Mrs. Fred Dirom Ijefore six months are 
 out it will be her own fault," 
 
 "Fred Fiddlestick!" cried Mr. Ogilvie. 
 " You're just a silly woman, thinking of 
 nothinof l)ut love and marriao-es. I'll have 
 no more of that." 
 
 " If I'm a silly woman, there's not far otf 
 from here a sillier man," said Mrs. Ogilvie. 
 " You'll have to hear a great deal more of it. 
 And if you do not see all the advantages, 
 and tlie grand tiling it would be for Effie 
 to have such a settlement so young — " 
 
 " There was one at }'our hand if y(»u
 
 92 Effie Cjiliue 
 
 liad wanted to get rid <>f her, miicli youn- 
 
 ger." 
 
 "Oh," criod Mrs. Ogilvie, (daspiiig her 
 hands togetlier, '-tliat nien, who are always 
 said to l)e the rleverest and the wisest, 
 should he so slow at the uptake! Any 
 woman would understand — hut you, that 
 are her father 1 The one that was at my 
 hand, as you say, what was it? A long- 
 leggit lad in a marching regiment! with not 
 enough to keep him a, horse, let alone a 
 wife. That would have been a honnie busi- 
 ness ! — that would have been taking a 
 mother's care of Ettie ! 1 am thankful her 
 mother cannot hear ye. But Fred Dirom 
 is very different — the only son of a very 
 rich man. And no doubt the father, who 
 perhaps is not exactly made for society, 
 would give them Allonby, and set them up. 
 That is what my heart is set on for Ethe. 
 I have always said, I will never perhaps 
 have a grown-u}) daughter of my own."
 
 Thf tStory of o Youiuj Life \)o 
 
 "1 am sure," said Mr. Moiibray, "you 
 have notliiug but kindness in your heart," 
 
 " You mean I am nt)thing but a well- 
 intentioned haverel," said Mrs. Ogilvie, with 
 a. laugh. " But you'll see that I'm more 
 than that. Eftie ! bless me, what a. start 
 you gave me ! I thought 1 )y this time that 
 you were in your bed." 
 
 Eftie had come Ixick to the drawing-room 
 upon some trifling errand. She stood there 
 for a moment, her candle in her hand, her 
 fair head still decked with the rose wliicli 
 had been its only ornament. The light 
 threw a little flickering illumination upon 
 her foce, for her stepmother, always thrifty, 
 had already extinguished one of the lamps. 
 Mr. Moubray looked with eyes full of tender 
 pity upon the young figure in the doorway, 
 standing, hesitating, upon the verge of a 
 world unknown. He had no mind for any 
 further discussion. He followed her out 
 when she had carried oft" the gloves and
 
 94 Ejfic Ogilvie 
 
 little ormimeiit.s which she had left behind, 
 and stood witli her ;i moment in the hall 
 to say good-night. 
 
 " My little Etiie," he said, " an evening 
 like this is little to ns, but there is no 
 saying what it may be to you. I think it 
 has In-ought new thoughts already, to judge 
 by your face. 
 
 She looked u}) at, him startled, with her 
 colour rising. " No, Uncle John," she 
 answered, with the natural self-defence of 
 youth : then paused to inquire after her 
 denial. " What kind of new thoughts ?" 
 
 He stooped over her to kiss her, with his 
 hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 " We'll not inquire too far," he said. 
 " Nothing but novelty, my dear, and the 
 rising of the tide." 
 
 Effie opened the door for him, letting in 
 the fresh sweep of the night-wind, which 
 came so clear and keen over the moors, and 
 the twinkle of the stars lookinsc down from
 
 Tlir Stur// of II Yoi'/i;/ 1/ifr 9;" 
 
 the great vault of dark blue .sky. The 
 world seemed to widen out round them, 
 with the opening of that dooi-, which let 
 in all the silence and hush of the dec})- 
 breathing night. She put her candle ujHdi 
 the table and came out with him, her deH- 
 cate beino* thrillinjj- to the influence of the 
 sweet full air wdiich embraced her round 
 and round. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle John, what a night ! to thiidv 
 we should shut ourselves up in little dull 
 rooms with all this shining outside the 
 door !" 
 
 " We are but frail human creatures, Ettie, 
 though we have big souls ; the dull rooms 
 are best for us at this houi' of the night." 
 
 " I would like to walk with you down 
 amona: the trees. I would like to o-o down 
 the Dene and hear the water rushing, but 
 not to Allonby churchyard." 
 
 "No, nor to Allonby at all, IMe. Take 
 time, my bonnie dear, let no one hasten
 
 96 Vi'/Z/r O'jUvlc 
 
 your tlioughts. Come, I e;iniiot Imvu you 
 out \\Q\v in tlic uiolit in your white frock. 
 You look like ;i little u'host ; and what 
 would Mrs. Ogilvie say to me if you caught 
 cold just at this crisis of affairs'?" 
 
 He stopped to laugh softly, but put his 
 arm round her, and led her l)ack within the 
 door. 
 
 " The night is l)onnie and the air is fresh, 
 but home and shelter are the best. Good- 
 night, and Grod bless my little Effie," he 
 said. 
 
 The people in the village, whose minds 
 were now relieved from the strain of count- 
 ing all the carriages, and were going to 
 sleep calmly in the certainty that everybody 
 was gone, heard his firm slow step going- 
 past, and knew it was the minister, who 
 AYOuld naturally l)e the last to go home. 
 They took a pleasure in hearing him pass, 
 and the children, who were still awake, felt 
 a protection in the fact that he was there,
 
 The Story of a Young Life 97 
 
 going leisurely along the road, sure to keep 
 away any ghost or robber that miglit be 
 lurking in the stillness of the night. His 
 very step was full of thought. 
 
 It was pleasant to him, without an}^ sad 
 work in hand, to walk through the little 
 street between the sleeping houses, saying a 
 blessing upon the sleepers as he passed. 
 Usually when he was out so late, it was on 
 his way to some sickbed to minister to the 
 troubled or the dying. He enjoyed to-night 
 the exemption and the leisure, and with a 
 smile in his eyes looked from the light in 
 Dr. Jardine's window, within which the Dr. 
 was no doubt smoking a comfortable pipe 
 l:)efore he went to bed, to the little inquisi- 
 tive glimmer higher up in Rosebank, where 
 the old ladies were laying aside their old 
 finery and talking over the party. He 
 passed between them with a humorous con- 
 sciousness of their antagonism which did not 
 disturb the general peace. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 The stars shone with a little frost in their 
 brightness, though it was but August ; the 
 night-air blew fresli in his face ; the village, 
 with all its windows and eyelids ('k)sed, slept 
 deep in the silence of the night. " (jod bless 
 them all — but nbove all Effie," he repeated, 
 smilino: to himself.
 
 The Storij of a Young Life 09 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Diroms belonged to a class now very 
 common in England, the class of very rich 
 people without any antecedents or responsi- 
 bilities, which it is so difficult to classify or 
 lay hold of, and which neither the authori- 
 ties of society nor the moralist have yet 
 fully comprehended. They had a great deal 
 of money, which is ])opularly recognized to 
 be power, and they owed it to nobody but 
 themselves. 
 
 They owed nothing to anybody. They 
 had no estates to keep u}) ; no poor people 
 depended upon them ; the clerks and porters 
 ;it the office were not to call dependents, 
 tliouglj pr()l)al)]y — out of good nature, when
 
 100 Ejffle Orjilvie 
 
 they were ill or trouljle arose in their 
 families, if it hcap})encd to come under the 
 notice of the head of the firm, he would 
 fling them a little money, perhaps with an 
 admonition, perhaps with a joke. But this 
 was pure liberality, generosity as his friends 
 called it. He had nothing to " keep u^^." 
 
 Even the sick gamekeeper who had been 
 hurt by a fall, though he was in the new 
 tenant's service, was Lady Allonby's servant, 
 and it was she who had to support his 
 family while he was ill. The rich people 
 were responsible for nobody. If they were 
 kind — and they were not unkind — it was all 
 to their credit, for they had no duty to 
 any one. 
 
 This was how the head of the house 
 considered his position. '' I don't know 
 anything about your land burdens, your 
 feudal burdens," he would say ; " money 
 is what has made me. I pay taxes enough, 
 I hope ; but I've got no sentimental taxes
 
 The Story of a Young Life 101 
 
 to pay, and I won't have anything to say 
 to such rubbish. I am a working man 
 myself, just like the rest. If these fellows 
 will take care of their own business as I 
 did, they will get on themselves as I have 
 done, and want nothing from anybody. I've 
 no call even to ' keep up ' my family ; they 
 ought to be w^orking for themselves, as I 
 was at their age. If I do, it's because the 
 girls and their mother are too many for 
 me, and I have to yield to their preju- 
 dices." 
 
 These were Mr. Dirom's principles : but 
 he threw about his money very liberally all 
 the same, giving large subscriptions, with a 
 determination to stand at the head of the 
 list when he was on it at all, and an 
 inclination to twit the others who did not 
 give so liberally with their stinginess ; 
 "What is tlie use of makincj bones of it?" 
 he said, with a flourish to Sir John, who 
 was well known to be in straightened
 
 102 ]<:„tfir Of) 
 
 circumstances ; "I just draw a cheque for 
 five hundred and the thing's done." 
 
 Sir J(jhii (;oukl no more have drawn a 
 cheque for five hundred than he could have 
 flown, and Mr. Dirom knew it ; and the 
 knowledge gave an edge to his pleasure. 
 Sir John's twenty-five pounds was in reality 
 a much larger contribution than Mr. Dirom's 
 five hundred, but the public did not think 
 of this. The public sidd that Sir John gave 
 the twenty-five because he could not help 
 it, because his j)osition demanded it ; but 
 Mr. Dirom's five hundred took away the 
 breath of the spectators. It was more than 
 liberal ; it was magnificent. 
 
 Mr. Dirom was a man who wore white 
 waistcoats and large well-blown roses in his 
 coat. He swaggered, without knowing it, 
 in his walk, and in his speech, wherever he 
 was visible. The young people were better 
 bred, and were very conscious of those im- 
 perfections. They j)referred, indeed, that he
 
 Th'^ Story of a Yoiduj Life 103 
 
 should not " trouble," as they said, to come 
 home, especially to come to the country 
 when business prevented. There was no 
 occasion for papa to " trouble." Fred could 
 take his place if he was detained in town. 
 In this way they showed a great deal of 
 tender consideration for their father's engage- 
 ments. Perhaps he was deceived by it, 
 perhaps not ; no one could tell. He took 
 his own way absolutely, appearing when it 
 suited him, and when it did not suit him 
 leaving them to their own devices. Allonby 
 was too far off for him, too distant from 
 town : though he was quite willing to be 
 known as the occuj^ier of so handsome a 
 " place." He came down for the first of 
 the shooting, which is the right thing in 
 the city, but afterwards did not trouble his 
 family much with his presence, which was 
 satisfactory to everjd^ody concerned. It was 
 not known exactly what Mr. Dirom had 
 risen from, but it was low enough to make
 
 104 Ejjtc Ojilvie 
 
 his present elevation wonderful, and to give 
 that double zest to wealth which makes the 
 self-made man happy. 
 
 Mrs. Dirom was of a different order. She 
 was two generations at least from the begin- 
 ning of her family, and she too, though in 
 a less degree than her children, felt that 
 her husband's manners left somethino; to be 
 desired. He had helped himself up by her 
 means, she having been, as in the primitive 
 legend, of the class of the master's daughters : 
 at least her father was the head of the 
 firm under which Dirom had beoun to "make 
 his way." But neither was she quite up to 
 the mark. 
 
 "Mamma is dreadfully middle-class," the 
 girls said. In some respects that is worse 
 than the lower class. It made her a little 
 timid and doubtful of her position, which 
 her husband never was. None of these 
 things affected the young people ; they had 
 received " every advantage."
 
 The Story of a Young Life 105 
 
 Their father's wealth was supposed to be 
 immense ; and when wealth is immense it 
 penetrates everywhere. A moderate fortune 
 is worth very little in a social point of 
 view, but a great fortune opens every door. 
 
 The elder In-other, who never came to 
 Allonby, who never went near the business, 
 who had been portioned off contemptuously 
 by his father, as if he had been a girl 
 (and scorn could not go farther), had 
 married an earl's daughter, and, more than 
 that, had got her off the very steps of 
 the throne, for she had been a Maid of 
 Honour. He was the most refined and 
 cultivated individual in the world, with one 
 of the most lovely houses in London, and 
 everything about him artistic to the last 
 degree. It was with difficulty that he put 
 up with his father at all. Still, for the 
 sake of his little Ijoy, he acknowledged the 
 relationship from time to time. 
 
 As for Fred and his sisters, they have
 
 106 l^ffie Ogilvie 
 
 already Leen made known to the reader. 
 Fred was by way of being " in the busi- 
 ness," and went down to the office three 
 or four times in the week when he was 
 in town. But what he wished to be was 
 an artist. He painted more or less, he 
 modelled, he had a studio of his own in 
 the midst of one of the special artistic 
 quarters, and retired there to work, as he 
 said, whenever the light was good. 
 
 For his part Fred aspired to be a 
 Bohemian, and did everything he could in 
 a virtuous way to carry out his intention. 
 He scorned money, or thought he did 
 while enjoying every luxury it could pro- 
 cure. If he could have found a beautiful 
 milkmaid or farm girl with anything like 
 the Rossetti type of countenance he w^ould 
 have married her off-hand ; but then beauties 
 of that description are rare. The country 
 lasses on the Border were all of too cheerful 
 a type. But he had fully made up his mind
 
 The Story of a Young Life 107 
 
 that when the right woman appeared no 
 question of money or ambition should he 
 allowed to interfere between him and his 
 inclinations. 
 
 " You may say what you will," he said 
 to his sisters, " and I allow my principles 
 would not answer with girls. You have 
 nothing else to look to, to get on in the 
 world. But a man can take that sort of 
 thing in his own hands, and if one gets 
 l^eauty that's enough. It is more distinction 
 than anything else. I shall insist upon 
 beauty, but nothing more." 
 
 " It all depends on what you call beauty," 
 said Miss Phyllis. " You can make any- 
 thing beauty if you stand by it and swear 
 to it. Marrying a painter isn't at all a 
 bad way. He paints you over and over 
 again till you get recognized as a Type, 
 and then it doesn't matter what other people 
 say." 
 
 "You can't call Eftie a Type," said the
 
 108 Effie Oyilvie 
 
 young lady who called lierself Doris — her 
 name in fact was a more humble one : but 
 then not even the Herald's College has 
 anything to do with Christian names. 
 
 " She may not be a Type — but if you 
 had seen her as I did in the half light, 
 coming out gradually as one's eyes got 
 used to it like something developing in a 
 camera — Jove ! She was like a Burne- 
 Jones — not strong enough for the blessed 
 Damozel or that sort of thing, but sad and 
 sweet like — like — " Fred paused for a 
 simile, " like a hopeless maiden in a pro- 
 cession winding down endless stairs, or — 
 standing about in the wet, or — If she 
 had not been dressed in nineteenth-century 
 costume." 
 
 " He calls that nineteenth-century cos- 
 tume ! " said Phyllis with a mixture of 
 sympathy and scorn. 
 
 " Poor Effie is not dressed at all," said 
 the other sister. " She has clothes on, that
 
 The Story of a Young Life 109 
 
 is all : but I could make her look very nice 
 if she were in m}^ hands. She has a pretty 
 little figure, not spoiled at all — not too solid 
 like most country girls but just enough to 
 drape a pretty flowing stuff or soft muslin 
 upon. I should turn her out that you would 
 not know her if she trusted herself to me." 
 
 " For goodness' sake let her alone," cried 
 Fred; "don't make a trollop of my little 
 maiden. Her little stiffness suits her. I like 
 her just so, in her white frock." 
 
 " You should have been born a milliner, 
 Dor." 
 
 " Perhaps I was — and papa's money has 
 thwarted nature. If he should ever lose it 
 all, which I suppose is on the cards " 
 
 " Oh, very much on the cards," said 
 Fred. 
 
 "There is always a smash some time or 
 other in a great commercial concern." 
 
 " What fun ! " said Miss Phyllis. 
 
 "Then I shouhl set up directly. The
 
 110 F.ffic Ogilvie 
 
 sisters Dirom, milliners and dressmakers. It 
 would be exceedingly amusing, and we should 
 make a great fortune — all good dressmakers 
 do." 
 
 " It would be very amiable of you, Dor, 
 to call your firm the sisters Dirom — for I 
 should be of no use. I shall spend the 
 fortune if you please, but I couldn't help in 
 any other way." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you could. You will marry, 
 and have all your things from me. I should 
 dress you beautifully, and you would be the 
 most delightful advertisement. Of course 
 you would not have any false pride. You 
 would say to your duchesses, I got this 
 from my sister. She is the only possible 
 dressmaker nowadays." 
 
 " False pride — oh, I hope not ! It would 
 be quite a distinction — everybody would go. 
 You could set up afternoon teas, and let 
 them try on all your things. It would be 
 delightful. But pa})a will not come to grief.
 
 The Story of a Yoimy Life 111 
 
 lie is too well backed up," saiJ Phyllis with 
 a sig;h. 
 
 " If I do not many next season, I shall 
 not wait for the catastrophe," said Doris. 
 " Perhaps if the Opposition comes in we 
 might coax Lord Pantry to get me ap- 
 pointed milliner to the Queen. If Her 
 Majesty had once a dress from me, she 
 would never look at W(jrth more." 
 
 " Worth ! " said Phyllis, throwing up her 
 hands in mild but indignant amazement. 
 
 " Well, then, Waley, or whatever you call 
 him. Worth is a mere symbol," said Doris 
 with philosojDhical calm. " How I should 
 like it ! but if one marries, one's husband's 
 family and all kinds of impossible people 
 interfere." 
 
 " You had better marry, you girls," said 
 Fred ; "it is much your best chance. Wipe 
 out the governor with a title, 'lliat's what 
 I should do if I could. Put unfortunately 
 I can't — the finest of liciresses does not com-
 
 112 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 muiiicatc her family honours, more's the 
 pity. I shall always be Fred Dirom, if I 
 were to marry a duchess. But an artist's 
 antecedents don't matter. Fortunately he 
 makes his own way." 
 
 " Fred," said his mother, coming in, " I 
 wish you would not talk of yourself as an 
 artist, dear. Papa does not like it. He in- 
 dulges you all a great deal, but there are 
 some things that don't please him at all." 
 
 " Quite unreasonably, mother dear," said 
 Fred, who was a good son, and very kind 
 to her on the whole. " Most of the fellows 
 I know in that line are much better l)orn 
 than I am. Gentlemen's sons, most of them." 
 
 " Oh, Fred ! " said Mrs. Dirom, with eyes 
 of deep reproach. She added in a tremulous 
 voice, " My grandfather had a great deal of 
 property in the country. He had indeed, I 
 assure you, although you think we have 
 nothing but money. And if that does not 
 mal^e a gentleman, what does 1 "
 
 The Story of a Young Life 113 
 
 " What indeed '? " said her son : but he 
 made no further reply. And the sisters in- 
 terposed. 
 
 " We were talking of what we shall all 
 do in case the firm should come to grief, 
 and all the money be lost." 
 
 " Oh, girls ! " Mrs. Dirom started violently 
 and put her hand to her heart. " Fred ! 
 you don't mean to say that there are 
 rumours in the city, or a word whis- 
 pered — " 
 
 " Not when I heard last — but then T 
 have not been in the city for a month. 
 That reminds me," said Fred, " that really 
 I ought to put in an appearance — ^just once 
 in a wa}'." 
 
 " You mean you want to have a run to 
 town ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear," said his mother, " go if you 
 think you could be of any use. Oh, you 
 don't know what it is you are talking of so 
 lightly. I could tell you things — Oh, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 EJfic Oyilvie 
 
 Fred, if you think there is anything going 
 on, any danger — " 
 
 " Nothing of the sort," he said, with a 
 hiugh. " We were only wondering what we 
 shoukl be good for mother — not much, I be- 
 lieve. I might perhaps draw for the 
 Graphic fancy pictures of battles and that 
 sort of thing ; or, if the worst came to the 
 worst, there is the Police News." 
 
 " You have both got Vocations," said 
 Phyllis, "It is fine for you. You know 
 what to do, you two. But I can do 
 nothing ; I should have to Marry." She 
 spoke with a languid emphasis as of capi- 
 tals, in her speech. 
 
 " Oh, children !" cried Mrs. Dirom, " what 
 are you thinking of ? You think all that is 
 clever, but it does not seem clever to me. 
 It is just the dreadful thing in business 
 that one day you may be up at the top of 
 the tree, and next morning — " 
 
 "Nowhere!" said Fred, with a burlesque
 
 The Story of a Young Life 115 
 
 groan. And then they all laughed. The 
 anxious middle-class mother looked at them 
 as the hen of the proverb looks at her 
 ducklings. Silly children ! what did they 
 know about it ? She could have cried in 
 vexation and distress. 
 
 " You laugh," she said, " but you would 
 not laugh if you knew as much as I do. 
 The very name of such a thing is unlucky. 
 I wouldn't let myself think of it lest it 
 should bring harm. Things may be quite 
 right, and I hope and believe they are 
 (juite right : but if there was so much as a 
 whisper on the Exchange that his children 
 — his own children — had been joking on the 
 subject. Oh, a whisper, that's enough I " 
 
 The young people were not in the least 
 impressed by what she said — they had not 
 been brought up in her sphere. That alarm 
 for exposure, that dread of a catastrophe 
 which was strong in her bosom, had no re- 
 sponse in theirs. 'I'hey had no more under-
 
 1 1 G Ejjir 0(jilvie, 
 
 stundiug of poverty tliuii of Paradise— iuul 
 to the gii'Ls ill pai'tieular, the idea of a 
 great event, a matter of much noise and 
 coniniotioii, to he foUowed by new enchanting 
 freedom and tlie possibilities of adventure, 
 was really "fun!" as they said. They were 
 not afraid of being di-o})ped hy their fi'iends. 
 
 Society has undergone a change in this 
 respect. A young lady turned into a fashion- 
 able dressmaker would be the most deliuht- 
 ful of lions ; all her acquaintances would 
 crowd round her. She would be celebrated 
 as "a no])le girl" by the serious, and as 
 chic by the fast. 
 
 Doris looked forward to the possibility 
 with a delightful perception of all the ad- 
 vanta2:es that were in it. It was more 
 exciting than the other expedient of marry- 
 ing, which was all that, in the poverty of 
 her invention, occurred to Phyllis. They 
 made very merry, while their mother trembled 
 with an alarm for wdiich there was no ap-
 
 The Story of a Youiu/ Life 117 
 
 parent foundation. She was nervous, which 
 is always a, ready explanation of a woman's 
 troubles and fears. 
 
 There was, in fact, no foundation what- 
 ever for any alarm. Never had the credit of 
 Dirom, Dirom and Company stood higher. 
 There was no cloud, e\en so big as a finger, 
 upon the sky. 
 
 Mr. Dirom himself, though his childj'cn 
 were ashamed of him, was not without ac- 
 €eptance in society. In his faithfulness to 
 business, staying in town in September, he 
 had a choice of fine houses in which to make 
 those little visits from Saturday to Monday 
 wliich are so pleasant ; ami great ladies who 
 had daughters incpiired tenderly al)out Fred, 
 and learned with the profoundest interest that 
 it was he who was the Prince of Wales, the 
 heir-apparent of the hous(% he, and not Jack 
 the married son, who would have nothing to 
 say to the business. 
 
 When Fred ])aid a flying visit to town to
 
 118 Effic Ogilvie 
 
 "look up the governor," as lie said, and see 
 what was going on, he too was overwhelmed 
 witli invitations from Saturday to Monday. 
 And thouirh he was modest enouo'h he was 
 very well aware that he would not l)e refused, 
 as a son-in-law, l)y some of the finest people 
 in Ensjland. 
 
 That he was not a little dazzled by the 
 perception it would be wrong to say — and the 
 young Lady Marys in English country houses 
 are very fair and sweet. But now there would 
 glide before him wherever he went the appari- 
 tion of Eftie in her white frock. 
 
 Why should he have thouglit of Effie, a 
 mere country girl, yet still a country gentle- 
 woman without the piquancy of a milkmaid or 
 a nursery governess ? But who can fathom 
 these mysteries ? No blooming beauty of the 
 fields had come in Fred's way, though he had 
 piously invoked all the gods to send him such 
 a one : but Ettie, who was scarcely a type at 
 all — Etfie, who was oidy a humble represen-
 
 The Story of a Young Life 119 
 
 tative of fair maidenhood, not so perfect, 
 perhaps, not so well dressed, not so beautiful 
 as many of her kind. 
 
 Effie had come across his path, and hence- 
 forward went with him in spirit wherever 
 he went. Curious accident of human fate ! 
 To think that Mr. Dirom's money, and Fred's 
 accomplishments, and their position in society 
 and in the city, all things which might have 
 made happy a duke's daughter, were to be laid 
 at the careless feet of little Effie Ogilvie ! 
 
 If she had been a milkmaid the wonder 
 would have been less great.
 
 120 E£U- Ogilvie 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 And for all these things Eftie cared nothing. 
 This forms always a tragic element in the most 
 ordinary love-making, where one gives what 
 the other does not appreciate, or will not ac- 
 <',ept, yet the giver cannot be persuaded to 
 withdraw the gift, or to follow the impulse of 
 that natural resentment A\diicli comes from 
 kindness disdained. 
 
 There was nothing tragical, however, in the 
 present circumstances, which were largely com- 
 posed of lawn tennis at Allonl)y, afternoon tea 
 in the dimness of an unnecessarily shaded 
 room, or walks nlong the side of the little 
 stream. When Effie came for the favourite 
 afternoon orame, the sisters and their brother
 
 The Story of a Youmj Life 121 
 
 would escort her home, sometimes all the way, 
 sometimes only as far as the little churchyai-d 
 where the \n\t\\ struck off and climbed the 
 high river bank. 
 
 Nothing could be more pleasant than tliis 
 walk. The days were often gray and dim ; 
 but the walkers were young, and not too 
 thinly clad ; the damp in the air did not affect 
 them, and the breezes stirred their veins. 
 The stream was small but lively, bro\v'n, full 
 of golden lights. So far as the park went the 
 l)tink was low on the Allon1)_y side, though on 
 the other picturescj_ue, with rising cliffs and a 
 screen of trees. In the lower hollows of these 
 cliffs the red of the rowan Ijerries and the 
 graceful l)unches of the barl)erry anticipated 
 the autumnal tints, and waving bracken l)elow, 
 '<\n(\ a host of tiny ferns in every crevice, gave 
 an air of luxuriance. The grass was doubly 
 green with that emerald 1)riglitness wliidi 
 comes fi'om damp, and when the sun slioiic 
 everything Jighted up witli almost an arti-
 
 122 Efv Oijilvie 
 
 fifdal glow of excessive colour, greenness, and 
 growth. 'J'lie little party would stroll along 
 filling the (juiet with their young voices, put- 
 ting even the birds to silence. 
 
 But it was not Effie who talked. She was 
 the audience, sometimes a little shocked, some- 
 times bewildered, but always amused more or 
 less ; wondering at them, at their cleverness, 
 at their simplicity, at what the country girl 
 thought their ignorance, and at what she knew 
 to be their superior wisdom. 
 
 Fred too was remarkable on these points, 
 but not so remarkable as his sisters ; and he 
 did not talk so much. He walked when he 
 could by Effie's side, and made little remarks 
 to her, which Effie [iccounted for by the con- 
 viction that he was very polite, and thought it 
 right to show her those regards which were 
 due to a young lad)^ She lent but a dull ear 
 to what he said, and gave her chief attention 
 to Phyllis and Doris, whose talk was more 
 wonderful than anything else that Effie knew.
 
 Tlic Story of a Younrj Life 123 
 
 " It is curious," Miss Phyllis said, " that 
 there never are two picturesque hanks to a 
 river. Nature provides herself a theatre, 
 don't you know. Here are we in the audi- 
 torium." 
 
 *' Only there is nothing to hear," said Doris, 
 " except the hirds — well, that's something. 
 But music over there would have a fine eftect. 
 It would be rather nice to try it, if it ever was 
 warm enough here for an open air party. You 
 could have the orchestra hidden : the strings 
 there, the wind instruments here, don't you 
 see, violas in the foreground, and the big 'cello 
 booming out of that juniper." 
 
 " By Jove ! " cried Fred from where he 
 strolled behind with Effie, " how astounded 
 the blackbirds would l)e." 
 
 " It would be interesting to know what they 
 thought. Now, what do you suppose they 
 would do ? Stop and listen ? or else be struck 
 by the force of tlie (drcumstances and set up 
 an opposition ? "
 
 124 Effic Oijilvie 
 
 " Burst their little throats against the 
 strinofs." 
 
 " Or he deafened with your vulgar trom- 
 bones. Fancy a brass l)a,nd on the side of 
 the wan water ! " 
 
 " It would 1)e very nice, though," said Doris. 
 '' I said nothing about troml)ones. It would 
 be quite eighteenth century. And here on the 
 hxwii we (^ould sit and drink sylhd^ubs. What 
 are syllabubs ? Probal)ly most people would 
 prefer tea. Eftie, what do you think ? you 
 never say a word. Shall w^e have a garden 
 party, and music over there under the cliff?" 
 
 Effie had walked on softly, taking in every- 
 thing with a mingled sense of admiration and 
 ridicule. She was quite apart, a spectator, 
 listenine; to the artificial talk about nothinor 
 at all, the conversation made up with a. dis- 
 tinct idea of being brilliant and interesting, 
 which yet was natural enough to these young 
 people, themselves artificial, who made up 
 their talk as they made up their life, out
 
 The Story of a Young Life 125 
 
 of nothing. Efiie laughed within herself with 
 involuntary criticism, yet was half impressed 
 at the same time, feeling that it was like 
 somethino' out of a book. 
 
 " Oh, me ? " she said in sur|)rise at being 
 consulted. " I have not any opinion, indeed. 
 I never thouo;ht of it at all." 
 
 " Then think now, and let us hear ; for 
 you should know best how the people here 
 would like it." 
 
 " Don't you sec, Dor, that she thinks us 
 very silly, and would not talk such nonsense 
 as w^e are talkino- for the world ? There is no 
 sense in it, and Ethe is full of sense." 
 
 " Miss Ogilvie has both sense and sym- 
 pathy," said Fred. 
 
 This dis(;ussion over her alarmed Effie. She 
 grew red and pale ; half affronted, half pleased, 
 wholly shy and uncomfortable. 
 
 "No," she said, " I couldn't talk like you. 
 I never talk except when — except when — 1 
 have got something to say ; that is, of course,
 
 126 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 1 mean something that is — something — not 
 merely out of my ]iead, like you. 1 am not 
 clever enough for that." 
 
 " Is she making fun of us, Phyll ? " 
 
 " I think so, Dor. She is fact, and we 
 are — well, what are we 'i — not fiction alto- 
 gether, because we're real enough in flesh 
 and Idood." 
 
 ]l^ffie was moved to defend herself. 
 
 " You are like two young ladies in a 
 book," she said, " and I am just a girl 
 like anybody else. I say How-do-you-do ? 
 and Do you think it will be a fine day ? 
 or I can tell you if anything has happened 
 in the village, and that Dr. Jardine was 
 called away this morning to Fairyknowe, 
 so that somebody there must be ill. But 
 you make up what is very nice to listen 
 to, and yet it makes one laugh, because it 
 is about nothing at all." 
 
 "That is quite true," said Doris; "that 
 is our way. We don't go in for fact. We
 
 The Story of a Young Life 127 
 
 belong to tlie speculative side. We lia\c 
 nothing real to do, so we have to imagine 
 things to talk about." 
 
 " And I hope you think we do it well," 
 said Phyllis with a laugh. 
 
 Effie was encouraged to laugh too ; but 
 her feelings were very complicated ; she was 
 respectful and yet she was a little con- 
 temptuous. It was all new to her, and out 
 of her experience ; yet the great house, the 
 darkened rooms, the luxury and ease, the 
 way in which life went on, apparently 
 without any effort on the jiart of this 
 cluster of people, who had everything they 
 wanted without even the troul)le of askingr 
 for it, as in a fairy tale, harmonized witli 
 the artificial talk, the speculations, the 
 studies which were entirely voluntary, with- 
 out any use as Effie thought, without any 
 call for them. 
 
 She herself was not indeed compelled to 
 work as ])oor girls were, as governesses
 
 128 Efie Ogihic 
 
 were, even as the daughters of ]ieople with- 
 in her own ranoe, who made their own 
 dresses, and taught tlieir little brothers and 
 sisters, had to do. But still there were 
 certain needs which she supplied, and cases 
 ill which she had a necessary ofH(;e to 
 fulfil. There were the flowers for instance. 
 Old Pirie always brought her in a basket- 
 ful whenever she wanted them ; but if 
 Pirie had to be trusted to arrange the 
 flowers 1 
 
 In Allonby, however, even that was done ; 
 the vases refilled themselves somehow, as if 
 by help of the fairies ; the table was always 
 magnificent, but nobody knew when it was 
 done or who did it — nobody, that is, of 
 the family. Phyllis and Doris decided, it 
 was to be supposed, what they should wear, 
 but that was all the trouble they took 
 even about tlieir dress. Numbers of men 
 and women worked in the background to 
 provide for all their wants, but they them-
 
 The Ston/ of u YouiKj Life 129 
 
 selves liad nothing to do with it. And 
 they talked as they lived. 
 
 Effie did not put all this into words, 
 but she perceived it, by means of a little 
 humorous perception which was in her eyes 
 thouo^h she did not know it. And thouc:h 
 they were so much liner than she was, 
 knew so much more, and possessed so 
 much more, yet these young ladies were 
 as the comedians of life to little Effie, j^er- 
 forming their drawing-room drama for her 
 amusement. They talked over the little 
 churchyard which lay at the opening of the 
 glen in the same way. 
 
 " The Americans have not found out 
 Allonby yet," they said to each other. 
 " We must ask Miss Greenwood up here — 
 or, oh ! let us have Henry Holland. But 
 no, he will not go into any raptures. He 
 has gone through everything in that way. 
 He is more hlase than the most hlase of 
 Englishmen : let us liav^e some one fresh. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 Effie Oyilvic 
 
 How tliey will hang over the llic jacet ! 
 
 And we must have some one who knows 
 
 the ballad. Do you know the ballad. Effie ? 
 
 but perhaps you never heard of it, as you 
 
 were born here." 
 
 "Do you mean about Helen V said Effie. 
 
 And in her shyness she grew red, up to her 
 
 hair. 
 
 " Oh Helen fair beyond compare, 
 I'll make a garland of thy hair, 
 Shall bind my heart for ever mair." 
 
 " How delightful ! the rural muse, the 
 very genius of the country. Effie, you 
 shall recite it to us standing by the stone 
 with a shepherd's maud thrown over you, 
 and that sweet Scotch accent which is 
 simply delicious." 
 
 "And the blush, dear, just as it is," 
 said Phyllis, clapping her hands softly ; 
 " you will have the most enormous success." 
 
 " Indeed, I shall do nothing of the sort," 
 said Effie, her soft colour of shyness and
 
 The Storij of a Yoinuj Life 131 
 
 resentment turning into the hot red of 
 shame. " I wish you would not try to 
 make a fool of me, as well as of the 
 place." 
 
 " To make a fool of you ! Don't be 
 angry, Effie, the phrase is enchanting. Make 
 a fool of — that is Scotch too. You know 
 I am beginning to make a collection of 
 Scoticisms ; they are one nicer than an- 
 other. I only wish I had the accent and 
 the voice." 
 
 " And the blush, Dor ; it would not be 
 half so effective without that. Could you 
 pick up those little particulars which Effie 
 doesn't appreciate, with your dramatic in- 
 stinct into the bargain " 
 
 " Should I be able to recite Fair Helen 
 as well as Effie *? Oh no," said Doris, and 
 she began, " Oh Helen fair beyond com- 
 pare," with an imitation of that ac-cent 
 which Effie fondly hoped she was free of, 
 which entirely overcame the girl's self-con-
 
 182 Effi.e Ogilvie 
 
 trol. Her blush grew hotter and liotter till 
 she felt herself fiery red with anger, and 
 iina1)le to Ijcar any more. 
 
 " If I spoke like that," she cried, " T 
 should be ashamed ever to open my mouth ! " 
 then she added witli a wave of her hand, 
 " Goodbye, I am going home," for she could 
 not trust herself further. 
 
 " Oh, Effie, Effie ! Why goodness, the 
 child's offended," cried Phyllis. 
 
 " And I had just caught her tone ! " said 
 the other. 
 
 Then they both turned upon Fred. " Why 
 don't you go after her"? Why don't you 
 catch her up ? Why do you stand there 
 starino; 1 " 
 
 " Why are you l)oth so— disagreeable '( " 
 cried Fred, who had hurried on while they 
 spoke, and turned back to fling at them 
 this very innocent missile as he ran ; noth- 
 ing stronger occurred to him to say. He 
 had not the vocaljulary of his sisters. They
 
 The Story of a Yoiukj Life l;3o 
 
 watched him while he rushed aloiio- aud 
 saw him overtake the little fugitive. It 
 was a sight which interested these two 
 young ladies. They became contemplative 
 spectators once more. 
 
 "I wonder if he will know what to say?" 
 Doris inquired of herself. " It should be a 
 capital opportunity for Fred if he knows how 
 to take advantage of it. He ought to throw 
 us l)oth overljoard at on(.'e, and say we were a 
 couple of idiots, who did not know what we 
 were talking about. I should, in Fred's place." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose that would l)e the right 
 way ; but a man does naturally throw over 
 his sisters," said Phyllis. "You need not 
 be afraid. It was fine to see her l)laze up. 
 Fury is not pretty generally — in papa, for 
 instan(;e." 
 
 " Ah, that's l)eyond a, sentiment. But in 
 l^^the it will only Ije a flare and all over. 
 She will be penitent. After a little while 
 she will be awfully sweet to Fred."
 
 l;U Effir Off il vie 
 
 '' And flo you I'oallv \v;mt liim to — pro- 
 pose to liej-, Dor V 
 
 **That is a strong step," said the young 
 lady, "because if lie did lie would have to 
 stick to it. I don't see that I am called 
 upon to consider contingencies. In t\w 
 meantime it's very amusins; to see Fred in 
 
 love. 
 
 " In the al)sence," said Phyllis, *' of more 
 exciting preoccupations. " 
 
 " Ah ! that's true ; you're ;i marrying 
 woman yourself, " was the remark her sister 
 made. 
 
 Meanwhile Fred had overtaken Eftie, who 
 was already beginning to feel ashamed and 
 remorseful, and to say in her own ear that 
 it was she who was making a fool of herself. 
 How could she have been so silly ? People 
 always make themselves ridiculous when 
 they take offence, and, of course, they would 
 only laugh at her for Ijeing so touchy, so 
 absurd. But nobody likes to be mocked, or
 
 The Storji of a Yourifi Life 135 
 
 to be mimicked, which comes to the same 
 thino-, Effie said to herself. 
 
 A hot tear had gathered into each eye, 
 but the flush was softening down, and com- 
 punction was more and more getting pos- 
 session of her bosom, when Fred, anxious, 
 devoted, panting, came up to her. It was 
 ;i moment or two before he could sfet breath 
 to speak. 
 
 " I don't know what to say to you, Miss 
 Ogilvie, That is just my difficulty with 
 the girls," said Fred, proraptl}?" throwing his 
 sisters over as they had divined. " They 
 have so little perception. Not a bad sort 
 in themselves, and devoted to you : but 
 without tact — without your delicacy of feel- 
 incr — without " 
 
 " Oh," cried Effie, " you must not com- 
 pare them with me ; they are far, far 
 
 cleverer — far more instructed — far It 
 
 was so sill}' of me to be vexed " 
 
 " Not silly at all ; just wiiat you would
 
 136 Effie Onilvic 
 
 naturally be with yoni- reliued taste. I 
 can't tell yon liow 1 felt it," said Fred, 
 giving himself credit for the perception that 
 was wanting in his sisters. " But you will 
 forgive them, Miss (Jgilvie ? they will be so 
 unhappy." 
 
 " Oh no," cried Effie, with once more a 
 sense of the ludicrous in this assertion. But 
 Fred was as grave as an owl, and meant 
 every word he said. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and they deserve to be so ; 
 but if I may tell them that you forgive 
 them " 
 
 "It is not worth speaking about, Mr. 
 Dironi ; I was foolish too. And are you 
 really going to have Americans here ? I 
 never saw any Americans. What interest 
 would they take in our old churchyard, and 
 Adam Fleming's broken old gravestone ?" 
 
 " They take more interest in that sort of 
 thing than we do whom it belongs to ; that 
 is to say, it doesn't belong to us. I am as
 
 Tlu! Stovy of a Yuuikj Life I'o i 
 
 niucli a new man as any Yankee, and liaxc 
 as little right. We are mere interlopers, 
 you know." 
 
 Fred said this with a charming smile he 
 had, a smile full of frank candour and 
 openness, which forestalled criticism. Ettic 
 had heard the same sentiment expressed ]>>• 
 others with a very difterent effect. Wlien 
 Fred said it, it seemed a delightful ab- 
 surdity. He laughed a little, and so, cai- 
 ried away by sympathetic feeling, did she, 
 shame-faced and feeling guilty in her heart 
 at the remembrance of the many times in 
 which, without any sense of absurdity, slie 
 had heard the same words said. 
 
 " We are a queer family," he continued 
 in his pleasant explanatory way. " My 
 father is the money-maker, aiid he thinks 
 a great deal of it; Ijut we make no money, 
 and I think we are really as indifferent 
 about it as if we had been born in llic 
 backwoods. If anything ha})pened at the
 
 I :iS Ei1ir Oi/l/vie 
 
 office 1 should take to my studio, and I 
 hope I should not enjoy myself too much, 
 but there vvouhl he the danger. *Ah, free- 
 dom is ii noble thing,' as old Barbour says." 
 
 I'^tfic did not know who old Barbour was, 
 and she was uncertain how to reply. She 
 said at last timidly, "But you could not do 
 without a great deal of money, Mr. Dirom. 
 \'()U lutve everything you want, and you 
 don't know how it comes. It is like a fairy 
 tale." 
 
 Fred smiled again with an acquiescence 
 which had pleasure in it. Though he made 
 so little of his advantages, he liked to hear 
 them recoo-nized. 
 
 "You are right," he said, "as you always 
 are, Miss Ogilvie. You seem to know things 
 by instinct. But all the same we don't 
 stand on these things ; we are a little 
 Bohemian, all of us young ones. I suppose 
 \'ou would think it somethino- dreadful if 
 \du had to turn out of Gilston. But we
 
 The Story of a Young Life 139 
 
 .should rather like any such twist of the 
 whirlio-jo- of fortune. The skirls would think 
 it fun." 
 
 To this Effie did not make any reply. 
 To be turned out of Gilston was an impos- 
 sibility, for the family at least, whatever it 
 might be for individuals. And she did not 
 understand about Bohemians. She made no 
 answer at all. When one is in doubt it is 
 the safest w^ay. But Fred w^alked with her 
 all the way home, and his conversation was 
 certainly more amusing than that with which 
 she was generally entertained. There ran 
 through it a little vein of flattery. There 
 was in his eyes a light of admiration, a 
 gleam from time to time of something wdiich 
 dazzled her, which she could not meet, yet 
 furtively cauglit under her drooping eye- 
 hishes, and which roused a curious pleasure 
 mixed with amusement, and a comical sense 
 of guilt and wickedness on her own part. 
 
 She was flattered and dazzled, and yet
 
 140 Effie 0<jilvie 
 
 somethiiiuj of the same laiio-liter with which 
 she listened to Phyllis and Doris was in her 
 eyes. Did he mean it all '( or what did he 
 mean '( AVas he making conversation like his 
 sisters, saying things that he meant to be 
 pretty ? Eftie, though she was so simple, 
 so inexperienced, in comparison with those 
 clever young people, wondered, yet kept 
 her balance, steadied by that native instinct 
 of humour, and not carried away by any of 
 these fine thincfs.
 
 The Story of a Yoiiiuj Life 141 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " We were seeing young Mr. Dirom a little 
 l)it on his way. He is so kind walking home 
 with Eltie that it was the least we could do. 
 I never met with a more civil young man." 
 
 " It appears to me that 3^oung Dirom is 
 never out of your house. You'll have to be 
 thinking what will come of it." 
 
 " What should come of it," said Mrs. Ogilvie 
 with a laugh, and a, look of too conscious 
 innocence, " but civility, as I say ? though they 
 are new people, they have kind, neighbour-like 
 ways." 
 
 " I've no confidence," said Miss Dempster, 
 " in that kind of neiohbours. If he were to 
 walk lujme with Beenie or me, tliat are a.l)out
 
 142 Ejfie Of/ilvie 
 
 the oldest friends tlicy liave in tlie district — 
 Oh yes, their oldest friends : for I sent my card 
 and a rc(_[uest to know if a call would be agree- 
 able as soon as they came : it may be old- 
 fashioned, Init it's my way ; and I find it to 
 answer. And as I'm saying, if he had made an 
 offer to walk liome with me or my sister, that 
 would have been neighbour-like; but Effie is 
 just (|uite a different question. I hope if you 
 let it go on, that you're facing the position, and 
 not letting yourself be taken unawares." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Ogilvie, "that's a thing 
 that seldom liap])ens, though I say it myself. 
 I can generally see as far as most folk. But 
 whatever you do, say nothing of this to Effie. 
 We must just respect her innocence. Experi- 
 enced people see a great deal that should never 
 be spoken of before the young. I will leave 
 her in your charge and Miss Beenie's, for I am 
 going to Summerlaw, and she has had a long 
 walk." 
 
 "Your stepmother is a very grand general.
 
 The Story of a Yoimy Life \ A'-\ 
 
 Eftie," said Miss Dempster, as they watched 
 Mrs. Ogilvie's figure disappearing l)etween the 
 high laurel hedges. 
 
 It was a warm afternoon, though September 
 had begun. Miss Beenie was seated on the gar- 
 den seat in front of the drawing-room window, 
 which afforded so commanding a prospect of 
 the doctor's sitting-room, with her work-basket 
 beside her, and her spectacles upon her nose. 
 But Miss Dempster, who thought it was never 
 safe, except perhaps for a day or two in 'Tuly. 
 to sit out, kept walking al:)out, now nipping oif 
 a withered leaf, now gathering a sprig of 
 heliotrope, or the scented verbena, promenading 
 up and down with a shawl upon her shoulders. 
 She had taken Effie's arm with an instant 
 perception of the advantages of an animated 
 walking- staff. 
 
 The little platform of fine gravel before the 
 door was edged by the green of tlie sloping 
 lawn in front, but on either side ended in deej) 
 borders filled with every kind of old-fashioned
 
 144 Effic Ofjilvic 
 
 and sweet-smelling- flower. The sloping drive 
 had well-clipped hedges of shining laurel which 
 surrounded the entrance; hut nothing inter- 
 rupted tlie view from this little height, which 
 commanded not only the doctor's mansion but 
 ;dl the village. No scene could have been more 
 peaceful in the sunny afternoon. There were 
 few people stirring below, there was nobody 
 to be seen at the doctor's windows. 
 
 The manse, which was visible at a distance, 
 stood in the 1)road sunshine with all its doors 
 and windows o^Den, taking in the warmth to its 
 very l30som. Mrs. Ogilvie disappeared for a 
 short time between the hedges, and then came 
 out again, moving along the white road till she 
 was lost in the distance. Glen slowdy following, 
 divided in his mind between the advantages of 
 a walk which was good for his health, and the 
 pleasure of lying in the sun and waiting for 
 Efiie, which he preferred as a matter of taste. 
 But the large mat at the door, which Glen was 
 aware was the comfortable spot at Rosebank,
 
 The Storij of a Votiiui Life 14") 
 
 was already occupied by the nasty little terrier 
 to wliicli tlie Miss Dempsters, much to Glen's 
 contempt, were devoted, and the gravel was 
 unpleasant. So he walked, hut rather by way 
 of deference to the necessities of the situation 
 than from any lively personal impulse, and 
 went along meditatively witli only an occa- 
 sional slow switch of his tail, keeping well 
 behind the trim and active figure of his 
 mistress. In the absence of other incidents 
 these two moving specks upon the road kei)t 
 the attention of the small party of spectators 
 on the soft heights of Kosebank. 
 
 "Your stepmother's a grand general," said 
 Miss Dempster again ; '" l)Ut she must not think 
 that she deceives every] )od\', Ethc. It's a ver\' 
 legitimate effort ; but perhaps if she let things 
 take their o\vn course she would just do as 
 well at the end." 
 
 " What is she trying to do '( " said Effie with 
 indifference. "It is a pity Mrs. Ogilvie has 
 only Rory ; for she is so active and so busw 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 Effie Oijilvie 
 
 she could manage a. dozen, Uncle John always 
 says." 
 
 " She has you, my dear — and a great deal 
 more interesting than Rory : who is a nice 
 enough hairn, if he were not spoilt, just 
 beyond conception — as, poor thing, some day, 
 she'll find out." 
 
 Effie did not 23ay any attention to the 
 latter part of tliis speech. She cried " Me ! " 
 in the midst of it, with little regard to Miss 
 Dempster, and less (had she been an English 
 girl) to propriety in her pronouns. But she 
 was Scotch, and above reproof. 
 
 "No," she cried, "she has not me. Miss 
 Dempster ; you are making a mistake. She 
 says I am old enough to guide myself." 
 
 " A bonnie guide you would be for your- 
 self. But, no doubt, ye think that too ; there 
 is no end to the confidence of young folk 
 in this generation. And you are nineteen, 
 which is a wise ao^e." 
 
 "No," said Etfie, " don't think it is a
 
 The Story of a Young JAfc 147 
 
 Avise age. And then I have Uncle John ; 
 and then, what is perhaps the best of all, I 
 have nothing to do that calls for any guiding, 
 so I am quite safe." 
 
 " Oh, yes, that's a grand thing," said the 
 old lady; "to he just peaceable and quiet, 
 like Beenie and me, and no cross roads to 
 perplex ye, nor the need of choosing one 
 way or another. But that's a Idessing that 
 generally comes on later in life : and 
 we're seldom thankful for it when it does 
 
 come." 
 
 "No," said Eftie, "1 have nothing to 
 choose. What should T have to choose'!' 
 unless it was whether I would have a tweed 
 or a \elveteen for my winter frock ; or, 
 
 perhaps " here she stop2)ed, with a soft 
 
 little smile dimpling about her mouth. 
 
 " Ay," said the old lad}' ; " or i)erliaps i 
 
 The ]>erlia]»s is just what I would like to 
 know." 
 
 " Sarah," said Miss Beenie from behind,
 
 I IS Elfir Ofplrir 
 
 " what lire vou doiiio; i>uttiiiu' tilings in the 
 iiirlie's head ( " 
 
 " Just (hull }'(>ui' stockings and hohl your 
 tonoue," said tlie elder sister. She leaned 
 iicr weight moiv heaviK' on Ethe's arm by 
 wav of sei*uiiiii>' her attention. 
 
 "Now aii<l tlicii," she said, "the road takes 
 a crook l)efore it divides. There's that marshy 
 bit where the Laggaii burn runs before you 
 come to Windyha'. If you are not thinking, 
 it just depends on which side of the road you 
 take wliether you go straight on the good 
 highway to Dumfries, or down the lane that's 
 always deep in dust, or else a very slough 
 of despond. You're there before you know.'' 
 
 " But what has that to do with me ? " said 
 EtHe ; " iim\ then," she added, with a little 
 eievation of her head, " if I'm in any difheulty, 
 thej'e is Uncle John." 
 
 "■ Oil, ay : he's often very fine in the pulpit. 
 I would not ask for a better o-uide in the 
 (iospel, which is his vocation. But in the
 
 The Story of a Yovn/j Life 149 
 
 ways of tliis world, Effie Ogilvie, your Uncl(>. 
 John is just an innocent like yourself." 
 
 "That is all you know!" said Ethe, in- 
 dignantly. " Me an innocent ! " She was 
 accustomed to hear the word applied to the 
 idiot of the parish, the jjiteous figure which 
 scarcely any parish is without. Then she 
 laughed, and added, with a sudden change 
 of tone, " They think me very sensible at 
 Allonby. The}^ think T am the one that is 
 always serious. They say I am fiict : and 
 they are poetry, I suppose," she said, after 
 a second pause, with another laugh. 
 
 " Poetry ! " said Miss Dempster, " you're 
 meaning silly nonsense. They are just two 
 haverels these two daft-like girls with their 
 dark rooms, and ;dl their affected ways ; and 
 as for the brother " 
 
 ''What about tlie l)rother?" said Effie, 
 with an almost imperce])tible change of tone, 
 
 "Alia!" said the old lady, "now we see 
 where the interest lies."
 
 150 i;/AV Oijlhic 
 
 " It is iiotliiiig of the kind," cried the girl, 
 '' it is just your iniagiuution. You take a 
 [)leasure in twisting every word, and making 
 me think sliamc. It is just to hear what 
 }'(»u ha\'e got to say." 
 
 " r hnve not very mudi to say," said Miss 
 Dempster; "we're great students of human 
 nature, l)oth Beenie and me ; but I eannot 
 just give my opinion oft-hand. There's one 
 thing I will tell you, and that is just that 
 he is not our Konald, which makes all the 
 difference to me." 
 
 " Konald ! " cried the girl, wondering. 
 " Well, no ! but did anyljody ever say he 
 was like Ronald ? " 
 
 She paused a little, and a soft suft'usion 
 of colour once more came over her face. 
 "What has Ronald to do with it? He is 
 no more like Ronald than he is like — me." 
 
 " And I don't think him like you at all," 
 cried Miss Dempster quickly, " which is just 
 the whole question. He is not of your kind,
 
 The Story of a Yovng Life 151 
 
 Ettie. We're all human creatures, no doul)t, 
 ))ut there's different species. Beenie, what 
 do you think ? Would you say that young 
 Fred Dirom — that is the son of a merchant 
 prince, and so grand and so rich — would 
 you say he was of our own kind ? would 
 you say he was like Effie, or like Ronald ? 
 Ronald's a young man about the same age ; 
 would you say he was of Ronald's kind." 
 
 " Bless me, what a very strange question ! " 
 Miss Beenie looked up with every evidence 
 of alarm. Her spectacles fell from her nose ; 
 the stockino- in which her hand and arm were 
 enveloped fell limp upon her lap. 
 
 " I've no time to answer conundrums ; 
 they're just things for winter evenings, not 
 for daylight. And when you know how I've 
 been against it from the very first," she added, 
 after a pause, with some warmth. " It might 
 be a grand thing from a. worldly point of 
 view ; l)ut what do we know about him or 
 Ills connections? And as for business, it is
 
 152 Etfir Ogilrir 
 
 just ;i (lelusion ; it's up to-day and down 
 to-inorrow. I've lived in (Uasgow, and I 
 know what it uieaiis. Ye may l)e very grand, 
 and wlio l)nt you for a wlide ; and then the 
 next moment notliing. No ; if there wms 
 not another man in the workl, not the like 
 of that man," cried Miss Beenie, warming 
 more and more, gesticulating unconsciously 
 with the muttled hand which was all wra})])ed 
 u]) in stocking ; " and to compare him with 
 
 our poor Ronald ■' She dropped suddenly 
 
 from her excitement, as if this name had 
 brouoht her to herself. " You are makinoj 
 me say what I ought not to say — and before 
 Effie ! I Avill never be able to look one of 
 them in the face aerain." 
 
 Effie stood upon the gravel opposite to the 
 speaker, notwithstanding the impulse of J\Iiss 
 Dempster's arm to lead her away. " I wisii 
 you would tell me what you mean. I wish I 
 knew what Konald had to do with me," she 
 said.
 
 Tlic Story of a Yohikj Life loo 
 
 " He's just nil old friend, poor laddie — just 
 an old friend. Never you mind Avliat Beenie 
 says. She's a little touched in tliat direction, 
 we all know. Never you mind. It's my own 
 conviction that vounoj Dirom, liavin"- no con- 
 
 nectious, would be Init a very precarious 
 
 But no doubt your parents know best. Ronald 
 is just the contrary — plenty of connections, 
 but no money. The one is perhaps as l)ad as 
 the other. And it's not for us to interfere. 
 Your own people must know best." 
 
 " AVhat is there to interfere about ? and 
 what has Ronald to do with it ? and, oh, what 
 are you all talking aliout ? " cried Effie, Itewil- 
 dered. What with the conversation which 
 meant nothing, and that which meant too 
 much, her little brain was all in a ferment. 
 She withdrew herself suddenly from Miss 
 Dempster's arm. 
 
 " I will get you your stick out of the liaJl 
 which will do just as well as me : for I'm 
 going away."
 
 154 EjfJr Oijilvic 
 
 '■ Why si 10 111 (I you go away ? Your father 
 is ill Dumfries, your motlier will he getting 
 her tea at Suuimerlaw. There is nobody 
 wanting you at liouie ; and Beenie has ordered 
 our honey scones that you are so fond of." 
 
 " I want no honey scones ! " cried Ettie. 
 " You mean something, and you will not tell 
 me what you mean. I am going to Uncle 
 John." 
 
 " She is a hot-headed little thing. She 
 must just take her own gait and guide her- 
 self. Poor innocent ! as if it were not all 
 settled and planned beforehand what she was 
 to do." 
 
 " Oh, Sarah, stop woman, for goodness' 
 sake ! You are putting things in the girlie's 
 head, and that is just what we promised not 
 to do." 
 
 " What things are you putting in my head? 
 You are just driving me wild ! " cried Effie, 
 stamping her foot on the gravel. 
 
 It was not the first time by a great many
 
 The Story of a Yoinuj Life 155 
 
 that she had departed from Rosebaiik in this 
 way. The criticisms of ohl hidies are sadly 
 apt to irritate young ones, and this pretence of 
 knowing so much more about her than she 
 knew about^^herself, has always the most exas- 
 perating effect. 
 
 She turned her back upon them, and went 
 away between the laurel hedges with a convic- 
 tion that the}' were saying, " What a little 
 fury ! " and " What an ill bronght-up girl ! " 
 — which did not mend matters. These were 
 the sort of things the Miss Dempsters said — 
 not without a cackle of lauohter — of the raae 
 and impatience of the young creature they had 
 Ijeen baitiiio-. Her mind was in high commo- 
 tion, instinctive rel)eUion flaming up amid the 
 curiosity and anxiety with which she asked 
 herself what was it that was settled and 
 planned ? 
 
 Whatever it was, Effie would not do it, that 
 was one thino- of which she felt sure. If it 
 had been her own mother, indeed ! l)ut who
 
 ir.G Efflr OfjUvk 
 
 was Mrs. Ogilvie, to .settle for lier what she 
 ouglit to do ? She would be her own guide, 
 whatever any one might settle. If she took 
 c'onnsol with any one, it should he Uncle John, 
 wlio was her nearest friend — when there was 
 anything to take counsel about. 
 
 r^ut at ]^resent there was nothing, not a 
 question of any sort that she knew, except 
 whether the new tennis court that was makins: 
 at Gilston could possibly l)e ready for this 
 season, which, of course, it could not ; — no 
 (question whatever ; and what had Ronald to 
 do with it ? Ronald had been gone for three 
 years. There had been no news of him lately. 
 If there were a hundred questions, wdiat could 
 Ronald have to do with them ? 
 
 She ^vent down very quickly between the 
 laurel hedges and paused at the gate, where 
 she could not be seen from the terrace, to 
 smooth down liei- ruffled plumes a little and 
 take l)reatli. But as she turned into the road 
 lier heart l)egan to thump again, with no more
 
 Thf Story of a Young Life 157 
 
 reason for it than the sudden appearance of 
 Uncle John coming quietly along at hi.s usual 
 leisurely 2>ace. She had said she was going 
 to him ; but she did not really wish to meet 
 Uncle John, whose kind eyes had a way of 
 seeing through and through you. at this pre- 
 sent excited moment, for she knew that he 
 would find her out. 
 
 Whether he did so or not, he came up in his 
 sober way, smiling that smile which he ke])t 
 for Effie. He was prone to smile at the world 
 in general, being very friendly and kind, and 
 generally thinking well of his neiglil)ours. 
 But he had a smile which was for Effie alone. 
 He caught in a moment the gleam in her eyes, 
 the moisture, and the blaze of angry feeling. 
 
 " AVhat, Effie," he said, " you have l^eeu in 
 the wars. What have tlie old ladies bcc]i 
 saying now ;* " 
 
 " Oh, Uncle John," she began eagerly ; l)ut 
 then stopped all at once : for the vague talk 
 in which a N'ouno; man's name is in\ol\cd,
 
 158 Effk Ogilvie 
 
 vvliicli docs not tell for very niiich among 
 Avomen, becomes uncomfortable and suspect 
 when a. man is admitted within hearing. She 
 changed her mind and her tone, hut could not 
 chano-e her colour, which rose liio;h under her 
 troubled eyes, 
 
 " Oh, I suppose it was nothing," she said, 
 *' it was not about me ; it was about Ronald — 
 somethino- about Ronald and Mr. Fred Dirom : 
 though they could not even know ench other 
 — could they know each other ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you, EtHe : most likely not ; 
 they certainly have not been together here ; 
 l)ut they may have met as young men meet — 
 somewhere else." 
 
 " Perhaps that was what it was. But 
 yet I don't see what Ronald could have to 
 do with it." 
 
 Here Effie stopped again, and grew red- 
 der than ever, expecting that Mr. Moubray 
 would ask her, "To do with — what?" and 
 brino- back all the confusion a^'ain.
 
 The Story of a Young Life 159 
 
 But the minister was more wise. He 
 began to perceive vaguely wliat the diar- 
 acter of the suggestion, which had made 
 Effie angry, must have been. It was 
 much clearer to him indeed than it was 
 to her, through these two names, which as 
 yet to Effie suggested no connection. 
 
 " Unless it is that Fred Dirom is here 
 and Ronald away," he said, " I know no 
 link. And what sort of a fellow is Fred 
 Dirom, Effie ? for I scarcely know him at 
 all." 
 
 "What sort of a fellow r' Mr. Moubray 
 was so easy, and banished so carefully all 
 meaning from his looks, that Effie was 
 relieved. She began to lauch. 
 
 " T don't know what to say. He is like 
 the girls, l)ut not quite like the girls." 
 
 "That does not give me much information, 
 my dear." 
 
 " Oil, Uncle John, they are all so funny ! 
 What can 1 say? They talk and they talk,
 
 10 Effie OjUi'ie 
 
 ainl ir is all made up. It is uboiit nothing, 
 alxiut fancies they take in their heads, about 
 wJiat they think — but not real thinking, 
 oid\' fancies, thinkino- what to say." 
 
 *' That's the art of conversation, Effie," 
 the minister sai(L 
 
 " Conversation 'i ( )h no, oh, surely not ! — 
 conversation would mean something. At 
 Allonby it is all very pretty, but it means 
 nothing at all. They just make stories out 
 of nothing, and talk for the sake of talking. 
 I laugh — ^I cannot help it, though I could 
 \\o{ (|uitc tell you why." 
 
 "And the brother, does he do the same?" 
 
 " Oh, the brother ! No, he is not so 
 funny, he does not talk so much. He says 
 little, really, on the whole, except "—here 
 Effie sto})})ed and coloured and laughed 
 softly, but in a dift'erent tone. 
 
 " Except ? " repeated Uncle John. 
 
 "Well, when he is walking home with 
 me. Then he is obliged to speak, because
 
 The Story of a Youikj Life 161 
 
 there is no one else to say an5^tliing. 
 AVlien we are all together it is they who 
 speak. But how can he help it % He has 
 to talk w^hen there is only me." 
 
 " And is his talk about fjincies too '? or 
 does he say things that are more to the 
 ])urpose, Effie "? " 
 
 Effie paused a little before she replied, 
 " I have to think," she said ; ''I don't re- 
 member anything he said — except — Oh 
 yes! — but — it w^as not to the purpose. It 
 was only — nothing in particular," she con- 
 tinued wdth a little wavering colour, and 
 a small sudden laugh in wliich there was 
 some confusing recollection. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Uncle John, nodding his 
 head. "I think I see what you mean." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 1G2 Efc Uijilclc 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The young ladies Mt Allonby, though Effie 
 thought they meant nothing except to make 
 conversation, had really more purpose in 
 their extravao;ances than that severe little 
 critic thought. To young ladies who have 
 nothing to do a new idea in the w^ay of 
 entertainment is a fine thing. 
 
 And tliough a garden party, or any kind 
 of a party, is not an affiiir of much import- 
 ance, yet it holds really a large place in 
 unoccupied lives. Even going to it may 
 mean much to the unconcerned and unin- 
 terested : the most philosophical of men, 
 the most passive of women, may thus find 
 their fate. They may drift up against a
 
 Tlie Story of a Young Life IGo 
 
 partner at tennis, or hand a cup of tea to 
 the predestined individual who is to make 
 or mar their happiness for life. 
 
 So that no human assembly is without 
 its importance to some one, notwithstanding 
 that to the majority they may be collec- 
 tively and separately " a bore." But to 
 those who get them up they are still 
 ]nore important, and furnish a much needed 
 occupation, and excitement, with the most 
 beneficial effect botli upon health and 
 temper. 
 
 The Miss Diroms were beginning to feel 
 a little low ; the country was more hum- 
 drum than they had expected. Tliey hnd 
 not been quite sure when they came to 
 Scotland that there were not deer-forests on 
 the Border. They had a lingeriug belief 
 that tlie peasants wore the tartan. They 
 had hoped for something feudal, some 
 remnant of tlie Middle Ages. 
 
 Jjut they found nothing of I his sort
 
 164 Effic Ogilvle 
 
 they found a population wliicli was not at 
 all feudal, people who were friendly but 
 not over respectful, unaccustomed to curtsy 
 and disinclined to be patronized. They 
 were thrown back upon themselves. As for 
 the aspect of the great people, the Diroms 
 were acquainted with much greater peoj^le, 
 and thought little of the county magnates. 
 
 It was a providential suggestion which 
 put that idea about the music under the 
 cliff into the head of Doris. And as a 
 garden j)^i^ty in September, in Scotland, 
 even in the south, is a ticklish perform- 
 ance, and wants every kind of organization, 
 the sisters were immediately plunged into 
 business. There was this in its favour, 
 that they had the power of tempering the 
 calm of the Dumfriesshire aristocracy by 
 visitors from the greater world at that time 
 scattered over all Scotland, and open to 
 variety wherever they could find it. Even 
 of the Americans, for whom the young
 
 The Story of a Young Life 165 
 
 ladies had siglied, there were three or four 
 easily attainable. And what with the story 
 of Fair Helen and the little churchyard 
 and the ballad, these visitors would be fully 
 entertained. 
 
 Everything was in train, the invitations 
 sent out and accepted, the house in full 
 bustle of preparation, every one occupied 
 and amused, when, to the astonishment of 
 his family, Mr. Dirom arrived upon a visit. 
 
 " I thought I'd come and look you up," 
 he said. He was, as he himself described 
 it, " in great force," his white waistcoat 
 ampler, his watch-chain heavier, himself 
 more beaming than ever. 
 
 His arrival always made a difference in 
 the house, and it was not perhaps an en- 
 joyaljle difference. It introduced a certain 
 anxiety — a new element. The kind and 
 docile mother who on ordinary occasions 
 was at everybody's command, and with 
 little resistance did what was told her, be-
 
 166 EffLc 0(jilvic 
 
 came all at once, in the shadow of her 
 husband, a sort of silent authority. She 
 was housekeeper no longer ; she had to be 
 consulted, and to give, or pretend to give, 
 (jrders, which was a, trouble to her, as well 
 as to the usual rulers of the house. No- 
 l)ody disliked it more than Mrs. Dirom 
 herself, who had to pretend that the party 
 Avas her own idea, and that she had super- 
 intended the invitations, in a way which 
 was very painful to the poor lady's rectitude 
 and love of truth. 
 
 " You should have confined yourself to 
 uivina: dinners," her husband said — "as 
 
 CO ' 
 
 many dinners as you like. You've got a 
 good cellar, or I'm mistaken, and plenty of 
 handsome plate, and all that sort of thing. 
 The dinners are the thing ; men like 'em, 
 and take my word for it, it's the men's 
 opinions that tell. Females may think they 
 have it their own way in society, but it's 
 the men's opinion that tells."
 
 The Stoni of o Yovivj Life 167 
 
 " You mean tlie males, I suppose," said 
 Doris. " Keep to one kind of word, j^apa." 
 
 "Yes, Miss D., I mean the males — your 
 .superiors," said Mr. Dirom, with first a 
 stare at his critic and then a laui>h. " I 
 thought you might consider the word 
 offensive ; but if you don't mind, neither 
 d.. I." 
 
 " Oh, what is the use of (quarrelling 
 about a word \ " said the mother hastily. 
 " We have had dinners. We have returned 
 all that have been ffiven us. That is all 
 any one can expect us to do, George. 
 Then the girls thougiit — -for a little variety, 
 to fill the liouse and amuse everybody " 
 
 " With tea and toast — and hot- water 
 l)ottles, I hope to put under their feet. I'll 
 tell you, Phyllis, what you ought to do. 
 (xet out all the keepers and gardeners with 
 warm towels to wij)0 off the rain oft' the 
 trees; and have tlie laundresses out to iron 
 the grass — by Jove, that's the thing to do ;
 
 168 Effic Ogilvie 
 
 reduce rheumatic fevers to a minimum, and 
 save as many bad colds as possible. I shall 
 say you did it when I get back to my 
 clul)." 
 
 Phyllis and Doris looked at each other. 
 
 " It might l)e renlly a good thing to do. 
 And it would be Fun. Don't you think 
 the electric light put on night and day for 
 forty-eight hours would do some good 'i 
 What an excellent tiling it is to have pa})a 
 here ! He is so practical. He sees in a 
 moment the right thino-." 
 
 o o 
 
 This applause had the eifect rarely attained, 
 of confusing for a moment the man of money. 
 
 " It appears I am having a success," he 
 said. " Or perhaps instead of taking all this 
 trouble you would like me to send a consign- 
 ment of fur cloaks from town for the use of 
 your guests. The Scotch ladies would like 
 that best, for it would be something," he 
 said with his big laugh, "to carry away." 
 
 "And I believe," said Mrs. Dirom, very
 
 Thr Story of a Young Life 169 
 
 anxious to be conciliatory, " you could afford 
 it, George." 
 
 " Oh, afford it ! " lie said with again that 
 laugh, in Avliich there was such a sound of 
 money, of plenty, of a confidence inexhaustible, 
 that nobody could have heard it, and remained 
 unimpressed. But all the same it was an 
 offensive laugh, which the more finely strung 
 nerves of his children could scarcely bear. 
 
 " After all," said Fred, " we don't want to 
 insult our neighbours with our money. If 
 they are willing to run the risk, we may let 
 them ; and there will always be the house to 
 retire into, if it should be wet." 
 
 " Oh, of course there would always be the 
 house. It is a very fine thino; to have a o-ood 
 house to retire into, whatever happens. I 
 should like }'ou to realize that, all of you, 
 and make your hay while the sun shines." 
 
 The room in which the family were sitting 
 was not dark, as when they were alone. I'hc 
 blinds were all drawn up, the sunshades, so
 
 170 Effie Ogilvic 
 
 often dmwn when there was no sun, elevated, 
 though a ruddy Avesterly sky, in all the force 
 of approaching sunset, blazed down upon the 
 front of the house. Tlie young people ex- 
 changed looks, in which there was a c[uestion. 
 
 What did he mean ? He meant nothing, it 
 a^jpcared, since he followed u}) his remarks by 
 opening a parcel which he had brought down 
 stairs in his hand, and from which he took 
 several little morocco boxes, of shape and 
 appearance calculated to make the hearts of 
 women— or at least such hearts of women as 
 Mr. Dirom understood — beat high. They 
 were some "little presents" which he had 
 brought to his family. He had a way of 
 doing it — and "for choice," as he said, he 
 preferred diamonds. 
 
 " They ahvays fetch their price, and they 
 are very portal)le. Even in a woman's useless 
 pocket, or in her bag or reticule, or whatever 
 you call it, she might carry a little fortune, 
 and no one ever be the wiser," Mr. Dirom said.
 
 The Story of o. Young Life 171 
 
 " When one lias diamonds," said Phyllis, 
 " one wishes everybody to be the wiser, papa ; 
 we don't get them to conceal them, do* we. 
 Dor? Do you think it will be too much to 
 wear that pendant to-morrow — in daylight ? 
 Well, it is a little ostentatious." 
 
 "And you are rather too young for dia- 
 monds, Phyll — if your papa was not so good 
 to you," said Mrs. Dirom in her uncertain 
 voice. 
 
 " She's jealous, girls," said her husband, 
 " though hers are the best. Young ! nobody 
 is ever too young; take the good of every- 
 thing while you have it, and as long as 
 you have it, that's my philosoph}^ And 
 look here, there's the sun shining — I 
 shouldn't Ije surprised if, after all, to-morrow 
 you were to have a, fine day." 
 
 They had a line day, and the party was very 
 successful Doris had carried out her idea 
 .ihout the music on the opposite bank, and it 
 was very effective. The guests took uj) this
 
 172 Effie Ofjilmc 
 
 phrase from the sisters, who asked, " Was it 
 not very effective ? " with ingenuous delight 
 in their own succ^ess. 
 
 It was no (common hand from the neigh- 
 bourhood, nor even a party of wandering 
 Germans, l)ut a carcfidly selected company 
 of minstrels lH'oui>ht from London at an 
 enormous cost : and while lialf the county 
 walked about upon the toleral)ly dry lawn, 
 or insj^ected the house and all the new and 
 elegant articles of art-furniture which the 
 Diroms had brought, the trembling melody 
 of the violins quivered through the air, and 
 the wind instruments sighed and shouted 
 through all the echoes of the Dene. The 
 whole scene was highly effective, and all 
 the actors in it looking and smiling their 
 best. 
 
 The Marquis kindly paid Mr. Dirom a 
 compliment on his " splendid hospitality," and 
 the eloquent Americans who made pilgrimages 
 to Adam Fleming's grave, and repeated tenderly
 
 The Storij of a Youny Life 173 
 
 his adjuration to " Helen fair, beyond com- 
 pare," regarded everything, except Mr. Dirom 
 in his white waistcoat, with that mixture of 
 veneration and condescension which inspires 
 the transathmtic bosom amid tlie immemorial 
 scenery of old England. 
 
 '' Don't you feel the spell coming over 
 you, don't you feel the mosses growing ? " 
 they cried. " See, this is English dust and 
 dam]) — the ethereal mould which comes over 
 your very hands, as dear John Burroughs 
 says. Presently, if you don't wash 'em, 
 little plants will ])egin to grow all along 
 your line of life. Wonderful English 
 country — mother of the ages ! " 
 
 This was what the American guests said to 
 each other. It was the Miss Dempsters, to 
 whom Americans were as the South Sea 
 Islanders, and who were anxious to observe 
 the customs and manners of the unknown 
 race, before whom these jjoetical exchimations 
 were made.
 
 174 Effw Ogilvie 
 
 '• Tlie Eiiglisli country m;iy l)c woiulerfiil, 
 though 1 know very little about it ; but you 
 are forgetting it is not here," Miss Dempster 
 said. "This is Scotland; maybe you may 
 never have lieard the name before." 
 
 It is needless to say that the ladies and 
 o-entlemen from across the Atlantic smiled ;it 
 the old native woman's mistake. 
 
 " Oh yes, we know Scotland very well,- — 
 almost best of all, — for has not everybody 
 read the Waverleys ? — at least all our ftithers 
 and mothers read them, though they may 
 be a little out of date in our day." 
 
 "You must be clever indeed if Walter 
 Scott is not clever enough for you," said 
 the old lady grimly. " But here's just one 
 thing that a foolish person like me, it seems, 
 can correct you in, and that's tliat this 
 countryside is not England. No, nor ever 
 was ; and Adam Fleeming in his grave 
 yonder could have told you that." 
 
 " Was lie a Border chief "? was he one of
 
 The Story of a Young Life 1V5 
 
 the kniolits in Branksome Hall ? We know 
 all aljout that. And to think yon shonld be 
 of the same race, and have lived here always, 
 and known the story, and snng the song all 
 vour life !" 
 
 " I never was mncli addicted to singing- 
 songs, for my part. He must have been a, 
 feckless kind of creature to let her get \)Q- 
 tween him and the man that wanted his 
 blood. But he was very natural after that 
 I will say. ' I hackit him in ;[>ieces sma'.' " 
 said Miss Dempster ; " that is the real 
 Border spirit : and I make little doubt he 
 was English — the man with the gun." 
 
 The pretty young ladies in their pretty 
 toilettes gathered about the old lady. 
 
 "It is most interesting," they said; 
 "just what one wished to find in the old 
 country — the real accent — the true heredi- 
 tary feeling." 
 
 " You are just behaving like an old 
 haverel," said Miss Beenie to her sister in
 
 170 Ejfie 0(jilvie 
 
 au uiidertoiie. It seldom occurred to lier to 
 take the command of affairs, l)iit she saw 
 her ()p}»ortunity and seized it. 
 
 " For our part," she said, "it is just as 
 interesting to us to see real people from 
 America. I have heard a great deal about 
 them, but I never saw them before. It will 
 be a great change to find yourselves in the 
 midst of ceevilization ? And what was that 
 al)out mosses growing on your poor bit 
 little hands ? Bless me ! I have heard of 
 hair and fur, but never of green gr(.)wth. 
 Will that be common on your side of the 
 water '? " 
 
 She spoke with the air of one who was 
 seekino; information. Mr. John Burroughs 
 himself, that charming naturalist, might 
 have been disconcerted by so serious a ques- 
 tion. And the two old ladies remained in 
 possession of the field. 
 
 " I just answered a fool according to his 
 folly," Miss Beenie remarked, with modest
 
 The Story of a Young Life 177 
 
 enjoyment of ;i triumph that seldom fell to 
 her share, "for you were carried away, 
 Sarah, and let them go on with their ini- 
 pidence. A set of young idiots out of a 
 sauvage country that were too grand for 
 Walter Scott!" 
 
 It was on the whole a great day for the 
 Miss Dempsters. They saw everybody, they 
 explored the whole house, and identified 
 every piece of furniture that was not Lady 
 Allonby's. They made a private inspection 
 of the dining-room, where there was a 
 buffet — erected not only for light refresh- 
 ments, l)ut covered with luxuries and deli- 
 cacies of a more serious description. 
 
 " Bless me, I knew there was tea and 
 ices," they said ; " it's like a ball supper, 
 and a grand one. Oh, those millionaires ! 
 they just cannot spend money enough. But 
 I like our own candlesticks," said Miss 
 Dempster, " far better than these branchy 
 things, like the dulse on the shore, the 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 Effic Ofjilvie 
 
 ciindelawbra, or whatever they call it, on 
 3'on tal)le." 
 
 " They're bigger," said Miss Beenie ; but 
 my opinion is that the branches are all 
 hollow, not solid like ours." 
 
 " There's not many like ours," said Miss 
 Dempster ; " indeed I am disposed to think 
 they are just unique. Lord bless us, is that 
 the doctor at the side-table ? He is eating 
 up everything. The capacity that man has 
 is just extraordinary — ^botli for dribblets of 
 drink and for solid food." 
 
 "Is that you, ladies'?" said the doctor. 
 " I looked for you among the first, and now 
 you're here, let me offer you some of this 
 raised pie. It's just particularly good, with 
 truffles as big as my thumb. I take credit 
 for suggesting a game pie. I said they 
 would send the whole parish into my hands 
 with their cauld ices that are not adapted to 
 our climate." 
 
 " We were just saying ices are but a wersh
 
 The Stori/ of a Youmj Life 179 
 
 provision, and make you shiver to think of 
 them at this time of the year ; but many 
 thanks to you, doctor. We are not in the 
 liabit either of eating or drinking between 
 meals. Perhaps a gentleman may want it, 
 and you have science to lielp you down with 
 it. But two women like us, we are just 
 very well content with a cup of tea." 
 
 " Whicli is a, far ijreater debauch," said 
 the doctoi- hotly, " for you are always at it." 
 But he [)ut down his plate. " The aiild 
 cats," he said to himself; "there's not a 
 drop })asses my lips but they see it, and it 
 will be over all the parish that I was 
 standino- ofuzzlin' here at this hour of the 
 day." 
 
 But there were others l)L'side the doctor 
 who took advantage of the raised pie and 
 appreciated the truffles. People who have 
 been whetted by music and vague (-onversa- 
 tion and nothing to do or think of for a 
 weary afternoon, eat with enthusiasm when
 
 180 E^e Ogilvie 
 
 the chance occurs ; they eat even cake and 
 bread and l)utter, how much more the 
 luxurious mayonnaise and lobsters and foie 
 gras. After the shiver of an ice it was 
 grateful to turn to better fare. And Mr. 
 Dirom was in his glory in the dining-room, 
 which was soon filled by a crowed more 
 animated and genial tlian that which had 
 strolled about the lawn. 
 
 " You will spoil your dinner," the ladies 
 said to their husbands, but with small 
 effect. 
 
 " Never mind the dinner," said the master 
 of the house. "Have a little of this 
 Chateau Yquem. It is not a wine you can 
 get every day. I call it melted gold ; but 
 I never ask the price of a wine so long as 
 it's good ; and there's plenty more where 
 that came from." 
 
 His wealth was rampant, and sounded in 
 his voice and in his laugh, till you seemed 
 to hear the money tinkle. Phyllis and Doris
 
 The Story of a Youmj Life 181 
 
 and Fred cast piteous glances at each otlier 
 when they met. 
 
 "Oh, will nobody take him away!" they 
 cried under their breath. " Fred, can't you 
 pretend there is a telegram and dreadful 
 news ? Can't you say the Bank of England 
 is broke, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer 
 has run away I " 
 
 He wounded his children's nerves and their 
 delicacy beyond description, but still it had 
 to be allowed that he was the master of the 
 house. And so the party came to an end, 
 and the guests, many of them with indiges- 
 tions, l)ut with the most cordial smiles and 
 applause and hand-shakings, were gradually 
 cleared away.
 
 182 EiJic Ogilvic 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Ogilvie was one of those who carried 
 away an incipient indigestion. He was not 
 accustomed to truffles nor to Chateau Yquem. 
 But he did not spoil his dinner — for as they 
 were in the habit of dining rather early, 
 and it was now nearly seven o'clock, his 
 wife promptly decided that a cup of tea 
 when he got home would l)e much the best 
 thing for him, and that no dinner need be 
 served in Gilston House that day. She 
 said, " You must just look a little lively, 
 Robert, till we get away. Don't let 
 strangers think that you've been taking 
 more than is good for you, either of meat 
 or drink."
 
 The Story of a Youiuj Life 18;> 
 
 " Drink ! " said the good man. " Yon's 
 nectar : Init I mioht have done without the 
 salad. Salad is a cold thing upon the stomach. 
 I'm lively enough if you would let me alone. 
 And he's a grand fellow the father of them. 
 He orrudo^es nothins:. I have not seen such 
 a supper since my dancing days." 
 
 " It was no supper ; it was just a tea party. 
 I wish you would wake up, and understand. 
 Here is Mr. Dirom with Effie coming to put 
 me into the carriage. Rouse up, man, and 
 say a civil word." 
 
 "I'll do that," said Mr. Ogilvie. "We've 
 had a most enjoyable evening, Mr. Dirom, a 
 
 good supper and a capital l)and, and 
 
 But I cannot get it out of ni}' head that 
 it's been a Ijall — which is impossible now 
 I see all these young ladies with hats and 
 bonnets upon their heads." 
 
 " I wish it had been a ball," said the over- 
 whelming host. " We ought to have kei)t it 
 up half til rough the night, and enjoyed another
 
 184 Effir Ogilvir 
 
 supper, eh ? at mi<liii,!4lit, and a little more of 
 that Clieijuot. I ho})e there's enough for half- 
 a-dozen balls. Why hadn't you the sense to 
 keep the youn_<>- people for the evening, Fred ? 
 Perhaps 3'ou thought the })rovisions wouldn't 
 last, or that I would object to pay the band 
 for a few hours longer. My children make 
 me look stingy, Mrs. (3gilvie. They have got 
 a number of small economical ways." 
 
 " And that's an excellent thing/' said the 
 lady, "for perhaps they may not have hus- 
 bands that will be so liberal as their father — 
 or so well able to afford it — and then what 
 would they do ? " 
 
 " I hope to put them beyond the risk of all 
 that," said the man of money, jingling his 
 coins. He did not offer to put Mrs. Ogilvie 
 into the carriage as she had supposed, but 
 looked on with his hands in his pockets, and 
 saw her get in. The Ooilvies were almost the 
 last to leave, and the last object that impressed 
 itself upon them as they turned round the
 
 The Siori/ of a Fou/ig Life 18'. 
 
 corner of the house was Mr. Dirom's white 
 waistcoat, which looked half as big as Allonb\- 
 itself. AVhen every one had disappeared, lie 
 took Fred, who was not very willing, b)^ the 
 arm, and led him along the river bank. 
 
 " Is that the family," he said, " my line 
 fellow, that they tell me you want to marry 
 into, Fred ? " 
 
 " I have never thought of the family. Since 
 you Ijring it in so suddenly — though I was 
 scarcely prepared to speak on the subject — 
 yes: that's the young lady whom in all the 
 world, sir, I should choose for my wife." 
 
 " Much you know about the world," said 
 Mr. Dirom. '' I can't imagine what you are 
 tliinking of; a bit of ;i bread-and-butter 
 girl, red and white, not a fortune, no style 
 about her, or anything out of the common. 
 Why, at your age, without a tithe of your 
 advantages, I shouldn't have looked at her, 
 Mr. Fred." 
 
 If then; was in Fred's mind the involun-
 
 ISC) EJjic Ogilvie 
 
 Uwy instinctive flash of :i comparison be- 
 tween his good homely mother and prett}' 
 VAWi.\ may it l)e forgiven him ! He could 
 do !iothin<>- more than mutter a half sulkv 
 word upon difference of taste. 
 
 " That's true," said his father ; " one man's 
 ni(>at is another man's poison. My Lady 
 Alicia's not much to look at, hut she is Ladj' 
 Alicia ; that's always a point in her favour. 
 But this little girl has nothing to show. 
 Bread and butter, that's all that can be 
 saul. 
 
 To this Fred, with gathering curves upon 
 his forehead, made no reply at all. 
 
 " And her people are barely presentable," 
 said the father. " I say this with no personal 
 feeling, only for your good ; very Scotch, but 
 nothing else about them to remember them by. 
 x\ sodden stagnant old Scotch squire, and a. 
 flippant middle-class mother, and I suppose a 
 few pounds of her own that will make her 
 think herself someliody. My dear fellow,
 
 The Story of a Young Life 187 
 
 there you have everything that is most ob- 
 jectionable. A milkmaid would not be 
 half so bad, for she would ask no questions 
 and understand that she got everything 
 from you " 
 
 " There is no question of any milkmaid," 
 said Fred in high offence. 
 
 " Middle class is social destruction," said 
 Mr. Dirom. "Annihilation, that's what it is. 
 High or low has some chance, but there's 
 no good in your milieu. Whatever happens, 
 you'll never be able to make anything out 
 of her. They have no go in that position ; 
 they're too respecta1)le to go out of the 
 beaten way. That little thing, sir, will 
 think it's unbecomino; to do this or that. 
 She'll never put out a step beyond what 
 she knows. She'll be no help to you if any- 
 thing happens. She'll set u]) her principles ; 
 she'll preach your duty to you. A pretty 
 kind of wife for the son of a man who has 
 made his way to the to)) of the tree, by
 
 188 EJfie Ogilvic 
 
 Jove ! and that may tiiinl)le down again 
 some fine day." 
 
 " 1 don't know what y(.ni mean, sir," said 
 Fred. " Yon miglit add she will most 
 likely neither look nor listen to me, and 
 all this sermon of yours will go for 
 nought." 
 
 " I didn't mean it for a sermon. I Gfive 
 it you in friendship to warn you what's 
 before you. You think perhaps after this 
 I'm going to forbid the banns : though there's 
 no banns wanted in this free country, I 
 believe. No, Fred, that's not it ; I'm not 
 going to interfere. If you like insipidity, 
 it's your own concern : if you choose a wife 
 in order to carry her on your shoulders — 
 and be well kicked while you do it : mind 
 that." 
 
 " I think, sir," said Fred, who had grown 
 very red, " that we had better drop the 
 subject. If you mean to oppose, why, of 
 course, you can oppose — but if not, this
 
 The Story of a Youiuj Life 189 
 
 sort of thino' does little oood. It can 
 never alter my mind, and T don't see even 
 how it can relieve yours." 
 
 " Oh yes, it relieves mine," said his father. 
 " It shows you my opinion. After that, if 
 you choose to take your own way, why, 
 you must do it. I should have advised 
 you to look out for a nice little fortune 
 which might have been a stand-by in case 
 of anything happening. No, nothing's going 
 
 to happen. Still you know Or I'd 
 
 have married rank (you might if you had 
 liked), and secured a little family interest. 
 Things might change in a day, at any 
 moment. Jack might tire of his blue china 
 and come and ofier himself for the office. 
 If he did, you have married against my 
 
 advice, and Jack being the eldest son 
 
 Well, I don't need to say any more." 
 
 " I quite understand, sir," Fred said. 
 
 " Well, that's a good thing ; but you need 
 not f^o too far on the other side, and think
 
 190 Effic Offilvie 
 
 I'm going to disinherit you, or any of that 
 rubbish. Did I disinherit Jack ? I bring 
 you up in the best way, spend no end of 
 money on you, teach you to think your- 
 selves twice the man I am, and then you 
 take your own way." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," cried Fred anxiously, " you 
 
 a,re mistaken. I " But though he did 
 
 not think he was twice the man his father 
 was, yet he did think he was a very differ- 
 ent man from his father, and this con- 
 sciousness made him stammer and fall into 
 <3onfusion, not knowing what to say. 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself to contradict me," 
 said Mr. Dirom. " / don't think so. J 
 think your father's twice the man you are. 
 Let each of us keep his ojjinion. We shan't 
 <'onvince each other. And if you insist on 
 marrying your insipidity, do. Tell the stupid 
 old fcxther to communicate with my lawyers 
 about the settlements, and get it over as 
 «oon as you please."
 
 Till Story (if II Vuiiiiy Life \\)i 
 
 " You are going a great deal too fast, 
 sir," said Fred. He was pale with rhc 
 liurry and rapid discussion. '' 1 can't cal- 
 culate like this upon what is going to 
 happen. Nothing has happened as yet.'" 
 
 " You mean she mayn't have you ? Nevei- 
 fear; young fellows with a father behind 
 them ain't so common. Most men in my 
 position would put a stop to it altogethei-. 
 I don't ; w^hat does it matter to me ? Dironi 
 and Co. don't depend upon daughters-in-law. 
 A woman's fortune is as nothing to what's 
 going through my hands every day. I say, 
 let every man please himself. And you've 
 got quiet tastes and all that sort of thing, 
 Fred. Thinking of coming up to town to 
 look after business a little ? Well, don't ; 
 there's no need of you just now. I've got 
 some ticklish operations on, but they re 
 things I keep in my own hands." 
 
 " T don't pretend to be the business man 
 you are," said Fred with a, fervour which
 
 102 Effic Ogilvic 
 
 was a little forced, " but if I could he of 
 use 
 
 " No, 1 don't think you could he of use. 
 (to on with your love-making. By the 
 way. I'm going back to-night. When is 
 the train? I'll just go in and mention it 
 to your mother, I wanted to see what 
 sort of a set you had about. Poor lot !" 
 said Mr. Dirom, shaking his heavy chain as 
 he looked at his watch. " Not a shilling 
 to spare among 'em — and thinking all the 
 world of themselves. So do I ? Yes : 
 but then I've got something to stand upon. 
 Money, my boy, that's the only real 
 power." 
 
 Phyllis and Doris met their brother anxi- 
 ously on his way back. " What is he going 
 to do?" they both said; "what has he been 
 talking to you about ? Have you got to 
 give her up, you poor old Fred?" 
 
 " I shouldn't have given her up for a- 
 dozen governors ; but he's very good about
 
 The Sfortj of a Yoviig Life 103 
 
 it. Eeally to hear him you would think- 
 
 He's perhaps better about it than I deserve. 
 He's going 1)a('.k to town It}' the fast train 
 tu-nio'ht." 
 
 "To-night!" There was Itotli relief and 
 orievance in the tone of the airls. 
 
 "He might just as well have gone this 
 morning, and much • more comfortalde for 
 him," said Phyllis. 
 
 " For us too," said her sister, and the 
 three stood toQ-ether and induloed in a little 
 guilty laugh which expressed the relief of 
 their souls. " It is horrid of us, when he's 
 always so kind : but papa does not really 
 enjoy the country, nor perhaps our society. 
 He is always much hap]»icr when he's in 
 town and within reach of the club." 
 
 " And in the meantime we have ii'ot our 
 diamonds." 
 
 " And I my freedom," said Fred ; then he 
 added with a look of compunction, " I say, 
 though, look here. He's as good to us as 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 Ef^c Ogilvie 
 
 he knows liow, and we're not just what you 
 would call " 
 
 "Grateful," said Koth the sisters in a 
 breath. Then they began to make excuses, 
 each in her own way. 
 
 " We did not bring up ourselves. We ought 
 to have o-ot tlie sort of education that would 
 have kept us in papa's sphere. He should 
 have seen to tliat ; Ijut he didn't, Fred, as 
 you know, and how can we help it ? I 
 am always as civil to him as it's possible 
 to be. If he were ill, or anything hap- 
 pened — By-the-bye, we are always saying 
 now, ' If anything happened : ' as if there 
 was some trouble in the air." 
 
 " It's all right ; you needn't be supersti- 
 tious. He is in the best of spirits, and says 
 I am not wante<l, and that he's got some 
 tremendous oj^eration in hand." 
 
 " I do not suppose you would make much 
 difference, dear Fred, even if you were 
 wanted," said Miss Phyllis sweetly. " Of
 
 Tkc Story of a Young Life 195 
 
 course if lie were ill we should go to him 
 wherever he was. If he should have au 
 accident now, T could hind up his arteries, 
 or foment his foot if he strained it. I have 
 not got my ambulance certificate for nothing. 
 But keeping very well and quite rampant, 
 and richer than anyljody, what could we do 
 for him "? " 
 
 "It's the sentiment of the thing," said Fred. 
 
 " As if he ever thouoht of the sentiment : 
 or minded anything about us." 
 
 They returned to the house in the course 
 of this conversation — where already the 
 servants had cleared the dining-room and 
 replaced it in its ordinary condition. Here 
 Doris paused to tell tlie butler that dinner 
 must l)e served early on account of her 
 father's departure : l)ut her interference was 
 received by that functionary with a bland 
 smile, which rebuked the intrusion. 
 
 " We have known it, miss, since master 
 came," a little speech whicli l)rouglit back
 
 TOG Efjir Of/iJrlc 
 
 the young people to tiicii- oi-iiiinal state of 
 exasperated satisfaction. 
 
 " You see ! " tlie girls said, while even 
 Fred while he laughed felt a jmek of ii-ri- 
 tation. Williams tlic Kutler had a "Teat 
 respect fur his master, a respect l>y no 
 means o-eneral in sucli cases. He had served 
 a. duke in his day. hut he had nevei' met 
 with any one who was so indifferent to every 
 one else, so masterful and easy in his ego- 
 tism, as his present gentleman. And that 
 he himself should have known what i\Ir. 
 Dirom's arrangements were, while the chil- 
 dren did not know, was a thing that pleased 
 this regent of the household. It was putting 
 things in their pro])er })lace. 
 
 All the arrancyements were made in the 
 same unalterable imperious way. There was 
 no hurry with Mr. Dironi. He dined and 
 indulged in a great many remarks upon 
 county people, wliom he thought very small 
 l)eer, he who was used to the best society.
 
 The Story of a Youny Life 197 
 
 He would not in Lon(l<jn have condescended 
 to notice such people. 
 
 But in the country, if the girls liked, 
 and as there was nothing better to be 
 had — " From time to time give them a good 
 spread," he said ; " don't mind what's the 
 occasion — a good spread, all the delicacies of 
 the season ; that's the sort of thing to do. 
 Hang economy, that's the virtue of the poor- 
 proud. You're n(jt poor, thanks to me, and 
 you have no call to be humble, chicks. Give 
 it 'em grand, regardless of expense. As long 
 as I'm there to pay, I like you to cut a 
 fi<T^ure. 1 like to feed 'em up and laugh in 
 their faces. They'll call me vulgar, you bet. 
 Never mind ; what I like is to let them say 
 it, and then make them knuckle under. Let 
 'em see you're rich, — that's what the beggars 
 feel, — and you'll have every one of them, the 
 best of them, on their knees. Pity is," he 
 a(hled after a while, " that there's nobody here 
 that is any good. Nothing marriageable, eh,
 
 198 Hjlir Oiiilrir 
 
 V\\\\\ { All, well, for that fellow there, who 
 might have picked up somethiDg- better any 
 (lay of his life ; hut nothing ibr you girLs. 
 Not so much as a hit of a youno- baronet, 
 or even a Scotch s(|uire. Nothing but the 
 doctor ; the doctor won't do. I'm very in- 
 dulgent, but there I (b'aw the line. Do you 
 hear, mother? No doctor. I'll not stand the 
 doctor — not till they're forty at the least, 
 and have got no otlier ho})e." 
 
 The girls sat pale, and made no reply. 
 Their mother gave a feelde laugh, as in duty 
 bound, and said, "That's your fun, George." 
 Thus the propriety of Doris's statement that 
 they ought to have l)een l)rought up in 
 papa's sphere was made apparent : for in 
 that case they would have laughed too : 
 whereas now they sat silent and pale, and 
 looked at ea('li other, with sentiments unut- 
 terable : fortunately the servants had gone 
 away, but he was quite capable of having 
 spoken before the servants.
 
 The Stury of a Young Life 199 
 
 After dinner they waited with ill-restrained 
 impatience the hour of the train. He had 
 rarely made himself so offensive ; he went 
 on about the doctor, who would })robahly 
 Ije their fate as they got near forty, \\\t\\ 
 inexhaustible enjoyment, and elicited from 
 their mother that little remonstrating laugh, 
 which they forgave her for pity, saying to 
 each other, " Poor mamma I " Decidedly it 
 is much better when dauohters, and sons 
 too, for that matter, are l)rought up in their 
 father's sphere. He went away in great 
 oood humour, refusino- Fred's offer to drive 
 liini to the station. 
 
 " None of your dog-carts for me," he 
 said : " I've ordered the brougham. Good- 
 bye girls ; take care of yourselves, and try 
 to rummage out something superior to that 
 doctor. And, Fred, you'd better think l)etter 
 of it, my fine fellow, or, if you won't be 
 warned, do as you like, and l)e hanged to 
 you. Good-l)ye, old lad\- ; i expect to hear
 
 200 Htjic 0,,ihie 
 
 }'oii've got screwed up with rheumatism in 
 this (lamp old ileu here." 
 
 "And when will you come back, George'^ 
 "J'hey say th(^ weather is fine u]> to November. 
 ] hope you'll soon come back." 
 
 " Not for some time — unless i should have 
 Averse luck," said the rich man. He was at 
 the door when he said this, liis wife accom- 
 panying him, while Fred stood outside with 
 his hair blown al)Out his eyes, at the door 
 of the Ijrouo'ham. The oirls, standino- l)e- 
 hind, saw it all like a })icture. Their father, 
 still with his white waistcoat showino; under 
 his overcoat, his heavy chain glittering, 
 and the beam and the roll of triumphant 
 money in his eye and his gait — " Not 
 soon, unless I have worse luck," and he 
 paused a moment and gave a comprehensive 
 look around him wdth sudden gravity, as he 
 spoke. 
 
 Then there was a laugh, a good-bye — and 
 the carriage rolled away, and they all stood
 
 The. Storij of a Yoiuuj Life 201 
 
 for a moment lookino- out into the l)]a('kness 
 of the night. 
 
 " What does he mean hy worse luck ? " 
 they said to their mother as she came in 
 from tlie door. 
 
 " He means nothing ; it is just his fun. 
 He's got the grandest operations in hand he 
 has ever liad. What a father vou have got, 
 girls I and to think he lets you do whatever 
 3'ou please, and keeps you rolling in wealth 
 all the same ! "
 
 202 mr Ogilvie 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The (lay of the party at Alloii])y had been a 
 day of pleasure to Effie, but of pleasure she 
 Avas half afraid of and only half understood. 
 The atmosphere about her had been touched by 
 something l)eyond her experience, — softened, 
 In'iohtened, i^lorified, she could not tell how. 
 She did not understand it, and yet she did 
 understand it. and this soft conflict between 
 know'ing and not knowing increased its magical 
 effect. She was surrounded by that atmo- 
 sphere of admiration, of adoration, which is the 
 first romantic aspect of a love-making. Every- 
 thing: in her and about her w^as so beautiful 
 and lovely in the eyes of her young and unde- 
 clared lover, that somehow^ in spite of herself
 
 Tlw Sfor;i of a Yoinuj Life 203 
 
 this atmosphere got int(j hei- own eyes and 
 affected her conception of herself. It was all 
 an effect of fancy, unreal, not meaning, even 
 to Fred Dirom, what it had seemed to mean. 
 
 AVlien love came to its })erfection, when he 
 had told it, and made sure of a return (if he 
 was to have a return), then Fred too, or any, 
 the most romantic of lovers, would so far 
 return to common earth as to l^ecome aware 
 that it was a woman and not a poetical angel 
 whom he was about to marry. 
 
 But at present fancy Avas supreme, and Eftie 
 was as no real creature ever had been, lit up 
 with the effulgence of a, tender imagination, 
 even in her own consciousness. She was not 
 vain, nor apt to take mucli upon herself ; 
 neither was she by any means prepared to 
 respond to the sentiment with which Fred 
 ]-egarded lier. She did not look at him 
 tin-oLioli that oiorifyino' mediuin. But she 
 became aware of herself through it in a be- 
 wildering, dazzling, incom])r('li('iisil»]c way.
 
 204 Ejfir Oijilvie 
 
 Her feet trod tlic air, a sufFiision of light 
 seemed to l)e about her. It was a merely 
 sympathetic effect, although she was the glori- 
 fied object ; l)ut for tlie moment it was very 
 remarkable and even sweet. 
 
 " Well ! it appears you were the queen of 
 the entertainment, Effie, for all so simple as 
 you sit there," said her stepmother. " I liojie 
 you were content." 
 
 " Me ! " said Effie, in those half bewildered 
 tones, conscious of it, yet incapable of acknow- 
 ledging it, not knowing how it could be. She 
 added in a subdued voice : " They were all 
 very kind," blushing so deeply that her 
 countenance and throat rose red out of her 
 white frock. 
 
 " Her ! " cried Mr. Ogilvie, still a little 
 confused with the truffles ; " what would she 
 be the queen of the feast for, a little thing 
 like that ? I have nothing to say against 
 you, Effie ; Init there were many finer women 
 there."
 
 The Story of a Yoiuiu Life 205 
 
 " Hold yttur tongue, Robert," said liis wife. 
 " There may be some things on which yon're 
 (jualified to speak : 1>ut the looks of his own 
 daughter, and her just turning out of a girl 
 into a woman, is what no man can judge. 
 You just can't realize Ethe as anything more 
 than Effie. But I've seen it for a long time. 
 That's not the point of view from which she 
 is reo'arded there." 
 
 " I know no other point of view," he said 
 in his sleepy voice. " You are putting rank 
 nonsense into her head." 
 
 " Just vou lean back in your corner and 
 take a rest," said Mrs. Ogilvie, " you've been 
 exposed to the sun, and you've had heating 
 viands and drinks instead of your good cii}> 
 of tea : and leave Effie's head to me. I'll ]»ut 
 nothino; into it that shouhl not l)e there." 
 
 " I think l^ffie's liead can take care of 
 itself," said the subject of the discussion, 
 though iiuU'cd if she li;id said the trutli she 
 would iia\<' acknowledged that the little head
 
 206 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 in (juestion was in the condition which is 
 })opuhirly dcsci-ilxnl as " turned," and not in 
 a very fit condition to judge of itself. 
 
 " It is easy to see tliat Mr. Dirom is a 
 most liberal person," said Mrs. Ogilvie, "and 
 spares notliing. I would not wonder if we 
 were to see him at (iilston to-morrow. What 
 for? ()li. just lor civility, and to see your 
 father. There miglit l)e business questions 
 arising between them ; who can tell ? And, 
 Ettie, I hope you'll 1)e reasonable, and not set 
 yourself against anything that would be for 
 your good." 
 
 " I hope not," said Effie, " but I don't know 
 what it is that you think would be for my 
 ojood." 
 
 "That is just what I am afraid of," Mrs. 
 Ogilvie said, '" that's what young folk are 
 always doing. I can remember myself in 
 my young (la3^s the chances I threw awa}'. 
 Instead of seeing what's in it as a real serious 
 matter, you will just consider it as a joke, ;is
 
 The Story of a Yoiukj Life 207 
 
 a tliino- to amuse j^ourself witli. That is not 
 what a reasonable person woiihl (h). You're 
 young, to be sure, but you will not ]»(■ always 
 young ; and it is just silly to treat in that 
 light way what might Ije such a grand settle- 
 ment for life." 
 
 " I wish," cried Efhe, reddening now with 
 sudden anger, — " oh, I wisli 3'ou would " 
 
 " Mind my own business ? But it is my 
 owm business. When I married your father 
 it was one of the first of my duties to look 
 after you, and consider your l^est interests. 
 I hope I've always done my duty l)y you, 
 Effie. From seeing that your hair was cut 
 regularly, which was just in a heart-l)reaking 
 tangle about vour shoulders when 1 came 
 home to Gilston, to seeing you well settled, 
 there is nothing I have had so much in my 
 mind. Now don't you make me an}' answer, 
 for you will just say something you will I'c- 
 gret. I shall never have grown-up daughters 
 of my (jwn, and if I were not U) think of you
 
 208 TiiVAV 0;iUrir 
 
 1 would l)e u most repreheiisiblc person. All 
 1 have to ask of you is that you will not 
 be a fool and throw away your advantages. 
 You need not stir a finder. Just take tlihiiis 
 pleasantly and make a nice answer to them 
 that ask, and everything else will come to 
 your hand. Lucky ij:irl that you are ! Yes, 
 my dear, you are just a very lucky girl. 
 Scarcelv nineteen, and everythino' \o\\ can 
 desire ready to dro}) into your la]). There is 
 not one in a hundred that has a lot like that. 
 There are many that mioht do not amiss 
 but for some circumstances that's against 
 them : but there is no circumstance against 
 you, and nothing that can harm you, unless 
 just some nonsense fanc}' that you ma}' take 
 up at your own hand." 
 
 Thus Mrs. Ooilvie ran on durino' the drive 
 home. After one oi' two murmurs of protest 
 Eftie fell into silence, })referring, as she often 
 did, the soft current of her own thouiihts 
 to the weary words of her stepmother, who
 
 The Stonj of a Young Life 209 
 
 indeed was by no means unaccustomed to 
 carry on a monologue of this description, in 
 which she gave forth a great many sentiments 
 that were a credit to her, and gave full inti- 
 mation, had any attention l)een paid to her, of 
 various plans which were hotly but ineffectu- 
 ally objected to when she carried them out. 
 
 Mr. Ogilvie in his corner, what with his 
 truffles and the unusual fatio'ue of an after- 
 noon spent in the midst of a crowd, and 
 the familiar lullaby of his wife's voice, and 
 the swift motion of the horses glad to get 
 home, had got happily and composedly to 
 sleep. And if Effie did not sleep, she did 
 what was better. She allowed herself to 
 float away on a dreamy tide of feeling, which 
 indeed was partly caused by Fred Dirom's 
 devotion, yet was not responsive to it, nor 
 implied any enchantment of her own in which 
 he held a leading place. She mused, but not 
 of Fred. The pleasure of life, of youth, of 
 the love shown to her, of perhaps, though 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 210 E^^e 0(jilvic 
 
 it is a less adiiii ruble sentiment, gratified 
 vanity, ])uoyed her up and carried her along. 
 
 No doubt it was gratified vanity ; yet it 
 was something more. The feeling that we 
 are admired and beloved has a subtle delight 
 in it, breathing soft and warm into the heart, 
 whieh is more than a. vain gratification. It 
 brings a conviction that the world, so good 
 to us, is good and kind to its core — that 
 there is a delio-htful communication with all 
 lovely things j)ossible to humanity to which 
 we now have got the key, that we are entering 
 into our heritage, and that the beautiful days 
 are dawning for us that dawn upon all in 
 their time, in their hour and place. 
 
 This, perhaps, has much to do with the 
 elevation and ecstasy even of true love. 
 Without love at all on her own part, but 
 only the reflected glow of that which shone 
 from her young lover, who had not as yet 
 breathed a word to her of hopes or of wishes, 
 this soft uprising tide, this consciousness of
 
 The Story of a Young Life 211 
 
 a new existence, caught Effie now. She 
 ceased to pay any attention to her step- 
 mother, whose wise words floated away upon 
 the breezes, and perhaps got difi\ised into 
 nature, and helped to replenish that stock 
 of wisdom which the quiet and silence garner 
 up to transmit to fit listeners in their time. 
 Some other countr}^ girl, perhaps, going out 
 into the fields to ask herself what she should 
 do in similar circumstances, got the benefit 
 of those counsels, adjuring her to abandon 
 fancy and follow the paths of prudence, 
 though they floated over Efiie's head and 
 made no impression on her dreaming soul. 
 
 This vague and delightful period lasted 
 without being Ijroken by anything definite 
 for some time longer. The Dirom family in 
 general had l)een checked and startled, they 
 could scarcely tell how, by the visit of the 
 father. Not that its abruptness surprised 
 them, or its brevity, to both of which things 
 they were accustomed. No one indeed could
 
 212 Ejfir 0(jilvie 
 
 define \vli;it was the cause, or indeed what 
 was exactly the effect. It di<l not reach the 
 length of anxiety or alarm, and it was not 
 produced by any special thing which he had 
 done or said ; l)ut yet they were checked, 
 made uncomfortable, they could not tell 
 why. 
 
 Mrs. Dirom herself retired to her room and 
 cried, though she would not or could not 
 give any reason for it ; and the young people, 
 though none of their pursuits had been 
 blamed by their father, tacitly by one im- 
 pulse paused in them, renouncing their most 
 cherished hal)its, though with no cause they 
 knew. 
 
 The same indefinite check weighed upon 
 Fred. He had received, to his own surprise, 
 full license from his father to do as he 
 pleased, and make his own choice, a per- 
 mission indeed which he had fully calculated 
 upon — for Mr. Dirom's sentiment of wealth 
 was such that he had always persistently
 
 The Storif of a Young Life 213 
 
 scoffed at the idea of a wife's fortune l)eiiig 
 any special object on the part of his sons — 
 l3ut which he had not expected to receive 
 without asking for it, without putting forth 
 his reasons, in this prodigal way. 
 
 But Fred did not at once take advantage 
 of this permission to please himself. Perhaps 
 the mere fact that his fjither took it so 
 entirely for granted, gave the subject greater 
 gravity and difficulty in the eyes of the son, 
 and he became doubtful in proportion as the 
 difficulties seemed smoothed away. He did 
 not even see Effie for some days after. The 
 first touch of wdnter came with the beginning 
 of October, and tennis became a thing of 
 the past. Neither was there much pleasure 
 to be had either in walks or rides. The 
 outside world !>rew dark, and to the dis- 
 couraged and disturbed family it was almost 
 an advantage to shut themselves u}) for a 
 day or two, to gather round the fire, and 
 either mutely oi- by implication consult with
 
 214 Effie Ogihie 
 
 each other, and question that Sphinx of the 
 future which gives no reply. 
 
 When this impression began to wear off, 
 and the natural course of life was resumed, 
 Fred found [mother obstacle to the promotion 
 of his suit. Effie gave him no rebuff, showed 
 no signs of dislike or displeasure, but smiled 
 to meet him, with a soft colour rising over 
 her face, which many a lover would have 
 interpreted to mean the most flattering things. 
 But with all this, Fred felt a certain atmo- 
 sphere of abstraction about her whi(;h affected 
 him, though his feelings were far from al)- 
 stract. He had a odimmerinsf of the truth 
 in respect to her, such as only a fairly 
 sympathetic nature and the perfect sincerity 
 of his mind could have conveyed to him. 
 
 The girl was moved, he felt, l)y love, by 
 something in the air, by an ethereal senti- 
 ment — but not Ijy him. She felt his love, 
 thrilling somehow sympathetically the delicate 
 strings of her being, but did not share the
 
 The Story of a Young Life 215 
 
 passion. This stopped him in the strangest 
 way, re-acting npon him, taking the words 
 from his lips. It was too delicate for words. 
 It seemed to him that even a definite breath 
 of purpose, much more the vulgar question, 
 Will you marry me ? would have broken the 
 spell. And thus a little interval passed which 
 was not without its sweetness. The nature 
 of their intercourse changed a little. It 
 became less easy, yet almost more familiar ; 
 instead of the lawns, the tennis, the walk 
 through the glen, the talk of Doris and 
 Phyllis for a background, it was now in 
 Gilston chiefly that he met Eflie. He came 
 upon all possible and impossible errands, to 
 bring books or to borrow them, to bring 
 flowers from the conservatories, or grapes and 
 peaches, or grouse ; to consult Mr. Ogilvie 
 aljout the little farm, of which he knew 
 nothing : or any other pretext that occurred 
 to him. And then he would sit in the 
 homely drawing-room at Gilston the wliolc
 
 216 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 afternoon tlironoli, while Etiie did her needle- 
 work, or arranged the flowers, or brought 
 out the dessert dishes for the fruit, or carried 
 him, a })retty handmaiden, his cup of tea. 
 
 " Now just sit still," Mrs. Ogdvie said, 
 "and let Effie serve you. A woman should 
 always hand the tea. You're fine for heavier 
 things, but tea is a- girl's business." 
 
 And Fred sat in l)liss, and took that 
 domestic nectar from the hand of Effie, stand- 
 ing sweetly with a smile before him, and 
 felt himself grow nearer and nearer, and yet 
 still farther and farther away. 
 
 This state of affairs did not satisfy Mrs. 
 Ogilvie at all. She asked herself sometimes 
 whether Fred after all was trifling with Effie ? 
 whether it was possible that he might l^e 
 amusing himself? whether her father should 
 interfere ? This excellent woman was well 
 aware that to get Effie's father to interfere 
 was about as likely as that good Glen, sweep- 
 ing his mighty tail, should stop Fred upon
 
 The Storii of a Young Life 217 
 
 tlie thresliukl, and ask liini what were his 
 intentions. But then " lier fother " meant, 
 of course, her father's wife, and the hidy 
 herself felt no reluctance, if Ettie's interest 
 required it, to take this ste^^. 
 
 Her objects were various. In the first 
 place, as a matter of principle, she had a 
 rooted objection to shilly-shally in a question 
 of this kind. She had the feelino; that her 
 own prospects had suffered from it, as many 
 women have ; and though Mrs. Ogilvie had 
 not suffered much, and was very well satis- 
 fied on the whole with her life, still she 
 might, she felt, have married earlier and 
 married Ijetter but for the senseless delays 
 of the man in more cases than one. 
 
 From a less abstract point of view she 
 desired the (juestion to be settled in Eflie's 
 interests, feeling sure both that Fred was 
 an excellent parti, and that he was that 
 iiiglily desiraljle tiling — a good young man. 
 Perhaps a sense that to have the house to
 
 218 Effie Ogihir 
 
 herself, without the perpetual presence of a 
 grown-up stepdaughter, might be an ad- 
 vantage, had a certain weight with her ; but 
 a motive which had muc-h greater weight, 
 was the thought of the triumph of thus 
 marrying Ertie — who was not even her own, 
 and for whom her exertions would be recoa:- 
 nized as disinterested — in this Inilliant man- 
 ner at nineteen — a triumph greater than aiiy 
 which had been achieved by any mother in 
 the county since the time when May C'aer- 
 laverock married an English duke. None 
 of these, it will be perceived, were sordid 
 reasons, and Mrs. Ogilvie had no need to 
 be ashamed of any of them. The advantage 
 of her husband's dauohter was foremost in 
 her thoughts. 
 
 But with all this in her, it may well l)e 
 believed that Mrs. Ogilvie was very impa- 
 tient of the young people's delays, of the 
 hours that Fred wasted in the Gilston draw- 
 ing-room without ever coming to the point,
 
 The Story of a Young Life 219 
 
 and of the total want of any anxiety or 
 desire that he should come to the point, 
 on the part of Effie. 
 
 " He will just let the moment pass," this 
 excellent woman said to herself as she sat 
 and frowned, feeling that she gave them 
 a hundred opportunities of which they took 
 no heed, which they did not even seem to 
 be conscious of. 
 
 It was all she could do, she said after- 
 wards, to keep her hands off them ! the two 
 silly things ! just playing with their fate. 
 She was moved almost beyond her power 
 of self-control, and would sit quivering with 
 the desire to hasten matters, ready every 
 time she opened her lips to address them 
 on the subject, while Fred took his tea with 
 every appearance of calm, and Ethe served 
 him as if in a dream. 
 
 "Oh ye two silly things ! " — this was 
 what was on her lips twenty times in an 
 afternoon : and she would get up and go out
 
 220 Effic Ofjilvie 
 
 of tlie room, partly lest ,slie should betray 
 herself, partly that he might have an oppor- 
 tunity. But it was not till about the end 
 of October, on a dusky afternoon after a day 
 of storm and rain, that Fred found his op- 
 portunity, not when Mrs. Ogilvie, but when 
 EfHe happened to be absent, for it was, after 
 all, to the elder lady, not to the younger, 
 that he at length found courage to speak.
 
 The Story of a Young Life 221 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Mrs. Ogilvie, may I say a word to you ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Dear me, Mr. Fred, a hundred if you 
 like, I am just always most ready to listen 
 to what my friends have to say." 
 
 AVhich was true enough but with limita- 
 tions, and implied the possibility of finding 
 an opening, a somewhat difficult process. 
 She made a very brief pause, looking at him, 
 and then continued, " It will be something 
 of importance ? I am sure I am flattered 
 that you should make a confidant of 
 me. 
 
 " It is something of a. great deal of import- 
 ance — to me. I am going to ask you as a
 
 222 Effie Ogilvie 
 
 kind friend, wliidi you hiive ulways shown 
 yourself " 
 
 " Hoots," said the Lidy, " I've had nothing 
 in my power. But what will it be ? for 
 though I have the best will in the world, 
 and would do anything to serve you, I 
 cannot think what power I have to he of 
 any use, or what I can do." 
 
 " Oh, of the greatest use. Tell me first," 
 cried the young man, who had risen up and 
 was standing before her with an evident 
 tremor about him. " Shall I have time to 
 tell you everything ? is Miss Effie com- 
 ing back directly ? will she soon be 
 here ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ogilvie felt as if her senses were 
 abandoning her. It was evident he wanted 
 Effie to stay away in order that he might 
 reveal something to her. Dear, what could 
 it be ? AVas it possible that she had been 
 mistaken all through ? was it possible — ? 
 Mrs. Ogilvie was not a vain woman, l)ut
 
 The Story of a Young Life 223 
 
 the circumstances were such as to confuse 
 the clearest head. 
 
 " She has gone up to the manse to her 
 Uncle John's. Well, I would not wonder if 
 she was half-an-hour away. But, Mr. Dirom, 
 you will excuse me, I would sooner have be- 
 lieved you wanted me out of the way than 
 Effie. I could have imagined you had some- 
 thing to say to her: but me!" 
 
 "Ah, that is just it," said Fred, "I feel 
 as if I dared not. I want you to tell me, 
 dear Mrs. Ogilvie, if it is any good. She is 
 — well, not cold — she is always sweetness 
 itself. But I feel as if I were kept at a 
 distance, as if nothing of that sort had ever 
 
 approached her — no idea Other girls 
 
 laugh about marriage and lovers and so forth, 
 but she never. I feel as if I sh(ndd shock 
 her, as if " 
 
 " Then it is about Effie that you want to 
 speak ? " 
 
 He was so full of emotion that it was
 
 224 Effie Ogilvic 
 
 only l)y a iiud of his head that he eouhl 
 reply. 
 
 "You know this is just an extraordinary 
 kind of proceeding, Mr. Fred. It's a thing 
 nobody thinks of doing. She will perhaps 
 not like it, for she has a great deal of 
 spirit — that you should first have spoken 
 to me." 
 
 "It is in many parts of the world the 
 right thing to do. I — didn't know " 
 
 " Oh, it is just a very right thing, no 
 doubt, in principle : but a girl would per- 
 haps think — Well, you must just say your 
 mind, and I will help you if I can. It 
 may be something difterent from what I 
 expect." 
 
 " What could it be, Mrs. Ogilvie "? I have 
 loved her since the first moment I saw her. 
 When I lifted the curtain and my eyes fell 
 upon that fair creature, so innocent, so 
 gentle ! I have never thought of any one 
 in the same way. My fate was decided in
 
 Tke Sturu of a Young Life 225 
 
 tliat moment. Do you think there is any 
 ho})e for me 1 " 
 
 " Hope ! " said Mrs. Ogilvie, " well, I 
 nnist say I think you are a very humble- 
 minded young man." 
 
 He came up to her and took her hand 
 and kissed it. He was full of aoitation. 
 
 " I am in no way worthy of such happi- 
 ness. Humble-minded — oh no, I am not 
 humble-minded. But Effie — tell me ! has 
 she ever spoken of me, has she said any- 
 tliing to make you think — has she " 
 
 " My dear Mr. Fred, of course we have 
 s[)oken of you many a time : not that I 
 would say she ever said anything — ()h no, 
 she would not say anything. She is shy 
 b\' nature, and shyer than I could wish with 
 me. But, dear me, how is it likely she 
 would l)e insensible ? You've been so de- 
 \-ot(Ml that everybody has seen it. Uli, yes, 
 1 expected. — And liow coidd slu^ hel|» l)ut 
 see? She has never met with aii\l»od\' else, 
 
 \()L. I. P
 
 226 Effic Ocjilvie 
 
 slie is just fresh from the nursery and the 
 schoolroom, and lias never had such a notion 
 presented to lier mind. It woukl be very 
 strange to me, just out of all possibility, 
 that she should refuse such an offer." 
 
 The pang of pleasure which had penetrated 
 Fred's being was here modified by a pang 
 of pain. He shrank a little from these 
 words. This was not how he regarded his 
 love. He cried anxiously, " Don't say that. 
 If you think it is possible that she may 
 learn to — love me " 
 
 " And why not ? " said this representative 
 of all that was straightforward and common- 
 place. " There is nobody l)efore you, that 
 is one thing I can tell you. There was a 
 young man — a boy I might say — but I 
 would never allow her to hear a word about 
 it. No, no, there is nobody — you may feel 
 quite free to speak." 
 
 " You make me — very happy," he said, 
 l)ut in a tone l)y no means so assured as
 
 The Story of a Young Life 227 
 
 liis words. Then lie added, hesitating, " Per- 
 haps I should not ask more : but if she 
 had ever shown — oh, I am sure you must 
 
 know what I mean — any interest — any " 
 
 "Toots!" said Mrs. Oo-ilvie, "am I o-oiuQ- 
 to betray a bit girlie's secrets, even if I 
 knew" them. One thing, she will not per- 
 haps be pleased that you have spoken to me. 
 I am but her stepmother when all is said. 
 Her father is in the library, and he is the 
 right person. Just you step across the pas- 
 sasie and have a word with him. That 
 will be far more to the purpose than try- 
 ing to get poor Effie's little secrets out of 
 me. 
 
 " But, Mrs. Ogilvie," cried Fred— 
 " I will just show you the way. It would 
 be awkward if she found you here with me 
 with that disturbed look ; l)ut her father is 
 another matter altogether. Now, don't hv, 
 blate, as we say here. Don't be too modest. 
 Just o'o straisflit in and tell him — R(>l)ert,
 
 L'2S EJIir (h/l/rir 
 
 Jicrc is Mi\ b'red Diroiii that is wislit'ul to 
 lia\(' a word with y<»u." 
 
 Fred loUowed, altooetlicr taken by .sur- 
 prise. He was not in the least "wishful" 
 to ha\e a word with Mr. Uuilvie. He w'anted 
 to find out from a sympatlietic spectator 
 wdiether Effie's virginal thou<>hts had ever 
 turned towards him, whether he might tell 
 his tale without alarming her, without per- 
 lia])s compromising his own interests ; hut 
 his ideas had not taken the practical form of 
 definite proposals, or an interview^ with the 
 father. Not that Fred had the slightest in- 
 tention of declarinij his love without offerinii' 
 himself fully for Eftie's acceptance ; l)ut to 
 speak of his proposal, and to commit him to 
 a meeting of this sort l)efore he knew any- 
 thing of Effie's sentiments, threw a l)usiness 
 air, which was half ludicrous and half hor- 
 rible, over the little tender romance. But 
 wJiat can a young man do in such absurd 
 cii'cumstances ? Mrs. Omlvie did not ask his
 
 The Stonj of a Yoiunj Life 22!) 
 
 opinion. She le<i tlie way, talking in lier 
 usual full round voire, wliieh filled tlie 
 house. 
 
 "Just come away," she said. '"To go to 
 headquarters is ahvays the Ijest, and then 
 your mind will be at ease. As for ol)je('- 
 tions on her part, I will not give them a 
 thought. You may l;)e sure a young creature 
 of that age, that has never had a word said 
 to her, is very little likely to ol)jeet. And 
 ye can just settle with her lather. Robert, 
 I am savino- this is ^Ir. Dirom come to sav 
 a word to you. Just leave Rory to himself; 
 he can amuse himself very well if you take 
 no notice. And he is as safe as the kirk 
 steeple, and will take no notice of you." 
 
 " I'm sure I'm very o-lad to «ee ^Ir. 
 Dirom — at any time," said Mr. Ogilvie : but 
 it was not a j)ropitious moment. The roonj 
 ill which he sat, and which was called the lib- 
 rary, was a dreary dark gray room with a few 
 bookcases, and furniture of a dingy kind.
 
 2:50 Effi.c Ocjilvie 
 
 The old iirmchairs, when tliey were discarded 
 from other regions, found their way there, 
 and stood about harshly, like so man}' old 
 gentlemen, with an air of twirling their 
 thumbs and frowning at intruders. But to- 
 day these old fogeys in maliogany were put 
 to a use to which indeed they were not un- 
 accustomed, but which deranged all the 
 previous habitudes of a lifetime. They were 
 collected in the middle of the room to form 
 an imaginary stage-coach with its steeds, 
 four in hand, driven with much cracking of 
 his whip and pulling of the cords attached 
 to the unyielding old backs, by Master Rory, 
 seated on high in his white pinafore, and 
 gee-wo-ing and chirruping like an experi- 
 enced coachman. Mr. Ogilvie himself, with 
 much appropriate gesture, was at the mo- 
 ment of Fred's entry riding as j)ostilion the 
 leader, which had got disorderly. The little 
 drama required that he should manifest all 
 the alarm of a rider about to be thrown off,
 
 The Story of d Young Life 231 
 
 and this lie was doing with much demon- 
 stration when the door opened. 
 
 Fred thought that if anything could have 
 added to the aljsurdity of his own position 
 it was this. Mr. Ogilvie was on ordinary 
 occasions very undemonstrative, a grave 
 leathern -jawed senior, who spoke little and 
 looked somewhat frowningly upon the levi- 
 ties of existence. He got off his horse, so 
 to speak, with much confusion as the stranger 
 came in. 
 
 "You see," he said, apologetically — but 
 for the moment said no more. 
 
 "Oh yes, we see. Rory, ye'll tumble off 
 that high seat ; how have ye got so high a 
 seat ? Bless me, ye'll have a fall if ye don't 
 take care." 
 
 "You see," continued Mr. Ogilvie, "the 
 weather has Ijeen wet and the little fellow 
 has not got his usual exercise. At that age 
 they must have exercise. You'll think it's 
 n(jt very Ijecoming for a man of my age "
 
 2:]2 
 
 Effic Of/ilvie 
 
 "Hoots," said Mrs. Ogilvie, "what .does 
 it mattei- al)<)ut your ;io-c ? You arc just a 
 fatlier whatever age you are, and Mr. Diroiii 
 will think HO worse of yon for ])laying witli 
 your own little child. Come, Rory, come, 
 my wee man, and leave papa to his lousiness." 
 
 "No, I'll no go," shouted the child. 
 "We're thust coming in to the inn, and 
 all the passengers will get out o' the coach. 
 Pappa, pappa, the off leader, she's runned 
 away. Get hold o' her, get hold o' her ; 
 she'll upset the coach." 
 
 Fred looked on with unsympathetic eyes 
 while the elderly pseudo- postilion, ver}- 
 shamefaced, made pretence of arresting the 
 runaway steed, which bore the sedate fcn-m 
 of a mahogany arm-chair. 
 
 "You will just excuse me," he said, "till 
 the play's played out. There, now, Rory, 
 fling your reins to the hostler, and go in 
 and get your dram — which means a chocolate 
 sweetie," he added, to forestall an}' reproof.
 
 The Story of a Young Life 233 
 
 If.Rory's fotlier liad Ijeen a great person- 
 ao'e, or even if l)eino" only ^Ir. Ooilvie of 
 Gilstoii lie liad Leeii Rory's grandfather, the 
 situation wouhl have been charming; hut as 
 lie was neither, and very eommonphiee and 
 eklerly, the tableau was spoiled. (" Old 
 idiot," the Miss Dempsters would have said, 
 ■" making a fool of a bairn that should have 
 been his son's bairn, and neglecting his own 
 lawful children, at his a^e I" The sentiment 
 was absurd, but Fred shared it.) Perhaps 
 it was the unrelaxing countenance of the 
 young man, as 3Irs. Ogilvie seized and 
 <-arried off the charioteer which made the 
 l)oor papa so ill at ease. He pulled the 
 chairs aj^art with an uneasy smile and gave 
 one to his visitor. 
 
 " No. I am not ashamed of it," he said, 
 "" but 1 (hiresay I would look ridiculous 
 enouoh to a stranger:" and with this he sat 
 down before his table, on which, ami<l the 
 writing things, were a child's trumj)et and
 
 2:U Effic Oyilvie 
 
 other articles belonging to a person of very 
 tender years. "And in what can I be of 
 use to you ? " lie asked. 
 
 It was Fred's turn to grow red. He had 
 been led into this snare against his wilL 
 He felt rather diss^usted, rather anor\-. 
 
 "I don't know," he said, "that it was 
 anything calling for }'our attention to-day. 
 It was a matter — still undecided. I should 
 not have disturbed you — at a moment of 
 relaxation." 
 
 "Oh, if that is all," said Mr. Ogilvie 
 with a smile, " I have Rory always, you 
 know. The little pickle is for ever on my 
 hands. He likes me better than the weemen, 
 because I spoil him more, my wife says." 
 
 Having said this with effusion, the good 
 man awoke once more to the fact that his 
 audience was not with him, and grew dully 
 red. 
 
 " I am entirely at your service now," he 
 said; "would it be anything about the
 
 Tlte Story of a Young Life 235 
 
 wheat ? Your grieve is, no doubt, a very 
 trustworthy man, Ijut I wouhl not leave 
 your fiekls longer uncut if I was you. 
 There is no sun now to do them any good." 
 
 " Thanks, very much," said Fred, " it was 
 not about the wheat " 
 
 " Or perhaps the state of the woods ? 
 There will be a good deal of pruning re- 
 quired, but it will be safest to have the 
 factor over, and do nothing but what he 
 approves." 
 
 " It was not about the woods. It was an 
 entirely personal question. Perhaps another 
 day ^vould be more appropriate. I — have 
 lost the thread of what I was ffoius: to 
 say." 
 
 " Dear me," said the good man, " that's 
 a pity. Is there nothing that I can sug- 
 gest, I wonder, to bring it back to your 
 mind ?" 
 
 He looked so honestly solicitous to know 
 what the difficulty w^as, that Fred's irri-
 
 2:\{j Ejjie Oijilvie 
 
 tatiou was stayed. An einbarrassment of 
 anotlier kind took possession of him. 
 
 "Ml-. Ogilvio," lie said. " I don't know wliy 
 1 should ]ia\c come to you, for indeed I 
 have no autliority. I liave come to ask 
 you for- — ^what I am sure you will not give, 
 unless I liaxe another consent first. It is 
 about — your (hmghter that I want to speak." 
 
 Mr. Ogilvie opened his eyes a little and 
 raised himself in his seat. 
 
 "Ay!" he said, "and what will it he 
 about Effie ? " 
 
 He had observed nothino;, seeino; his mind 
 was but little occupied with Effie. To be 
 sure, his wife had worried him with talk 
 about this vouno- fellow, but he had lonof 
 accustomed himself to hear a o-reat deal that 
 his wife said without paying an}^ attention. 
 He had an understanding that there could 
 be only one way in which Fred Dirom 
 could have anything to say to him about 
 his daughter : but still, thouo;h he had
 
 The Story of a Yout^g Life 287 
 
 heard a good deal of talk on the siibje(;t, it 
 was a surprise. 
 
 "Sir," said Fred, colleetiiig himself, "I 
 have loved her since the first time I saw 
 her. I want to know whether I have your 
 permission to speak to Miss Ogilvie — to tell 
 her " 
 
 Poor Fred was very truly and sincerely 
 in love. It was horriljle to him to have 
 to discourse on the subject and speak these 
 words which he should have breathed into 
 Effie's ear tu this dull old gentleman. So 
 strange a ti-a^'esty of the scene which he 
 had so often tenderly figured to himself 
 filled him with confusion, and took from 
 him all power of expressing himself. 
 
 " This is very important, Mr. Dirom," 
 said Efiie's father, straightening himself out. 
 
 " It is ver}' important to me," (;ried the 
 young man ; " all my hopes are involved in 
 it, my hap[)iiiess for life." 
 
 " Yes, it's very important," said Mr.
 
 238 Effic Ogilvic 
 
 Ogilvie, "if I'm to take this, as I suppose, 
 as a. proposal of marriage to Effie. She is 
 3^oung, and yon are Init yonng for that 
 responsibility ; and you will understand, of 
 course, tliat I would never force her inclin- 
 ations." 
 
 " Good heavens, sir," cried the young fel- 
 low, starting to his feet, "what do you take 
 me for 1 — do you think that I — I " 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Ogilvie, shaking his 
 gray head. " Sit down, my young friend. 
 There could be no such thing as forcing 
 her inclinations ; but otherwise if your good 
 fixther and mother approve, there would not, 
 so far as I can see, be any objections on 
 our part. No, so far as I can see, there 
 need be no objection. I should like to have 
 an opportunity of talking it over with my 
 wife. And Effie herself would naturally 
 require to be consulted : l)ut with these 
 little preliminaries— I have heard nothing 
 but good of you, and I cannot see that
 
 The Story of a Young Life 239 
 
 there would be any objections on our 
 part." 
 
 At this point the door opened quickly, 
 and Mrs. Ogilvie came in. 
 
 "Well," she said, "I hope ye have got it 
 over and settled everything : for, Mr. Fred, 
 Effie is just coming down from tlie manse, 
 and I thought you would perhaps like to 
 see her, not under my nose, as people say, 
 but where ye could liave a little freedom. 
 If ye liurry you will meet her where the 
 road strikes oif into the little wood — and 
 that's a nice little roundabout, where a great 
 deal can be got through. But come away, 
 ye must not lose a moment ; and afterwards 
 ye can finish your talk with ])apa." 
 
 If Fred could litive disapj)eared through 
 the dingy old carpet, if lie could have 
 melted into tliin air, there would liavc l)een 
 no more seen of him in (^ilston house that 
 day. But he could not escape his fate. 
 He was linri'icd alonn- to a side door, wliere
 
 240 ElJic OijiUic 
 
 Mrs. Ogilvie pointed out to liiiii the little 
 path l)y wliicli b^tiie would certainly return 
 home. She almost i)uslied him out into 
 the waning afternoon to go and tell his 
 love. 
 
 When he heard the door (dose hehind 
 him and felt himself free and in the open 
 world, Fred for a moment had the strongest 
 impulse on his mind to fly. The enthu- 
 siasm of his youthful love had )jeen dese- 
 crated by all these odious })refaces, his 
 tender dreams had been dispelled. How 
 could he say to Ettie in words fit for her 
 hearing what he had been compelled to say 
 to those horrible people to whom she be- 
 longed, and to hear resaid by them in their 
 still more hornl)le way ? He stood for a 
 moment uncertain whether to i>o on or turn 
 and fly — feeling ashamed, outraged, irritated. 
 It seemed an insult to Effie to carry that 
 soiled and desecrated story for her hearing 
 now.
 
 The Story of a Young Life 241 
 
 But just then she appeared at the open- 
 ing of the road, unconscious, coming sweetly 
 along, ill maiden meditation, a little touched 
 with dreams. The sight of her produced 
 another revolution in Fred's thoughts. Could 
 it be for him that soft mist that was in her 
 eyes ? He went forward, with his heart 
 beating, to meet her and his fate. 
 
 END OF VOLUME I. 
 
 ROBERT MACLEHOSE, VKrVKRKlTV PKKSS, OLASOOW
 
 Catalogue of IBookB 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS. 
 
 ^ubli0hcv0 to the Eriibcrsittj of (Slaegoto- 
 
 GLASGO\^': 6i St. Vincent Stro:et. 
 
 1884.
 
 PUBLISHED liV 
 
 JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW, 
 Publbhrrs to the anibcrsito. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK. 
 London, .... Hamilton, Adams and Co. 
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 Edinburgh, . . . Donglas and Foiilis. 
 
 AUGU.ST, MDCCCLXXXIV.
 
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 Messrs. MACLEHOSE'S 
 
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 ALEXANDER, Patrick, M.A.— Carlyle Redivivus. Being 
 an Occasional Discourse on Sauerteig. Fourth Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. is. 
 
 "Exceedingly witty." — Saturday Review. 
 
 "A cleverer parody has not appeared since the ' Rejected Addresses.' " — 
 Manchester Courier. 
 
 ANDERSON — On the Curability of Attacks of Tuber- 
 cular Peritonitis and Acute Phthisis. By T. 
 M'Call Anderson, M.D., Professor of Clinical Medicine 
 in the University of Glasgow. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 ANDERSON — Lectures on Medical Nursing, delivered 
 in the Royal Infirmary, Glasgow. By J. Wallace Ander- 
 son, M.D., Lecturer on Medicine. Second Edition. Fcap. 
 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 "An admirable guide. ... In many respects the best manual we ai 
 present possess on the subject. The book is carefully written. The style 
 is clear and attractive, and the arrangement of the matter is admirable." - 
 Lancet. 
 
 " The very important subjects these lectures discuss are severally treated 
 with clearness, precision and sound ]\x(\%\\\&n\." —Spectator. 
 
 " Dr. Anderson's admirable little book contains just such information as 
 every nurse should possess, and this is seasoned with much wise advice and 
 many good maxims." — Birmitii^liam .'vicdical Review. 
 
 "A valuable text book. Throughout his instructions Dr. Anderson is 
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 lege, Glasgow. Crown Svo, Illustrated, \os.6d. [This Day. 
 
 BATHGATE— Progressive Religion. Sermons by the late 
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 " Those who desire to make the acquaintance of one of the master-spirits 
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 "The sermons convey to us the impression that we are in the presence of 
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 and ballad." — North British Daily Mail.
 
 MESSKS. MACLEHOSE AND SONS. 5 
 
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 BROWN— Thk Life of a Scottish Probationer. Being 
 the Memoir of Thomas Davidson, with his Poems and 
 Letters. By the Rev. James Brown, D.D., of St. 
 James' Church, Paisley. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 " A charming little biography. His was one ot those rare natures which 
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 "A worthy record of a man of rare genius— dead ere his prime. His 
 poems are as beautiful as flowers or birds." Dr. John Brown, Author of 
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 '' This life of an unknown Scotch probationer is equal in interest to any- 
 thing of the kind we have had since Carlyle's ' Life of .Sterling " was written. 
 Thomas Davidson, as a poet, as a humourist, as a simple, loving, honest, 
 reticent, valiant soul, demands adequate recognition at the hands of the 
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 Chancellor of the University of Glasgow. 8vo. is. each. 
 
 r. What is Religion ? 
 
 2. Christian Manliness. 
 
 3. In Memoriam. A Sermon on the Death of the Very Rev. 
 
 Principal Thomas Barclay, D.D. 
 
 4. The Universal Religion. A Lecture delivered in West- 
 
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 6. The Progressiveness of the Sciences. A Lecture.
 
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 condensation, and which is all cream The most valuable book of its 
 
 kind that has appeared." — Mr. T. H. Green in The Academy. 
 
 " It is remarkable also for its marvellous power of exposition and grace- 
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 CAIRD, Professor E.— A Critical Account of the Phil- 
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 Edward Caird, M.A., LL.D., Professor of Moral Phil- 
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 Tutor of Merton College, Oxford. 8vo. 
 
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 CAMERON— Light, Sjhade, and Toil : Poems. By a Work- 
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 LECKIE — Sermons by Joseph Leckie, D.D., Ibrox, Glas- 
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 MESSIiS. MACLEHOSE AND SONS. 13 
 
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 enthusiasm is intense, but duly controlled in expression by a sufificient sense 
 of humour. His book is not a dry compendium of facts, but a vivid account 
 of the national life of Scotland, viewed now from the political, and now from 
 the literary point of view." — 'limes. 
 
 " A work of quite exceptional literary and historical value. Its peculiar 
 characf^r, as well as its special value, lies in its skilful combination of the 
 early history of Scotland, with .an adequate and thoroughly well-informed 
 description of the development of the national thought in the national 
 literature." — Scotsman. 
 
 " There is no trace in this volume of mental weariness or ])erfunctory 
 cram. It is nothing short of m.asterly. The style is full, nervous, perspi- 
 cuous, vitalized by an enthusiasm always kept on the safe side by humour 
 and good sense. In the warmth of his patriotic and moral enthusiasm, in 
 his thorough mastery of details, as well as in the glowing energy of his 
 style, he reminds us of Mr. Green." — Academy.
 
 1 6 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 ROSS, W. T.— Poems. New Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ROSS, W. T.— Waifs. Essays and Sketches. Ex. fcap. 8vo. 5s. 
 
 SCHLOMKA. — A German Grammar. By Clemens 
 SCHLOMKA, M.A., Ph.D. [Immediately. 
 
 ^3ocm0 Jjj) the JViithor of "0lng ©ntugc." 
 
 SMITH— KiLDROSTAN : a Dramatic Poem. By the Author of 
 " Olrig Grange." Ex. fcap. 8vo. 7s. 6d. [This Day. 
 
 " 'Kildrostan' has all the interest and excitement of a novel, combined 
 with the charm of dignified verse, and enhanced by the stimulus of manly 
 thought. . . . The poem is one of unquestionable power. Scattered 
 all through the five acts there are gems of thought which are enhanced in 
 literary value by their brilliant setting. Dr. Smith's power of passionate 
 utterance reaches its highest point in the scene, in the third act, in which 
 Tremain's intense declarations of love are received by Doris with scoffs and 
 jeers. It is like the play of hghtning on an iceberg, brilliant but harmless. 
 — Scotsman. 
 
 " Since the death of Scott hardly any man has so nearly approached the 
 Wizard of the North in the art of telling a story in graphic and musical 
 verse. ... On Doris Cattanach Mr. Smith has extended his full 
 strength, and not even the worldly-wise mother in ' Olrig Grange ' nor 
 Hilda Dalguise, nor even Winifred Urquhart is so powerfully drawn. On 
 Tremain, the aesthetic poet, equal care has been bestowed. The resthetic 
 school has never been so fully explained or exposed. The prophet of 
 culture is not encountered by parody or by satire, but by what we may term 
 psychological anatomy, and the effect is irresistible." — £c/io. 
 
 "'Kildrostan' is one of the very finest dramatic poems of the day." — 
 Fifeshire yournal. 
 
 SMITH— Olrig Grange : a Poem n Six Books. By 
 Walter C. Smith. Third Edition. Ex. fcap. Svo. 6s. 6d. 
 
 " This remarkable poem will at once give its anonymous author a high 
 place among contemporary English poets. — Examiner. 
 
 " The most sickening phase of our civilization has scarcely been exposed 
 with a surer and quieter point, even by Thackeray himself, than in this 
 advice of a fashionable and religious mother to her daughter." — Pall Mall. 
 
 " The story is told in powerful and suggestive verse." — Spectator. 
 
 "The pious self-pity of the worldly mother, and the despair of the 
 worldly daughter are really brilliantly put. The story is worked out with 
 quite uncommon power." — Academy.
 
 MESSRS. MACLEHOSE AND SONS. \y 
 
 SMITH — Hilda ; Among the Broken Gods : a Poem. 
 By the Author of " Oh'ig Grange."' Third Edition. Extra 
 fcap. 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 "That it is characterized by vigorous thinking, delicate fancy, and happy 
 terms of expression, is admitted on all hands." — Times. 
 
 "A poem of remarkable power." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 " It is to ' Hilda,' however, that we must turn for the most tragic concep- 
 tion of actual life that has hitherto been fashioned into verse. No modern 
 poet, it may safely be said, has plunged so deeply into the innermost heart 
 of living men and women, and none has used such remarkable materials for 
 his drama." — Scottish Review. 
 
 SMITH — North Country Folk. Poems b}' Author of 
 "Oh-ig Grange." Ex. fcap. 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 
 "These poems are really dramatic, genuinely pathetic, and will bear 
 reading over and over again." — Westminster Review. 
 
 "The follies and pettiness of suburban life provoke Dr. Smith's scorn. 
 The race for wealth, the desire for position, and other kindred themes, are 
 treated in a straightforward, outspoken fashion." — Dundee Advertiser. 
 
 " ' Wee Curly Pow ' is full of exquisite pathos and tenderness, and ' Dick 
 Dalgleish ' is rich in genuine humour. We recommend all who are fond of 
 genuine poetry to get Dr. Smith's poems at once. The book is full of 
 music." — Sheffield Independent. 
 
 •' For rich variety alike in substance and form, for scathmg exposure of 
 all that is mean and base, and for the effective presentation of the loftiest 
 ideals, for mingled humour and pathos, we do not know a volumein the 
 whole range of Scottish verse that can be said to surpass ' North Country 
 Folk'." — Christian Leader. 
 
 SMITH— Borland Hall : a Poem. By the Author of " Olrig 
 Grange." [ Third Edition in preparation. 
 
 SMITH— Raban ; or, Life Splinters : a Poem. By the 
 Author of" Olrig Grange." {^Second Edition in preparation. 
 
 SMITH— Bishop's Walk; and Other Poems. Extra fcap. 
 8vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 SPREULL— Writings of John Spreull (commonly called 
 Bas*s John) 1646-1722. Edited by J. W. Burns, of Kihna- 
 hew. Extra fcap. 4to. With Facsimiles and Portrait. 12s. 6d. 
 
 STANLEY, Dean— The Burning Bush. A Sermon. Svo. is.
 
 1 8 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 STEWART— The Plan of St. Luke's Gospel. By William 
 Stewart, M.A., D.D., Professor of Biblical Criticism in 
 the University of Glasgow. Svo. 3s. 6d. 
 
 STODDART— Village Life: A Poem. By James H. Stod- 
 
 TtKRi:, Y.dXior oitYiQ G/asgo^u Herald. Extra fcap. Svo. 6s. 6d. 
 
 " A remarkable volume of poetry, which will be read by all who havi- 
 any keen interest in the progress of English literature." — Statidard. 
 
 STORY — Creed and Conduct : Sermons preached in Ros- 
 neath Church. By Robert Herbert Story, D.D., 
 Minister of the Parish. Crown Svo. Cheap Edition. 3s. 6d. 
 
 " In all respects this volume is worthy to be placed alongside of those of 
 Caird and Guthrie, Tulloch and Service." — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 " These are excellent sermons. They are sensible, manly, scholarly, and 
 religious. " — Edinburgh Con rant. 
 
 " Characterized throughout by profound earnestness and spirituality, and 
 written in a style at once graceful, clear, and nervous." — Scotsman. 
 
 "We heartily commend the book to our readers." — Dundee Advertiser. 
 
 VEITCH — The History and Poetry of the Scottish 
 Border, their Main Features and Relations. By 
 John Veitch, LL.D., Professor of Logic and Rhetoric in 
 the University of Glasgow. Crown Svo. los. 6d. 
 
 " This is a genuine book. We heartily recommend it." — Contemporary 
 Review. 
 
 " We feel as if we were hearing the stories, or listening to the snatches of 
 song among the breezes of the mountains or the moorland, under the 
 sun-broken mists of the wild glens, or tne wooded banks of the Yarrow or 
 the Tweed." — Times. 
 
 " The fullest, most thorough, and most deeply critical work on Border 
 history and poetry that we have." — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 VEITCH — Hillside Rhymes. Extra fcap. Svo. 5s. 
 
 VEITCH — The Tweed, and Other Poems. Extra fcap. 8vo. 
 6s. 6d. 
 
 VEITCH— Lucretius and the Atomic Theory. Crown 
 Svo. 3s. 6d.
 
 MESSRS. MACLEHOSE AND SONS. 19 
 
 WADDELL — OssiAN and the Clyde ; or, Ossian Historical 
 and Authentic. By P. Hately Waddell, LL.D. 4to. 
 I2S. 6d. 
 
 WATSON — Kant and his English Critics, a Comparison 
 of Critical and Empirical Philosophy. By John Watson, 
 M.A., LL.D., Professor of Moral Philosophy in Queen's 
 LTniversity, Kingston, Canada. 8vo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 "Decidedly the best exposition of Kant which we have seen in Eng- 
 lish. We cannot too strongly commend it." — Saturday Review. 
 
 " C'est I'oeuvre d'un penseur et d'un maitre. . . . Nous avons lu le livrc 
 de M. Watson avec un vif int^ret et une grande sympathie." — Revue Phil- 
 osophique. 
 
 " This book is written with clearness and precision, and the author is 
 thoroughly impregnated with the doctrine which he expounds, and makes 
 it as plain as it can be made without becoming other than it is." — Professor 
 T. H. Green, in the Academy. 
 
 "All students of Kant will recognize his thorough mastery of the system 
 he expounds." — Scotsman. 
 
 New Books and New Editions 
 In Preparation. 
 
 PROFESSOR CAIRD—Tn^ Philosophy of Kant. By 
 Edward Caird, M.A., LL.D., late Fellow and Tutor of 
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 the University of Glasgow. Demy 8vo. ■ 
 
 MONS. GORECKI—A. French Grammar. By A. L. 
 GORECKl, Lecturer in the Church of Scotland Training 
 College, Glasgow.
 
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 Epoch 1870, deduced from Observations made at the 
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 Professor of Astronomy in the University of Glasgow. 
 Demy 4to, 800 pp. 
 
 JANET HAMILTON— F OEMS, Essays, and Sketches. 
 Crown 8vo. [New Edition ifumedialely. 
 
 PROFESSOR yEBB— The Anabasis of Xenophon.— Books 
 III. and IV., with the Modern Greek Version of Constantine 
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 Professor of Greek in the University of Glasgow. 
 
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 PROFESSOR JEBB— A New Selection of Greek Ex- 
 tracts. By R. C. Jebb, M.A., Professor of Greek in the 
 University of Glasgow. 
 
 PROFESSOR NICNO L—Ess\YS on English Literature. 
 By John Nichol, M.A. Balliol, Oxon, LL.D., Professor 
 of English Language and Literature in the University of 
 Glasgow. 
 
 §)) the ^Itithor of "©Irig (Svaugc." 
 
 BORLAND HALL : a Poem. By Walter C. Smith, M.A., 
 Author of " Olrig Grange." [Third Ediiioti in preparation. 
 
 RABAN : a Poem. By the Author of " Olrig Grange." 
 
 [Second Edition in preparation. 
 
 MR. ROSS— The Fine Arts and Other Essays. 
 
 DR. SCHLOMKA- A German Grammar. By Clemens 
 
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