^M 
 
 W 
 
 i .•SimSK-IiOGKINt? :;i 
 
 WM:S'7//M
 
 LIST OF WORKS 
 
 BY 
 
 SILAS K. HOCKING. 
 
 In Isrge crown Svo., Cloth Gilt, fully Illustrated, Price 38. 6d. each. 
 
 ONE IN CHARITY. 
 
 A SON OF REUBEN. 
 
 THE HEART OF MAN. 
 
 CALEB CARTHEW. 
 
 FOR ABIGAIL : A West Country Story. 
 
 WHERE DUTY LIE.S. 
 
 FOR LIGHT AND LIBERTY. 
 
 FOR SUCH IS LIFE. 
 
 IN SPITE OF FATE. 
 
 GOD'S OUTCAST. 
 
 THE DAY OF RECOMPENSE. 
 
 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF ISRAEL PENDRAY. 
 
 TO PAY THE PRICE. 
 
 THE FATE OF ENDILLOE. 
 
 GRIPPED. 
 
 THE WIZARD'S LIGHT. 
 
 A BONNIE SAXON. 
 
 THE TEMPTER'S POWER. 
 
 THE SCARLET CLUE. 
 
 THE FLAMING SWORD. 
 
 THE SQUIRE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 PIONEERS. 
 
 THE SILENT MAN. 
 
 A MODERN PHARISEE. 
 
 THE SHADOW BETWEEN. 
 
 YOURS AND MINE. 
 
 In Crown 8vo., Clotiy Gilt, Gilt Edges, fully Illustrated, Price 2s. 6d. each, 
 or ditto ditto Plain Edges ditto Price 2s. Od. „ 
 
 HER BENNY : A Story of Street Life. 
 
 IVY : A Tale of Cottage Life. 
 
 HIS FATHER ; or, A Mother's Legacy. 
 
 ALEC GREEN : A Tale of Sea Life. 
 
 SEA WAIF : A Tale of the Sea. 
 
 DICK'S FAIRY : A Tale of the Streets 
 
 CRICKET : A Tale Of Htunble Life. 
 
 REAL GRIT. 
 
 CROOKLEIGH : A Village Story. 
 
 TREGEAGLE S HEAD : A Romance Of the Cornlsh Cliffs. 
 
 REEDYFORD ; or, Creed and Character. 
 
 CHIPS, JOE AND MIKE. 
 
 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 DOCTOR DICK. 
 
 THE BLINDNESS OF MADGE TYNDALL. 
 
 WHEN LIFE IS YOUNG. 
 
 THE CONQUERING WILL. 
 
 A Special Illustrated Edition, in medium Svo., Cloth Gilt, Price 3s. Sd. 
 
 HER BENNY: A Story of Street Life. Illustrated with 47 original 
 Engravings. 
 
 LONDON : FREDKRICK WARNE & CO. ; AND NEW YORK.
 
 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST.
 
 jREX RAYNOR, ARTIST 
 
 A STOBY OF SOWING AND BE A PING 
 
 BY 
 
 SILAS K. HOCKING 
 
 // 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'her benny," "for ABIGAIL," "REAL GRIT,' 
 
 ETC. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HABOLD COPPINO 
 
 
 m.h 
 
 LONDON 
 FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CBAPITB 
 
 I. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 
 II. THE WRONG ROAD 
 III. PAYING THE PENALTY 
 IV, THE YEARS SPEED ON 
 
 V. BETTER OFF 
 VI. CHANGES - 
 VII. A REVELATION 
 VIII. FOREBODINGS 
 IX. DISCOURAGEMENT - 
 X. WAS IT A DREAM ? 
 XI. LOVE SPEAKS OUl 
 XII. LOVE AND DUTY - 
 
 XIII. THE SECRET OUT - 
 
 XIV. UNCERTAINTY 
 XV. HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF 
 
 XVI. TRUTH WILL OUT - 
 XVII. A FRESH PAGE 
 XVIII. OUT WITH THE TIDE 
 XIX. A CHANCE MEETING 
 
 1 
 
 11 
 
 21 
 
 32 
 
 41 
 
 49 
 
 58 
 
 68 
 
 77 
 
 86 
 
 94 
 
 103 
 
 111 
 
 119 
 
 127 
 
 135 
 
 148 
 
 151 
 
 160
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER p^ ,U 
 
 XX. A DAY-DREAM - - - . - 169 
 
 XXI, life's little day . - . - 180 
 
 XXII. STRANGERS YET - - . . - 190 
 
 SXIIL GROUND FOR HOPE - . , - 199 
 
 XXIV. AT SAN VERA - = . . . 212 
 
 XXV. 'ALWAYS REX TO HER* - - - - 222
 
 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 
 
 * 111 masters good, good seems to change 
 To ill with greatest ease ; 
 And, worst of all, the good with good 
 Is at cross purposes.' — Faber. 
 
 Never had right appeared so difficult before. 
 Never had wrong seemed so full of promise as now. 
 Indeed, to Jane Raynor's darkened and bewildered 
 sense, right and wrong might have changed 
 places, and judgment and conscience dropped 
 out of existence altogether. She had been in 
 trying circumstances before — many times, in fact, 
 and oft; for with an ailing family and a small 
 and precarious income, life had not been all a 
 bed of roses; a bed of thorns would, perhaps, 
 more truly describe it. Still, in the past, right 
 had always seemed right — had always commended 
 itself to her judgment and conscience alike ; while 
 
 1
 
 REX 11 AY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 duty, however difficult, had ever lain clear and 
 distinct before her. 
 
 Now, however, it was no longer so. At the 
 moment our story opens she was seated in a low 
 rocking-chair with a look of horror in her eyes. 
 Across her knees lay a month-old baby, upon whose 
 pure and gentle face death had unmistakably set 
 its seal. At her feet was a cradle, in which was 
 another babe of about the same age, apparently in 
 perfect health and fast asleep. 
 
 The children were not twins, nor in any way 
 related to each other. The child in the cradle was 
 her own ; that upon her knee the firstborn of Jonas 
 Brown, Esq., J.P., and his young wife May. Poor 
 Mrs. Brown was still lying at the point of death, 
 and the doctors were almost despairing of her 
 recovery. The one thing that seemed to hold her 
 to life was the little child whom she had hardly 
 strength to see, much less to nurse. But every 
 day she whispered her inquiries for its welfare, and 
 when she learned he was well and growing, she 
 would smile sweetly and close her eyes again. 
 
 The doctors who attended her suggested that 
 Mrs. Raynor should be asked to nurse the infant 
 along with her own, and, for the sake of the large 
 pay that was offered, Mrs. Raynor readily acceded 
 to the request. And so it came about that the son 
 and heir of the rich banker was taken to the home 
 of the poor artist, and laid in the arms of his wife. 
 
 Jane Raynor was a good woman in the main ;
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 3 
 
 a little fretful, perhaps, and given to melancholy ; 
 but that was scarcely to be wondered at. Life had 
 gone hardly with her of late. Money had been 
 scarce, her husband had been ill, and the children 
 cross and unmanageable ; and so the advent of her 
 youngest born had brought no joy with it. Indeed, 
 if the truth must be told, the little fellow was not 
 wanted. He came where there seemed no room 
 for him, and no means for his maintenance. John 
 Raynor was confined to his bed at the time with 
 an acute attack of bronchitis, brought on by sketch- 
 insr out of doors in the teeth of a keen east wind. 
 
 He was a brave man, patient, true, and uncom- 
 plaining. It had been a great grief to him that 
 his pictures had not sold, and that in consequence 
 the wolf of want seemed ever howling about the 
 house. For himself, he did not mind so much, but 
 it troubled his heart sorely to see his wife so worried 
 and vexed, and to note how rapidly her good looks 
 had faded under the stress of hard times. 
 
 He was too ill to notice the child when it was 
 born. The old woman who acted the part of nurse 
 carried it to his bedside ; but the effort of raising 
 himself to look at its little puckered face brought 
 on a fit of coughing, and so he scarcely saw it. 
 
 ' It's only a little 'un,' said the old woman ; ' but 
 it's in a big world ; an' so there's plenty of room for 
 it to grow in.' 
 
 ' I'm most anxious about Jane,' he struggled to 
 say. 
 
 1—2
 
 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' Oh, she's agoin' on all right,' was the cheerful 
 answer ; ' so don't you never fear, but make haste 
 an' get well yourself.' 
 
 * I'll try,' he answered with a feeble smile ; and 
 then he found himself alone again. 
 
 Jane Raynor was up and about before her 
 husband. ' Poor folks cannot afford to waste their 
 time in bed,' she explained to the doctor, who had 
 remonstrated with her, 'Besides, my old nurse 
 had to leave me ; and so there was no help for it.' 
 
 She took no harm, however ; on the contrary, 
 she gathered strength rapidly when she got down- 
 stairs, and when, a few days later, her husband 
 crept feebly into the little sitting-room, he declared 
 she was looking her old self again, in spite of 
 having two babies to nurse. 
 
 He smiled at the splendid hammock-cradle, all 
 polished brass and filigree work, which stood in a 
 corner of the room and in which slept the banker's 
 child. It seemed such a contrast to the well-worn 
 wicker bassinette in which his own child lay. 
 
 * You must take care you don't get the children 
 mixed, Jane,' he said to his wife playfully ; ' for 
 really they look so much alike that I am quite sure 
 I should not be able to tell one from the other.' 
 
 ' You would if you had to wash and dress them,' 
 she said. 
 
 * Very likely I should,' he said ; then, after a 
 pause, added : ' but really, Jane, this is too great a 
 task on you.'
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WA YS. 5 
 
 ' I shouldn't do it but for the pay,' she said ; 
 *but you know, John, that is very acceptable just 
 now.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know,' he said, a little bit sadly. ' It 
 seems very hard that I should be smitten down 
 with illness just when I had got a commission to 
 paint a picture, and just when money was needed 
 so much.' 
 
 ' Troubles never come singly,' she said gloomily. 
 ' Ours have come in battalions.' 
 
 'And yet things might have been worse,' he 
 replied with a smile. ' I shall soon be at work 
 again now, and you in your new capacity will be 
 able to keep the wolf from the door until the 
 picture is completed, though I do grieve that you 
 have to work so hard.' 
 
 * Don't trouble about me,' she said, her face 
 brightening a little. * I shall be able to manage 
 for a month or two without any diflficulty ; and 
 then, think of the money.' 
 
 ' That's the pity of it,' he answered. * It worries 
 me that we have to think so much about money. 
 I dread the idea of painting " pot-boilers." ' 
 
 ' The pot must be kept boiling all the same,' she 
 answered ; and then the subject dropped. 
 
 A few days later John Raynor crept feebly up to 
 his garret studio, and tried to settle steadily down 
 to work ; but it was a great effort, and one that 
 almost overmastered him. 
 
 So the days passed on, but the picture could
 
 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 scarcely be said to grow. John remained in his 
 studio seeing almost nothing of his wife or children. 
 But he was able to do no work that was worthy the 
 name. 
 
 Then came that fatal afternoon on which our 
 story opens. John had been so disheartened with 
 his attempts to work that he could scarcely touch 
 his dinner. 
 
 ' I'm afraid I shall never succeed with the 
 picture ' he said gloomily, as he rose from his seat 
 to retrace his steps to his workroom. 
 
 'Not succeed?' she questioned, looking up m 
 surprise. 
 
 ' I fear not,' he said ; ' my hand seems to have 
 lost its cunning.^ 
 
 ' Oh ! I hope not,' she replied. * It must be 
 because you are still weak and worried.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you are right,' he said. ' But it is very 
 disheartenino:, nevertheless.' 
 
 When he had gone she sent the older children 
 into the garden to play, and then, dropping into 
 her rocking chair, she sat for a long time staring 
 into the empty grate. Life seemed very hard, and 
 the outlook dark in the extreme. 
 
 Suddenly a sharp cry from the gilded cradle 
 startled her out of her reverie, and with a look of 
 alarm upon her face she rushed to the corner and 
 took the child up in her arms, and then dropped 
 again into her rocking chair. 
 
 She saw that something serious was the matter,
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WAYS. 7 
 
 though she never dreamed of it having a fatal ter- 
 mination. The attack, which proved to be one of 
 8ynco;^e, was but of short duration. Almost before 
 she knew what had happened, the child lay still 
 and lifeless across her knees. 
 
 For a moment she was too horrified to move or 
 even to speak. Then thoughts began to chase each 
 other through her brain at lightning speed, and a 
 terrible picture of pain, poverty, and reproach rose 
 up before her. 
 
 Would Squire Brown believe she had taken 
 proper care of his child ? Would he not charge 
 her with neglect, and in his grief and disappoint- 
 ment might he not say cruel things which would 
 rankle in her heart to the end of her life ? 
 
 And then there was his young wife. It would 
 mean death to her. All her hope of life had 
 centred in this little babe. For its sake she had 
 held on to existence with a tenacity that had 
 surprised the doctors. But she would die now; 
 the link that bound her to earth was broken. 
 When they conveyed to her the tidings that her 
 baby-boy was dead, it was easy to predict what 
 would happen. 
 
 * Oh, I know the shock will kill her,' Jane 
 Raynor said to herself, ' and then they will blame 
 me!' 
 
 Then she began to think of her own future. 
 The two guineas a week for nursing the baby would 
 cease now, and her husband was still unable to
 
 8 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 work. What should she do ? There seemed 
 nothing before them but starvation. What a pros- 
 pect for her youngest born ! Poor Httle waif 1 
 It had come into a world of want and privation. 
 Better it had never been born. 
 
 Jane Raynor's face grew hard at the thought. 
 Her faith in Providence had been very feeble for a 
 long time past. A thousand things, it seemed to 
 her, were not as they ought to be. Why had this 
 child died ? For God to take the child of the rich 
 and leave the children of the poor seemed to her 
 a terrible blunder. Nay, in the present case, it 
 seemed a cruel wrong, for the young mother's life 
 was trembling in the balance, and a thousand 
 beautiful hopes would be shattered by this blow. 
 
 If God had taken her child instead, bitter as 
 would have been the grief, she would scarcely have 
 complained. In the present circumstances — with 
 her husband almost helpless, and the future so dark 
 and hopeless — it would have been a merciful Provi- 
 dence. But to take this child, for whom there was 
 plenty — to dash its father's long- cherished hope, to 
 end the frail young mother's life, and to rob her 
 and her husband of the pittance on which they 
 were living at present — that seemed not merely a 
 mistake, but a wrong. 
 
 Then a cry from her own child arrested her 
 thoughts for a moment, and she looked down into 
 the poor wicker cradle at her feet, while a pitiful 
 smile stole over her face.
 
 THE PARTING OF THE WA YS. 9 
 
 ' My poor bairnie,' she said, half aloud, ' I don't 
 know what is to become of thee. Poverty and want 
 must be thy portion always.' 
 
 And for answer a smile stole over the infant's 
 face, and it dropped asleep again. 
 
 Then a terrible suggestion stole into Jane Eay- 
 nor's heart, which swept all the blood from her face 
 and left her pale to the lips. She glanced swiftly 
 round the room, for she seemed hardly certain that 
 someone had not spoken to her. But no one was 
 near. She was alone with the two babes. 
 
 But the voice was still in her heart, and the 
 suggestion was repeated again. 
 
 ' Why should the young mother die V the voice 
 said, ' and why should you and your children 
 starve ? Why should Squire Brown be left child- 
 less, and all his money go to strangers ? And why 
 should your babe grow up in poverty and want ? Is 
 not your child as good as his ; and has it not as 
 good a right to the pleasant things of life ? The 
 Squire would never know, nor would his wife ! 
 You have only to say the child upon your knee is 
 your own, and place your own in the gilded cradle, 
 and all will be straight and clear. You will save 
 the Squire's hopes from being shattered, and spare 
 to him his wife. You will provide for your own 
 offspring, and be even paid for nursing it.' 
 
 ' But it is not right !' Jane's conscience protested. 
 ' Well, then, do the right,' said the tempter, ' and 
 see what comes of it. You will kill the Squire's
 
 10 BEX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 wife, and leave him a widower as well as childless. 
 You doom your own child to poverty, and yourself 
 to want and privation.' 
 
 * But I cannot do such a wrong,' she said, half 
 aloud, with a wild, strange look in her eyes. 
 
 'Well, then, don't,' the tempter mocked, 'and "be 
 prepared for all the wrong that will follow — the 
 reproach of the Squire, the knowledge that you 
 might have saved his wife and didn't, the pangs of 
 hunger you might have averted and wouldn't do 
 it.' 
 
 'Oh dear,' she moaned, *I don't know what is 
 right.' 
 
 ' Of course you don't,' said the tempter ; ' nobody 
 does. Right and wrong are inextricably mixed up. 
 Circumstances alter cases. What is right to-day 
 may be wrong to-morrow. Perhaps the nearest 
 approach to right is that which means the greatest 
 good to the greatest number.' 
 
 ' If that be so,' she moaned, ' my duty is clear. 
 But, oh, I do not know. I seem to have lost my 
 way in the dark. I ought to know what right is — 
 but it seems all wrong at present ; while wrong is 
 full of promise and hope.' So she battled with 
 herself. But she asked help of no one — not even 
 of God
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WRONG ROAD. 
 
 •Sow truth if thou the True wouldst reap ; 
 Who sows the false shall reap the vain ; 
 Erect and sound thy conscience keep ; 
 From hollow words and deeds refrain.' — Bonar, 
 
 There is an old proverb which saj^s, ' He who 
 hesitates is lost.' And, like many another old 
 proverb, it contains a measure of truth. It is not, 
 however, the whole truth. In some cases ' he who 
 hesitates is saved.' The fool is lost because he 
 will not hesitate or give himself time to think. 
 Jane Raynor hesitated over-long. Had she acted 
 at once, before the devil of selfishness and policy 
 had had time to bewilder her brain, we should have 
 had a very different story to tell, or perhaps no 
 story at all. But she gave willing ear to the voice 
 of the tempter, and listened to all his suggestions, 
 and the longer she listened the more bewildered 
 she became, and the more densely beclouded grew 
 her moral sense. 
 
 And yet, paradoxical as it may sound, could she
 
 12 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 have hesitated longer she might have been saved. 
 Given longer time, and her judgment might have 
 recovered its balance, and conscience secured once 
 more its authority. But she had to act when her 
 brain was most confused. Ere conscience could 
 reassert itself the deed was done. 
 
 Later in the day an inward voice kept repeating, 
 * Dare you presume to mend God's work ? Do the 
 right, and leave the consequences with Him.' But 
 she had done the deed then, and the step she had 
 taken was irrevocable — at least, it seemed so to her. 
 Had she wished, she hadn't the courage to retrace 
 her steps. The mental and moral struggle she had 
 passed through, though it seemed to her to have 
 lasted a long time, had in reality lasted only a few 
 minutes. The mind works rapidly in moments of 
 strong excitement. The babe upon her knee was 
 still quite warm. 
 
 In after-days she never had a clear recollection of 
 the sequence of events. She acted like one in a 
 dream, and yet she exercised a caution that was an 
 astonishment even to herself in the days that 
 followed. 
 
 A few moments after she had settled upon her 
 course of action John Raynor was aroused out of a 
 day-dream by hearing her voice calling from the 
 foot of the stairs in quick, startled toues : 
 
 'John, John, come quickly, baby has a fit.' 
 Instantly he dropped his brushes and palette and 
 rushed downstairs and into the sittin":-room.
 
 THE WRONG ROAD. 13 
 
 ' Oh, John,' she exclaimed, without looking up ; 
 * I fear it is all over !' 
 
 He came to her side without a word as she bent 
 over the wicker-cradle, but he remained only a 
 second. 'I will fetch the doctor,' he said, and 
 hurriedly left the room. 
 
 Fortunately the doctor was at home, and, with- 
 out a moment's delay, hurried off to the house, 
 leaving John to follow more slowly. Of course he 
 could do nothing; for the little waif was beyond 
 his skill. But, as it was very evident the child had 
 died from natural causes, he promised to give a cer- 
 tificate of death, and so save them from the worry 
 and pain of an inquest. 
 
 ' It's very sad, very sad indeed,' he said to Jane 
 Raynor in sympathetic tones ; ' but you must bear 
 up for your husband's sake, and try to think it's all 
 for the best.' 
 
 Then he walked across to the other cradle in the 
 corner, and stood for a moment or two with his 
 hands folded behind his back. ' The young banker 
 seems all right,' he said at length, turning to Mrs. 
 Raynor. 
 
 ' They were both all right half an hour ago,' she 
 said with a gasp ; ' it is terribly sudden.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' he said a little absently ; ' but such 
 things will happen — will happen.' He had a habit 
 of repeating the last words of a sentence, sometimes 
 more than once. 
 
 Jane Raynor did not reply, and the doctor took
 
 14 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 up his hat and gloves and stole quietly out of the 
 house. 
 
 ' It's well it's her child,' he muttered to himself, 
 as he strode away in the direction of Elmwood, 
 the handsome residence of Jonas Brown, Esq. ' If 
 it had been the other child it would have killed Mrs. 
 Brown — killed her.' And he slackened his pace a 
 little while he pulled on his gloves. ' I must try to 
 get the banker interested in the case,' he said half 
 aloud. ' She ought not to have too much worry 
 while she is nursing that child. He might pay for 
 the burial of the infant ; it would be nothing to 
 him — nothinsf to him.' 
 
 And he quickened his pace again. It was a 
 lovely afternoon in late April, with just enough edge 
 on the wind to make walking a pleasure. The sky 
 was almost cloudless, and in the plantations, which 
 were just beginning to burst into green, the song 
 of the thrush rose clear and sweet. 
 
 Ten minutes' brisk walking and Dr. Moffat passed 
 through the lodge gates of Elmwood, and a moment 
 later came face to face with the banker. Jonas 
 Brown was a man of about forty-five, rather below 
 the medium height, stout and florid. His face was 
 not by any means prepossessing ; it narrowed up- 
 ward, as though nature had been trying a new 
 pattern, and not with the most satisfactory results. 
 His extremely heavy jaw and square chin seemed 
 out of all proportion with his narrow, retreating 
 forehead. His eyes were small and set close
 
 THE WRONG ROAD. 15 
 
 together. His nose short and thick, his voice 
 husky. 
 
 On catching sight of the doctor he hurried for- 
 ward at once. ' Glad to see you, doctor,' he said, 
 shaking his hand. ' I'm always glad to see you 
 these days, though I think Mrs. Brown is going on 
 very well.' 
 
 ' That's right,' said the doctor. ' I'm glad to hear 
 it — glad to hear it.' 
 
 'Though I may tell you honestly,' went on the 
 banker, ' I shall be very glad when we've seen the 
 last of you.' 
 
 •Ah, that's always the way/ said the doctor with 
 a smile — ' always the way.' 
 
 * Sounds ungrateful, don't it V the banker said 
 with a laugh. 
 
 'Well, you see, we've got used to it,' said the 
 doctor, still smiling. 'But, by-the-bye, I've just 
 come from the Raynors'.' 
 
 ' You have ?' the banker questioned hurriedly. 
 * And the boy ? Is he still going on all right ? I 
 wouldn't have anything 'appen to that boy for the 
 world.' 
 
 The letter ' h ' was the banker's Shibboleth, and 
 he occasionally made sad work with it. 
 
 'The child is quite well — quite weU,' said the 
 doctor; 'but a sad thing has happened to Mrs. 
 Raynor's own child.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' questioned Mr. Brown, looking in- 
 terested.
 
 16 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' Yes ; it was seized with an attack of S3n3Cope, 
 and died in a few seconds.' 
 
 'Died?' 
 
 ' Yes ; it was quite dead when I arrived.' 
 
 ' Good heavens ! If it had been my child, doctor ! 
 Think of it.' 
 
 ' I have thought of it, and from every point of 
 view it seems a great mercy it was their child, and 
 not yours.' 
 
 ' I should think so,' said Mr. Brown, growing very 
 red. ' Why, doctor, think of it ; there ain't no 
 comparison.' 
 
 * And yet I feel very sorry for the Raynors,' said 
 the doctor ; ' they are very superior people. But I 
 fear they are very hard pressed for money just now. 
 Even the cost of burying the child will be a great 
 tax upon them.' 
 
 ' Why, look here, doctor : I'll bear the expense 
 myself,' said the banker, in a sudden fit of gene- 
 rosity. * I think I ought to do something, perhaps 
 as a kind of thank-offering, that it wasn't my boy, 
 don't you see.' 
 
 ' Well, yes, it would be a gracious thing for you 
 to do under the circumstances,' said the doctor, 
 with a smile — ' a very gracious thing.' 
 
 ' Then Til do it if you say so ; and, what's more, 
 I'll do it well. It shall have a brick grave, there 
 now; for, good 'eavens! doctor, don't you see it 
 might have been mine.' 
 
 And so it came about that the banker's child
 
 THE WRONG ROAD. 17 
 
 was buried at the banker's expense, though he was 
 not at the funeral, and when the Httle grave was 
 filled in, the Raynors returned silent and tearful to 
 their home, and life went on, to all outward appear- 
 ance, as it had gone before. 
 
 Yet to Jane Raynor life could never be the same 
 again. She saw clearly enough now that she had 
 sinned, and sinned deeply, and yet she would not 
 entertain the idea of attempting to rectify the 
 wrong she had done. On the contrary, she tried 
 day by day to justify her conduct to herself, and 
 by persistent and determined effort she succeeded 
 very largely in stifling the voice of conscience. 
 
 The most difficult thing of all was to receive 
 money from the ' Squire ' — as they generally called 
 him — for nursing her own child. By no process of 
 reasoning could she persuade herself that that was 
 right, and yet it was inevitable — it was the earliest 
 penalty of her wrong-doing. But she dwelt as 
 little on that part of the transaction as possible. 
 It was more satisfactory to her to think of the 
 Squire's delight in the steady recovery of his wife, 
 and the growing strength of his boy. 
 
 *I have done no harm to anybody,' she kept 
 saying to herself. ' I have saved the life of his wife 
 and made them both happy, and provided for baby's 
 future into the bargain, and how that can be wrong 
 it is difficult to see.' But she knew she had done 
 wrong, all the same. 
 
 If it was a wrong to no one else, it was a cruel 
 
 2
 
 18 REX RA YNOR, A R TIST. 
 
 wrong to herself. But she tried not to think of 
 that. She felt that she had siiffeied moral damage 
 and deterioration. She found no comfort in prayer 
 as once she had done, and when she read the Bible, 
 instead of finding inspiration as in the old days, it 
 kept constantly stabbing her with a nameless pain. 
 And so she put the Bible aside and scarcely ever 
 turned its pages, and prayer was never resorted to 
 either for comfort or guidance. 
 
 Her husband was quick to note the change in 
 her, but attributed it to totally different causes. 
 ' This constant strain and anxiety are too much for 
 her,' he said to himself again and again. 'I do 
 wish I could free her from all care and worry, then 
 perhaps her good looks would come back again.' 
 
 She hardly seemed the same person he had 
 married ten years before : the bright-eyed, merry- 
 looking maiden was but too surely growing into a 
 hard-featured, unsympathetic-looking woman. She 
 rarely, if ever, laughed now, and, worse still, seemed 
 quite indifferent to his caresses. 
 
 ' Of course the death of her baby is a great blow 
 to her,' he thought. ' But she will get over that in 
 time.' 
 
 He could not grieve for the child himself. He 
 had seen so little of it that it had had no oppor- 
 tunity of getting hold of his heart. Moreover, they 
 were so poor just now, that its removal seemed a 
 mercy rather than otherwise. Hence the little 
 grave in the churchj'ard soon slipped out of his
 
 THE WRONG ROAD. 19 
 
 thoughts. His trouble was not for the dead, but 
 for the living. 
 
 Meanwhile, little Reginald — which was also the 
 name of the dead child — continued to grow apace, 
 and to delight the household with his infantile 
 ways. John felt himself growing so fond of the 
 little fellow that he knew it would be a pain to 
 part with him when the time should come, while 
 the mother anticipated the day with perfect dread. 
 
 Very slowly Mrs. Brown's strength came back to 
 her. Sometimes for days and days on the stretch 
 she would seem to make no headway at all, and 
 Dr. Moffat and his assistant would be almost in 
 despair. But she had youth on her side, and hope, 
 as well as an intense desire to live for the sake of 
 her babe ; and so she falsified all the predictions of 
 those who saw her constantly, and the tide of her 
 life, which had ebbed out to its farthest extremity, 
 began to flow in again. Slowly, it is true, and with 
 many recoils, but still surely her strength came 
 back, till at length the doctors rubbed their hands 
 gleefully and declared that she was practically out 
 of danger. 
 
 None outside the walls of Elmwood rejoiced so 
 much in her recovery as did Jane Raynor. It 
 seemed a justification of her own conduct, and yet, 
 if the truth must be told, she felt grateful her 
 recovery was so slow. The longer the young wife 
 was invalided, the longer would she be permitted 
 to nurse her own child.
 
 20 REX RAYNOli, ARTIST. 
 
 And so the days passed on, all too quickly for 
 Mrs. Raynor, and as the time drew near when she 
 knew she would have to give up her child, her 
 longing to keep it became more and more passionate 
 and intense. She did not dream the babe would 
 have held her heart so tightly, or that the pain of 
 parting would be so bitter. Truly, sin's harvest 
 had ripened quickly.
 
 CHAPTER 111. 
 
 PAYING THE PENALTY. 
 
 * Could ye bless him, father — mother, 
 Bless the dimple in bis cheek ? 
 Dare ye look at one another 
 
 And the benediction speak ? 
 Would ye not break out in weeping, 
 And confess yourselves too weak ?' — 
 
 Mrs. Browning, 
 
 The joy of the young mother when at length the 
 doctor permitted little Rex to be brought to her 
 and laid by her side was not soon forgotten by 
 those who witnessed it. She had promised her 
 husband and the doctor that she would be quite 
 calm, that she would not excite herself in the least, 
 and she was quite sure it would not do her the 
 least bit of harm to have her babe for a few 
 moments by her side, and press its soft dimpled 
 cheek against her own. But how could the pent-up 
 love of the mother-heart be suppressed, when at 
 length the little warm bundle of life was laid close 
 to her bosom ? 
 
 She tried to be calm, but every kiss she pressed 
 upon the dimpled cheek was like a great sob, while
 
 22 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 her tears fell like rain upon the little face. Then 
 she pushed it a little from her, and looked at it 
 with eager, hungry eyes, as though she would 
 impress its every feature upon her memory. Then 
 with a low murmur, ' My darling,' she cried over it 
 again and almost smothered it with kisses. 
 
 Jane Kaynor, who had stood by the bedside a 
 little bit awe-stricken at the magnificence of the 
 room, and visibly moved by the young mother's 
 transport of joy, sat down at length and hid her 
 face in her hands and began to cry. 
 
 It was a strange feeling that took possession of 
 her, and one the like of which she had never 
 experienced before. She could not help rejoicing 
 in the young mother's joy. The very pathos of it 
 made her weep, and yet through her heart there 
 shot a pang of jealousy that almost startled her. 
 
 What right had this woman to weep over the 
 babe and call him her own ? He was not her child. 
 Her child was dead, and she was usurping a right 
 that did not belong to her. 
 
 For a moment, she was tempted to snatch the 
 child from her bosom and rush with him out of the 
 room, but she held herself in check with a firm 
 hand. This was a part of the penalty of her sin, 
 and she must abide by it. 
 
 Yet she was glad when the interview was over 
 and she found herself back again in her own little 
 sitting-room, with the child snugly asleep in his 
 cradle.
 
 PAYING THE PENALTY. 23 
 
 For several weeks after that she went every day 
 to Elm wood, taking little Rex with her. Then 
 came the time she had dreaded so long. The 
 parting could no longer be delayed. 
 
 Mrs. Brown was seated by an open window in 
 the large cool drawing-room. Outside the hot 
 sunshine was shimmering on the green lawn, and 
 flashing from the still waters of the trout-pool 
 which lay beyond the garden fence. Scarcely a 
 breath of air was stirring, but such as there was 
 came into the room ladeii with the perfume of a 
 myriad flowers. 
 
 * I have sent for you, Mrs. Raynor,' Mrs. Brown 
 began, ' to say I have secured a nurse for baby, a 
 most suitable woman in every respect. You will 
 understand why I have done this. I feel I want 
 my darling always near me.' 
 
 * Yes, I quite understand,' said Mrs. Raynor with 
 a gulp. 
 
 * Of course, you will come every day until he 
 can be weaned completely,' Mrs. Brown went on, 
 
 ' Yes, I shall be glad to do that,' was the answer. 
 * It is hard to give him up. You can understand 
 my feelings.' And Mrs. Raynor began to cry. 
 
 * I do sympathize with you very much,' was the 
 feeling answer, and Mrs. Brown's own eyes became 
 moist while she spoke. 
 
 * You are satisfied with what I have done, I hope,* 
 Mrs. Raynor said at length. 
 
 * Oh yes, perfectly satisfied,' was the answer.
 
 24 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 'Indeed, we do not know how to be grateful 
 enough for all the care you have taken of our 
 darling.' 
 
 * He filled my heart after death had made the 
 gap,' she said with a sob. ' Life wiU be very lonely 
 for awhile.' 
 
 * You must come and see him whenever you 
 want to,' Mrs. Brown said consolingly, and then 
 the interview ended. 
 
 For many a long day after that, and for many a 
 sleepless night, Jane Raynor suffered the fuU 
 penalty of her sin. She had said that life would 
 be very lonely, but the reality was even worse 
 than her anticipations. She missed the winsome 
 face of her baby everywhere, and hungered for the 
 caress of its soft chubby hands with unutterable 
 pain 
 
 Yet even now no thought of retracing her steps 
 ever entered her head, or if so she banished it 
 at once. She still persisted to herself that she 
 had acted for the best, and that in time she would 
 reap the benefit, even though now she reaped only 
 pain. 
 
 But even if she herself reaped no benefit at all, 
 what advantages would not the child reap ! While 
 her other children would be badly fed and clothed 
 and educated, this one would have everything of 
 the best. And 'perhaps, some day, when he grew 
 to be a man, and was rich and influential, she could 
 tell him how she had plotted and suffered for his
 
 PAYING THE PENALTY. 25 
 
 sake, and he out of his abundance would give her 
 enough to keep her and her husband in comfort all 
 the rest of their lives. This little hope would 
 obtrude itself, try as she might to check it. But 
 he who attempts to mend God's work is a fool 
 for his pains, and the harvest of evil can never be 
 good. 
 
 Jane Raynor began to imagine after awhile that 
 she was not very welcome at the big house. Mrs. 
 Brown was always friendly and pleasant ; but the 
 purse-proud banker was of different fibre, and when 
 he happened to be at home she was treated by him, 
 she fancied, with marked coldness. 
 
 In truth, Jonas Brown was anxious to put an end 
 to her visits. 
 
 * We don't want common people ever on our 
 doorstep, and constantly caressing our son,' he said 
 to his wife. 
 
 ' I don't think the Raynors are common people 
 exactly,' she said deferentially. 
 
 * Not common !' he said, dropping his heavy jaw. 
 * Why, they've scarcely a sixpence to bless them- 
 selves with.' 
 
 * I know they are poor,' she answered. 
 
 * Just so ; and we cannot 'ave such people ever 
 hanging about. Besides, who can tell how she may 
 influence the child.' 
 
 'Why, he's only a baby yet,' she said with a 
 smile. 
 
 ' And all the more impressionable,' he said. ' It's
 
 26 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 been ahvays a matter of regret to me that sha 
 nursed him so long.' 
 
 ' Why, Jonas ?' she said, ' I'm sure she was very 
 good to him.' 
 
 ' Possibly ! But people grow on what they feed. 
 Funny if he should take after her instead of you, 
 wouldn't it V 
 
 * Oh, nonsense,' she said. 
 
 ' No, it ain't nonsense at all ; and I would like 
 her visits to cease. We can't be uncivil to the 
 woman, but we must discourage her.' And Jonas 
 marched pompously out of the room. 
 
 And so it came about that Mrs. Raynor's visits to 
 Elmwood became less and less frequent. And even 
 when she did call she did not always see her child. 
 Sometimes he was out with the nurse, sometimes 
 asleep and could not be disturbed, and when on 
 rare occasions she was permitted to take him in her 
 arms and kiss his dimpled cheeks with passionate 
 love, he was quickly taken from her, and she had 
 to return home with her heart's hunger unsatisfied. 
 
 It was a cruel cross for her — far more heavy than 
 she had ever dreamed it would be — but she made 
 no complaint. She locked up her secret and her 
 sorrow in her heart and went her wa}', but not 
 without the hope that her turn would come some- 
 time in the future. 
 
 So the days sped on and lengthened into weeks, 
 and the weeks grew into months, with little of 
 change to mark their flisrht. In the home of the
 
 PAYING THE PENALTY. 27 
 
 Raynors, even with the severest economy, the pinch 
 of want was sometimes keenly felt, and the outlook 
 was as dreary and depressing as ever. But at 
 Elmwood there was mirth and feasting, for the 
 shadow of death which had so long hung over 
 its young mistress had been taken away, while 
 * the boy,' to quote Mr. Brown, * was growing to be 
 a beauty.' 
 
 Nor did the banker go beyond the truth in that 
 remark. A bonnier child was not to be seen any- 
 where, though after awhile the question 'who he 
 took after' became a very perplexing one. The 
 banker was fain to believe that he took after his 
 side of the house. * My family has dark eyes and 
 'air, just like Rex has,' he said, a statement no one 
 could dispute, for the simple reason that Mr. Brown's 
 family was an utterly unknown quantity. It was 
 assumed that he had had parents, but whether 
 they were Hving or dead no one knew, not even the 
 banker himself. It was supposed he might have 
 brothers and sisters, though no one had ever seen 
 them. It was understood that he hailed from 
 somewhere across the border, though he had never 
 shown any disposition to return to the place of his 
 birth. He had found his way to Liverpool thirty 
 years before, with all his worldly possessions tied up 
 in a blue-check pocket-handkerchief, had entered a 
 cotton-broker's office as errand boy, had worked his 
 way steadily up until he knew the business better 
 than his master, had finally succeeded — though no
 
 28 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 one knew exactly how — in elbowing his chief out of 
 the concern and installing himself in his place. 
 
 For a few years he had his finger in every ' cotton 
 corner ' known, and literally ' minted ' money — at 
 least, so it was said. But at length, getting tired 
 of * cotton,' he, with one or two other capitalists, 
 started a bank, which was known as the * Imperial 
 National and Cosmopolitan Banking Company.' It 
 was an 'unlimited' concern, but as it was under- 
 stood there was any amount of capital at its back, 
 no one appeared to have any doubts respecting its 
 stability. Indeed, the demand for shares was 
 almost unprecedented, and for many years they 
 steadily rose in value. 
 
 A year or two later Mr. Brown purchased Elm- 
 wood, a comparatively modern mansion, situated in 
 one of the most picturesque parts of Cheshire, and 
 within easy reach of the clean and thriving town of 
 Barwich. For a long time Elmwood remained 
 without a mistress. Not that Mr. Brown was 
 averse to matrimony, or was insensible to the 
 charms of the opposite sex. On the contrary, 
 Mr. Brown was particularly anxious to take to 
 himself a wife, and to this end had pursued his 
 inquiries in many directions, and had succeeded 
 in obtaining numberless introductions. 
 
 But in spite of his immense wealth, the ladies 
 fought shy of him. They did not object to his 
 money : they objected to him. To be the mistress 
 of Elmwood might be an enviable position, but to
 
 PAYING THE PENALTY. 29 
 
 be the wife of Jonas Brown was not by any means 
 an inviting prospect. 
 
 'It is not so much that he is ugly,' the ladies 
 were heard to say, ' as that his manners are so 
 detestable,' 
 
 At length, however, to everyone's surprise — and 
 particularly to his own — he succeeded in persuading 
 gentle May Dearden to accept his hand and his 
 fortune, and very soon after she was duly installed 
 as mistress of his home. 
 
 On the day she became his wife Jonas thought 
 his cup of joy was full. But when little Bex was 
 born he could scarcely contain himself. Following 
 upon that, however, had been many anxious months, 
 but at length the skies had cleared again, and now, 
 to all appearance, there was nothing to disturb the 
 serenity of his life. 
 
 Perhaps Jonas would have been a little better 
 pleased if his son, in feature and complexion, had 
 more favoured himself; but if so, he did not betray 
 his disappointment. ' He takes after my family, 
 my dear/ he said to his wife — * distinctly after 
 my family.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear you say so, Jonas,' she 
 answered, not knowing what other reply to make. 
 
 'You must admit he does not take after you. 
 Not in the least, my dear. You have blue eyes 
 and fair 'air, beautiful 'air, I admit, but fair. But 
 my family are all dark.' 
 
 ' So I have heard you say before,' she remarked.
 
 30 REX RA TNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 * Yes, they are all dark except me/ he said, as he 
 pushed his fingers through the bleached stubble 
 that crowned his head. *Rex is a Brown, every 
 inch of him.' 
 
 * It doesn't matter much what he is so long as he 
 is good,' she said ; and then the subject dropped, to 
 be taken up again at some future time. 
 
 So the days and weeks sped on and lengthened 
 into months, and the months grew into years, and 
 the years dragged out their slow lengths, while the 
 child grew into a youth, and the youth into a 
 young man. 
 
 The Raynors left Barwich while Rex was but a 
 child, and for many years had been completely lost 
 sight of. The banker was glad of this. While 
 they remained ' under his nose, as it were,' to quote 
 his own expression, he felt in some measure bound 
 to take an interest in them, and to help them if 
 they were in need. But if they chose to betake 
 themselves to other parts, he was not in any way 
 ' obligated ' to find out their whereabouts. 
 
 Moreover, he did not grow more generous with 
 growing years, nor did his temper, never very sweet, 
 show any signs of improvement. The sight of Jane 
 Rajnior's sad, careworn face had been a constant 
 source of irritation to him ; her very look seemed to 
 him like a mute appeal for help : and he hated 
 helping people. Why could they not help them- 
 selves as he had done ? The blessedness of giving 
 was yet unknown to him, because he gave un-
 
 PAYING THE PENALTY. 31 
 
 willingly. And though on several occasions he 
 sent assistance to the Raynors, *a kind of thank- 
 offering,' he said, ' for the care they had taken of 
 his son,' in his heart he begrudged it all the while. 
 Hence their removal from Barwich was a positive 
 relief to him, and most devoutly did he pray that 
 the place that once knew them might know them 
 no more for ever.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 THE YEARS SPEED ON. 
 
 A few short years — and then these sounds shall hail 
 The day again, and gladness fill the valf ; 
 So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, 
 Eager to run the race his father ran.' — Rogers. 
 
 The story of Rex Raynor's early life may be told in 
 very few words without doing it any injustice. It 
 was as uneventful as such lives usually are, and 
 much more lonely. No brother or sister ever came 
 to keep him company, or share his joys and griefs. 
 For years his foster-mother was his only companion 
 and he her only pleasure. 
 
 At school he was noted only for his skill in 
 drawing faces — an accompHshment which got him 
 into endless trouble with the masters, but made 
 him any number of friends among his fellows. For 
 figures he had a decided dislike, while grammar he 
 detested. This last fact was rather a satisfaction to 
 Mr. Brown than otherwise. 
 
 'The boy takes after me,' he said, with a loud 
 laugh. 'Never could bear grammar myself; nor
 
 THE YEARS SPEED ON. 33 
 
 never could see the good of it, either. Folks knew 
 how to speak before grammar was ever invented. 
 Rex is a real Brown — takes after his father, as he 
 ought to.' 
 
 * But you are so good at figures, Jonas/ said his 
 wife, ' and Rex has no taste at all in that direc- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' Oh, that'll come likely when he sees the use of 
 'em,' said Jonas. ' When he gets interested in busi- 
 ness he'll get interested in figures ; it's always so.' 
 
 ' Yes ; very likely you are right,' she said meekly ; 
 and then the subject dropped. 
 
 Of Rex's pe')icha7it for drawing very little was 
 said. With the banker it was evidently a sore point. 
 
 ' It comes of that woman nursing him so long,' 
 he said irritably, and nothing would convince him 
 to the contrary. 
 
 As Rex grew older he discovered how much his 
 foster-father disliked to see his drawings, and so 
 prudently kept them out of sight. Yet it was a 
 real grief to the boy. Other people praised his skill 
 in this direction. Even the masters at the school, 
 while constantly blaming him for making sketches 
 on his slate when he ought to have been busy with 
 sums or dictation, admitted that he was decidedly 
 clever in the use of the pencil. But Jonas could 
 see nothing in it. 
 
 ' It's a bad, idle habit you've got into,' he said to 
 the boy ; ' and, mind you, I don't want to see no 
 more of it ' 
 
 3
 
 34 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' All right, pa,' Rex answered meekl}'^, with quiver- 
 ing lip, and then ran away to find the woman he 
 called his mother, to pour into her ear the story of 
 his trouble and disappointment. 
 
 She, kind heart, comforted him as a mother 
 knows how. 
 
 * Bring 3'^our pictures to me, Rex,' she said ; ' I 
 shall be always pleased to see them. But if your 
 father does not care for them, you need not tease 
 him.' 
 
 So Mr. Brown was left in peace as far as Rex was 
 concerned, but he could not altogether escape the 
 subject. 
 
 One day he came home in a state of great irrita- 
 tion. He had met the head-master of the Grammar 
 School just outside the lodge-gates, who at once 
 launched out in praise of Rex's peculiar gift. 
 
 ' That son of yours, Mr. Brown, is quite a genius 
 with his pencil,' he said. ' I am most decidedly of 
 opinion that he ought to take lessons in drawing, 
 and I am surprised that you object to it' 
 
 ' Well, I do object to it,' said Mr. Brown shortly. 
 ' Is not that enough ?' 
 
 ' Well, hardly, I should say,' was the answer. ' If 
 Nature has endowed the boy with a particular gift, 
 I think it ought to be cultivated.' 
 
 ' Nature be hanged !' said Jonas angrily. 
 
 * No, Mr. Brown ; excuse me ' 
 
 * No ; I shan't excuse you or anybody else. Do 
 you think I want my son to be a 'ouse-decorator V
 
 THE YEARS SPEED ON. 35 
 
 And Mr. Brown grew three shades redder in the 
 face than was his wont. 
 
 The schoolmaster was somewhat disconcerted. 
 Still, he did not forget that he was a schoolmaster, 
 and as such he was not in the habit of yielding to 
 anyone. 
 
 * I said nothing about your son being a house- 
 decorator,' he said warmly ; ' no such thought ever 
 passed through my mind.' 
 
 ' I would as soon Rex painted doors as daubed 
 pictures to hang on walls,' said Mr. Brown. 
 
 ' I am sorry you take such a view,' said the 
 schoolmaster in milder tones. 
 
 ' You needn't,' said Jonas pompously, * I know 
 what I'm about, and I wish you to remember that 
 Rex is the son of a gentleman.' 
 
 * Yes ; I — I — I wish you good-evening ;' and the 
 schoolmaster turned quickly on his heel and 
 marched away. 
 
 ' I wonder what the fool was going to say,' Jonas 
 muttered to himself, as he stood for a moment 
 looking after the retreating figure. ' But no matter ;* 
 and he walked away slowly towards his home. 
 
 * It's all through living with those Raynors so 
 long,' he said to his wife, whom he stumbled across 
 in the hall — ' aU through them. I knew how it 
 would be.' 
 
 ' What are you referring to, Jonas ?' she said, 
 looking up with an expression of bewilderment in 
 her eyes 
 
 3—2
 
 36 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' I'm referring to Rex,' he said angrily, * and to 
 that detestable habit he's got of drawing everything 
 he sees. But I'll put a stop to it ;' and he ascended 
 the stairs hurriedly to his own room. 
 
 A month later a private tutor had been secured 
 for Rex, and so his daily walks to and from the 
 Grammar School came suddenly to an end. This 
 was a great trouble to him at first ; but he soon got 
 to be very fond of Mr. Stone, his new teacher ; and 
 as the latter was something of an artist himself, 
 and was also fond of botanizing, the two took Ions: 
 rambles across the fields and through the woods 
 and over the hills, and so combined instruction 
 ■with pleasure. 
 
 Mr. Stone soon discovered Rex's peculiar bent ; 
 nor was he left in ignorance of Mr. Brown's horror 
 of his son becoming ' a painter.' At first he was 
 completely puzzled how to manage the lad. Rex 
 seemed to have no wish to be undutiful, and yet, 
 all unconsciously, his long-division sums grew into 
 caricatures of men and women, and his copy-books 
 became ornamented with pen-and-ink sketches of 
 houses and cattle and trees. 
 
 ' Come, come, Rex, this will never do,' said Mr. 
 Stone ; * you will never get on with your lessons if 
 you waste your time in this way.' 
 
 ' I'm really very sorry,' said Rex, lifting his hand- 
 some face to his teacher ' I didn't mean to do it, 
 but the figures came somehow.' 
 
 * But you shouldn't let them come,' said Mr. Stone,
 
 THE YEARS SPEED ON. 37 
 
 But Rox only shook his curly head, as though he 
 meant to imply that it was of no use his tutor talking. 
 
 ' Well, suppose we compromise matters V Mr. 
 Stone remarked, after a pause. 
 
 ' What's compromise ?' Rex questioned, his bright 
 eyes brimming with mischief and good-nature. 
 
 ' Well, suppose I allow you two afternoons a week 
 for drawing. Will you work hard with your other 
 lessons all the rest of the time ?' 
 
 ' Won't I just !' he said eagerly, his face aglow 
 with pleasure. ' But what will father say V 
 
 ' I don't know ; but if he complains I will explain 
 to him how matters stand.' 
 
 But Mr. Brown did not complain ; he did not 
 seem to interest himself further in the matter. He 
 discovered that Rex was beginning to take an in- 
 terest in figures, and so was satisfied. Perhaps he 
 thought he had outgrown what he called his idle 
 habit. Anyhow, the matter was allowed to rest. 
 
 So Rex worked hard at his grammar and arith- 
 metic for the sake of having two full afternoons 
 for drawing, and on the whole made satisfactory 
 progress. For Mr. Stone he developed a genuine 
 affection. The two had many things in common, 
 and the bright, breezy afternoons they spent to- 
 gether in the meadows and in the woods skotchinfr, 
 were amongst the most delightful in Rex's life. 
 
 He did not show his pictures to his foster-father ; 
 he knew that to do so would only irritate him, and 
 Rex had a genuine horror of giving anybody pain.
 
 38 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 He did not seem to have a single ungenerous fibre 
 in his nature ; if he could please people he was in 
 his element. 
 
 So month by month he grew in mind and body, 
 winning the love of all with whom he came into 
 contact. To Mr. Brown his growth was a marvel, 
 and his kindly disposition a constant rebuke. 
 
 ' 1 have to admit he 'as a streak of Dearden in 
 him,' he said to his wife one day ; ' he don't know 
 the value of money, and 'as no idea of looking after 
 number one. I believe the young simpleton 'ud 
 give the shoes off his feet if he thought somebody 
 needed 'em more than himself.' 
 
 ' Yes, Rex is very generous,' she said, with a 
 pleased smile. 
 
 ' Generous be hanged !' he said, growing very red. 
 • 1 call it thriftlessness ; he don't know the value of 
 things.' 
 
 ' He knows the value of some things,' she said 
 pointedly. 
 
 ' I don't know what they are, then,' he said, with 
 a frown; ' but he's just like you in many ways. I 
 have to confess he's a mixture of Brown and 
 Dearden.' 
 
 ' Well, I'm glad he's like me in something,' she 
 said, with a smile. 
 
 ' Oh yes, I dare say,' he answered gruffly ; ' but if 
 he don't alter ke'll never know how to butter his 
 own bread !' And with this deliverance Jonas left 
 the room.
 
 THE YEARS SPEED ON. 39 
 
 Rex was sixteen when he experienced his first 
 great trouble. He was then a tall youth, taller 
 than Mr. Brown, in fact; straight as a rule, and 
 with a face clean cut as a piece of Grecian sculp- 
 ture. 
 
 Coming home from a long ramble with Mr. Stone, 
 he learned that his foster-mother had been taken 
 seriously ill. 
 
 For several days she had been ailing, but had 
 made light of it, saying she would be all right 
 again in a day or two. That afternoon, however, 
 she had fallen down in a dead faint, and had to be 
 carried upstairs to bed, while a messenger had been 
 despatched for Dr. Moffat with all possible haste. 
 
 Rex was by her bedside in a moment, and yet at 
 the sight of her face he drew back with a little cry 
 of surprise and pain. He had never seen her look 
 like that before. Her face was so white and drav/n, 
 her eyes half closed, her lips almost colourless. 
 
 She opened he- eyes at the sound of his voice 
 and smiled sweetly. 
 
 * Oh, mammy !' he exclaimed, springing to her 
 side ; ' what is the matter with you ?' 
 
 ' I know not, darling,' she gasped in a faint 
 whisper ; ' I feel so very strange.' 
 
 ' But you will soon be well V he questioned in 
 pleading tones. 
 
 ' I hope so, darling, for your sake,' she said 
 slowly. 
 
 ' Oh yes ; Dr. Moffat will soon have you all right
 
 40 REX EAYXOR, ARTIST. 
 
 again,' he said cheerfully. And he bent down hia 
 head and kissed her, not once or twice, but many 
 times. 
 
 ' My bonnie boy,' she whispered, holding his face 
 between her hands ; * you have been my life, my all.' 
 
 He did not know how much those words meant 
 at the time ; but afterwards he understood. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart he left the room at 
 Dr. Moffat's request. He felt as though he was 
 standing face to face with some great calamity. 
 His very life was wrapped up in the gentle-hearted 
 woman he called his mother, and if anything should 
 happen to her he felt that all his world would be 
 changed
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 BETTER OFF. 
 
 * Her life had many a hope and aini, 
 Duties enough and little cares, 
 And now was quiet, now astir, 
 
 TiU God's band beckoned unawares— 
 And the sweet white brow is all of her.' 
 
 R. Browning. 
 
 When Rex awoke next morning after a restless and 
 troubled night, he was surprised to see his foster- 
 father standing by his bedside. It was not once a 
 year that Mr. Brown came to his room ; hence at 
 ^ight of him Rex sprang up with a start. 
 
 ' Father,' he exclaimed, ' what is the matter V 
 But Mr. Brown did not speak for several seconds. 
 He was evidently labouring under strong excite- 
 ment. His large mouth worked uneasily. His eyes 
 were red, his hair dishevelled. 
 
 Rex waited for him to speak with a terrible fore- 
 boding in his heart. 
 
 At last the words came, slowly, and in a voice 
 so changed that Rex scarcely recognised it. ' Your 
 mother, Rex, is ,' but he did not finish the
 
 42 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 sentence. He seemed utterly unable to speak the 
 word, 
 
 ' Is mammy worse ?' Rex asked, all the colour 
 stealing from bis face, leaving him deathly pale. 
 
 ' She is gone, Rex — gone !' he said in a hoarse 
 whisper, and he sank into a chair and buried his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 ' Gone !' said the boy, with a bewildered look in 
 his eyes ; * I do not quite understand.-' 
 
 But Mr. Brown did not seem to heed. For 
 several seconds he sat swaying himself to and fro, 
 as though trying to overcome his emotion. Then 
 lifting his head suddenly, he said : ' You have no 
 mother now, Rex. She has gone away from us. 
 They say she has gone to heaven. I don't know 
 anything about that. I only know she has gone 
 from us ;' and he rose slowly to his feet and stag- 
 gered out of the room. 
 
 For a long time Rex sat perfectly rigid, staring 
 at the closed door, but seeing nothing. He knew 
 the worst, but he was unable to realize it yet. He 
 had been told that his mother was dead, but he 
 could not comprehend its meaning. It seemed to 
 him as though all his faculties were benumbed. 
 He could not weep nor moan even. The blow had 
 stunned him ; the pain of it would come later on. 
 
 He got up at length and dressed in a dazed, 
 mechanical way, then crept softly downstairs and 
 into the darkened breakfast-room. A few moments 
 later Mr. Stone came into the room accompanied
 
 BETTER OFF. 43 
 
 by Dr. Moffat. Mr. Stone took his seat at once at 
 the head of the table and began silently to pour out 
 the tea. Mr. Brown did not put in an appearance. 
 The meal was a strangely silent and oppressive one. 
 The little conversation there was was carried on in 
 the lowest whisper. Rex heard something about 
 ' spasms of the heart,' but he paid little heed to it. 
 lie was trj'ing to realize the meaning of this great 
 silence and horror that had dropped down upon the 
 household. 
 
 There were no lessons that day ; so, soon after 
 breakfast, he stole quietly out of the house and made 
 his way across the lawn and into the paddock be- 
 yond it ; then he climbed the fence into a large field, 
 and by-and-by struck a footpath leading into and 
 through a wood that crowned the low hill beyond. 
 A mile or so beyond the wood was a little hamlet 
 that had outlived its day. It might have been a 
 thriving place once, before steam began to work its 
 revolutions. It was almost deserted now. 
 
 At the entrance to the wood was a stile, on which 
 Rex sat down and tried to think. It was as lovely 
 a May day as ever brightened the earth. All the 
 fields and hills were swept with the freshest green. 
 The woods had put on their best attire. In the 
 shadow of the hedgerows the dewdrops still 
 hngered and blazed like diamonds when the sun 
 touched them now and then. The larks rose up 
 from the taU grass, and twittered their loudest in 
 the deep-blue vault above.
 
 44 REX RAY NOR, ARTTRT. 
 
 But Rex heard nothing, saw nothing. The terrible 
 fact was eating its way into his heart — his mother was 
 dead — and he was trying still to grasp its meaning. 
 
 Suddenly he lifted his head and listened. From 
 far awa}'' up in the wood came the sound of singing, 
 A sweet, pure voice was warbling forth the strains 
 of a familiar hymn they often sang in church. 
 Very distinctly the words came echoing down 
 through the shadowy aisles : 
 
 * Other refuge have I none, 
 
 Hangs my helpless soul on Thee : 
 Leave, ah ! leave me not alone ; 
 
 Still suppni-t and comfort me. 
 All my hope on Thee is stayed, 
 
 All my help from Thee I bring : 
 Cover my defenceless head 
 
 With the shadow of Thy wing,' 
 
 He had heard the words many times before, and 
 they had seemed meaningless till now. But in this 
 great grief that had struck his heart to numbness 
 they seemed strangely sweet and comforting. He 
 felt for the first time in his life that when earthly 
 friends failed there was a Friend above to whom he 
 could go. 
 
 Leaning his head upon his hand he shed his first 
 tears that day ; they carao slowly and silently at 
 first, like the beginning of rain after a long drought, 
 but by-and-by his whole frame shook with sobs. 
 
 And still nearer came the singer, and clearer 
 grew the song. But Rex did not lift his head or 
 try to get out of sight. He knew the voice, and did
 
 BETTER OFF. 
 
 not miud in the least Evelyn May witnessing his 
 grief. 
 
 At length the singing ceased, and a few moments 
 later a soft hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a 
 voice close to his ear was saying : ' Why, Rex, what 
 is the matter ?' 
 
 But he did not speak or even look up. He was 
 still shaking with sobs. 
 
 Adjoining the stile was a gate half open, so she 
 came through quickly and knelt at his feet. 
 
 ' Is your mamma worse ?' she asked pleadingly. 
 But he only shook his head. 
 
 ' I am glad she is not worse,' she said in a relieved 
 tone of voice. 
 
 Then Rex lifted his head, his large beautiful eyes 
 swimming with tears. * Mamma has gone away,' 
 he said, choking back the sobs. ' She has gone to 
 heaven.' 
 
 * Oh no. Rex !' the girl answered quickly in 
 startled tones. 
 
 ' Yes ; she has gone away,' he said, trying to keep 
 his lips from quivering. ' I have no mother now ;' 
 and he turned away his head and swept his hand 
 swiftly across his eyes. 
 
 For a long time no other word passed between 
 them. They were in the shadow of the wood, and 
 so did not feel the heat of the sun. Up in the tall 
 trees the birds were trilling forth their jubilant 
 songs as though there were no such things in the 
 world as sickness, and sorrow, and death.
 
 46 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 At length Rex spoke again. Numberless scraps 
 of sermons and texts had been passing through his 
 mind, and so he put the question to his companion : 
 
 ' Do you think, Evelyn, I ought to be glad that 
 mamma is better off ?' 
 
 But the maiden did not reply. She thought of 
 her own mother — all she had in the world — and 
 wondered if she were taken could there be gladness 
 any more for her. 
 
 'You do not speak, Evelyn,' Rex said at length, 
 with a pleading look in his eyes. 
 
 I cannot answer your question, Rex,' she said, 
 with averted eyes. ' I do not think I could be glad. 
 She must be better off, we know that ; but, oh ! it 
 is hard for you.' 
 
 ' Hard !' he said, with a strange, far-away look in 
 his eyes. ' I think I shall die, Evelyn.' 
 
 ' Oh no,' she said gently. ' You are young, Rex. 
 You are not like poor old Mrs. Parker, who has 
 lost lior husband.' 
 
 ' I don't know Mrs. Parker,' he said, looking up 
 with sudden interest. 
 
 'She lives down in Thorbrig,' the girl answered. 
 ' She is very old and very poor, and her husband 
 was buried last week ; and she wants to die. Ma 
 sent me down with a basket of food to her, and 1 
 have been reading to her a little.' 
 
 * And is she in very great trouble ?' Rex asked. 
 
 * Yes, very great ; but she said the words I read 
 to her i?ave her a great deal of comfort.'
 
 BETTER OFF. 47 
 
 ' I wish you would read to me, Evelyn,' he said 
 quickly. 
 
 ' Then I will,' she answered, ' I will read tho 
 same Psalm I read to Mrs. Parker ;' and she opened 
 her little Bible and commenced: 'Bless the Lord, 
 my soul, and all that is within me bless His holy 
 name.' 
 
 He sat with his elbows on his knees and his face 
 in his hands while she read, and when the soft 
 musical voice ceased he rose to his feet without 
 speaking ; but the despairing look had gone out of 
 his eyes, and in its place was the light of hope, 
 
 A few minutes later they walked away together 
 down the slope of the sunny field, and parted in 
 silence at the paddock fence. 
 
 But Kex could not trust himself that day to look 
 upon the dear face he loved so much. On the 
 following day, however, when she lay in her coffin, 
 he stole noiselessly into the darkened room and sat 
 for nearly an hour looking at the sweet still face. 
 It helped him to realize what he had failed to realize 
 before. And somehow, while he wept silently and 
 without restraint, ' the ache,' as he called it, came 
 slowly out of his heart, and in its place there 
 entered the calm of resignation. 
 
 Yet life could never be the same at Elmwood 
 again. The gentle, sad-eyed woman who had ruled 
 its fortunes for so many years was missed every- 
 where, and missed more and more as the days sped 
 on.
 
 48 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 People said Jonas Brown was never the same 
 after his wife's death, nor is that much to be 
 wondered at. She was the one refining influence 
 that touched his life. She had held in check the 
 coarser side of his nature, and had helped to develop 
 "whatever there was in him of kindness or charity. 
 But now she was gone he was completely adrift. 
 He had loved her as he had loved nothins: else 
 in the world save his money, had deferred to her at 
 times to an extent that was an astonishment to 
 himself. He was like a kite overweighted, yet while 
 she held the cord he soared a little, though never 
 to any great height ; but when her hand relaxed 
 its hold he quickly fluttered downward, and never 
 made an attempt to rise again. 
 
 Had she known how much she helped him, and 
 from what she saved him, it would have been an 
 added touch of pleasure to her comparatively joyless 
 life. She had never loved him, though she had 
 tried her best. She had married him partly for 
 his money, but mainly to punish another, and only 
 discovered her mistake when it Avas too late. She 
 did not know how coarse and selfish he was till 
 she came to live with him, and when she found it 
 out it nearly broke her heart. 
 
 But for Rex, she would not have cared to live at 
 all. He was the light of her eyes, the joy of her 
 life. And doubtless it was well that she passed 
 quietly away into the Silent Land ere the discovery 
 was made that he was not her own.
 
 CHArTER VI. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 * Fortune, that with malicious joy, 
 Does man, her slave, oppress. 
 Still various, and unconstant still, 
 Promotes, degrades, deliqhts in strife. 
 And makes a lottery of life.' — Dryden. 
 
 Two years later Jonas Brown brought a nevr 
 mistress to preside over the fortunes of Elmwood. 
 He could never explain satisfactorily even to him- 
 self why he had done so. His marriage had been 
 a surprise to him in both instances, but in different 
 ways. Years ago he had been surprised that 
 May Dearden should marry him ; now he was 
 equally, if not more, surprised that he should 
 marry Mrs. Rudd. To begin with, he did not 
 particularly want a wife, and, furthermore, he was 
 not particularly fond of Mrs. Rudd. She was a 
 tall, handsome woman, large and stately, with a 
 loud voice and a haughty, overbearing manner. 
 She rather overawed Jonas, and after his marriage 
 
 4>
 
 50 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 he had a feelhig that he had been wheedled into it 
 against his will. 
 
 Perhaps he was right. Mrs. Riidd had resolved 
 Boon after May Brown had been buried that she 
 would become the mistress of Elmwood. In this 
 resolve she was aided and abetted by her two 
 daughters, Jo3'ce and Julia. In fact, Joyce had 
 informed her mother that if she did not marry Mr. 
 Brown she (Joyce) would do so herself, as she con- 
 sidered it a shame that such a place as Elmwood 
 should be left without a mistress when there were 
 so many ehgible widows and spinsters who wanted 
 homes, 
 
 Mrs. Eudd commended her daughter for dis- 
 playing so much worldly wisdom. * But you must 
 remember, Joyce,' she added, ' that having had 
 three husbands already, I'm no novice, and may be 
 trusted to look after myself 
 
 * Yes, I think you may,' Joyce answered sen- 
 tentiously, while Mrs. Rudd glided out of the room 
 in her stateliest manner. 
 
 In angling for Mr. Brown Mrs. Rudd displayed 
 uncommon skill, but the end she considered amply 
 justified the endeavour. It was a proud day for 
 her when she entered Elmwood as its mistress, a 
 proud day also for her daughters. For several 
 years they had had more than enough to do to 
 make both ends meet, and such a battle with 
 poverty had been very humiliating. That was at 
 an end now. While Joyce and Julia, as the step-
 
 CHANGES. t\ 
 
 daughters of the rich banker, would stand a much 
 better chance in the matrimonial market. 
 
 Rex could barely conceal his disappointment, not 
 to say disgust. This loud-voiced, overbearing woman 
 was so different in every respect from the gentle 
 creature he had called ' mother ' that he turned 
 away from her with something like a shudder. 
 Nor was he much better pleased with the two J.'s 
 — Joyce and Julia. He had an artist's eye for 
 neatness and harmony and beauty in everything, 
 and these loud-dressed girls were an offence to him. 
 
 He could not be other than civil and polite to 
 tnem, but he knew from the first he would never 
 take to them nor they to him. 
 
 Rex was eighteen at the time — tall, well-knit, 
 handsome, with a manner so gentle, and yet so 
 chivalrous, that he won nearly all hearts, and with 
 grace and strength in every movement. 
 
 Everyone who knew Mr. Brown was astonished 
 that he should have so handsome a son. 
 
 ' Can't understand it for the life of me,' said Mr. 
 Leslie, the Vicar, when visiting Mrs. May, Evelyn's 
 mother, one afternoon. * Brown is as ugly as sin, 
 and Rex is as handsome as an Apollo.' 
 
 ' Yes, he is very handsome,' Mrs. May answered, 
 while Evelyn bent her eyes lower over her sewing. 
 
 'And then lie's so gentlemanly and graceful 
 while Brown waddles like a duck.' 
 
 * That is his misfortune, Mr. Leslie,' Mrs. May 
 said with kindly rebuke. 
 
 4—2
 
 52 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' Yes, 3^es, I don't deny that/ went on the Vicar ; 
 'I am simply showing how unlike the son is to 
 the father. And then Rex is quite artistic, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know ; and Mr. Brown doesn't care for 
 pictures, I think.' 
 
 ' Care for them ? Why, he doesn't know a picture 
 from a pancake.' 
 
 Mrs. May laughed, then added : ' Perhaps his 
 new wife will teach him.' 
 
 * Teach him ?' he answered, with a shrug of liis 
 shoulders ; ' well, yes, I fancy she will teach him 
 many things, but not that ;' and then, after slyly 
 hinting that he would be glad if Mrs. May would 
 occasionally come to church, the Vicar took his 
 departure. 
 
 Mr. Leslie's surmise, however, was quite correct. 
 Mrs. Brown did teach her husband many things. 
 In less than three months he had learned more 
 about domestic economy than all his life before he 
 had ever dreamed of. Indeed, before she had been 
 mistress of Elm wood a week she began to take the 
 reins into her own hands. 
 
 * This house has never been properly managed,' 
 she said to her daughter Joyce. ' And if there is 
 one thing I pride myself on it is on knowing how 
 to manage. Mr. Brown shall soon see what 
 management can do.' 
 
 Mr. Brown did see, to his sorrow. The expenses 
 of housekeeping were doubled in an incredibly
 
 CHANGES. 53 
 
 short space of time, while comfort had been re- 
 duced to a decimal. 
 
 At length he ventured a complaint — a very mild 
 one, it is true. But Mrs. Brown came down upon 
 him like an avalanche. 
 
 ' I'm surprised at you,' she said, with a toss of her 
 stately head ; ' you, a rich banker, and wishing to 
 starve your family.' 
 
 * No, my dear,' Jonas remonstrated. 
 
 * Call me Mrs. Brown, please,' she said with lofty 
 condescension ; * and understand I'm not used to 
 such cheese-paring. In my first husband's time, 
 good man ' 
 
 * Ah, a pity he ever died,' muttered Jonas, in a 
 sudden blaze of anger. 
 
 * What's that you say V she demanded loftily, but 
 Jonas discreetly kept silence. 
 
 ' Well, understand I intend to live as becomes my 
 station,' she said ; ' dinners you shall give, whether 
 you like it or not ; and dances for young people 
 the girls have determined upon.' 
 
 * The girls be hanged !' thundered Jonas, unable 
 longer to restrain himself. Mrs. Brown stepped 
 back a pace or two in speechless horror. 
 
 * Do my ears deceive me ?' she said at length. 
 ' I hope not,' was the surly reply. 
 
 Mrs. Brown sat down and bearan to fan herself. 
 Jonas stood with his back against the mantelpiece 
 looking fierce and defiant. 
 
 * Does this mean war ?' she said at length.
 
 54 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' I don't know,' he said ; ' I would rather have 
 peace,' 
 
 ' In which case,' she answered a Httle more 
 mildly, ' we had better understand each other.' 
 
 ' "Well ?' he grunted interrogatively. 
 
 ' ^^'ell, there are a few things I would like to say.* 
 
 ' Say on/ he said in a surly tone. 
 
 * Then I wish you to understand, Mr. Brown, that 
 I must be mistress in my own house.' 
 
 ' Your house,' said Jonas reflectively. 
 
 ' Yes, my house. This is my domain, and I wish 
 to say I will not have that son of yours, who is a 
 
 ' My son is a Brown,' ejaculated Jonas, with a 
 sudden rise of temper. 
 
 * Yes, he is a Brown,' she said, with a curl of the 
 Hp. 
 
 * And a gentleman,' thundered Jonas. 
 'Singular,' she answered, with provoking scorn 
 
 — ' a Brown and a gentleman. But be it so. 1 will 
 not have this gentleman wasting his time here. 
 He must go to business, do you hear ?' 
 
 ' Go to business ?' he questioned ; * I intend him 
 to go to Cambridge.' 
 
 ' Stuff and nonsense,' she said : ' he is old enou<7h 
 to be doing something for himself. Besides, it will 
 keep him out of mischief.' 
 
 ' But there is no need,' he said ; * I intend Rex to 
 be a gentleman.' 
 
 ' There are plenty finer gentlemen than he in
 
 CHANGES. 55 
 
 business,' she said ; ' and you must find room for 
 him in the bank. I will not have him loitering 
 about here any longer.' 
 
 And Mrs. Brown rose from her seat and walked 
 with stately grace out of the room. 
 
 The fight, however, did not end there. It was 
 renewed again and again. But in the end Mrs. 
 Brown carried her point. 
 
 Rex raised no objection at all. In fact, he was 
 rather pleased than otherwise. It would be a 
 change, if nothing else, and a change was particu- 
 larly welcome just then. He was sick of the society 
 of the two J.'s, and disgusted with the haughty 
 airs of Mrs. Brown. 
 
 It is true he had no fondness for figures, but he 
 settled down to his work, nevertheless, with a dogged 
 determination to do his best, and found the journey 
 to and from Liverpool, morning and evening, a 
 pleasant break in the monotony of his life. In 
 fact, the change did him good every way. The 
 habit of punctuality, the necessity of going into 
 detail, the interchange of ideas, the close and daily 
 contact with men and things, all tended to quicken 
 and develop his latent energies. 
 
 Moreover, there was always something to be seen 
 and learnt in the city. Exhibitions of pictures, 
 lectures on art and science, sacred and secular 
 concerts, literary and debating societies, all of 
 which possessed for him a wonderful charm. 
 
 So that during the winter months he generally
 
 56 REX RAYNOE, ARTIST. 
 
 spent two evenings a week at least in the city, 
 returning by the last train to Barwicli. At Elm- 
 wood he had the old schoolroom fitted up as a 
 ' den ' for himself. Here he kept his books, fishing 
 tackle, and artist's tools. Here on summer morn- 
 ings he would spend an hour or two in working up 
 his sketches, while on winter evenings he would 
 enjoy alone the newest book. 
 
 This order, however, was occasionally varied by 
 a visit to Beech lawn, the beautiful home of Evelyn 
 May and her mother, and sometimes when the 
 weather was fine he would ramble with Evelyn 
 across the fields on some sketching excursion. 
 
 Since the death of his foster-mother no one had 
 taken such kindly interest in his welfare as Mrs. 
 May, nor was there anyone to whom he could open 
 his heart so freely, except, perhaps, to Evelyn. 
 She seemed like a sister to him — at least, so he 
 thought and believed. She was only about a year 
 younger than he, and as he had known her nearly 
 all his life, it was only natural that their intercourse 
 should be free and unrestrained. 
 
 Mrs. May could see no impropriety in Rex and 
 Evelyn being so much together. Evelyn, in her 
 mother's eyes, was only a child yet, and Rex seemed 
 to her but an overgrown boy — a bright, handsome, 
 chivalrous boy — whose coming was alwa};s like a 
 gleam of sunshine, and whose merry laughter was 
 like music in her large but quiet home. So the 
 young fellow went and came at will If ever he
 
 CHANGES. 57 
 
 had a fit of the blues, or was particularly bored by 
 the two J.'s, he would escape from the house at the 
 first opportunity and hie away to Beechlawn, sure 
 of a kindly welcome, and sure of company that 
 would give him pleasure.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A REVELATION. 
 
 *I would not waste my spring of youth 
 In idle dalliance ; I would plant rich seeds 
 To blossom in my manhood, and bear fruit 
 When I am old.' — Ilillhouse. 
 
 When Rex was twenty-one he was the envy of 
 nearly all the young men of his acquaintance. He 
 was handsome, healthy, and rich. What more 
 could any young man desire ? And yet, as if that 
 were not enough, he was beloved by all whose love 
 was worth possessing ; was respected by hundreds 
 who had no personal acquaintance with him ; and, 
 to crown all, was living a life of daily usefulness 
 and help. And yet he was not altogether satisfied 
 nor by any means completely happy. 
 
 The place he called his home was altogether 
 lacking in that feeling of ' homeness ' which he so 
 much desired. There was no one there to greet 
 him with a smile of welcome on his return from 
 business, no one to share his hopes or pleasures.
 
 A REVELATION. 59 
 
 He had his own rooms, and came and went as 
 though he had been a lodger. 
 
 Perhaps he was himself partly to blame for this. 
 He shrank instinctively from Mrs. Brown and her 
 two daughters, and they were quick to notice and 
 resent. When he sought the privacy of his own 
 * den ' they did not seek to intrude ; and when they 
 gave their parties they did not invite him to join in 
 the dance. 
 
 And so he lived like a stranger among strangers, 
 and sought his pleasures outside the circle of his 
 home. 
 
 Between himself and the man he called his father 
 there never had been any sympathy, and as the 
 years passed on the two seemed to drift farther and 
 farther apart. When they went into the city they 
 never travelled by the same train ; and, with the 
 exception of Sundays, they rarely sat down 
 together to the same table. 
 
 Of late Mrs. Brown and the two J.'s had helped 
 to poison Mr. Brown's mind and to increase his 
 prejudice against his son. 
 
 'I wish your son knew how to behave,' Mrs. 
 Brown said to her husband one morning over the 
 breakfast-table. 
 
 • Yes, he's a perfect bear,' broke in Julia. 
 
 * Why, what has he been doing now V asked Mr. 
 Brown. 
 
 'It isn't so much what he does as what he 
 doesn't do,' interposed Joyce.
 
 60 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' Yes, that's just it,' said Julia ; * lie's so awfully 
 good — he might be graduating for a saint.' 
 
 ' What a pity you didn't bring him up to be a 
 clergyman, Mr. Brown !' Mrs. Brown remarked, with 
 a curl of her proud lip, 
 
 * Or a dissenting minister,' interjected Joyce. 
 
 * Yes ; he really ought to join some religious 
 brotherhood,' said Julia. ' Think of it, he never 
 came into the ball-room the whole of last evening.' 
 
 'Perhaps he didn't know what was going on,' 
 said Mr. Brown grufHy ; * I don't expect you con- 
 sulted him.' 
 
 * Consulted him, no ! what's the use ? he lives iu 
 too exalted an atmosphere to care for such things.' 
 
 * If that quaker Miss ! — Evelyn May — had been 
 here, he would have showed up quick enough,' 
 said Joyce. 
 
 * No doubt, but I wonder why she did not come V 
 said Julia ; ' she has come to our parties before.' 
 
 * Oh, her mother thinks her too good for this 
 sinful world,' said Mrs. Brown, with a toss of her 
 head ; * but I think you did very well without 
 her.' 
 
 At this point Mr. Brown rose from the table and 
 left the room. In truth, he was getting sick of 
 such conversations, and yet they were not without 
 their influence upon him ; all unconsciously he was 
 getting more and more prejudiced against Rex. 
 
 * Wish the young fool 'ud be like other folks,' he 
 muttered as he struggled to get into his overcoat.
 
 A REVELATION. 61 
 
 At the door the brougham was waiting to take 
 him to the station, 
 
 ' Have the horses been out before this morning, 
 Sparks V he asked the coachman. 
 
 * No, sir,' said Sparks, touching his hat : ' Master 
 Rex preferred to walk.' 
 
 'Just like him,' muttered Jonas as he stepped 
 into the carriage ; * he won't be like other folk ; we 
 shall never make a gentleman of 'im.' 
 
 Later in the day they met in Mr. Brown's private 
 office. 
 
 ' Look 'ere, Rex,' Mr. Brown said, getting up from 
 his chair and pushing the door to ; ' I've got some- 
 thing to say to you.' 
 
 * I'm at your service,' Rex answered quietly. 
 
 * Well, then, I want to know why the — that is, 
 why, in the name of common-sense, you don't 
 behave decently.' 
 
 * Behave decently V Rex questioned, raising his 
 eyebrows in astonishment. 
 
 * Yes ; why can't you behave like other young 
 men, and treat your sisters with proper respect ?' 
 
 ' I am not aware that I ever treated them other- 
 wise than with respect,' Rex answered. 
 
 * They tell me you never showed up at the dance 
 last night,' Jonas replied, 'and that you rarely 
 ever do.' 
 
 * I did not get home till late last night,' Rex 
 answered, ' and I did not know there was a dance 
 till after I got home. Besides, I was busy over a 
 ]es.«ion for my class.'
 
 62 HEX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' Your class be hanged !' said Jonas, growing very 
 red. * That's the kind of thing I object to.' 
 
 ' I don't see why,' said Rex firmly. ' I've nearly 
 a hundred young men whom I am trying to in- 
 struct. I see no harm in that.' 
 
 ' You don't, don't you ? Well, I do ; I hate such 
 Socialistic ways,' 
 
 ' I don't know what you mean by Socialistic ways/ 
 said Rex, growing a little pale. 
 
 ' Why, I mean you are teaching 'em Socialism — 
 the Vicar thinks so, too — teaching 'em as all men 
 are equal ; and I don't believe in it' And Mr. 
 Brown took two or three turns round his office. 
 
 ' We do read the New Testament sometimes,' said 
 Rex, with a mischievous smile. ' That is rather a 
 Socialistic book, isn't it ?' 
 
 ' Well, I don't know but what it is, now you 
 mention it,^ said Jonas, running his fingers through 
 his bleached stubble. ' I never thought of it before, 
 but I believe it is. I'll ask the Vicar about it.' 
 
 ' What good will that do ?' Rex questioned. 
 
 ' Good be hanged !' snarled Mr. Brown. He always 
 wanted to hang everything that came in his way. 
 
 ' Well, no, I would not go so far as that,' said 
 Rex, with a smile. 
 
 ' I wish you'd go a deal farther,' growled Jonas. 
 
 * In what way ?' 
 
 * Why, in behaving like a gentleman. Why can't 
 you drink your bottle of champagne at dinner 
 sometimes, and go to the races, and mix with folks
 
 A REVELATION. 63 
 
 that are your equals ? Giving up your time to a lot 
 of artisans, as you do, is demoralizing, I call it.' 
 
 * I must beg to hold a different opinion in regard 
 to that matter,' said Rex firmly. 
 
 * Oh yes, I dare say,' snarled Jonas ; * you never 
 agree with me in anything. What with your 
 painting, and your philanthropy, and your high- 
 fa) utin' notions, 1 don't know what is to become of 
 you ; and who you take after is a mystery to me.' 
 
 * I am sorry I do not please you better,' Rex said, 
 after a pause ; ' but I cannot be what you wish.' 
 
 ' Oh no ; I dare say you'll go your own gait, and 
 a pretty pass it'll bring you to in the end.' And 
 Jonas opened the door while Rex bowed himself 
 out. 
 
 ' Just as I expected,' Jonas growled as he resumed 
 his seat. ' The young fool will never be like other 
 folks ; I might as well talk to the door-post.' 
 
 Rex returned to his desk with a very perturbed 
 feeling at his heart, and during the whole of the 
 afternoon he was restless and ill at ease. As soon 
 as the bank closed he made his way to the station 
 and caught the earliest train to Barwich. He 
 thought he would find solace in his books and 
 pictures, but he was as restless in his ' den ' as in 
 the bank. 
 
 ' It's of no use,' he said at length, starting to his 
 feet. * I'll go for a ramble, and make a call on my 
 way back at BeechlaAvn.' 
 
 The early October afternoon v/as already beginning
 
 64 REX RAVNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 to fade, and a thin gray mist was slowly creeping 
 up the hillsides, softening the outlines of the distant 
 trees. Under foot the crisp yellow leaves already 
 lay thick, showing unmistakably that summer was 
 past ; while in the atmosphere there was that un- 
 mistakable chill which denotes the approach of 
 winter. 
 
 Eex struck out at once for the Thorbrig footpath. 
 He liked the ramble through the long plantation 
 which crowned the slope, and he felt that this 
 evening its shadowy aisles and deepening gloom 
 would be in keeping with his mood. 
 
 At the stile, where j'ears ago on a bright May 
 morning he sat in his sorrow and Evelyn May 
 came and comforted him, he paused for awhile, 
 while memory gleaned among the stubble of bj^^gone 
 days. He always liked to think of Evelyn ; she 
 was so sweet, so gentle, so strong. 
 
 He had grown up with her from childhood, and 
 had watched with delight the gradual unfolding of 
 her mind and heart. Her beautiful face, he knew, 
 was but the index of a beautiful soul. In her clear 
 and steady eye no evil passion ever shone, and in 
 her heart there seemed no room for guile. 
 
 Suddenly he started. From far up in the wood 
 came the sound of voices and of low rippling 
 laughter. Then two dusky figures appeared in 
 sight, and sauntered leisurely towards the stile. It 
 was getting quite dusk now, so he stepped aside 
 ihat they might pass. He saw Stuart Leslie, the
 
 '" lie slepjied a.-^idc that llicy iiiiylil jia^.s.' 
 
 P. 64.
 
 A REVELATION. 65 
 
 Vicar's son, mount the stile, for the gate at the side 
 was closed ; then he reached his hand to his com- 
 panion and helped her gently over, spcalung low 
 the while. 
 
 Rex bit his lips, and drew farther back in the 
 shadow of the hedge. A moment later Stuart 
 Leslie and Evelyn May walked away together 
 down the long slanting field, and were soon lost 
 among the gathering shadows. Then Rex leaped 
 the stile at a bound and tore up through the wood, 
 as though eager to make up for the time he had 
 wasted. 
 
 He had been miserable enough before ; he was a 
 hundred times more so now. He felt as though 
 something or somebody had stabbed him. The 
 sight of Stuart Leslie helping Evelyn May over the 
 stile had stirred up a latent fire which had been 
 slumbering within him for years, and which for the 
 moment dominated his whole being. Later in the 
 evening he was able to reason the matter calmly 
 with himself. 
 
 Perhaps their being together meant nothing. 
 She had doubtless gone to see her old people at 
 Thorbrig, as she often did, and had stayed a little 
 later than usual. He had accidentally stumbled 
 across her path when out for a ramble, and, as any 
 gentleman would of her acquaintance, had promised 
 to see her home. What was there for him to chafe 
 about in that ? Besides, she was nothing to him, 
 or he to her. But stop ! — was she nothing to him ? 
 
 5
 
 66 REX liAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 The revelation came to him like a flash — she was 
 everything to him. 
 
 Ho did not go to Beechlawn that evening. His 
 ramble ended, he returned to his own den and 
 locked the door. A new problem was staring him 
 in the face, and he was undetermined how to act. 
 That he loved Evelyn May he had no doubt. But 
 did she love him ? Did she love another ? This he 
 must tind out. And if he was to woo and win her 
 he must begin at once. But perhaps he was already 
 too late. He had heard for a long time past of 
 Stuart Leslie going a great deal to Beechlawn, but 
 he had thought nothing of that It was a sweet, 
 beautiful home, to which any young man with 
 refined feelings might love to go, and would be all 
 the better for going. He had never thought of 
 Evelyn in the matter. Now everything came back 
 to him with a rush. 
 
 While his own strong love had been slumbering, 
 and he had been content to let things drift, the 
 Vicar's son had stepped in before him, and perhaps 
 had already won the prize. 
 
 And Rex clenched his lists and paced the room 
 in impotent anger and jealousy. He saw clearly 
 enough that his rival, if rival he was, was a formid- 
 able one. He was well educated, refined, and good- 
 looking ; while his father being rich apart from 
 his hving, his prospects were exceptionally good. 
 He might be lacking in depth of character, and was 
 rather too much of ' the young man about town '
 
 A REVELATION. 67 
 
 style to suit some folk. But that he could be very 
 fascinatincf when he liked no one doubted who 
 knew him ; and Rex's great fear was that he had 
 already pleaded with Evelyn and had prevailed. 
 
 But before he slept that night he had come to 
 the resolve that he would know the truth at the 
 first possible opportunity.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FOREBODINGS. 
 
 •No haughty gesture marks his gait, 
 No pompous tone his word, 
 No studied attitude is seen, 
 No palling nonsense heard ; 
 He'll suit his bearing to the hour, 
 Laugh, listen, learn, or teach ; 
 With joyous freedom in his mirth, 
 And candour in his speech.' — Eliza Cook. 
 
 Rex did not go to Beechlawn on the following 
 night, though he Avas impatient to know his fate. 
 It was the night for meeting his young men, and so 
 strong had become his conviction of duty in rela- 
 tion to this matter, that he would not let it stand 
 aside for any other consideration. 
 
 He had commenced with a very small class at 
 the Mechanics' Institute, and with no very clear 
 ideas in his mind of what he might accomplish. 
 He had plenty of time at his disposal, and if he 
 could do any little good in the world he had a feel- 
 ing that he ought to make the attempt, and so he
 
 FOREBODTNGS. 69 
 
 started with half a dozen mere lads in his class, 
 with the intention of taking them through a course 
 of natural history. 
 
 But the interest grew wonderfully. His black- 
 board lessons became the talk of the town. His 
 class-room, in a few months, was crowded out, and 
 an adjournment was made to the lecture-room ; and 
 even this, on special nights, became crowded to its 
 utmost capacity. 
 
 For the winter in question he had made arrange- 
 ments to give a series of lectures on such subjects 
 as thrift, recreation, reading, health, ventilation, the 
 morning tub, and many other kindred topics. 
 
 His own interest had deepened and intensified as 
 time had gone on, until now it was one of the chief 
 pleasures of his life to meet his young men, as he 
 termed them, though many of them were old 
 enough to be his father. 
 
 He had prepared his first lecture with great care. 
 Indeed, he had mapped out the whole series and 
 for months had been gathering materials for their 
 completion. He little dreamed that the work 
 begun so auspiciously would end in the manner it 
 ■was destined to do. But events were ripening 
 which cast no shadows before, and he went on from 
 day to day recking not of what was coming. 
 
 It was with very mixed feelings he wended his 
 way to the lecture-hall that evening. He was full 
 of enthusiasm for his subject, and yet nervous to a 
 degree that was most ususual with him. He had
 
 70 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 not the smallest desire to shirk his work, and yet 
 all the while his thoughts were straying from it. 
 
 He had been awakened suddenly to the fact that 
 Evelyn May, whom he had known so hnig and had 
 looked upon almost as a sister, was more than any 
 sister co\;ld ever be. That she was, in fact, the very 
 light of hi.s eyes and the hope of his life. But with 
 this awaking had come the fear, which had haunted 
 him ever since, and refused to be shaken off, that 
 the discovery had come too late, and that she had 
 given her love to another. 
 
 If Stuart Leslie loved her he could not wonder, 
 for wdio could be long in Evelyn inlay's company 
 without loving her ? If she loved him, he had to 
 confess to himself there could be no cause of sur- 
 prise. And yet the thought was torture to him. 
 She had grown so unconsciously, and yet so com- 
 pletely, into his life, that the bare idea of becoming 
 to her as a stranger and seeing another claim her 
 as his own was maddening. 
 
 He battled with the feeling as best he could, but 
 the fear was ever present wdth him. He saw the 
 possibility that while he was doing his best to 
 enlighten his young men on the question of thrift, 
 the Vicar's son might be at Beechlawn urging his 
 suit. But there was no fibre of cowardice in Rex's 
 heart, and with a manful effort he threw himself 
 into his work, and after awhile forgot everything 
 else in the subject he had come to discuss. 
 
 The gathering was a success in every sense of the
 
 FOREBODINGS. 71 
 
 word. Rex's social position of itself was enough to 
 secure him a respectful hearing. But much more 
 than that, he was respected, qay, beloved, by all 
 who came to listen to him. Then there was a 
 charm about his manner — an easy grace of speech 
 — that was sure to win attention, while, to crown 
 all, he was master of his subject, and marshalled 
 his arguments in a way that carried conviction at 
 every point. 
 
 Few things are more contagious than the en- 
 thusiasm of a crowded meeting. Rex came under 
 its spell quite at the beginning. In the very 
 first sentence he caught the attention of his audi- 
 ence, and he held it to the end; while they, 
 charmed by his oratory, yielded to its magnetism 
 at once, and were swayed by it like a cornfield by 
 a summer's breeze. How he could invest what 
 they termed ' dry subjects ' with so much living 
 interest was always a puzzle to them. Arguments, 
 anecdotes, and illustrations were so skilfully inter- 
 woven, that the address seemed like a piece of mosaic, 
 full of gay colours, yet blending in perfect harmony. 
 
 Rex did not stay to listen to the compliments 
 which his auditors were eager to pay him. He 
 retired by a side door and made his way slowly 
 homeward, and then locked himself in his den till 
 bedtime. During all next day he was restless and 
 ill at ease. He had resolved to know his fate 
 before he slept, and yet, as the day waned, he 
 almost feared to know.
 
 72 REX RAYNOE, ARTIST. 
 
 Directly the bank closed at three o'clock he 
 started for Barwich, and just as the day was closing 
 he left Elmwood and made his way in the direction 
 of Beechlawn. The residence of Mrs. May was 
 beautifully situated, and surrounded by extensive 
 and well-kept grounds. 
 
 Rex walked at a rapid rate until the house came 
 into sight, then he slackened his pace and once or 
 twice came to a dead halt, as though undecided 
 whether to go farther or not ; but if so, his hesi- 
 tancy was not of any long duration. 
 
 During the day he had tried to frame a speech that 
 should pave the way to the avowal he was wishful 
 to make. Yet somehow every form of words seemed 
 stilted and theatrical, and he could hit upon nothing 
 that just suited his taste, or would express one half 
 of what was in his heart ; and so at length he came 
 to the conclusion that he would trust to the chapter 
 of accidents and say what came readiest at the 
 time. Yet the nearer he got to the house the 
 more difficult seemed the task he had set himself. 
 The last day or two had changed everything. How 
 often he had raced up that well-kept drive with all 
 the freedom of a school-boy, and had plunged into 
 the house as though it were his own home ; much, 
 it must be confessed, to the astonishment of old 
 Thompson the butler, who had very strict notions 
 of propriety. 
 
 Now, however, he was approaching the house as 
 though he were a stranger and not at all sure of a
 
 FOREBODINGS. 73 
 
 welcome. He seemed to have suddenly realized 
 that Evelyn was a woman and he a man, and that 
 the old days of unrestrained freedom had passed 
 away for ever, and, on the whole, the discovery was 
 not a very pleasant one. However sweet it was to 
 love, the fear that his love was not reciprocated 
 seemed far to outweigh the pleasure. 
 
 At length he paused and drew a long breath. 
 The carriage drive had wound round in front of 
 the drawing-room windows, and he found him- 
 self staring into that handsome apartment after a 
 fashion he would have deemed rude in anyone else. 
 But at the moment he was completely self-for- 
 getting. The picture he saw just charmed his 
 artist's eye, besides setting his heart throbbing 
 wildly. 
 
 Outside it was dark enough by this ; but within 
 the blinds had not been drawn, nor had the lamps 
 been lighted. But in the large old-fashioned grate 
 a wood fire was crackling, and lighting up the room 
 with a soft warm glow, and decorating the polished 
 furniture with long streaks of vermilion. 
 
 Before the fire, on a low chair, sat Evelyn, her 
 hands clasped round her knees, her eyes fixed 
 intently upon the grate. On her strong, pure face 
 the firelight flickered and played, and danced in 
 the Hquid depths of her lustrous eyes. 
 
 Truly she was no longer a girl. Rex felt that, as 
 he gazed at her, in a way he had never felt it 
 before. Her beautiful hair was twisted in a shining
 
 74 REX PAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 coil at the top of her head, her well-rounded figure 
 stood out in clear relief in the soft warm light. She 
 had always been beautiful in Rex's eyes, but he 
 thought she never looked so beautiful as now. 
 
 How long he stood there he never knew. It 
 might have been only a few seconds, or it might 
 have been many minutes. He remembered wonder- 
 ing what she was thinking about, she sat so still 
 and with such a far-away look in her eyes. Could 
 it be possible she was thinking of him, or did the 
 Vicar's son fill her heart and monopolize all her 
 dreams ? 
 
 He started at length as a low wail of autumn 
 wind stole slowly through the trees and died softly 
 away in the distance. 
 
 ' How rude I am !' he said to himself. * If she 
 knew I had been staring at her in this way she 
 might never forgive me ;' and he smiled a little, 
 then added, ' if she does not want to be looked at 
 she should have the blinds drawn.' 
 
 And with this reflection he mounted the door- 
 steps and rang the bell. 
 
 A moment later Thompson appeared and ushered 
 him into the hall. 
 
 ' Mrs. May is engaged at present,' Thompson 
 explained; 'but Miss Evelyn is about somewhere.' 
 
 'Yes, she is in the drawing-room,' Rex said 
 quickly; 'I saw her through the window as I 
 passed.' 
 
 • Perhaps you will go to her,' said Thompson,
 
 FOREBODINGS. 75 
 
 for Rex and Evelyn were still only boy and girl in 
 his eyes. 
 
 'Thank you, I will,' said Rex, and Thompson 
 prepared to lead the way. 
 
 ' You need not trouble, Thompson,' he said with 
 a laugh ; ' I think I know the way.' 
 
 'Well, yes, I think you do,' said the old man, 
 while Rex made his way with beating heart in the 
 direction of the drawing-room. 
 
 On reaching the door he paused for a moment 
 and drew a long breath ; then, raising his hand, he 
 knocked gently on one of the panels. 
 
 ' Come in,' was the answer, in a sweet, musical 
 voice that thrilled his heart like a psalm ; and, 
 grasping the handle, he pushed over the door and 
 entered. 
 
 Evelyn was still seated, but when she saw who 
 her visitor was she rose from her chair in a moment, 
 and came to meet him with extended hand. 
 
 ' What, Rex V she said in a tone of surprise, 
 perhaps of disappointment ; * I thought perhaps it 
 — that is, I hardly expected you. Your visits have 
 been so few and far between of late.' 
 
 Rex's heart sank. ' It was not me she expected, 
 but another,' he said to himself; 'and she is dis- 
 appointed he has not come.' But he controlled his 
 feelings by a manful effort, and answered some 
 commonplace about being very much occupied. 
 
 ' Yes, I know you must be very busy,' she said 
 with a smile, ' so I suppose we must foigive you.
 
 76 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 But won't you take a seat while I ring for 
 lights V 
 
 He would have prevented her if he could. He 
 would rather have talked to her in the firelight. 
 But there was no help for it now. So he threw 
 himself into an easy-chair and waited with as much 
 patience as he could command for his opportunity 
 to come
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DISCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 ' Our doubts are traitors, 
 And make us lose the good we oft might win. 
 By fearing to attempt.' — Shakesj^eare. 
 
 ' M AMMA is engaged just at present,' Evelyn said, aa 
 she made a circuit of the room and straightened an 
 antimacassar here and there ; ' but I do not think 
 she will be long.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is quite right,' said Rex lightly ; * but the 
 truth is I came across chiefly to have a little chat 
 with you.' 
 
 ' With me ?' she questioned, raising her eyebrows 
 slightly. 
 
 ' Why not ?' he asked. 
 
 ' Oh, I know of no reason at all,' she said, with a 
 little laugh. ' Only you have not favoured us with 
 much of your company of late.* 
 
 ' That is true,' he answered a little bit uneasily. 
 • But I have often wanted to come, all the same.'
 
 78 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' Are you always so very busy, thou ?' she asked a 
 little bit gravely. 
 
 ' No, not always,' lie answered. * While you were 
 away in Scotland I had little or nothing to do, and 
 had you been at home I should probably have worn 
 out my welcome.' 
 
 ' I don't think you need entertain any fears on 
 that score,' she said, with a slight blush. 'You 
 know you are always welcome at Ueechlawn.' 
 
 'Thank you, Evelyn,' and then he suddenly 
 relapsed into silence. He wanted to say more, 
 and yet, somehow, the words would not come. He 
 felt every moment as if his task were growing more 
 and mure difficult. She seemed so utterly unsus- 
 picious that he shrank from shocking her with his 
 avowal. Besides, she sat so far away from him, 
 that it seemed almost ridiculous to try to make 
 love across a room. And yet the precious oppor- 
 tunity was slipping away, and he did not know 
 when he might get another. 
 
 ' I hear you had a splendid audience last night,' 
 Evelyn said at length, breaking the awkward 
 silence. 
 
 'Yes,' he said slowly, and with seeming effort 
 ' the place was full.' 
 
 ' The people are loud in their praise of your 
 lecture,' she said, after a little hesitation, 
 
 * Indeed,' he answered. 
 
 ' I should very much like to have heard it,' she 
 went on ; ' but I could not get away very well,'
 
 DISCO URA GEM EN T. 79 
 
 You bad company V he questioned. The words 
 were out before be bad time to consider them. 
 
 She bkisbed sHgbtly and looked uncomfortable ; 
 perhaps she felt the question was a rude one. 
 But she answered readily enough : * No, not com- 
 pany exactly. Mr, Stuart Leslie was here, that 
 was all.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed,' he said shortly ; * I saw him with 
 you also the night before last:' he was feeling 
 desperate, so he spoke hurriedly and incautiously. 
 
 ' Yes, he was with me the evening before last,' 
 she answered, with a touch of hauteur in her tone. 
 
 Rex bit his lip : he felt that he was not advancing 
 his cause in the least ; if anything, he was retarding 
 it. 
 
 ' I meant to have run across the evening before 
 last,' he said hurriedly ; ' but I feared I might be 
 intruding.' 
 
 ' Which, under the circumstances, was considerate 
 of you,' she answered, w:':h mild sarcasm; for she 
 could not help feeling that he had taken up the 
 position of censor, and she would let him see that 
 she resented it. 
 
 ' Come now, Evelyn,' he said, with a little laugh, 
 while he shifted uneasily in his chair ; ' don't let us 
 misunderstand each other.' 
 
 'I should be sorry to be misunderstood, and 
 especially by you,' she said, with a ring of sincerity 
 in her voice. 
 
 Ilex's face brightened for a moment, and then
 
 80 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 fell. What did she mean, he wondered. Did she 
 wish him to understand that Stuart Leslie had a 
 perfect right to be in her company, or did she wish 
 him to understand that their meeting was purely 
 an accident ? 
 
 ' I have always made a confidante of you, Evelyn,' 
 he said at length ; ' you have seemed like a sister 
 to me nearly ever since I can remember.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know,' she ansAvered, her eyes brighten- 
 ing ; ' and I hope 3'ou wiU not depose me, or ever 
 think of me in any other light.' 
 
 Was she warning him off dangerous ground ? 
 He bit his lip again, while a puzzled expression 
 came into his eyes. She was certainly not giving 
 him any encouragement. Indeed, he began to fear 
 she guessed his mission and was trying to prevent 
 his avowal. But he was resolved not to be put 
 off with mere hints. He would know the truth if 
 possible. 
 
 ' There is no fear of my deposing you,' he said at 
 length ; * no one else can ever take your place.' 
 
 ' Not even Julia ?' she said witli a laugh. 
 
 'Not even Julia,' he said gravely; and he drew 
 his chair closer to hers. 'But I have discovered 
 lately, Evelyn, that brotherly regard may grow into 
 something very different.* 
 
 Her eyes fell, and all the colour went in a moment 
 from her face. 
 
 ' I have come to-night on purpose to tell you,' he 
 began, ' that you are '
 
 DISCO URA GEMENT. 81 
 
 But he did not finish the sentence. At that 
 moment a knock came to the door, followed by the 
 entrance of Mr, Stuart Leslie. The Vicar's son 
 came forward with the air of a man who felt per- 
 fectly at home, and who was quite sure of his 
 footing. 
 
 Rex bit his lip with savage energy, while Evelyn 
 rose with a soft blush suffusing her neck and face, 
 and went quickly forward to receive her guest. 
 
 Stuart greeted Rex with effusion, ' Glad to see 
 you, 'pon my word,' he said. ' Had quite an 
 ovation last night, I hear ; allow me to congratu- 
 late you. Should have come myself, but was — ah 
 — more pleasantly engaged, shall I say ? ha, ha !' 
 
 B,ex felt that he would like to punch his head. 
 ' Impudent puppy !' he said to himself; ' he deserves 
 to be throttled !' But he kept his hands tightly 
 clenched and held his tongue. But to stay longer 
 at Beechlawn was out of the question. Pie had 
 received his answer, he thought, in unmistakable 
 language; and the sooner he left the house the 
 better for his own peace of mind. 
 
 Evelyn pressed him to stay longer, assuring him 
 that her mother must be disengaged directl}''. 
 
 * I came to see you,' he said, as she came with 
 him into the hall ; ' to see you only. I have seen 
 you, but to stay longer now would be to intrude.' 
 
 'Rex, you talk in riddles,' she said in pained 
 tones, 
 
 'Do I ?' he said, growing very white. ' Never 
 
 6
 
 82 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 mind, you will imdorstand me some day ;' and 
 without saying ' good night ' he hurriedly left her 
 side and a moment later the door had closed 
 behind him. 
 
 All the way home he walked like one in a dream. 
 He never remembered a single step of the way. 
 One thought absorbed every other — Evelyn May 
 was lost to him. Until far into the night he paced 
 his den with long and rapid strides, and when 
 utterly exhausted crept into bed and fell into a 
 heavy, dreamful slumber. 
 
 The following day was among the most wretched 
 he had ever experienced. All the hope had been 
 taken out of his work, all the brightness out of his 
 life. He never knew how much Evel3^n May was 
 to him till now he had lost her. He found himself 
 constantly dreaming over bygone days, picturing 
 to himself the blissful hours they had spent to- 
 gether rambling over the sunlit hills or loitering in 
 the shady woods. He could not understand how 
 he had been so long in arriving at the truth that he 
 loved Evelyn May. It seemed to him now that he 
 had loved her always ; that there had never been a 
 time when she was not more to him than anyone 
 else. 
 
 Ths day being Saturday, the bank closed at noon, 
 and by ten minutes past that hour he was on his 
 way back to Barwich. After lunch he shut himself 
 in his own room and tried to work on a half-finished 
 picture, for the day was fip^ and the Ught good ;
 
 DISCO URA GEMENT. 83 
 
 but he gave up the attempt after a few minutes. 
 Somehow the interest had gone out of everything, 
 and there was no heart left in him for work. 
 
 ' I had better try to walk off this restlessness/ he 
 said to himself, throwing down his palette and 
 brushes ; * a ramble in the plantation will do me 
 good. Perhaps I can make a study of the trees in 
 their autumn brown and bareness ;' and, thrusting a 
 sketch-book into his pocket, he stole quietly down 
 the broad stairs and out of the house. 
 
 As usual he made for the paddock and climbed 
 the fence, and was soon in the field which adjoined 
 the wood. A few minutes' brisk walking and he 
 had reached the stile so redolent of memories of 
 the past. But he did not linger. Leaping lightly 
 over it, he struck up through the wood at a brisk 
 walk, and did not pause till he had reached the 
 summit of the hill. Here he turned round and 
 looked back the way he had come, then struck off 
 at right angles across the carpet of yellow leaves. 
 
 The afternoon was wonderfully still. The trees 
 stood up motionless and bare, the delicate tracery 
 of their branches standing out in clear relief against 
 a pale-blue sky. On the leaf-covered sward the 
 sunlight lay in faint yellow patches ; the wind was 
 hushed and still. 
 
 Rex's footsteps crunching on the yellow leaves 
 startled the squirrels here and there, and once a 
 weazel went scuttering across his path, but no other 
 sounds awoke the silent depths of the wood, 
 
 6—2
 
 84 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 A few minutes' brisk walking and he had reached 
 the boundary where the ground fell away suddenly 
 into the valley below. There had been a small 
 landslip some years previously, and a rail fence had 
 been carried round the edge of the dechvity, mainly 
 for the protection of cattle. 
 
 Against this rail ^qx. planted himself and turned 
 his face to the wood. Several magnificent elms 
 grew near the spot, and he pulled his sketch-book 
 out of his pocket and began to make a drawing of 
 one of the trees. 
 
 Suddenly, and without warning, the rail gave 
 way beneath his weight, and he fell backward and 
 headlong down the slope. The collapse of the 
 rotten rail was so sudden that he had no time to 
 save himself or even to clutch at a tree-root in liis 
 fall. 
 
 In a moment he lay doubled up and almost 
 hidden in the mass of brambles and bracken that 
 covered the debris at the foot of the slope; his 
 right leg was bent under him, the knee dislocated, 
 his body tightly wedged between two large splinters 
 of rock. 
 
 For a moment he lay motionless, stunned and half 
 unconscious ; but the pain from his knee quickly 
 restored his faculties, and he made a frantic efibrt 
 to rise ; but he might as well have attempted to root 
 up ihe tree he had been trying to sketch. 
 
 ' Good heavens !' he moaned, ' must I lie here and 
 die V and he struggled again to free himself ; but in
 
 DIS CO URA GEMENT. 85 
 
 vain. He was as helpless as if his hands and feet 
 had been locked in steel. 
 
 ' Oh, this is cruel !' he moaned bitterly. * I shall 
 die like a rat in a hole unless someone comes to my 
 rescue ; but who is likely to find me here ?' 
 
 Then he shouted at the top of his voice : * Help ! 
 help !' and listened eagerly for an answering call ; 
 but the only sound that greeted his ears was the 
 occasional peck of a bird and the low murmur of 
 the stream in the valley below. 
 
 After awhile the pain from his knee became 
 intolerable. He almost screamed with agony. But 
 there came no answer to his cry, nor hope of 
 deliverance from any direction. And still the 
 minutes sped on, and the pale autumnal sun dipped 
 lower and lower towards the horizon. Upon his 
 forehead a cold perspiration stood in big drops, and 
 over his eyes a mist was gathering as though night 
 was coming on apace. He tried again to rise, but 
 '^inlded with a groan ; then all grew dark and still.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WAS IT A DREAM? 
 
 * And dreams in their development have breath, 
 And tears, and torture, and the touch of joy ; 
 They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, 
 They take a weight from oif our waking toils ; 
 They do divide our being ; they become 
 A portion of ourselves aa of our time, 
 And look like heralds of eternity.' — Byron. 
 
 When Rex recovered consciousness the afternoon 
 was drawing rapidly to a close. The sun had dis- 
 appeared in a ])ale-yellow haze, and all over the 
 valley and up the hillsides a gray mist was rising, 
 saturating everything with its moisture, and creep- 
 mg lazily before the faint evening breeze. There 
 was, however, no mist over his mind or memory. 
 The events of the afternoon came back to him in a 
 moment vivid and clear. And yet he had a feeling 
 as though something had happened of which he 
 had no exact knowledge. Between that first com- 
 plete loss of consciousness and now there had been 
 a brief space when his mind was not altogether u
 
 WAS IT A DREAM f 87 
 
 blank. Either he had had a dream or someone 
 had come to him. He drew his hand slowly across 
 his eyes and tried to recall the circumstance. 
 
 EverythiDg else was clear enough to him. The 
 ramble in the wood, the pencil strokes on his sketch- 
 book, the sudden giving way of the rail, the fall 
 among the brambles and stones, the frantic efforts 
 he made to raise himself, the despairing calls for 
 help, the numbness that at length crept over him 
 and then oblivion. Up to that point everything 
 was clear to him — there was no mist upon his 
 memory, no shadow upon his brain. 
 
 But after that ? Between that swoon and the 
 present awakening something had happened. Was 
 it a dream, he wondered ? If so it was strangely 
 like reality. He thought he lay there jammed 
 between the rocks, wondering in a confused kind of 
 way what had happened to him ; that suddenly 
 there fell upon his ears the sound of footsteps 
 accompanied by the noise of falling stones, as some- 
 one clambered hurriedly down the steep slope ; that 
 a moment later a voice sweet as music fell upon his 
 ear — * Rex, Rex, what is the matter ?' then a soft 
 hand was laid upon his brow, and — and — surely it 
 must be a dream — warm lips were pressed upon his 
 own. He thought he struggled again to raise him- 
 self and speak, and that gentle hands were placed 
 under his head, and an effort made to lift him out 
 of his uncomfortable position — then all became a 
 blank once more.
 
 88 REX RA YNOR, A R TIS T. 
 
 ' It must be all a dream,' he reflected ; ' a sweet, 
 beautiful dream ; but nothing more than that. If 
 Evelyn had found me here she would have stayed 
 with me, even though she loves another,' 
 
 And a spasm of pain swept over his handsome 
 face. * Ye?, she would not have left me,' he went 
 
 on ; ' but stay ' and he reached out his hands, 
 
 then turned his head and looked eagerly round him. 
 
 * I have either been moved or I have moved 
 myself,' he said with a gasp. ' The splinter of rock 
 that was on my right has been rolled away. Is it 
 possible that in a sudden accession of strength I 
 could have pushed it from me unconsciously ? I 
 hardly think so ; and yet would she have the power V 
 and he closed his eyes again and tried to think. 
 
 ' One thing is certain,' he wont on, after a pause : 
 ' I am not lying in the frightfully uncomfortable 
 position I was in at first ;' and he made an efibrt to 
 sit up ; but the pain from his knee cut short the 
 attempt, and he lay back again with a groan. 
 
 The more he reflected, however, the more he 
 became convinced that someone had discovered 
 him. But was that someone Evelyn ? And if 
 Evelyn, could it be really true that she had pressed 
 her warm lips upon his own, and spoken words that 
 fell with a sound of strange endearment upon his 
 ears ? If he could only think so life would become 
 beautiful again and labour a joy. But the hope 
 was too sweet to be cherished. Evelyn May was 
 not for him.
 
 WAS IT A DREAM t 89 
 
 At this point his reflections were cut short by 
 the sound of voices in the wood above him, and a 
 moment or two later half a dozen faces appeared at 
 the edge of the slope. Then a voice, which he 
 quickly recognised as Evelyn's, came from a little 
 distance away. 
 
 'That is the place. He lies just below among 
 the bracken and brambles/ 
 
 Rex's heart gave a great bound. His dream, if 
 not wholly, was partly true. Evelyn had come to 
 him, and, finding herself powerless to aid, had gone 
 off into the town for help, and now she had come 
 back again to show the way. 
 
 ' Oh, Evelyn, Evelyn,' he murmured, and his eyes 
 grew moist at the thought, ' I owe my life to you.' 
 
 What followed after that he could never very 
 distinctly remember. There was a confused mur- 
 mur of voices and scramble of feet, a feeling as 
 though he was being torn to pieces by giant hands, 
 and then a period of sweet forgetfulness. Then 
 came a faint memory of being on the march, and a 
 horribly confused idea that he was lying in Ids 
 coffin and that this was his funeral ; then once more 
 oblivion. 
 
 When he opened his eyes again it was broad day. 
 The morning sun was shining brightly into his 
 room, and under the eaves the sparrows were 
 chirping feebly. By his bedside stood Dr. Moffat, 
 looking careworn and anxious. 
 
 • Hullo, doctor !' he said cheerfully, ' what's up ?'
 
 90 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST, 
 
 In a moment the doctor's face lit up with a broad 
 smile. 
 
 ' I'm up/ he said ; ' yes, I'm up — been up all 
 night, in fact.' And he laughed quietly at his own 
 joke. 
 
 It was Rex's turn to be serious now. He did not 
 need the doctor to tell him he was ill ; he ached all 
 over, and was as helpless as a child. 
 
 ' I don't think I'm very well, doctor/ he said at 
 length, bringing out the words slowly and with 
 evident effort. 
 
 * No, you are not very well,' said the doctor, ' not 
 very well ; but you must keep quiet and not excite 
 yourself. You've had a slight accident, you know ; 
 but don't worry yourself about it — it might have 
 been worse — yes, yes, it might have been worse.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I remember,' he said slowly and with 
 knitted brows. ' I was leaning against the railing 
 above the landslip trying to sketch a tree. I hke 
 to see trees properly drawn, doctor.' 
 
 * Yes, yes, but never mind that now ; I know all 
 about it. Your business now is to get better — to 
 get better.' 
 
 ' I think trees have a distinct individuality as 
 well as human faces,' wont on Rex, as though he 
 did not heed the doctor's words. 
 
 * Yes, yes, very likely ; but don't trouble about 
 trees now/ persisted the doctor. 
 
 ' I fear I've lost my sketch-book, though,' Rex 
 went on, with provoking pertinacity ; ' but perhaps
 
 WAS IT A DREAM f 91 
 
 she found it — I wonder if she did.' His voice died 
 away into a whisper, while a smile that was full of 
 hope stole over his face. 
 
 He did not attempt to speak again, and afte'r a 
 few minutes Dr. Moffat quietly left the room. Later 
 in the day a trained nurse arrived from Liverpool, 
 and then began long weeks of weariness and pain. 
 
 Mr. Brown came to see him every three or four 
 days, but he made his visits as brief as possible ; 
 the young man and the old had nothing in common, 
 and neither desired the other's company. When 
 Jonas did call, he always seemed preoccupied and 
 ill at ease. 
 
 Ever since his marriage with Mrs. Rudd he had 
 grown steadily more irritable and more reckless. The 
 old habit of carefulness had almost entirely disap- 
 peared. Under his wife's influence he had become, 
 to all appearance at least, utterly indifferent as to 
 what was spent or what was saved. There were 
 no more heated discussions about carefulness and 
 economy. The servants, in their terse way, said 
 ' everything at Elmwood was high and go ,' extra- 
 vagance was the order of the day. 
 
 Mrs. Brown and the two J.'s were in a chronic 
 state of high spirits. They entertained to their 
 hearts' content, and ' managed ' Elmwood in their 
 own way, and Mr. Brown into the bargain. 
 
 Rex saw nothing of either Mrs. Brown or her 
 daughters. Sometimes a polite inquiry would be 
 sent — ' Mrs. Brown's respects, and she wishes to
 
 92 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 know how Master Rex is to-day' — but she never 
 condescended to visit him herself. 
 
 Rex was not at all sorry. Yet occasionally a 
 feeling of intense loneliness stole over him ; he 
 seemed without a relation in the world, and his 
 home at present was to him but a better sort of 
 hospital. 
 
 Dr. Moffat was kind, so was the nurse; but no 
 hand of love was ever laid upon his brow, no soft 
 caress lightened the burden of his pain. But for 
 thoughts of Evelyn he would have grown melan- 
 choly. She, to his imagination, was ever present, 
 and day by day he lay with closed eyes dreaming of 
 her. 
 
 Sometimes he chided himself for his folly — said 
 that he was preparing for himself a bitter awaken- 
 ing ; but all the same she tilled his heart, and in 
 the main he was content to think of her alone. 
 
 So the tedious days and weeks dragged slowly on. 
 He tried his best to be patient, but it was a difficult 
 task. How his heart hungered in those long days 
 for a sight of Evelyn May ! How he kept wonder- 
 ing whether or no she cared for him except as a 
 friend ! 
 
 Then, too, he worried about his class at the 
 Mechanics' Institute, and chafed and fretted because 
 he could not carry on the work he had sketched 
 out for himself. Constantly he kept saying to him- 
 self, ' I ought to be patient,' and ' It's a foolish 
 business to cry over spilled milk / but with all his
 
 WAS IT A DREAM f 93 
 
 philosophy he got to be very impatient, and re- 
 tarded his recovery thereby. Yet events were 
 ripening all the while, though he had no hand in 
 their shaping. He Httle dreamed that the day was 
 so near when he would ask the question that lay so 
 heavy upon his heart, and when he would get his 
 answer.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LOVE SPEAKS OUT. 
 
 *It is the most reasonable thing in nature. 
 What can we do but love ? It i? our cup, 
 Love is the cross and passion of the heart, 
 Its end — its errand.' — P. J. Bailey. 
 
 It wfinted but a fortnight to Christmas. The day 
 was Wednesday, the hour three o'clock in the after- 
 noon. Rex for the third time had managed to 
 hobble downstairs, and was now seated deep in an 
 easy-chair in the drawing-room, staring alternately 
 into the fire and through the open windows upon 
 the wintry scene outside. 
 
 Half an hour before someone bad come into the 
 bouse, and in the murmur of voices in the hall he 
 thought he detected the low tones of Evelyn May. 
 He could not be certain, and, indeed, he had to 
 admit to himself that the chances were it was not 
 Evelyn. She was not in the habit of visiting at 
 Elmwood ; there was no affinity between the dressy 
 Misses Rudd and the gentle, sweet-voiced Quaker
 
 LOVE SPEAKS OUT. 95 
 
 maiden ; and Evel3'n was too sincere to make a pre- 
 tence of affection wliere none existed. 
 
 Still, tlie bare possibility of Evelyn being in the 
 house filled Rex with an indescribable unrest. 
 
 ' I wonder if it be she,' he kept saying to himself; 
 * and if it be, I wonder if she will come and see me. 
 And why not ? We have known each other from 
 being children, and she is not of the kind that 
 stand much upon ceremony. Oh, what an age it 
 seems since I sa^ her last ! I would give almost 
 anything for one glimpse of her sweet, pure face !' 
 And he turned from the wintry scene he had been 
 contemplating, and began to stare into the fire. 
 
 Suddenly his heart gave a great bound as a knock 
 fell on the door. 
 
 ' Come in,' he said, with something like a gasp. 
 
 A moment later the door opened, and, turning his 
 head, he saw Julia with her hand still on the door- 
 knob. 
 
 ' Miss May has called to see you, Rex ;' and with 
 that announcement she made way for Evelyn and 
 retreated, closing the door behind her. 
 
 Rex started to his feet in a moment, and stood 
 holding by his chair while Evelyn slowly advanced 
 to greet him. She seemed a little shyer than was 
 her wont, but perhaps she felt that the circum- 
 stances were peculiar, or perhaps — but no, we will 
 not suggest a reason. 
 
 'This is kind of you, Evelyn,' he said, as he 
 stretched out his hand ; and the next moment his
 
 96 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 heart thrilled as the fair, soft hand pressed his 
 own. 
 
 ' I am so glad, Rex, to see you downstairs again,' 
 Evelyn said, with just a faint suggestion of a blush 
 upon her neck and face ; ' you have been a prisoner 
 a long time.' 
 
 ' It has seemed a long time to me,' he answered. 
 * I have grown to be very impatient.' 
 
 ' I do not wonder,' she said. * We have counted 
 the days since you were at our house.' 
 
 * I shall be heartily thankful when I am able to 
 come again,' he said quickly. 
 
 * Not more thankful than we shall be to see you,' 
 she answered ; then turned her head quickly to 
 hide a blush that suddenly mounted to her face. 
 
 ' I am well enough in myself,' he said, after a 
 pause ; ' but these sprained muscles seem to require 
 a lot of rest and coaxing ;' and he tapped his knee 
 playfully. 
 
 ' It seems funny to see you with a crutch by your 
 chair,' she said, after a pause. ' I hope you will be 
 able to do without it soon.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I shall have to use it for some time 
 yet/ he replied ; ' but I intend trying to get out of 
 doors in a day or two.' 
 
 ' You should go for a drive ; I am sure the fresh 
 air would do you lots of good.' 
 
 ' But it's very cold, isn't it ?' he questioned. 
 
 ' Yes, it's cold ; but with plenty of wraps you will 
 take no harm.'
 
 LOVE SPEAKS OUT. 97 
 
 ' I do not know,' he said dubiously ; * I think I 
 shall have to hobble about a bit first.' 
 
 * And when you are able,' she said, with a laugh, 
 * you must hobble to Beechlawn. Now I must be 
 going. I am so glad you are able to get downstairs 
 again.' 
 
 ' Nay, do not go yet,' he said, rising again to his 
 feet. ' Please wait a few moments longer ; I have so 
 many things I want to say to you.' 
 
 * To me ?' she questioned. 
 
 ' Yes, to you, Evelyn. Why not ?' And he sat 
 down again. 
 
 ' Oh, I do not know,' she answered, with averted 
 eyes. ' You used to tell me most things, didn't you ?' 
 
 ' You were my confidante in the years gone by, 
 Evelyn,' he said gravely. ' I think we have grown 
 shy of each other as we have grown older.' 
 
 ' You see, we cannot always be children,' she said 
 archly. 
 
 * No, I suppose not,' he said slowly, as though 
 considering his answer. ' I almost wish we could 
 sometimes. We keep looking forward in the hope 
 of something better ; but I shall begin to think 
 soon that the earliest of life's stages are the 
 pleasantest.' 
 
 * Oh no ! I don't agree with you in that a little 
 bit,' she rephed quickly. ' You are looking at the 
 gloomy side because you have been ill and a 
 prisoner.' 
 
 ' Perhaps so,' he said musingly. • But it was not 
 
 7
 
 ?8 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 of that I wished to speak to you. I wanted to 
 thank you m. the first place for saving my life.' 
 
 ' Who told you, Rex ?' she said with sudden 
 animation. 
 
 ' Why, what does that matter V he answered with 
 a smile. ' It's the truth, isn't it V 
 
 ' I believe I was the first to discover you ; but 
 there is no merit in that.' 
 
 ' Did you hear me call V he asked, eager to 
 prolong the interview, and to have all the story 
 from her lips. 
 
 ' I heard a moan,' she said, * several moans, in 
 fact. I was returning from Thorbrig, where I had 
 been visiting my old people ; and, to tell you the 
 truth, I was dreadfully frightened. I thought a 
 murder had been committed, or something almost 
 equally terrible.' 
 
 * And yet you did not run away, Evelyn.' 
 
 * I believe I started to run,' she answered with a 
 blush ; ' but it seemed such a cowardly thing, and 
 in broad day too, that 1 stook stock-still for several 
 seconds, and then another moan from you decided 
 me.' 
 
 'And you came straight to the spot?' he 
 questioned. 
 
 ' Quite straight,' she answered ; ' and when I saw 
 the broken rail I guessed in a moment what had 
 happened.' 
 
 ' And then you rushed off to Barwich for help,' 
 he said, looking at her steadily.
 
 LOVE SPEAKS OUT. 99 
 
 'I got help as soon as I could/ she answered, 
 looking uneasy ; ' there was nothing else I could do.' 
 
 * But you tried yourself to help me first,' he said. 
 ' I could do nothing for you ; you lay like one 
 
 dead. Indeed, at lirst I thought you were dead.' 
 ' And yet I heard you come, Evelyn.' 
 ' Heard me !' she said, growing suddenly pale. 
 
 * For a long time I lay unconscious,' he replied. 
 ' And then it seemed as though I had a dream. 
 Someone came to me. I heard the noise of falling 
 pebbles as someone clambered down the slope.' 
 
 ' And what else ?' she asked quicldy, growing, if 
 possible, paler than before. 
 
 ' Ah, Evelyn, that is what I have tried to recall 
 over and over again. I thought I heard your voice 
 saying, " Rex, what is the matter ?" I tried to 
 move, to speak, then all became a blank again.' 
 
 Evelyn drew a sigh of relief 
 
 ' Yes, I did come to you,' she said after a pause ; 
 * but all that I could do was to get you into a little 
 more comfortable position.' 
 
 * But for you I should have died,' he said slowly. 
 
 * It has been a pleasure to me to have rendered 
 you any service,' she answered with averted eyes. 
 
 ' I have only one regret,' he said. 
 
 * And that ?' 
 
 ' That the life was not better worth the saving.* 
 
 ' Oh, Rex ' she began. 
 
 *Nay, do not answer me,' he went on, 'for I 
 have much more I want to say to you. I have 
 
 7-2
 
 100 REX RA YNOR, A R TIS T. 
 
 hoped a great deal during tlie last month or two 
 — ay, and despaired a great deal also. But I will 
 not trouble you with the one or the other till you 
 have answered me a single question. I have no 
 right to ask it, perhaps, but I cannot help myself. 
 The question is this: Are you engaged to Stuart 
 Leslie ?' 
 
 In a moment she was on her feet ; but she did 
 not get angry ; for a second or two she looked 
 at him steadily, then burst into a low peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 ' Why, Rex,' she said, ' what can have led you to 
 ask such a question ?' 
 
 ' I saw you together,' he muttered. 
 
 * Well, you and I have been together often,' she 
 answered with a laugh. 
 
 ' Then he is not your lover ?' he questioned with 
 a sigh of relief. 
 
 ' Of course he is not,' she answered. 
 
 ' Then I will speak,' he said passionately. * Nay, 
 Evelyn, you shall not go till you have heard me. 
 You must have guessed by this how I love you. I 
 came to tell you the last time I was at your house. 
 I should have told you, only he came and prevented 
 me. I loved you then — no words can tell how 
 much — but since you saved my life I think my love 
 has increased a hundredfold.' 
 
 He had risen to his feet and taken both her 
 hands in his. She did not attempt to draw them 
 away, and that gave him courage to proceed. Her
 
 " I uiil\' a-k voii Iw l;1\c iiic .i woiil ul hope. 
 
 P. lOI.
 
 LOVE SPEAKS OUT. 101 
 
 eyes were bent upon the floor, he saw her lips 
 tremble. 
 
 ' Oh, Evelyn,' he went on, * you have become all 
 the world to me, and more than all the world. But 
 for the hope of winning you, I should wish you had 
 left me alone to die. I do not ask you to say you 
 love me now. I only ask you to give me a word 
 of hope — to say you are not altogether indifferent 
 to me.' 
 
 ' Oh, Rex,' she said, suddenly raising her eyes to 
 his, ' how can I be indifferent to you ?' 
 
 * Then you do care just a Httle ?' he said, his 
 heart giving a great throb of joy. 
 
 * I care a great deal,' she answered with beautiful 
 candour ; ' I have always cared for you.' 
 
 ' My darling !' he murmured ; the next moment 
 her beautiful head rested upon his shoulder, and 
 he was covering her shining hair with passionate 
 kisses. 
 
 How long they stood thus neither of them knew, 
 but Evelyn drew herself away at length, and said, 
 with a blush, * Oh, Rex, what will people think V 
 
 'That I am the luckiest fellow on earth,' he 
 answered, laughing. 
 
 ' Nay, no flattery, please,' she said, placing her 
 hand upon his mouth ; and for answer he caught 
 her in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 Then they grew serious again, while she sat on 
 the arm of his chair, her hand firmly clasped in his, 
 and for the best part of an hour they talked of the
 
 102 R EX KA TNOR, A R TIST. 
 
 past and of the future. They had so much to say 
 to each other, so many experiences to relate, so 
 many plans to discuss. 
 
 Oh, those first moments of courtship ! Is there 
 bliss on earth half so sweet ? The wintry day died 
 swiftly over the hills, but they did not heed the 
 gathering darkness. The two J.'s came more than 
 once to the drawing-room door and severely com- 
 mented upon the young people's conduct. But 
 Rex and Evelyn were blissfully indifferent. 
 
 At length, however, the servant came to light the 
 lamp, and then Evelyn, with many blushes, rushed 
 away, and Rex was left to his dreams.
 
 CHAPTER XI I. 
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 
 
 For she bath lived with heart and soul alive 
 To all that makes life beautiful and fair ; 
 
 Sweet thoughts, like honey bees, have made their hive 
 Of her soft bosom cell, and cluster there.' — Welby. 
 
 The next three months of his life, Rex looked back 
 upon in after-years as upon a beautiful dream — a 
 dream too sweet to last, too blissful to end in any- 
 thing but an abrupt and painful awakening. Yet 
 he never regretted having had the dream. It was 
 something to be cherished in the memory, to be 
 dreamed over again a thousand times. For a little 
 space his hfe had been enriched, had been made 
 beautiful with peace and hope and a strong, pure 
 love. In his desert march he had lighted upon a 
 green oasis, where palm-trees grew and wells over- 
 flowed their banks, and for three happy months 
 and more he had lain in the grateful shadow of the 
 trees, listening to the music of the winds and the 
 rippling of the streams. He had known no care in
 
 104 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 that happy time. He thought the desert way was 
 ended, that he had found his paradise, and that for 
 the rest of hfe's journey Love would light the way, 
 and loneliness he would know no more. 
 
 Then came the rude awakening. He was out in 
 the desert again, and alone. The green oasis had 
 vanished, all the joy had gone out of his heart, 
 and before him was a dark and lonely way, leading 
 he knew not whither. 
 
 Rex himself could have filled a volume with the 
 story of those three months. Every day brought 
 some new pleasure as well as some pleasant duty. 
 He recovered his strength in an incredibly short 
 space of time, and by Christmas Eve was able to 
 undertake the short journey to Beechlawn, where he 
 received a welcome that would have satisfied the 
 most exacting lover, and where his artistic talent 
 was at once brought into requisition in decorating 
 the rooms. 
 
 He was still too lame to do any climbing, but he 
 could ' boss the rest,' as he tersely put it. Several 
 London cousins had come down to spend Christmas 
 with the Mays, girls full of fun and mischief, who 
 made no end of sport over Rex's crutch, but were 
 delightful girls all the same. 
 
 Rex felt a little bit shy at first, but in five 
 minutes he was quite at home with them, and was 
 able to return their banter with interest. Mrs. 
 May received him with a motherly kiss, and gave 
 him her blessing.
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 105 
 
 ' You have always seemed like my boy, Rex,' she 
 said ; 'now you are to be my son indeed.' 
 
 ' And you are to be my mother,' he replied, 
 kissing her yet unwrinkled forehead. 
 
 ' Nothing could have pleased me better, Rex,' she 
 went on. ' I have known you since you were a baby, 
 and I am not afraid to trust my little girl's happi- 
 ness with you.' 
 
 Rex's eyes filled. ' I will do my best to make her 
 happy,' he said after a pause ; ' for she is dearer to 
 me than my life.' 
 
 ' I know it, Rex, and so I have not had a 
 moment's misgiving fiom the first. But here comes 
 the young puss, so I will run away, for I suppose 
 you will want to be together.' 
 
 Of course they wanted to be together, though 
 neither said so. Yet Evelyn was never unmindful 
 of the claims of her guests, nor would Rex selfishly 
 monopolize all her time. A blissful five minutes of 
 billing and cooing, and then they marched off into 
 the drawing-room, Rex leaning heavily on Evelyn's 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' It's worth being lame to have such a crutch,' he 
 said playfully, and for answer she gave him one of 
 her happy smiles. 
 
 In the drawing-room he appropriated a big chair 
 in the centre of the room, from which point of 
 vantage he directed operations. 
 
 Of course Evelyn found an excuse for coming 
 near him every few minutes. The arm of his chair
 
 106 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 seemed a capital point for studying effects, as well 
 as a convenient seat, while he — happy fellow ! — 
 seemed always more prolific in suggestions when 
 she was near him than at any other time. 
 
 What a blissful evening that was ! How full of 
 hope and promise ! No shadow of coming events fell 
 upon their lives ; no foreboding was in their hearts. 
 They had only one regret, and that was that the 
 evening came to an end so soon. 
 
 ' Never mind, Rex,' Evelyn said, v/hen they parted 
 at the door, and he was complaining of the shortness 
 of the evening ; ' we shall meet again to-morrow.' 
 
 So the days followed each other in blissful suc- 
 cession. Nearly every evening he found his way 
 to Beechlawn, and Evelyn, with a glad light in her 
 eyes, was always on the look-out for his coming. 
 
 The news of their engagement was received as a 
 matter of course. Everybody said that no two 
 young people could be better fitted for each other. 
 Everybody but Stuart Leslie, who bit his lip and 
 said nothing. 
 
 Jonas Brown received the announcement with 
 perfect indifference. Indeed, it is to be questioned 
 if he quite understood what it meant. He muttered 
 some commonplace to the effect that ' he thought 
 Rex would suit the gal very well,' and then the 
 subject ended. Mrs. lirown and the two J.'s pro- 
 fessed to be delighted. 
 
 * We shall get him off our hands now,' Mrs. 
 Brown said, with a bland smile.
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 107 
 
 ' And a very good riddance,' remarked Julia. 
 
 ' I suppose pa will have to make him partner,' 
 said Joyce. 
 
 * Or an allowance,' sugc^ested Julia. 
 
 ' Trust that to me,' said Mrs. Brown, with a toss 
 of her statel}'^ head. ' I think I know my position.^ 
 
 ' It's wonderful how you have managed pa,' said 
 Joyce, with a laugh. ' He never flails up now.' 
 
 ' He knows better,' Mrs. Brown remarked — a 
 statement which contained a measure of truth, but 
 which was not the whole truth. 
 
 Rex saw with pain the change that had come 
 over the man he called his father. He was no 
 longer the careful, cautious, far-seeing man he used 
 to be. On the contrary, he had become indifferent ; 
 nay more, in some things, he was reckless and 
 extravagant. There was a time when wine was a 
 luxury he rarely allowed himself; now it was evi- 
 dent to ever3'one that he was taking far more than 
 was good for him, and under its influence he often 
 did very foolish things. But how to check him and 
 lead him back to better ways was a problem Rex 
 tried in vain to solve. 
 
 With the beginning of the new year Rex took up 
 his lectures again at the Mechanics' Institute, and 
 further enlarged the scope of his labour by con- 
 iucting a Bible-class on Sunday afternoons. This 
 was in large measure forced upon him. He found 
 that many of his young men were growing, or had 
 grown, sceptical in relation tc religious matters, and
 
 108 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 were disposed sometimes to speak slightingly of the 
 Bible. This Rex could not tolerate, and yet purely 
 religious teaching did not come within the scope of 
 his week-evening lectures. 
 
 ' I don't know what to do,' he said to Evel3ni one 
 evening, for he confided all his plans to her now, 
 and sought her advice in almost everj^hing. ' I 
 have often read passages and chapters out of the 
 Bible when I wanted to illustrate some particular 
 subject. But evidently something more definite is 
 required if some of them are to be saved from 
 infidelity.' 
 
 * Why not have a Bible-class on Sunday after- 
 noons ?' she said. ' I am sure a great many of 
 them would come.' 
 
 * Are you serious, Evelyn ?' he questioned, look- 
 ing at her with loving eyes. 
 
 ' Quite serious. Rex.' 
 
 * I don't know,' he mused ; ' I have done my best to 
 try to persuade them to go to church or chapel, but 
 they seem to have no inclination in that direction.' 
 
 * And yet they flock to hear Mr. Wilshaw, the 
 infidel lecturer, when he comes.' 
 
 ' Yes, that is what grieves me.' 
 
 ' Then, Rex, you ought to supply an antidote to 
 the poison. I am sure you could if you tried — 
 they all respect you so much.' 
 
 * Yes, they respect me, I know. But to set my- 
 self up as a teacher when I so need to be taught 
 seems almost absurd,'
 
 LOVE AND DUTY. 109 
 
 ' Nay, Rex, you have known the Bible from a 
 child, and what you don't know you can learn.' 
 
 * Well, then, I have nearly everything to learn,' 
 he said with a laugh. 
 
 *No, no!' she replied. 'You do yourself an in- 
 justice. Your duty lies in that direction, and if 
 you do your best, God will help you,' 
 
 ' Will you come and keep me in countenance if 
 I make the attempt ?' he questioned after a long 
 pause. 
 
 * Yes, Rex, I will even do that,' she said, with a 
 beautiful light shining in her eyes. 
 
 ' Then I will make the attempt, Evelyn ; and may 
 God help me !' 
 
 So it came about that Rex hired a room for his 
 Sunday Bible-class ; and, as Evelyn prophesied, the 
 young men rallied round him in a way that was 
 almost an astonishment to him. Many came out 
 of curiosity at first, others to air their doubts, some 
 to oppose. 
 
 But Rex had the happy knack of making every 
 subject interesting. No class could be dull while 
 he was at the head. But apart from his skill as a 
 teacher, the theme itself was so majestic, so full of 
 interest, so responsive to the needs of the human 
 heart, that the attention of his young men was 
 easily caught and easily kept. Many of them had 
 never made any real attempt to read the Bible 
 before, and were surprised at its wonderful charm. 
 Its rich majestic English, its glowing imagery, its
 
 110 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 hoary traditions, its glimpses of an unseen life, its 
 championship of the right and the true, its denunci- 
 ations of impurity and falsehood and oppression, its 
 response to the heart's deepest longings, its revela- 
 tion of the unchan<?in«' love of Gad, all tended to 
 check irreverence, and to awaken an interest that 
 would outlive the hour. 
 
 Rex did not puzzle himself or them over 
 doctrinal subtilties. He left the exposition of 
 creeds to the clergy. His business was to apply 
 the ethics of the New Testament to the every-day 
 life of his young men. He made an earnest effort 
 to teach them to be pure and honest and truthful, 
 to inculcate a love of virtue and honour and 
 chivalry ; nor was the effort a vain one. 
 
 In Evelyn he found a splendid helper. She 
 entered into his plans with a zest and enthusiasm 
 that were quite ususual with her. She seemed to 
 have found a new interest in life, and all the future 
 was bright with hope. 
 
 Oh, the bliss of those months ! She still visited 
 her poor at Thorbrig ; but she had no longer to 
 return alone, and the way was always too short 
 which before had seemed so lonsf. But events were 
 ripening rapidly, and the trouble which was surely 
 coming could not be much longer delayed.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE SECRET OUT. 
 
 'Let me clasp again j'our fingers : 
 There — I press them to my lips ; 
 Mine are thin with all this watching. 
 How Time's sand too glibly slips 1 
 Mine were warmer when my fancies 
 Felt the fever's dire eclipse.' — Kent. 
 
 It was near the end of March. The day had been 
 bright and fine, though the wind still lingered in 
 the east, and the buds and flowers, in spite of the 
 sunshine, held back waiting for warmer weather. 
 Rex was on his way to Beechlawn, but being before 
 his time, he walked with slower steps than usual. 
 In front of him, and walking even more slowly 
 than himself, was a woman ; evidently she was 
 waiting for something or someone, and, like him- 
 self, was whiling time away. Rex slackened his 
 pace, but he still gained upon her. She seemed to 
 be scarcely moving at all. At length she stood 
 still and turned half round, as though something 
 on the opposite side of the road had attracted her 
 attention.
 
 112 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 Rex felt his curiosity aroused. Who was she? 
 Why did she linger ? What did she want ? Was 
 she waiting for him ? Something in her appear- 
 ance, too, attracted his attention. The style and 
 material of her attire did not harmonize. Her 
 dress was of common stuff, and yet it was well and 
 fashionably made. Her mantle was thin enough 
 for summer wear, but neat and well fitting. Evi- 
 dently she was someone in reduced circumstances. 
 She knew how to dress, but had not the means to 
 purchase what she needed. 
 
 As Rex got nearer, he noticed that her face did 
 not lack refinement, though it seemed hardened 
 with suffering and care. There was a dignity, too, 
 in her can-iage and bearing that was not without 
 its influence upon him. 
 
 Rex was on the other side of the road, but she 
 came across as he drew near, and stopped in front 
 of him. 
 
 'You are Rex Brown,' she said with a gasp. 
 Rex looked at her for a moment without replying. 
 He was puzzled at her very evident agitation. 
 
 * That is my name,' he said, ' but you have * 
 
 'I hope you will pardon my speaking to you,' 
 she interrupted, bringing out the words in jerks ; 
 * but I knew you in a moment, though I have not 
 seen you for many years. Oh, so many and such 
 long weary years ; but I could keep away no longer.' 
 
 ' Excuse me,' said Rex, with a puzzled look on 
 his handsome face, ' but I do not understand.'
 
 THE SECRET OUT. 113 
 
 ' No ; of course you do not,' she replied, placing 
 her hand on her side. 'And you will think me 
 very rude. But if you will only hear me out.' The 
 last words were in very pleading tones. 
 
 * If you will be brief, I shall be glad to hear what 
 you have to say/ Rex replied in as kindly tones as 
 possible. 
 
 ' Oh, I know you will be impatient, for you are 
 going to Beechlawn. But I have a claim upon you 
 as well as Evelyn May.' 
 
 ' What do you know of Evelyn May, and who are 
 you V he demanded, starting back a pace or two. 
 
 ' Oh, please don't be angry,' she said, her eyes 
 filling. * It is so hard to say what I have come to 
 say, and 3'-et I am driven to it.* 
 
 ' Then say on,' he said sternly. 
 
 ' Nay, do not speak to me like that,' she said, 
 with a sudden hardening of the face; 'for I am 
 your mother.' 
 
 Eex started as though he had been shot, then 
 stood staring at her in speechless astonishment. 
 
 * Ah, you may well be astonished,' she continued, 
 * and yet it is the truth I speak. I am Jane 
 Raynor ; you have heard of me often, and how I 
 nursed Jonas Brown's baby along with my own, 
 and how my baby died and was buried at the 
 banker's expense.' 
 
 'Yes,' he said, with a bewildered look in his 
 eyes ; * I have often heard the story.' 
 
 * Ah, well ' she went on, * I told a falsehood and 
 
 8
 
 114 MEX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 deceived them all. It was the Squire's child that 
 died.' 
 
 * And how am I to know that you are not telling 
 a falsehood now, and trying to deceive me V he 
 demanded. 
 
 ' Jonas Brown's baby had a birth-mark ; Dr. 
 Moffat will describe it to you. If you are his son, 
 you will have the mark.' 
 
 Rex bit his lip and looked at her in silence. He 
 knew he had no mark upon him. Moreover, he 
 had a conviction that she was telling the truth. A 
 terrible truth it was, but the truth, nevertheless. 
 
 ' And why, having kept the secret all these 
 years, have you come now to wreck my life ?' he 
 asked at length, in a voice which he tried in vain 
 to steady. 
 
 ' To wreck your life ? No !' she said eagerly. 
 * Have 1 not suffered for years for your sake, that 
 you might be educated and brought up like a 
 gentleman ? All I ask now is that, if you believe 
 I am your mother, you will help me. You are 
 rich, and we are, oh, so poor, and my husband — 
 your father — is ill in bed.' 
 
 * But do you think I can be a party to this 
 deception V he demanded sternly. ' Can I call 
 myself Rex Brown when I know it is not my 
 name, and live at Elmwood when I know I am an 
 interloper ' 
 
 * And why not ?' she said eagerly. * You are 
 wronging no one. You are keeping no one out of
 
 THE SECRET OUT. 115 
 
 his rights. When I gave you up I did what I 
 thought was for the best. I give you up still. I 
 only ask that in our poverty you will help us.' 
 
 * And you have told me this to show you have a 
 claim upon me V he questioned. 
 
 ' I have always hoped that you would help us, 
 she said. 
 
 * But you have not calculated on my refusal to 
 be a party to such deception.' 
 
 * I never dreamed for a moment you would wish 
 it otherwise,' she said. * Would you give up all 
 your prospects in life, give up the girl you are 
 going to marry, and hold up your own mother to 
 contempt and obloquy V 
 
 ' I never thought of you,' he said, with downcast 
 eyes. 
 
 ■' I was sorely tried,' she went on after a long 
 pause, and with a look in her eyes which clearly 
 betokened that her thoughts were back in the past. 
 * We were very poor, and I had to decide so quickly. 
 It nearly broke my heart to give you up, but it 
 seemed the best — the best for poor Mrs. Brown, 
 whose life was wrapped u p in her baby ; the best 
 for us, for we could barely feed the mouths we had ; 
 and the best for you, for you would be sure of a 
 home and plenty.' 
 
 * The best for me,' he said passionately. * Oh, 
 heaven, I know not,' 
 
 ' Perhaps I ought not to have told you,' she said, 
 wringing her hands. * And yet how could I claim 
 
 8—2
 
 116 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 help of you unless you knew ; and help we must 
 have or starve.' 
 
 * I would have helped you anyhow,' he said, with 
 eyes still bent upon the ground. *And perhaps, 
 after all, it is best I should know.' 
 
 * No harm need come of your knowing, anyhow,* 
 she said. *And, oh, the telling has eased my 
 heart! The secret has been a weary burden all 
 these years.' 
 
 ' I fear it will be a weary burden to me also,' he 
 answered. ' And yet it must be right that I should 
 know.^ 
 
 ' Oh, I am glad you do not think I have done 
 wrong in telling you.' 
 
 ' I do not know where the wrong ends and the 
 right begins,' he said after a pause. * But I must 
 have time to think.' 
 
 ' I will not see you again if you wish me to keep 
 away,' she replied. ' If you would send us a little 
 help now and then, I would try to be satisfied.' 
 
 ' Where are you living ?' he asked abruptly. 
 
 ' Down on the Welsh coast,' she said, ' in a little 
 fishing village called Aberfae ; several other artists 
 are there. I think that was the attraction to my 
 husband. Ah me! we have sometimes wanted 
 bread.' 
 
 * I am very sorry,' he said slowly ; ' very sorry — 
 I will come and see you soon. If your story is true, 
 it is right I should know my father.' 
 
 ' Oh, but he must never know !' she said in
 
 THE SECRET OUT 117 
 
 terriried tones. ' I could not bear that he should 
 know I had deceived him all these years.* 
 
 Rex groaned. The situation became more and 
 more complicated every moment. Only one thing 
 was clear — life could never be the same again. 
 That fatal secret changed everything. A few 
 minutes ago he was the happiest man alive ; now 
 he was the most miserable: the terrible truth he 
 had heard from this woman's lips had laid a burden 
 upon him almost too great to be borne. 
 
 He took his purse out of his pocket at length, 
 and handed it to her. 
 
 ' You will find sufficient there to last you a week 
 or two,' he said. 'And in the meanwhile I will 
 consider what is to be done.' 
 
 ' But you will promise not to divulge my secret ?' 
 she questioned eagerly. * I have always tried to 
 do right ; and if in this thing I did wrong, I thought 
 1 was doing for the best.' 
 
 For a moment or two he looked at her steadily. 
 And in those moments his heart unconsciously 
 went out to her. He could not doubt, as he looked 
 at her, that she was his mother. And if she had 
 done wrong, she had done it for his sake, and had 
 paid a bitter penalty for many years. 
 
 ' I will not blame you,' he said pityingly ; ' but I 
 cannot make any such promise as you ask. You 
 have told me the secret of your own free wilL I 
 may think it right and best to divulge it.' 
 
 * Oh, no, no ; for my sake do not,' she pleaded ;
 
 118 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' I never thoiiglit for a moment you would entertain 
 such an idea.' 
 
 ' I am of age now,' he rcphed, ' and must be left 
 to decide on my own course of action.' 
 
 ' But, surely, you will not disgrace me and ruin 
 yourself ?* she answered quickly. ' Of what account 
 would be all my suffering and scheming and wait- 
 ing, if you gave up the position I placed you in ? 
 Think of it ; think what you would lose. Think of 
 the disgrace and humiliation. Think how 3'ou 
 would turn my husband against me for practising 
 this deception during so many years. And think, 
 too, that nothing could possibly be gained by your 
 telling.' 
 
 'I will think,' he said, turning away from her 
 fierce and pleading eyes. 'Now go away. Can 
 you reach Aberfae to-night ?' 
 
 ' Yes. Though it will be very late before I get 
 there.' 
 
 ' Then go away — you shall see me or hear from 
 me soon. Is that enough ?' 
 
 For answer, she took his hand and kissed it, 
 then turned and walked hurriedly away.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 UNCERTAINTY. 
 
 * That shadowy consciousness will ateai 
 O'er every scene of fond desire, 
 Linger in laughter's gayest peal, 
 And close each cadence of the lyre.' 
 
 Earl of Carlisle. 
 
 Evelyn could not understand her lover that 
 evening, he was so unlike his' usual self. When at 
 his best, Rex was a splendid conversationalist — 
 bright, witty, sparkling. On most evenings he had 
 some bit of news to tell or plan to discuss. But 
 to-night he sat moody and silent, with a far-away 
 look in his eyes, which Evelyn was quick to notice 
 but slow to understand. Rex did his best to 
 appear as usual, but the attempt was a sorry 
 failure. Try as he would, the words he had heard 
 that evening haunted him and would not leave 
 him for a single moment, while ever before him 
 was that pale, careworn face, telling of long years 
 of longing and suffering for his sake. 
 
 Once or twice he got up from his chair and
 
 120 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 shook himself, as though he would banish from his 
 memory some painful dream. 
 
 At length Evelyn could keep silent no longer. 
 * What is the matter with you, Rex ?' she said, with 
 a touch of anxiety in her tone. 
 
 He started and coloured slightly, then answered 
 slowly : * I hardly I:now, Evelyn ; I am scarcely 
 myself to-night.' 
 
 She had been sitting at the piano, but she got 
 up from her seat and came and stood by his chair, 
 and placed her soft white hand upon his forehead. 
 
 ' Oh, Rex,' she said, ' you are quite hot and 
 feverish. I hope you are not going to be ill.' 
 
 *I hope not,' he answered absently; hut he 
 shivered under her touch as though he had been 
 smitten with ague. 
 
 ' I am sure you are quite ill,' she said quickly. 
 ' Oh, Rex, why did you not say so ? Let me call 
 mother.' 
 
 ' No, no,' he replied, colouring more deeply than 
 before. * I shall be all right again soon. Don't 
 alarm yourself, Evelyn.' 
 
 ' How can I help being alarmed, Rex, when I see 
 you so poorly ?' 
 
 * My darling,' he whispered, while the tears 
 welled up suddenly into his eyes. 
 
 She laid her soft cheek against his hot forehead 
 for answer, while her hand sought his and nestled 
 in its firm grasp. 
 
 For several minutes they remained thus — minutes
 
 UNCERTAINTY. 121 
 
 which should have been to Rex full of purest bliss, 
 but which were in reality crowded with an un- 
 speakable pain. He felt like a hypocrite and a 
 liar. He was making love to this beautiful girl 
 under false pretences. He had no right to be in 
 this house at all — no right to be in the town. He 
 was not Rex Brown, the banker's son, and the heir 
 of Elmwood. He was the son of an unknown 
 painter, a child of poverty and toil. 
 
 And over his neck and face swept hot blushes of 
 pain and shame and humiliation. Should he 
 throw himself at Evelyn's feet and confess all ? 
 Tell her all the story he had heard that night, and 
 then leave her if she wished it, never to see her 
 face again ? 
 
 Was it prudence that whispered, 'Say nothing 
 yet. Wait till you are certain. You may have been 
 deceived. Act with caution and bide your time V 
 
 So he waited, and tried his best to quiet Evelyn's 
 fears by assuring her that though he was a little 
 out of sorts he was not really ill. 
 
 He left Beechlawn much earlier than usual, glad 
 for the first time in his life to escape its warm 
 atmosphere and to get into the open air. Oat 
 under the pale stars he felt less like a hypocrite 
 and an impostor than when by Evelyn's side. Yet 
 how changed the world was ! That brief story to 
 which he had listened had transformed everything. 
 He felt, with a bitter sense of loss and pain, that 
 life could never be again as it had been. This cruel
 
 122 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 secret was like a stone upon his heart : it seemed to 
 chill his very blood and clog all his energies. 
 
 In the road where that strange meeting had 
 taken place, a few hours before, he paused and 
 looked round him. No one was near; overhead, 
 the stars burned brightly, and in the tall bare trees 
 the keen wind wailed dolorously. 
 
 ' I wonder if it was all a dream V he said to him- 
 self. ' Suppose T leaned there against that bank 
 and fell asleep for a moment and dreamed it all. 
 Such things have happened. Am I dreaming 
 now ?' And he rubbed his eyes to make sure. 
 
 The next moment he started and turned pale, as 
 an owl flew swiftly past him, with heavy flapping 
 wings, and vanished in the darkness. 
 
 * I believe I am growing morbid and super- 
 stitious,' he mattered. ' I had better get home and 
 to bed as quickly as possible.' 
 
 Then he started again. 'Home,' he said; 'I 
 have no home. At least, not here. I am an 
 interloper and a usurper. Oh, heavens, that I 
 should have lived to see this day !' 
 
 It was far on into the morning before he got a 
 wink of sleep, and even when slumber did seal his 
 eyelids it failed to refresh him, so full was it of 
 painful and distressing dreams. One thing, how- 
 ever, he resolved to do before he fell asleep, and 
 that was to consult Dr. Moffat at the earhest 
 opportunity and ascertain the truth or falsehood of 
 the birth-mark story. • If the doctor says Mrs
 
 UNCERTAINTY. 123 
 
 Brown's bab}^ bad a birth-mark,' he said to himself, 
 ' then I shall know she has spoken the truth. If, 
 however, he knows nothing about it, then I shall 
 know she has been deceiving me and levying 
 blackmail.' 
 
 Yet when morning came he felt much less 
 anxious to see the doctor. In his heart he 
 believed the story he had heard, yet until it was 
 confirmed by the doctor, he argued, there was room 
 for reasonable doubt, and with this doubt he tried 
 to satisfy his conscience. 
 
 ' It would be very foolish of me,' he said to him- 
 self, over and over again, 'to accept the uncon- 
 firmed story of a strange woman. Likely enough 
 it is a pure fabrication, int(^ided only to get money 
 out of me.' 
 
 Yet in his heart he felt all the while that the 
 story was true enough. He understood now his 
 unlikeness to Jonas Brown, and to the woman he 
 had once called his mother. He understood also 
 from whence came his artistic gift. He was the 
 son of a painter, and that explained everything. 
 
 But the days sped on and he did not go near 
 Dr. Moffat. Then he heard that the doctor had 
 gone away for a week or two, and he drew a sigh 
 of rehef. At last there was a Uttle respite. He 
 could not act untd he knew, and he could not know 
 until the doctor returned, so he locked the secret 
 in his heart, and tried to appear as usual ; but it was 
 very diflBcult.
 
 124 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 His Sunday-afternoon class tried him terribly. 
 He had been trying for months past to inculcate a 
 pure and noble morality; had insisted that right 
 should be done and truth spoken regardless of 
 consequences. Now the advice he had given 
 seemed to stick in his throat. How easy it was to 
 preach, how difficult it was to practise ! 
 
 If the members of his class knew, he thought, 
 how they would discount his teaching ! Nay, they 
 would even despise him, while Evelyn would 
 spurn him from her side as an unprincipled pre- 
 tender. 
 
 He felt after awhile that he was losing moral 
 stamina and force. He was acting a part to the 
 detriment of his moral nature. The very effort to 
 hide his feelings, to appear to be other than he 
 was, inflicted damage upon him which he was early 
 conscious of. 
 
 Yet what could he do ? He seemed sliding down 
 a steep acclivity without power to restrain himself, 
 or even to check the rate of his descent. His 
 courage seemed to be steadily evaporating, while 
 the more he thought of what the exposure meant, 
 the more he shrank from confirming the truth. 
 
 Evelyn grew daily more perplexed at his 
 demeanour. Fits of abstraction were followed by 
 fits of almost boisterous mirth. His very effort 
 to appear natural made him appear unnatural. 
 Sometimes he would sit for an hour on the stretch 
 staring into vacancy ; then he would start up with
 
 UNCERTAINTY. 125 
 
 a bewildered look in his eyes, and an uneasy feeling 
 of impending danger in his heart. 
 
 Once or twice Evelyn had said to him in 
 beseeching tones, ' Do tell me what is the matter, 
 Eex ;' but he had replied that he was all right, with 
 such a pained look in his eyes that she forbore at 
 length to ask any more questions, though she stored 
 up all these things in her heart, and brooded over 
 them in silence and with many misgivings. 
 
 As the days dragged on their slow lengths, Tex 
 felt that his life had become a martyrdom. He 
 began to feel that he had acted weakly and 
 foolishly ; that he should have proved the truth or 
 falsehood of the story at the very beginning ; that 
 by delaying he was making his path increasingly 
 diflScult. Moreover, the one doubt that existed in 
 the case was no comfort to him at all; on the 
 contrary, it was a pain, and a source of uneasiness 
 and unrest. He became anxious for Dr. Moffat's 
 return, and impatient at his delay. 
 
 ' I will know the truth as soon as he returns,' he 
 said to himself; 'and if he confirms her story, 
 why, then ' 
 
 But he left the sentence unfinished. In truth, 
 he had not decided how he would act in such 
 an event. He would wait till the time came. 
 There was just a possibility the story might be a 
 fabrication, and while that possibility existed he 
 would decide nothing. 
 
 After an absence of ten days, Dr. Moffat returned
 
 126 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 again to Barwich. Rex saw him driving home 
 from the station one evening as he was hurrying 
 to his class at the Mechanics' Institute. 
 
 'I will know the truth to-night,' he said to 
 himself, growing very pale, and turning almost 
 sick at the thought. 'Anything is better than 
 this uncertainty.' 
 
 It could not be said that his address to his 
 young men that evening was a success. It was 
 heavy, laboured, and lacking in lucidity. Its one 
 redeeming feature was brevity. 
 
 ' I am not at all well,' he said by way of apology, 
 * so you must excuse a longer address to-night.' 
 
 And then, as soon as possible, he hurried away 
 through the streets to learn the truth from the lips 
 of the kindly old doctor.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF. 
 
 * Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, 
 And fondly broods with miser's care '. 
 Time but the impression deeper makes, 
 As streams their channels deeper wear.' 
 
 Bums. 
 
 When Rex returned to Elm wood an hour later he 
 knew the worst. He had consulted Dr. Moffat 
 ostensibly on the ground of his general health and 
 a lingering weakness in his knee. But it was easy 
 to drift into a talk about old times, and by a few 
 judicious questions, skilfully put, all the truth 
 came out. 
 
 The old doctor was growing garrulous, and 
 nothing pleased him better than a talk about the 
 past. 
 
 'I suppose I must be getting old,' he said; 
 ' though in some respects I feel as young as ever — 
 ay, as young as ever; but the sight of so many 
 strapping young fellows about me, whom I knew 
 as babies, makes me feel that 1 must be getting on ;
 
 128 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 not a very pleasant feeling, Rex, but one has to 
 submit — has to submit.' 
 
 * Yes, I suppose so,' Rex answered slowly. 
 
 * Ah, boy, you know nothing about it — nothing 
 about it. You have life and the world all before 
 you, and a pleasant prospect you have ; at least, I 
 should think so if I stood in your shoes.' 
 
 ' Yes, the prospect is not bad,' Rex said with a 
 slight shrug of his shoulders. 
 
 •Not bad? I should think not. The heir of 
 Elmwood marrying the loveliest girl for twenty 
 miles round ! Bless my soul and body, I almost 
 envy you ! What does your father say about it ?' 
 
 'Not very much. He isn't much given to 
 talking ; at least, to me. You know we're not 
 much alike.' 
 
 'Much alike, no. There isn't a single point of 
 likeness. Though that's not much to trouble 
 about — eh ? You're like your mother.' 
 
 'But for her, people might doubt my identity!' 
 Rex said with a laugh. 
 
 * Yes, yes ; but you've always an answer in that 
 birth-mark, Rex. Convenient things sometimes, 
 when they don't disfigure.' 
 
 ' You remember it, then ?' Rex said, looking the 
 old doctor straight in the eyes. 
 
 ' Remember it ? Well, rather. Little things of 
 that sort I never forget. In some instances my 
 memory has come in handy in such things. Let 
 me give you a case in point.'
 
 HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF. 129 
 
 And the old doctor rambled away into a 
 seemingly interminable story, which Rex had great 
 difficulty in following ; and when it was finished ho 
 rose quietly and took his departure. 
 
 Home through the quiet and almost deserted 
 streets he walked, with slow and uncertain steps. 
 Sometimes he felt half disposed never to enter 
 Elmwood again. He might go away under cover 
 of the night and lose himself in some out-of-the- 
 way place, dropping the name he had borne so 
 long and starting life afresh. 
 
 In time the old life might seem to him like a 
 dream, and grow gradually more shadowy and 
 indistinct, till he might be able to think of it 
 without pain, and without any sense of loss. 
 
 Then the vision of Evelyn's pure and lovely face 
 came up before him, and scattered the half-formed 
 purpose like dust before a storm. Elmwood he 
 might give up, and the fortune to which he was 
 supposed to be heir; but to root the love out of 
 his heart, and hide in silence from her who was 
 more to him than life, that was impossible. 
 
 So he crept quietly into the house as though he 
 had been a thief, and slowly mounted the stairs to 
 his own room. Here he found the gas turned low, 
 and a cheerful fire crackling in the grate. For Rex 
 was a favourite with all the servants, and so was 
 never neglected under any pretence. 
 
 He locked the door as soon as he got into the 
 room, and turned up the gas, then stood for a long 
 
 9
 
 130 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 time on the hearthrug looking round him. It was 
 a den that any bachelor might be proud to own. 
 Choice rugs lay on the floor, choice paintings and 
 etchings adorned the walls, choice books filled the 
 shelves. On tables and brackets were bits of 
 sculpture, and bric-a-brac of all descriptions ; while 
 drawings of his own, which revealed a true artist's 
 skill, stood on easels in different parts of the room. 
 
 Over the mantelpiece was a portrait of Evelyn, 
 which he had only just finished, and which was, in 
 its way, a gem in portraiture. It had been to him 
 a labour of love, but he had thrown into it as well 
 all his skill, and the result was satisfactory from 
 every point of view. Indeed, it came nearer satis- 
 fying Rex — and he was hard to please — than 
 anything he had ever done before. 
 
 As his eye fell upon one pleasant object after 
 another he heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 'It will be hard to leave it all and go forth 
 penniless into the world,' he muttered to himself. 
 ' I've never been brought up to rough it, and in the 
 struggle for existence I fear I shall cut a sorry 
 figure — that is, if I ever make the attempt.' 
 
 Then he threw himself into a deep wicker chair 
 and stared long and earnestly into the fire. 
 
 ' I've got to the parting of the ways at last,' he 
 said, after a long pause. * I may as well face the 
 situation fairly, and weigh the pros and cons. 
 There is no longer any doubt on the question of 
 identity. I am not Rex Brown. I am just an
 
 HISTORY REPEA TS ITSELF. 131 
 
 interloper, and have no more right in this room 
 than any of the clerks in the bank — and never 
 have had, for that matter. The proper thing for 
 me to do would be to clear out as quickly as 
 possible, strip myself of all disguise, expose the 
 deception, and face the world hke any other 
 penniless beggar, and take my chance.' 
 
 And he ran his fingers through his hair, and 
 stared still more earnestly into the fire. 
 
 'Well,' he said, after another pause, 'I never 
 saw right and wrong so tangled before. Assuming 
 it is the right thing to confess all, and leave all, 
 what is the good that will come out of it ? Will 
 anybody be benefited? Will any wrong be re- 
 dressed? Will any life or any home be made 
 happier? Not that I can see. I may secure an 
 easy conscience. But any other good likely or 
 unlikely to come out of it I cannot discover. 
 
 'And now for the other side. By doing the 
 right — if it is right — I leave Mr. Brown without a 
 son. I wreck my own prospects in life. I give up 
 my useful work among the young men. I destroy 
 Evelyn's happiness and hope — for the time, at least. 
 I disgrace my mother ; turn her husband, my 
 father, against her after all these years of wedded 
 life— in short, create misery all round and bring 
 good to nobod}''. 
 
 ' How, then, can a thing be right when it pro- 
 duces only trouble, without any corresponding 
 good ? A nd how can a thing be wrong when all 
 
 9—2
 
 132 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 concerned are benefited thereby, and injustice iB 
 done to no one ?' 
 
 Truly right and wrong had, to all appearance, 
 changed places. Looking at the matter purely in 
 the abstract, his course seemed clear enough ; but 
 when he tried to measure up the consequences, 
 then everything became confused and uncertain. 
 It was the old battle over again, in which his 
 mother had been defeated more than twenty long 
 years before. How strangely history repeats itself! 
 How certain the harvest of our deeds. Little did 
 Jane Raynor think when she yielded to the voice 
 of the tempter that she was preparing a hard and 
 cruel struggle for her son. For herself she knew 
 there would be suffering in store, but for him she 
 pictured only bliss. 
 
 Had she known Rex better, she would have 
 hesitated before telling him the secret. But she 
 did not dream it would trouble him much. She 
 had — or thought she had — so completely satisfied 
 herself that she had done the right thing, and that 
 there was no wrong in it, that she naturally sup- 
 posed he would look at the question in the same 
 light. 
 
 But Rex's conscience was not so easily satisfied ; 
 and yet to the ever-recurring questions. What good 
 will come of it ? whom am I wronging ? he could 
 get no satisfactory answer. 
 
 * I know I have no right here,' he kept saying to 
 himself; ' I know I am an interloper — ay, and an
 
 HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF. 133 
 
 impostor. But it is not my fault ; I did not place 
 myself hero, nor am I keeping anyone else out of 
 his rights. If I go away I remedy nothing. No 
 one will be the gainer, while I shall disgrace my 
 mother, ruin my own prospects, and lose Evelyn 
 for ever.' 
 
 And, getting up from his chair, he marched round 
 the room again and again, then suddenly dropped 
 into his chair as though exhausted. So the battle 
 raged hour after hour, and he seemed no nearer 
 the victory than at the start. 
 
 Rex was no saint, nor did he yearn for martyrdom. 
 He wanted to do the right if it could be accomplished 
 without too great a sacrifice. But he was not pre- 
 pared to give up everything for a mere whim or 
 idea. 
 
 As the night wore away the issues seemed to 
 grow more and more confused, so he crept into bed 
 just before the morning began to pale, and soon fell 
 into a troubled sleep. 
 
 The next day he was still undecided, and the 
 day after that. He got so far as to say he was 
 prepared to sacrifice himself — to give up all his 
 own liopes and prospects. But to inflict this cruel 
 pain on his mother, who had already suffered so 
 much on his account, was what he could not bring 
 himself to do. 
 
 So the days sped on and lengthened into weeks 
 but his conscience refused to be reconciled. He 
 could find no peace anywhere. He imagined that
 
 134 REX RATNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 people looked suspiciously at him, that the secret 
 had leaked out and was being passed from lip to 
 lip, that people vrere biding their time to see if he 
 would behave like a man and make a clean breast 
 of it, and that if he did not, they would suddenly 
 pounce upon him and denounce him as an im- 
 postor. 
 
 He began to fear Jonas, and Mrs. Brown, and the 
 two J.'s. Perhaps the haughty ways and words of 
 the latter meant more than ar)peared on the 
 surface. Did they suspect anything ? Were they 
 waiting only to make his humiliation more com- 
 plete ? 
 
 Life became a torture after awhile. He did not 
 crave martyrdom. But martyrdom had come to 
 him. Every spark of joy had gone out in darkness. 
 There seemed nothing left worth living for. 
 
 It was towards the end of April when the crisis 
 came. * I have been a cheat long enough,' he 
 moaned in his misery. ' For the future I will be 
 myself and take my chance,'
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TRUTH WILL OUT. 
 
 • We'll quit the race for selfish end, 
 
 Where bubbles swell and break, 
 And dwell where peace and virtue blend. 
 
 And thus life's music wake. 
 We'll cheat no more, nor cheated be 
 
 By blare, or glare, or cry ; 
 But wash the feet, the face, and see 
 
 Real life with open eye.' — W. H. Wood. 
 
 Mrs. Mat and Evelyn had been in London about 
 a fortnigbt, and expected to stay another ten or 
 twelve days. Rex was not at all sorry. Indeed, 
 he felt rather relieved than otherwise. He had 
 grown so suspicious of late that he was at his ease 
 nowhere. His evenings with Evelyn, instead of 
 being a joy, had become almost a torture. He 
 feared she would read suspicion on his very face, 
 and if any evening she had denounced him as an 
 impostor, he would not have been surprised. 
 
 He resTretted now he had not told her as soon as 
 he knew the truth, and left his fate in her hands. 
 He knew well enough that she had loved him for 
 himself alone, and not for his name, or the estates
 
 136 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 to which he was supposed to be heir. Had he told 
 her then, she would probably have still remained 
 loyal to him, and helped and encouraged him in 
 his battle with the world. 
 
 But now he had deceived her — had raised 
 between them an impassable barrier. 
 
 ' I have made love to her,' he said, ' under false 
 pretences. I have been a consenting party to a 
 huge imposture. I have forfeited every right to 
 any consideration. When she knows, she will lose 
 all respect for me, to say nothing of love. My 
 name will become a by- word on her lips, and she 
 will forget me as soon as possible. That is the 
 penalty of my own wrong. Well, so be it. To 
 keep up the imposture longer would be a still 
 greater penalty. The burden of this secret would 
 kill me in a 3'ear.' 
 
 So he wrote a long letter to Evelyn and told 
 her all. 
 
 'I have kept the secret,' he said, 'until I can 
 keep it no longer. I feel it is driving me mad. I 
 ought to have told you at once, but I was weak 
 and a coward. Moreover, I shrank from giving 
 pain to her who had suffered so much for me. 
 How could I proclaim my mother's wrong ? Nor 
 was that all. Oh, Evelyn, I wanted to keep you, 
 and be to you what I had always been. The 
 thought of losing you filled me with despair. I 
 did not see at the first that by hiding the truth I 
 was going the only way to lose you. I see it now
 
 TRUTH WILL OUT. 137 
 
 when it is too late. Think of me as kindly as you 
 can. But you will soon forget me, and it is well 
 you should. You will get this letter to-morrow 
 morning. To-morrow morning I shall tell Mr. 
 Brown, and then I shall go away. Where, I know 
 not. My father and mother I must leave in peace. 
 I dare not come between them. I have made up 
 into a parcel all the things I have which belong to 
 you, and will send them to Beechlawn to-morrow. 
 Some of the things I should like to keep for many 
 reasons, but I dare not do so. Farewell, Evelyn. 
 Oh, how I should like to look upon your face once 
 more ; but it may not be. But your face is graven 
 upon my heart ; there it will remain till death shall 
 end the struggle.' 
 
 Having posted the letter, he stole quietly to his 
 room, where he remained till bedtime, putting his 
 things in order. He slept very little that night, 
 the tumult in his heart was too great ; and when he 
 came downstairs next morning he was pale and 
 hollow-eyed, though the apprehensive look which 
 had been noticeable for several weeks past had 
 entirely disappeared. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, however, before he 
 got the desired interview with Mr. Brown. 
 
 'Now, Rex,' said Jonas in his abrupt style, 
 ' what's up ? Want to get married right off, eh ?' 
 
 And he stuck his back against the mantelpiece, 
 and gathered up his coat-laps on his arms. 
 
 ' No, sir, I have no thoughts of getting married,'
 
 138 REX RAYNOE, ARTIST. 
 
 1 
 
 Rex said quietly, but with a slight tremor in his 
 voice, for in a moment there came up before his 
 mental vision a picture of what might have been. 
 
 'No thought of gettin' married, eh?' Jonaa 
 questioned with a grunt. ' Well, p'raps you're 
 wise. Marriage ain't all jam-tart an' cream.' 
 
 * I have made a very important discovery lately,' 
 Rex said, without heeding Mr, Brown's remark; 
 ' and I am taking this opportunity of communicating 
 it to you. I ought to have done so before.' 
 
 * A discovery, eh ? Something in the shape ot 
 an invention, you mean ?' 
 
 * No, not an invention,' Rex went on, * I have 
 discovered that I am not your son.' 
 
 Jonas fairly jumped, then stared at Rex for a 
 moment in speechless astonishment. 
 
 ' Not my son ?' he gasped at length, growing very 
 red in the face and breathing hard. 
 
 ' Such is the truth,' Rex said quietly. 
 
 'Heavens!' and Jonas dropped his coat-laps, 
 while his heavy jaw worked uneasily. 
 
 ' You can guess the rest, I think,' Rex said at 
 length. 
 
 Jonas stared at him for a long time, then 
 muttered : ' You are Raynor's child V 
 
 * Yes.' 
 
 * Palmed off upon me when my own child died f 
 'Yes.' 
 
 'An' fed, an' clothed, an' heducated all these 
 years at my expense V
 
 ' ' "S'e-;,' lie said, ' I j^ive her uj) also.' '' 
 
 r. 139.
 
 TRUTH WILL OUT. 139 
 
 * Quite true.' 
 
 Jonas muttered an expletive which we will not 
 record. The thought of the imposition angered 
 him. 
 
 * When did you get to know this ?' he demanded. 
 
 * A month ago.* 
 
 ' Who told you T 
 
 * My mother !' 
 
 * Bah ! does the word stick in thy throat ? Thy 
 mother ! — yes, that accounts for thy plebeian ways/ 
 and Jonas got so red that Rex almost feared an 
 attack of apoplexy. 
 
 For awhile the two men stood facing each other 
 m silence. Then Jonas demanded : * What next V 
 
 ' I go away,' Rex said quietly. * I have no right 
 here. I hope I may be able to earn my living, and 
 if in the years to come I can pay back what I have 
 cost you, it shall be done.' 
 
 * An' you relinquish everything ?' 
 ' Everything.' 
 
 * And the gal ! do you give her up T 
 
 Rex dropped his eyes for a moment while his lips 
 quivered. 
 
 * Yes,' he said ; ' I give her up also.' 
 
 Jonas relented. Though he had never shown 
 any strong affection for Rex, yet he could not help 
 liking him after a fashion. He was the only son 
 he had ever known, and the idea of being left 
 childless, with no one to bear his name when he 
 was dead, was not a very agreeable one.
 
 140 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' You need not have told me this, Rex/ he said 
 at lensfth. 
 
 'I did not tell you till I was absolutely sure,' was 
 the answer. 
 
 * But why did you tell me at all ?' 
 
 ' I could bear the secret no longer, I felt like a 
 thief in the house.' 
 
 * Yes, yes. But it upsets things terrible, you see.' 
 
 * For me it does.' 
 
 * It does for everybody,' said Jonas. 
 
 * I have thought of all that,' Rex said at length — 
 * discussed the matter with myself till my brain has 
 reeled. But truth will out. I could endure the 
 imposture no longer.' 
 
 * Humph ; I b'lieve I should have endured it had 
 I been in your place/ Jonas answered. ' It ain't a 
 joke to give up such prospects as yours. Not that 
 I shall leave you much — that is — well, that ain't 
 'ere or there. But the gal will have a pile.' 
 
 Rex remained silent, and Jonas took a turn round 
 the room. 
 
 * Look here,' he said, at length, stopping in front 
 of Rex ; ' I don't b'lieve in doing things all of a 
 sudden; you needn't go away just yet. You've 
 lived here all your life. It ain't your fault you 
 were palmed off on me, and I can understand the 
 fix Raynor's wife would be in at the time ; and — 
 and — well I might consider whether I might 
 not • 
 
 Then Jonas paused and looked towards the door ;
 
 TRUTH WILL OUT. 141 
 
 he fancied he heard a noise behind the screen. It 
 was not repeated, however, so he went on : 
 
 ' I was saying I might consider the propriety of 
 adopting you or ' 
 
 * Not if I know it, Mr. Brown,' said Mrs. Brown, 
 advancing with dignified step. 
 
 ' You here V gasped Jonas. 
 
 ' Yes, I came seeking you, and, catching some 
 words that interested me, I waited awhile behind 
 the screen.' 
 
 ' And you've heard ?' 
 
 ' Yes, I've heard that this creature ' (with a wave 
 of her hand towards Rex) ' is an impostor, which 
 I have always believed from the first. Anybody 
 with half an eye could see he was no son of 
 yours.' 
 
 * You never said so,' grunted Jonas. 
 ' I had no proof.' 
 
 * You've no proof now.' 
 
 'He admits it himself; that is enough. And 
 now he goes.' 
 
 ' Goes V 
 
 ' Yes ! Do you think I will harbour an impostor 
 in my house ?' 
 
 ' The house is mine,' ejaculated Jonas. 
 
 Mrs. Brown stamped her foot. 
 
 'Jonas Brown, do you hear me? He goes, and 
 at once.' 
 
 ' He cannot go to-night,' Jonas said. 
 
 ' Then he goes the first thing in the morning.'
 
 142 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 And Mrs. Brown marched out of the room to seek 
 her daughters. 
 
 ' I fear it is all up, Rex,' said Jonas. 
 
 ' It's best I should go,' was the quiet answer. 
 * I thank you for your kindness ; some day I hope 
 I may in some measure repay you.' 
 
 So they parted. Rex was glad to remain 
 another night, for he had a hngering hope that 
 Evelyn might reply to his letter, in which case it 
 would reach Elmwood by the morning's post. If 
 she would only send him a kind, message of forgive- 
 ness, he thought he could go away content. And 
 he knew if she sent such a message it would come 
 by return of post. 
 
 He was up early next morning, and when the 
 letters came he scanned them eagerly, but there 
 was no letter for him. Evelyn had not written. 
 
 In the breakfast -room he sat down to the table 
 alone. Mr. and Mrs. Brown and the two J.'s did 
 not come near him. He had ordered a cab for 7.45, 
 and punctually at the time it drove up to the door. 
 
 The servants knew nothing, and he gave them no 
 hint of what had happened. They brought his 
 couple of portmanteaus downstairs, and gave them 
 into the hands of ' Cabby,' then stood till he had 
 donned his overcoat and hat. 
 
 He bowed and smiled when he went out of the 
 door, as he always did ; and they smiled and bowed in 
 return. Then the door closed and the cab drove away. 
 
 And so the old life ended, and so began the new.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A FRESH PAGE. 
 
 • Is it instinct ? or some spirit 
 
 Which protects us and coutrola 
 Every impulse we inherit, 
 
 By some sympathy of souls ? 
 Is it instinct ? Is it nature ? 
 
 Or some freak or fault of chance, 
 "Which our liking or disliking 
 
 Limits to a single glance ?' — Charles Swain. 
 
 Rex turned the new page in his history without 
 any clear or definite idea as to the course he should 
 pursue. He would go to London and lose himself 
 among its seething millions. But what after that 
 was by no means clear. Perhaps Providence would 
 lead him, or fortune favour him, or luck give him 
 a new start ; or perhaps — but no, he would not 
 anticipate failure ; with a clear head and a pair of 
 strong hands he was not going to fail. All the 
 world was before him, and he meant to succeed. 
 
 He was not nearly so down-hearted as might 
 have been expected. In spite of the pain of leaving 
 the old home, there was something exhilarating in
 
 144 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 the thought of facing the world in his own strength, 
 and fighting his way by his own endeavour. 
 
 Now that the secret was out, and he was no 
 longer driven to the necessity of acting a part, he 
 felt a buoyancy and a sense of relief that were some 
 compensation for the sacrifice he had made. 
 
 * I feel that I have done the right thing,' he said 
 to himself, lifting his hat and pushing his fingers 
 through his thick brown locks. And before he 
 reached the station he was actually humming to 
 himself Faber's well-known lines : 
 
 ♦ For right is right, as God is God ; 
 And right the day must win. 
 To doubt would be dislojalty ; 
 To falter would be sin.' 
 
 At the station he rushed up to the booking-office 
 intent on taking a ticket to London. The words 
 ' Euston ' had nearly passed his lips when he paused 
 suddenly. From whence came that sudden sug- 
 gestion — ' Go to Aberfae ?' It Avas as though a 
 voice spoke close to his ear. He looked round him 
 with an uneasy, apprehensive feeling. But the voice 
 was still echoing in his heart, ' Go to Aberfae.' 
 
 ' And why not ?' he said to himself. ' I need not 
 make myself known. I can lose myself as well 
 there, perhaps, as m London. Perhaps my parents 
 need help. Moreover, I should like to see my 
 father. I will go.' 
 
 He took his ticket for Aberfae, never doubtincr 
 that again he had done the right thing. Indeed,
 
 A FRESH PAGE. 145 
 
 he began to wonder that he had never thought of 
 it before. As the forenoon wore slowly away, and 
 he was still far from his journey's end, he began to 
 grow impatient. He felt like an emigrant returning 
 to his home after a long absence. He was longing 
 to look upon his father's face, and hear the sound 
 of his mother's voice. 
 
 From the moment he had resolved to go to 
 Aberfae there had sprung up in his heart a new 
 and strange afiection. The word ' father ' clothed 
 itself with a deeper meaning, and * mother ' sounded 
 wonderfully sweet as he repeated it softly to himself. 
 
 Since that meeting in the lane a month ago, there 
 had been a feeling of resentment in his heart against 
 the woman who claimed to be his mother. But it 
 had all vanished now. Perhaps this bright, sun- 
 shiny morning had driven it away. Perhaps the 
 bracing breath of those beautiful Welsh hills had 
 removed it. Anyhow, it was gone ; and his heart 
 began to yearn for a sight of her pale, suffering face. 
 She had done for the best ; and if she had done 
 wrong she had paid a bitter penalty. But whatever 
 she had done or left undone, she was his mother. 
 
 So the tender affection grew and ripened as the 
 hours of that first of May morning passed on. It 
 was noon when the half-empty train pulled up with 
 a series of jerks in Aberfae Station. Rex was on 
 the platform almost before it stopped, and, looking 
 swiftly around him, he drew a sigh of relief. A 
 grand sweep of hills encircling a lovely bay, on 
 
 10
 
 146 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 either side of which bold headlands stood out in 
 clear relief against the shining sea. A river yonder 
 with a deep channel ; and, clustering on its farther 
 bank and rising up the hillside, the gray stone 
 houses of the fisher folk. Such was the picture 
 that met his gaze. A quiet, sleepy, old-world place, 
 full of beauty and romance and superstition. 
 
 Leaving his portmanteaus in the cloak-room, he 
 marched away to the village, which was at least a 
 mile distant, though it looked much nearer. The 
 babbling river — clear from the mountains — was 
 crossed by a narrow but strongly-built bridge ; 
 a sudden turn to the right and he entered the 
 straggling village. 
 
 Here mingled odours greeted his nostrils — coal- 
 tar from the boats, seaweed from the beach, and 
 bark from the hillside, where the fishermen were 
 hanging out their nets to dry, all contributed their 
 quota. 
 
 ' Do you know where John Raynor lives ?' Rex 
 asked of a woman who sat in her doorway nursing 
 a baby ; but she only shook her head. 
 
 * You do not know ?' he questioned. 
 
 And then she gave him to understand she could 
 not speak English. 
 
 The discovery gave Rex quite a shock of surprise. 
 He had never been in ' Welsh Wales ' before, and 
 it seemed almost incredible that people could live 
 all their lives on this British isle and not speak the 
 EngUsh language.
 
 A FRESH PAGE. 147 
 
 Farther down the street was a group of children 
 playing a noisy game, and jabbering and shouting 
 at each other in a foreign tongue. Rex paused for 
 a minute or two, then pursued his way with a look 
 of perplexity upon his face. 
 
 At length a policeman came to his rescue. 
 Police-constable Rees could speak a httle English. 
 
 *Yes, he did know John Raynor. He wass a 
 
 painter. He wass not very well. He lived ' 
 
 and he took Rex by the sleeve and drew him down 
 the street till opposite a lane leading up the hill- 
 side. ' That iss the 'ouse,' he said, pointing with 
 his finger. 
 
 'The white- washed cottage with a green-slate 
 roof?' Rex questioned. 
 
 * Yes, indeed.' 
 
 A few minutes later Rex stood before the door. 
 ' Come in !' came a feeble voice from within in 
 response to his laiock ; and, lifting the door-latch, he 
 entered. 
 
 There was no hall or passage, the door opened 
 into the little sitting-room ; and almost before he 
 was aware he was face to face with his mother. 
 But what a change one short month had wrought ! 
 Half sitting, half reclining in a deep easy-chair, her 
 head supported with pillows, her wasted hands 
 lying listless on the blanket that covered her, was 
 Jane Raynor, gasping out the small residue of her 
 sad and sorrowful life. 
 
 She did not recognise him for a moment, his 
 
 10—2
 
 148 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 back was toward the light. But when he came 
 nearer and took her wasted hand in his, she gave a 
 low, glad cry, ' Oh, Rex, Rex !' and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 Without a word he knelt on the floor, and laid 
 his forehead on the arm of her chair ; and then the 
 wasted and feeble fingers strayed among his sunny 
 loclis, while grateful tears that eased her over- 
 burdened heart stole silently down her sunken 
 cheeks. 
 
 A mother's hand upon his head touched his 
 heart in a way he could not understand. 
 
 ' I am so sorry you are ill,' he murmured at 
 length. 
 
 ' I am nearly home. Rex,' she gasped. ' And 
 now that you have come I can die content, for God 
 has answered my prayer.' 
 
 ' Your prayer ?' he questioned. 
 
 ' For days and weeks I have prayed for a token 
 of forgiveness. And your coming was the token 
 I pleaded for. I asked Him, if I was forgiven, to 
 let you come before I died. Now I know He has 
 heard me.' 
 
 For answer, Rex lifted her wasted hand to his 
 lips and kissed it. 
 
 A swift rush of tears blinded her for a moment 
 and choked her utterance ; but when she was abla 
 to speak, she said : 
 
 * You do not hate me. Rex T 
 
 ' No, mother ; I love you.'
 
 A FRESH PAGE. 149 
 
 Then she began to cry again. It was more than 
 she expected, and she was weak with much 
 suffering. 
 
 ' I thought I was doing for the best,' she sobbed 
 at length. * I was in a sore strait, and we were so 
 poor. God had sent more mouths, I thought, than 
 He had sent bread for. Ah, Rex, all the others 
 have been taken from me. Soon there were no 
 mouths at all to be fed, save John^s and mine.' 
 
 Rex was silent for awhile ; then he said with a 
 sigh : ' I am glad I came.' 
 
 * And you will stay a little while ?' 
 
 * As long as you will, and I can be of help to 
 you.' 
 
 ' But you will be expected back.' 
 ' No ; they will never expect me.' 
 ' Never ? Have you told ?' 
 
 * Yes ! I could not bear the burden. For more 
 than a month I acted a double part and lived a lie ; 
 but it became unendurable, and so I told Mr. Brown 
 that I was not his son.' 
 
 ' And he believed you ?' 
 
 * Yes.^ 
 
 ' And did he not ask for proof ?' 
 
 ' No ; he jumped at the truth in a moment. 
 Moreover, he was convinced that if I had not 
 absolute proof of the fact I should not give up all 
 and go out alone in the world.' 
 
 She sighed a little and closed her eyes. Then 
 after a few moments, she murmured :
 
 150 REX RATNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' I am glad he knows. I tried to mend God's 
 work ; but He has pulled all I built to pieces. I 
 have sinned and suffered and schemed for nothing. 
 But perhaps He will make all things right again 
 by-and-by.' 
 
 ' I did not come here to make myself known,' 
 Rex interposed. * I will not come between you and 
 my father. If you have kept the secret from him 
 all these years, it is not my place to disclose it.' 
 
 Then the tears welled up into her eyes again. 
 
 * He knows. Rex,' she said, with trembling lip ; 'I 
 felt I could not die easy and not tell him. He did 
 not blame me, Rex. He only said, " Poor Jane ! 
 poor Jane !" Oh, he has been a good husband to 
 me — patient amid all my complaining and gentle 
 with all my weaknesses.' 
 
 * I am eager to know him,' Rex said. ' Perhaps 
 he will teach me how to paint.' 
 
 ' You are your father over again,' she said, a 
 proud smile lighting up her pale and wasted face. 
 ' And oh. Rex, he will be so proud of you.' 
 
 ' I fear not,' he said, with a shake of his head. 
 
 * If I could only help him with his pictures I would 
 not mind.' 
 
 * Oh ! here he comes,' she said, a bright smile 
 overspreading her face. ' That is John's footstep. 
 I wonder if he will know you or guess who you 
 are ?' 
 
 The next moment the door was thrown open and 
 John Raynor entered.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 OUT WITH THE TIDEL 
 
 *He gave her rest for troublousness ; 
 And a calm sleep for fitful dreams 
 Of what is — and of more that seems ; 
 
 For tossings upon earth and seas 
 
 Gave her to Him where He is.' — W. M. Rossetti. 
 
 ' Oh, John, this is Rex !' Jane Raynor said, with a 
 gasp, and she pressed her thin hand to her side as 
 though stabbed with sudden pain. 
 
 ' Rex V he questioned, as though he did not quite 
 understand, and he stood still in the middle of the 
 room. 
 
 She tried to speak again ; but the words refused 
 to come, while the two men looked at each other 
 in silence. 
 
 It was a beautiful face on which the eyes of the 
 younger man rested. Pale and wasted with care 
 and sufleriug, and furrowed here and there with 
 the march of years, but beautiful stUl. The full, 
 long beard was plentifully streaked with gray, the 
 hair was thinning above the temples ; but none of 
 these things could take from the beauty of the
 
 152 EEX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 face. Here was the straight, Grecian nose; the 
 thin, refined nostrils ; the firm yet gentle mouth ; 
 the noble forehead ; the large, beautiful eyes, bright 
 with the fire of genius, and liquid with tenderness 
 and kindly feeling. 
 
 Rex's heart went out to him in a moment, and 
 he reached out his hand, which John eagerly 
 grasped, and for another moment they stood in 
 silence. 
 
 ' I have come home to you if you will have me,' 
 Rex struggled to say, while the tears welled up in 
 his eyes and almost blinded him. 
 
 John drew his left hand across his own eyes, and 
 trembled visibly. 
 
 'God bless you, Rex,' he said; 'I am a proud 
 man to-day.' 
 
 Then Jane, who had been silently weeping, broke 
 out into sobs. 
 
 'Nay, mother, do not cry,' John said tenderly; 
 ' let us rather rejoice.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, John,' she sobbed ; ' but let me cry. 
 I am happier now than I have been for twenty 
 years.' 
 
 He did not rei)ly, but he went and took her hand 
 in his and stroked it gently, and for awhile only her 
 sobs broke the silence. Then she spoke again. 
 
 ' Oh, John, it has been a hard struggle ; but the 
 day is having a bright ending.' 
 
 ' We will not talk of the day's ending yet,' he 
 said quietly.
 
 OUT WITH THE TIDE. 153 
 
 'Yes, yes,' she gasped, 'the day is ending. But 
 Rex has come home. I gave him away because I 
 doubted God. But he will be with you now when 
 I am gone.' 
 
 'God has been always with us, Jane.' 
 
 ' I was thinking of Rex,' she said. ' Come here, 
 my boy, and tell me again you do not hate me.' 
 
 ' Nay, mother, I cannot hate you/ he said, coming 
 close to her chair. ' Indeed, I love you. You did 
 for the best, I know. Let us forget the past, and 
 start afresh.' 
 
 ' Nothing can undo the past,' she said ; ' the 
 weary years of suffering; the long reproach; the 
 hope deferred. Oh, John ! oh, Rex ! how I have 
 wronged you both !' and she burst into sobbing 
 again. 
 
 * Come, Jane, don't give way so,' John said 
 tenderly ; ' we are not upbraiding you.' 
 
 'Oh, John, I am not unhappy,' she sobbed; 
 ' indeed, my heart is lighter than ever I expected it 
 would be again. But it does me good to cry.' 
 
 She grew composed after awhile, and then the 
 three sat together, and talked in low, hushed voices, 
 about the past and about the future. 
 
 ' I feel as though at last I had found a home,' 
 Rex said, as the twilight began to deepen around 
 them, and the smouldering fire was stirred in the 
 grate. 
 
 ' But you were about to make a home of your 
 own, Rex, were you not ?' John asked.
 
 154 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' We will say nothing about that now/ Rex said, 
 and then the subject dropped. 
 
 But later in the evening, when Jane had been 
 wheeled into an adjoining room by John and a 
 neighbour, who acted as nurse, and laid in her bed, 
 Rex referred to the subject again. 
 
 ' I did not wish to pain mother,' he said ; ' but 
 having to give up Evelyn is nearly the only thing 
 I regret. My young men somebody else will look 
 after ; but Evelyn was my all.' 
 
 * But need you give her up ?' John asked. 
 
 * I must give her up now,' he said. * If I had 
 told her as soon as I knew, I don't think it would 
 have made much difierence, for she is not proud ; 
 but I deceived her. She will not overlook that. 
 I gave her time to write to me, but she did not 
 write. No, it is all over between us.' 
 
 John sighed and was silent. 
 
 ' My art shall be my bride now,' Rex said after 
 awhile. 'I have always wanted to be a painter; 
 now you will teach me. I have saved most of my 
 salary for the last year or two, and by the time I 
 have spent that 1 hope to be able to earn some- 
 thing.' 
 
 'We will struggle on together somehow,' John 
 answered ; * but painting pictures is a poor business 
 unless one has made a name.' 
 
 * Then we must make a name as soon as possible,' 
 Rex answered with a laugh. 
 
 John smiled sadly and shook his head. ' Com-
 
 OUT WITH THE TIDE. 155 
 
 petition is very keen,' he said, 'and a name is not 
 easily made.' 
 
 ' Well, we will try what we can do, at any rate,' 
 Rex said cheerlully. 
 
 * Mother would have saved you from this,' John 
 went on after a pause. ' She meant well by you, 
 Rex, and God only knows how she has suffered. I 
 hadn't the heart to blame her.' 
 
 * Perhaps it will all come right in the end,' Rex 
 answered, with a far-away look in his eyes, for his 
 thoughts were back again in Barwich, and he was 
 beginning to pine already for a sight of Evelyn's 
 face. 
 
 * She hoped that you, in your riches, would help 
 us, so she told me,' John went on after a pause. 
 * But she has quite changed in that respect lately. 
 She is so thankful you have come. She would 
 rather have you than money.' 
 
 So they talked hour after hour, and as they 
 talked all restraint was broken down, and the heart 
 of each went out to the other. By the time they 
 retired to rest, it almost seemed as though they 
 had known each other always. 
 
 Next morning they met each other with a smile 
 and with a warm shake of the hand ; and it would 
 be hard to say which was the prouder man of the 
 two. That Rex was proud of his father there 
 could be no doubt, while John was equally proud 
 of his handsome son. 
 
 Poor Jane was too ill to leave her bed that day
 
 156 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 — the excitement of the previous evening had been 
 too much for her ; nor did she ever leave her bed 
 again. 
 
 She had caught a severe cold the day she visited 
 Rex at Barwicli, for it was very late that night 
 before she reached Aberfae. Inflammation of the 
 lungs soon supervened, and that ended in rapid 
 consumption ; and now, as the days passed on, it 
 was clear to all that the tide of her life was ebbing, 
 never to flow again. 
 
 None knew this better than she herself. Yet 
 she never murmured. A wonderful change had 
 come over her spirit during the past few weeks. 
 The old hardness and discontent had passed away, 
 and a quiet confidence had taken their place. 
 
 Now and then she alluded to the past when Kex 
 was with her. ' Nothing has happened as I planned,' 
 she said one day ; * I have suffered for nothing. 
 You would have been a great painter by this, if 
 you had been with your father always, for John 
 tells me you have wonderful talent.' 
 
 *0h no,' Rex said quickly; 'father takes alto- 
 gether too bright a view.' 
 
 ' But it can't be helped now,' she went on, without 
 heeding. ' Some day you will be great in spite of 
 all the hindrances I threw in your way.' 
 
 ' Oh, please don't worry, mother,' he said kindly ; 
 ' I do not blame you at all. Everything, I doubt 
 not, will come out right in the end.' 
 
 *You are a good boy, Rex,' she said, her eyes
 
 OUT WITH THE TIDE. 157 
 
 filling, ' or you would never have forgiven me. I 
 have nearly wrecked your life as well as my own. 
 It is a sad come-down for you.' 
 
 ' Nay, mother ; I am really happier here than at 
 Elm wood. There was no love there, nor welcome, 
 and if I can brighten your life a bit and father's, I 
 shall be quite content.' 
 
 'Brighten! Oh, Rex, you are the sunshine of 
 both our lives now. The house is not the same 
 since you came.' 
 
 ' If you could only get better, mother !* 
 
 ' Ah, no,' she sighed, * that can never be now, 
 Rex. I have a feeling sometimes that I should 
 like to be well again. But I know it is best as it 
 is. You and father will get on better without 
 me.' 
 
 So the days sped on and grew into weeks. 
 Beautiful May ripened into leafy June, and the 
 hills all round Aberfae became a picture of love- 
 liness. Rex revelled in the glorious weather and 
 the beautiful scenery, and wandered hither and 
 thither making sketches of nooks and glens, which 
 were a delight to his father. 
 
 Meanwhile, John received an offer of fifty pounds 
 for a picture then on exhibition in a large Lancashire 
 town. He nearly cried when he got the offer. It 
 seemed a small fortune to him. ' Rex has turned 
 the tide for us, mother,' he said to his wife; *if 
 you could only get better again, we should have 
 nothincT more to desire.'
 
 168 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' I am very happy, John,' she answered simply. 
 * We will leave the rest with God.' 
 
 Among the villagers, especially the English- 
 spealdng portion of them, speculation was rife as 
 to who the handsome stranger could be who was 
 staying with the Raynors. That he was a relative 
 everyone believed; but what the particular re- 
 lationship was no one could find out, and neither 
 John nor Rex felt inclined to gratify their curiosity. 
 
 At length it was surmised that he was a nephew 
 of John's; and as no one was able to contradict 
 this, or suggest a better explanation, it became 
 accepted as a fact. 
 
 It was near the end of June when Jane Raynor 
 quietly passed away. The weather had become 
 intensely hot, and at the last she sank rapidly. 
 After an exhausting day, she asked to have her 
 bed drawn up close to the window, that she might 
 look out over the shining sea once more and watch 
 the sunset. Away beyond the headland the blue 
 waters stretched into infinite distance, intersected 
 by a broad band of light which marked the course 
 of the setting sun. 
 
 It was a beautiful picture, and one that Jane 
 never tired of ' It looks like the golden gate of the 
 better country,' she whispered slowly ; ' I think 
 soon the Lord will let me through.' 
 
 Rex had thrown open the window at her request, 
 that she might feel on her brow the faint, cool 
 breath of the sea.
 
 OUT WITH THE TIDE. 159 
 
 ' Thank you, my boy,' she said, with a sigh ; 
 ' how good you all are to me ! But I shall not 
 trouble you very much longer.' 
 
 *Nay, do not speak of trouble, mother,' John 
 said tenderly ; ' you are no trouble to us.' 
 
 For awhile there was silence. Up from the bay 
 came the notes of a quaint, sweet melody. Some 
 fishermen were singing as they were getting ready 
 for a night's fishing. 
 
 * They are going out with the tide on the great 
 wide sea,' Jane sighed at length. * I am going out 
 also. Don't fret, John. Bury me with the children 
 by the yew-tree, on the sunny side of the church- 
 yard. The birds sing there all daylong, and I shaJ' 
 sleep content.' 
 
 Then silence fell between them again. The sun 
 had disappeared behind the great lone sea, and the 
 twilight was beginning to fall. Rex got up and 
 closed the window, then came and sat by his 
 mother's side. 
 
 ' You will take care of father, Rex V she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 * Yes, mother.' 
 
 * Now I am content,' she sighed. * God has 
 forgiven me for the wrong I did, and Christ is with 
 me to lead me home.' 
 
 After that she spoke no more. About midnight 
 she opened her eyes and smiled sweetly, then gently 
 fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A CHANCE MEETING. 
 
 * How thrills once more the lengthening chain 
 
 Of memory, at the sight of thee ! 
 Old hopes, which long in dust have lain, 
 Old dreams, come thronging back again, 
 
 And boyhood lives in me ; 
 I feel its glow upon my cheek, 
 
 Its fulness of the heart is mine, 
 As when I leaned to hear thee speak, 
 
 Or raised my doubtful eye to thine.' 
 
 Wliittier. 
 
 Three years later Rex came face to face with 
 Evelyn May. He was then settled in London with 
 his father, and was working hard to master the 
 mysteries of his art. During all those years Rex 
 had never seen her, nor even heard of her except 
 in an indirect way. Often he had longed for a 
 sight of her sweet, pure face ; but he held himself 
 in check with a firm hand. He knew his business 
 was to forget her, if possible — to put the memory of 
 the past out of his heart, and face the futiu*e with 
 resolute will. 
 On the day he left Aberfae he was sorely tempted
 
 A CHANCE MEETING. 161 
 
 to go round by Barwich. His heart was hungering 
 for a little news. The months he had been away 
 had seemed like years to him, and he was curious 
 to know what was said in Barwich in explanation 
 of his absence, and whether Evelyn had manifested 
 any grief or concern. He wanted to know also 
 what his young men were doing, and whether the 
 work he had inaugurated was being carried on by 
 anyone else. 
 
 But most of all he wanted to see Evelyn once 
 more. If he could look at her beautiful face with- 
 out himself being seen, he thought it would ease 
 the hunger of his heart. For the inmates of Elm- 
 wood he manifested no concern. But Evelyn was 
 his heart's idol, and ever would be ; and to see her 
 face again he fancied would be like receiving a 
 benediction, which he could carry with him into 
 his lonely future. 
 
 But he held the desire in check with resolute 
 will. * I dare not go,' he said. * I could not see 
 without being seen. I could not hear any news 
 without being recognised.' 
 
 It was the beginning of September when they 
 left Aberfae. They began to make preparations 
 for leaving as soon as Jane had been laid to rest in 
 the quiet churchyard. 
 
 * I would like to get away from here, Rex,' John 
 said, as they sat together in the lonely house on 
 the night of the funeral. ' Now that you are with 
 me I feel as though I wanted to start afresh. More- 
 
 II
 
 162 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 over, I want to acknow^ ^dgQ you as my son, which 
 I cannot do here without exciting a great deal of 
 talk. The people here do not know that poot 
 mother gave up her baby for the sake of gain and 
 position, and I would like to screen her memory, 
 for the present at least, from unkind remarks.' 
 
 ' I am quite willing to go away from here,' Rex 
 said. * Indeed, I should prefer it. If one has any 
 talent, there is not much scope here for its exercise.' 
 
 ' What do 3'^ou say to our trying our fortune in 
 London ?' John asked, after a pause. 
 
 ' I should be delighted,' was the prompt reply. 
 And so it was settled. But it took them two months 
 to get everything ready for their final departure. 
 
 Then crept into Rex's heart the passionate long- 
 ing to go round by way of Barwich. John saw that 
 something was troubling him, and by-and-by he 
 got at the truth. 
 
 * It is a natural feeling, Rex, my boy,' he said, 
 with a world of tenderness in his voice. ' But I 
 think I can help you in some degree.' 
 
 ' How so ?' Rex asked eagerly. 
 
 ' Well, you can go up to London a little ahead of 
 me. You can decide if the rooms Sam Laerton has 
 selected for us are suitable. If they are, you can 
 begin unpacking and arranging our tackle. In the 
 meanwhile I will go round by Barwich and pick up 
 all the news I can.' 
 
 ' Splendid !' said Rex ; ' I wonder I never thought 
 of that myself.'
 
 A CHANCE MEETING. 163 
 
 But the news John brought up with him to 
 London gave Kttle comfort to Rex. 
 
 ' Oh yes, I have heard plenty,' he said, in reply 
 to a question from Rex. ' All sorts of stories are 
 afloat in Barwich. Mr. Brown has been very 
 reticent, it seems, on the subject ; but Mrs. Brown 
 and her two daughters have talked very freely, and 
 have frequently contradicted themselves and each 
 other, so that the Barwichians hardly know what 
 to believe. But by most accounts you are a sad 
 scapegrace. It is said that you knew you were 
 not Mr. Brown's son from quite a child, but kept 
 the matter quiet. Mrs. Brown, it seems, ferreted 
 out the secret, and then you had to leave at once. 
 In this matter Mrs. Brown takes great pride for her 
 cleverness, and has been in a chronic state of 
 exultation ever since. But poor Jonas has taken 
 to drinking more heavily than ever, and is fast 
 losing what business shrewdness he once possessed.' 
 
 ' And my young men ?' questioned Rex. 
 
 'A number of gentlemen connected with the 
 various churches in the town have formed them- 
 selves into a committee, and are carrying on the 
 work with great vigour — at least, so my informant 
 told me.' 
 
 'That is satisfactory,' Rex said, after a pause. 
 Then suddenly lifting his eyes, he said, ' And 
 Evelyn ? Did you see or hear anything of her V 
 
 ' I did not see her,' John said slowly. ' I loitered 
 round by Beechlawn, and even took a ramble up 
 
 U— 2
 
 164 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 through the plantation, but she did not show 
 herself.' 
 
 Rex gave a great sigh. All the past came back 
 to him again very vividly. In a moment the 
 present was blotted out, and he was wandering with 
 Evelyn beneath the whispering trees, talking in 
 low tones of a love-lit future. He saw the look of 
 deep content in her beautiful eyes, and felt her 
 fingers tighten on his arm. How her voice thrilled 
 him as she spoke low words of trust and hope, and 
 he bent his head to kiss her lips ! Then the dream 
 fa<led and was gone. 
 
 He shook himself at length, and said : * But you 
 heard of her, father ?' 
 
 * I heard many things. Rex ; but I question if it 
 is worth while to take notice of mere gossip.' 
 
 ' Yet I should like to know what the gossips say.' 
 ' I don't think you would be any the better for 
 knowing,' John answered. 
 
 ' Better or not, I must know,' Rex said eagerly. 
 For a moment or two John was silent. 
 
 * Come, you had better tell me what you have 
 heard,' Rex said pleadingly. 
 
 * If you will hear it, I suppose I must tell you/ 
 John said uneasily ; * but it may be mere gossip. 
 But it is said that both Mrs. May and her daughter 
 are very indignant at the long deception you 
 practised upon them, and that they will not even 
 allow your name to be mentioned in the houae. 
 And it is further said that Mrs. May and the Vicar
 
 A CHANCE MEETING. 165 
 
 are anxious for an engagement to be arranged 
 between Evelyn and the Vicar's son. Anyhow, 
 young Leslie is constantly at Beechlawn, and 
 appears to be favourably received by Miss May.' 
 
 ' What, so soon V groaned Rex ; ' surely not.' 
 
 ' I am only repeating the gossip I heard,' John 
 said. 
 
 ' Just so, just so ; and yet it may be true — most 
 likely it is ; and, if so, I don't know why it should 
 matter to me. Why should it?' and he got up 
 from his chair and shook himself. 
 
 John was silent, nor was the matter referred to 
 again. Rex was no coward ; he knew no'good could 
 come of bemoaning the past. He had had his dream, 
 now it was over; so let it be. With undaunted 
 courage he took up his burden and went his way 
 to meet the future, resolving to be cheerful not only 
 for his own sake, but for his father's. 
 
 To tell the story of their struggles, their hopes, 
 and fears, and discouragements, during their first 
 few months in London would be wearisome to the 
 reader. But neither despaired for a moment. 
 John found a new inspiration in Rex, and in his 
 presence worked with a brighter hope. Yielding 
 to his son's entreaty, he sent his picture, on which 
 he had been working for months, to the Royal 
 Academy. 
 
 ' I know it is useless,' he said ; * but I will do it 
 to please you.' 
 
 ' You are too modest and diffident, father,* Rex
 
 166 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 said with a laugh. ' I believe it won't be rejected. 
 Anyhow, I know worse pictures will bo accepted.' 
 
 ' Nay, Rex, you think too highly of my pictures,' 
 John said with a smile. 
 
 * Nothing venture, nothing have,' Rex replied ; 
 ' and you see if I don't turn out a true prophet.' 
 
 So the picture was sent, and, much to John's 
 surprise, was accepted. Then a second surprise 
 followed — it wasn't 'skied,' but was well hung, 
 only one remove above the line. This was followed 
 by a third surprise : the picture was singled out by 
 the critics for special praise, and John in a small 
 way found himself quite famous. But the greatest 
 surprise of all was, on private view day, he got a 
 good offer for it and sold it. Had he waited a few 
 days longer till all the critics had had their say, he 
 would have got a much bigger price for it. But he 
 was quite satisfied. He felt that after years of 
 waiting and painstaking labour he had found his 
 feet at last. 
 
 John never looked back after that day. He 
 worked with a new confidence, and, as a conse- 
 quence, revealed a greater power. Assurance took 
 the place of diffidence and timidity. He stood 
 before his easel a master, knowing that at last he 
 knew how to paint. 
 
 But Rex refused to be dependent upon his father 
 for support. 
 
 ' No, father,' he said ; * I must earn my own 
 bread or I shall be miserable.'
 
 A CHANCE MEETING. 167 
 
 So he engaged himself to a large firm of house 
 decorators, and spent three days a week in painting 
 friezes, ceilings, and door-panels; the other three 
 days he spent at his studies, never doubting that 
 with patient endeavour he would win success at 
 last. 
 
 When John saw he was determined, he let him 
 have his way. Some people might account such 
 work i/nfra dig., but John Raynor was never 
 troubled with any false pride, and Rex in that 
 respect was his father's own son. 
 
 So the months sped on and grew into years, and 
 Rex steadily worked away, earning sufficient as 
 ' house painter,' as Jonas Brown once termed it, to 
 keep him comfortably. 
 
 Yet absorbed in his work as he was, Evelyn May 
 never faded out of his memory. He wished some- 
 times that he could forget her, that he could put 
 aside the past as an unsubstantial dream. But it 
 was not to be. Her face grew into his pictures 
 unconsciously. Her voice haunted his dreams at 
 night. 
 
 It is true the old longing to possess her had in 
 some measure passed away. Time had begun to 
 take the sting out of his pain, and he was able to 
 contemplate the past with calmness, if not without 
 regret. 
 
 Then all the old longing came back with a rush. 
 He was working on the panels of a drawing-room 
 door in a large house in South Kensington, when
 
 168 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 the curtains hiding the folding-doors were suddenly 
 pulled aside and two young ladies entered the 
 room. 
 
 ' You will think it strange our being in the house 
 while it is being decorated,' one said to the other; 
 ' but really this time we could not help ourselves.' 
 
 ' Oh, well, what does it matter ?' was the reply ; 
 * you can live without a drawing-room for a week 
 or two. But are not those panels lovely !' 
 
 Rex was too confused to hear the reply, for in 
 the second voice he had recognised the presence of 
 Evelyn May. At the first sound of her voice he 
 had started and turned his head involuntarily, and 
 there, not more than three vards away from him, 
 was the face that to him wao the most beautiful on 
 earth. 
 
 How he struggled through the ten minutes they 
 remained in the room he never knew. He crept as 
 close to the door as he could, and toyed with his 
 paints and brushes, never daring again to look 
 behind him. 
 
 He heard Evelyn praising his work; heard hsr 
 low laughter that charmed him so much in the 
 years gone by; caught just another glimpse of her 
 sweet pure face as she passed out between the 
 curtains — then silence fell upon the room, and, as 
 't seemed to Rex, darlmess also.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A DAY-DREAM. 
 
 •And I have dreamt, in many dreams, 
 Of her who was a dream to me, 
 And talked of her by summer streams, 
 
 In crowds, and on the sea, 
 Till in my soul she was enshrined, 
 A yonng Egeria of the mind.' 
 
 T. K. Hervey. 
 
 Rex kept out of his father's way the whole of that 
 evening. He was too agitated to be able success- 
 fully to hide it, unless he kept away from watchful 
 eyes. He hardly knew yet how deeply he was 
 stricken ; he only felt that he had received a blow 
 which had staggered him, and he wanted to be 
 alone for awhile that he might recover his strength. 
 He had imagined that he was slowly getting over 
 his love for Evelyn, that time was gradually healing 
 the wound, and that in a year or two at most he 
 would be able to look back upon the past without 
 emotion and without regret. But the experience 
 of this afternoon had shown him how little he 
 knew even of his own heart.
 
 170 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 That momentary glimpse of Evelyn's face, the 
 sweet low music of her voice, had torn away the 
 thin film from his heart's deep wound, and left him 
 in hopeless misery and grief. For the first time he 
 fully realized that his struggle against love was a 
 hopeless one — that he could not put Evelyn out of 
 his heart, however much he tried. 
 
 He had grown up with her from childhood, had 
 loved her as a lad, had wooed and won her when 
 he became a man, and so, by every law of heaven 
 and earth, she seemed to be his ; and yet he must 
 not speak to her nor even touch her hand. It 
 seemed a cruel fate, and yet he would not blame 
 anyone but himself. 
 
 ' I lost her through my cowardice,' he moaned, as 
 he lay tossing on his bed that night. * If I had told 
 her as I ought to have done, she would have stood 
 by me, would have shared my lot with a brave 
 heart, and helped me in the struggle of life. Oh, 
 I deserve to be punished.' 
 
 And yet it seemed a bitter penalty for one brief 
 month of deception. Already he had had three 
 years of suffering, and the struggle, as far as he 
 could judge, had only just begun. 
 
 ' Well, well,' he said at length, ' I must fight my 
 fight and carry my burden. My suffering need not 
 spoil my life or spoil my work. Nay, the discipline 
 may make me a better man.' 
 
 Yet the discipline did not grow less trying as the 
 days passed on. Whenever he got away from his
 
 A DAY-DREAM. 171 
 
 work, her face haunted him, and even when he 
 stood before his easel with palette and brush in 
 hand, he would sometimes fall to dreaming, and 
 the canvas before him would melt and vanish, and 
 there would come up before him a vision of sunny 
 fields, and a low hill crowned with trees, and a 
 woodland path with the sunlight flickering on the 
 mossy floor, and a fair maiden coming to meet him 
 as he stood leaning against the stile. 
 
 How strangely events shape themselves ! That 
 dream, so often repeated, was the beginning of 
 Rex's fame. He commenced the picture to please 
 himself. He thought if he placed his dream on 
 canvas it might cease to haunt him. So it grew 
 slowly from week to week and month to month. 
 It was no ' pot-boiler,' he never intended it for the 
 public gaze. He painted it to ease bis heart, and 
 so he put his life into it, his very soul. 
 
 No fear of public criticism ever held his hand in 
 check. No thought of the * schools ' affected his 
 method. He painted for himself; the technique was 
 his own. Perhaps for these very reasons the picture 
 was so great a success. At first he would not hear of 
 sending it to the Academy. He saw no particular 
 merit in it, he said. It was only a study. He had 
 painted it as a pastime more than anything else. 
 ' It is full of faults ; the critics will jump upon it. 
 Besides ' — and this seemed an all-sufiicient reason 
 — * the public will never understand it.' 
 
 But Rex's friends over-ruled all his objections.
 
 172 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 His father was particularly anxious that it should 
 be sent. 
 
 * I tell you, Rex,' he said, ' it will be one of the 
 pictures of the year.' And so it proved. Rex 
 awoke one morning and found himself famous. 
 ' At the Stile ' was the talk of the town. It was 
 not only the artistic merit of the picture that so 
 commended it ; it appealed to the heart as well as 
 the head. The touch of nature in it was so true 
 and so real that people lingered over it with half- 
 pathetic gaze. In many a heart it recalled a 
 memory of the past. It seemed a bit of real life 
 put on canvas. It was clear to all that the heart 
 of the painter was in his work. 
 
 Rex received the congratulations of his friends 
 with great composure. He did not seem at all 
 elated by his success. For his father's sake he 
 was glad; for himself he had little care. If only 
 Evelyn were his, how different the world would be! 
 for her sake he would have rejoiced in growing 
 power and fame. But since she was lost to him, 
 what did it matter ? 
 
 Nor was that all he had to depress him just 
 then. For several weeks past the papers had been 
 full of the failure of the great Imperial National 
 and Cosmopolitan Bank. Jonas Brown was a 
 ruined man, and not only ruined financially — he 
 was also disgraced. The revelations of reckless 
 speculations which appeared in the newspapers day 
 by day were painful reading to Rex, and, indeed, to
 
 " ' I tell you, Ktx,' lie said, ' it ^viil Ije one of llie pictures ol tlie year."* 
 
 P. 172.
 
 A DAY-DREAM. 173 
 
 thousands of others, for the collapse of the Imperial 
 National and Cosmopolitan meant ruin and destitu- 
 tion to hundreds of families. 
 
 Close upon the crash followed accounts of the 
 arrest of Jonas Brown and his fellow-directors. 
 Then came particulars of the trial, which we need 
 not here recapitulate, for they will be fresh in the 
 memory of many of our readers. 
 
 Poor Jonas, on account of his age and the broken 
 state of his health, was sentenced to only six months' 
 imprisonment. But no one who saw him in the 
 dock that day believed he would come out of the 
 prison alive. 
 
 Rex could hardly help shedding tears as he read 
 of his old friend's sad fate. In his heart there was 
 a warm place for Jonas still. The old man, in spite 
 of ill-temper and coarse abuse, had been kind to 
 him in many ways, and would have been kinder, 
 perhaps, but for his wife. 
 
 He could not forget his last interview with him, 
 and how sorry Jonas seemed to give him up ; had 
 even hinted at adopting him, and perhaps would 
 have attempted to do so but for Mrs. Brown. All 
 this was not lost upon Rex. He forgot the loneli- 
 ness and neglect of all those years at Elmwood, and 
 remembered only the kindnesses he had received. 
 
 ' I would like to help him if I could,' Rex said 
 to his father one day when talking the matter over. 
 ' He has a claim upon me.' 
 
 'And upon me also,' John answered with a
 
 174 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 far-away look in his eyes. ' In the old days, Rex, 
 before we left Barwich, he was very good to us, and 
 at a time when we sorely needed help.' 
 
 * Yes, yes,' Rex said absently ; ' but we can do 
 nothing now. We must wait till he comes out of 
 prison.' 
 
 So it was resolved that Rex should meet him 
 Avhen his term of imprisonment was ended, and help 
 hira in the way that would seem best at the time. 
 
 In the meanwhile both father and son went 
 steadily on with their work. John's health had 
 considerably improved since the burden of poverty 
 had been lifted from his shoulders. Moreover, his 
 work had become a greater pleasure to him now 
 that he felt master of his craft and was sure of a 
 sale for his pictures. 
 
 If only Jane were alive to share his prosperity, 
 he felt he would desire nothing more on earth. 
 And sometimes he sighed to himself a little bit 
 sadly, that she had been taken away just as the 
 sky was beginning to brighten and Rex had come 
 home to cheer their lives. 
 
 * Poor mother !' he would sometimes say to him- 
 self; 'life was very hard for her. She did for the 
 best, as she thought, and kept hoping for better 
 days, and when the better days came she died.' 
 
 Rex sometimes thought that his father's heart 
 was back in the little graveyard at Aberfae, where 
 slept his wife and the children. It was not often 
 he spoke of the children; they had died young,
 
 A DAY-DREAM. 175 
 
 but they had left a gap in his heart which would 
 never be filled on earth. 
 
 On the whole, however, the winter wore plea- 
 santly away. They Hved in a good house now, and 
 had a kind old housekeeper to look after them, 
 besides which they had made troops of friends. 
 Rex Raynor was the coming man in the art world, 
 and, as a consequence, friends crowded round him 
 on every side. 
 
 It was a bitterly cold day in February when Rex 
 found himself once more in Liverpool. He could 
 hardly realize that he had been away from it nearly 
 five years. He might not have been away five 
 weeks, for nothing had changed, or next to nothing. 
 The same names were over the shops, the same 
 goods in the windows for any difference he could 
 see ; the same buses were in the streets — ay, 
 and the very same drivers, looking scarcely any 
 older. 
 
 He almost fancied ih.^1 he was still a clerk in the 
 bank, and that he had dreamed all the rest. The 
 only strange thing was, nobody recognised him. 
 Walking down Lord Street and up Church Street 
 he saw a dozen familiar faces. Once or twice he 
 was on the point of speaking, bu-t suddenly remem- 
 bered himself and passed on. It was evident that 
 five years had changed him ; his thick brown 
 beard seemed a complete disguise. 
 
 It was too cold, however, to loiter in the streets,
 
 176 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 SO he hurried off to his hotel to make arrangements 
 for the morrow. On the following^ morninsr at 
 eight o'clock, Jonas Brown was to be liberated from 
 Kirkdale Gaol, and he was anxious that there should 
 be no mishap. 
 
 Friday morning, the fourth of February, could 
 scarcely be said to ' break ' at all. The fog-laden 
 atmosphere struggled with the daylight and kept 
 it at bay. The wind blew keen and bitter from the 
 east, bringing with it occasional dashes of sleet, 
 which unmistakably betokened snow. Clustered 
 about the gloomy portal of Kirkdale Gaol, a small 
 knot of people had gathered, chiefly of the lowest 
 order, who had come to give a welcome to their 
 pals or their relatives on their release, and to cele- 
 brate the occasion by getting drunk at one of the 
 public-houses across the way. 
 
 Punctually at eight o'clock the heavy door was 
 thrown open, and about twenty people filed through : 
 some with a laugh and a skip, some slowly, mutter- 
 ing sullen oaths ; others wi5.ii a jaunty air, as though 
 they were superior to the common herd. 
 
 In a few moments they had disappeared — most 
 of them within the doors of the brilliantly-lighted 
 public-houses with which the neighbourhood 
 abounds. Only one was left alone in the street — 
 an old man, and, apparently, forsaken. He was the 
 last to appear, for he walked with a feeble step, and 
 when the door closed behind him he stood still 
 and shiavred in the bitter east wind.
 
 A DAY-DREAM. 177 
 
 The others had friends to meet them, or had 
 some place to go to. He had neither. He was 
 alone and homeless. It seemed almost a cruel 
 thing to turn him out of his warm cell and push 
 him into the wintry street. The cold appeared to 
 chill his very blood, and he looked helplessly first 
 in one direction, then in another. 
 
 A few yards away was a cab with a policeman 
 standing by the door. He was evidently interested 
 in the old man, for he watched him narrowly. At 
 length he went up to him and spoke. 
 
 * You are Mr. Jonas Brown, I think.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking at him in surprise; 
 ' do you want me ?' 
 
 * Well, an old acquaintance of yours would like 
 you to come and have breakfast with him at his 
 hotel, and talk matters over.' 
 
 ' An old acquaintance V said Jonas, in astonish- 
 ment. * Who is he — where is he ?' 
 
 ' He is at the North- Western Hotel, but who he 
 is I don't know. Will you go V 
 
 ' Go ?' and Jonas shivered ; ' yes, man, I'll go 
 anywhere. I'm alone. God help me !' 
 
 Rex was anxiously waiting Jonas's arrival. But 
 when the door was thrown open and the old man 
 tottered in, he drew back with a gasp of surprise. 
 What a change five years had wrought ! He looked 
 twenty years older, and so feeble that he seemed 
 ready to fall. 
 
 Rex took his hand in silence and led him to an 
 
 12
 
 1 78 REX RA YNOR, A R TIS T. 
 
 eas3^-chair by the fire, then settled with the police- 
 man, and closed and locked the door. 
 
 Jonas watched him with a curious look in his 
 eyes, and when Rex came and took a chair on the 
 opposite side of the fire, he said : 
 
 ' I don't understand this no road. I don't know 
 who you are, and what you can want with me I 
 can't understand.' 
 
 * I wish to befriend you, if possible,' Rex said, 
 trying to disguise his voice, ' I thought you might 
 not have many friends. People who are down are 
 not overburdened with friends as a rule.' 
 
 ' Friends ! God help me !' and Jonas shook his 
 head sadly. ' I didn't know I had a friend left ;' 
 and the old man's lip quivered visibly. 
 
 ' I thought that might be the case,' Rex said after 
 a pause, for Jonas's emotion had touched him 
 deeply ; ' and so I came over to see if I might be 
 of any service to you.' 
 
 * But I don't know you,' Jonas said, brushing his 
 hand across his eyes, ' and yet your voice sounds 
 familiar, too.' 
 
 * You knew me once,' said Rex, * and you have 
 been kind to me and mine, and 1 would like to 
 repay your kindness in some way, if that is 
 possible.' 
 
 * Kind to you ? Nay, nay, I've never been very 
 much given to kindness. I've sowed seed of a 
 different sort all through my life. Ay, an^ I've 
 reaped the harvest too.'
 
 A DAT-DREAM. 179 
 
 'But you were kind to me,' said Rex, 'and it's 
 only fair you should reap the harvest of that as 
 well.' 
 
 But Jonas did not reply ; he only looked at him 
 with increasing wonder in his eyes. 
 
 ' And you don't recognise me yet V Rex ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 'No,' said Jonas, with a shake of the head; *I 
 can't make you up. I have no glasses, you see, an' 
 my sight is getting very poor.' 
 
 Rex drew his chair closer to him. 
 
 * In the old days you called me Rex,' he said ; 
 * now you know me.' 
 
 * Rex !' Jonas said, struggling to his feet. * You, 
 Rex ? God help me, so you are !' and he fell upon 
 his neck and burst into tears. 
 
 * Oh, Rex, Rex,' he said, struggling with his 
 emotion ; ' I don't deserve this, I really don't. 
 I— I ' 
 
 * No, don't blame yourself,' Rex said. * We will 
 let the past go for the present, and while we are 
 having some breakfast w© will talk of the future.'
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 life's little day. 
 
 * But now the night is round my feet, 
 Now stars are looking in my eyes ; 
 Now from the vale and stream there rise 
 Remoter influences, replete 
 With heart-pang lolled to bitter-Bweet,' 
 
 W. M. Rosietti. 
 
 Jonas sat down before the toothsome meal Rex had 
 provided ; but he could not eat, 
 
 ' It ain't no good, Rex,' he said ; * I ain't in the 
 eatin' line to-day. I'm never hungry now as I used 
 to be, and, besides, I've a lump in my throat which 
 I can't swallow. It's all so unexpected like. I lay 
 awake all last night wonderin' what would become 
 of me. I thought perhaps I might get into the 
 workhouse or into the river. I never thought of 
 this.' 
 
 Rex did not reply, and Jonas rambled on : 
 'Not that I wanted to drown myself, for that 
 seems a cowardly way of gettin' out of the world. 
 But neither, for that matter^ do I care about living.
 
 LIFE'S LITTLE DA Y. 181 
 
 The game ain't worth the candle, Rex. Life's a 
 fraud. It's nothing but struggle and wriggle, and 
 push and checkmate, from beginnin' to end. I've 
 had my day. At first I was too cute for most of 
 'em, an' generally got the upper hand ; but latterly 
 folks 'ave been too cute for me. I oughtn't to 
 grumble, I suppose. I've only been paid back in 
 my own coin. Folks generally gets their rights in 
 the long-run, Rex.' 
 
 ' Yes, I believe they do,' Rex said thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Ay, it's a queer world,' Jonas went on. * Your 
 mother used to say — nay, not your mother, Rex ; 
 but you know who I mean — she used to say that 
 doin' right always prospered in the end. Maybe 
 she was right. I've thought a good deal about 
 "what she used to say to me, durin' the last six 
 months. It's funny how the past comes back 
 sometimes. Well, well. It's the only bit in my 
 life that is worth remembering. It was a sad day 
 for me when she was taken. Nothing has ever 
 gone right since.' 
 
 ' She was a beautiful woman,' Rex said, more to 
 himself than to Jonas. 
 
 ' Ay, she were too good for me ; I always know'd 
 that. An' the contrast between her an' the other 
 one — weU, I oughtn't to say anything, I suppose. 
 You knew 'em both, Rex.' 
 
 * Do you know where Mrs. Brown is ?' Rex 
 questioned after a pause. 
 
 'Nay, I don't know, an' I don't care. She's safe
 
 182 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 enough you may depend. She must have saved 
 thousands of pounds out of her housekeeping 
 money. I never know'd her equal.' 
 
 Then for awhile silence fell between them. 
 Rex's thoughts were back in Barwich again, and 
 his heart was aching for news of Evelyn. A year 
 and a half had elapsed since he caught that 
 momentary glimpse of her face, and since then he 
 had heard no word of her. Was she married, he 
 wondered, or was she still single? Did she still 
 live at Barwich, or had she and her mother gone 
 south, as they sometimes talked of doing ? Jonas 
 had lived at Elmwood up to nine months ago ; he 
 would probably know. 
 
 * I suppose everything has gone on much as 
 usual at Barwich since I left ?' Rex said at length. 
 
 * Ay, things haven't changed much,' Jonas said 
 gloomily. 
 
 * Is Mrs. May still at Beechlawn ? And Evelyn ; 
 is she still unmarried ?' 
 
 *I expect the gal is married by this. There's 
 been talk about it long enough,' Jonas grunted. 
 
 ' It is a fact, then, that she is engaged to Stuart 
 Leslie ?' Rex questioned. 
 
 ' I suppose so ; I don't know. They don't live 
 much at Barwich now. A few months in the 
 summer, and then they're off again. It's a good 
 job Mrs. May did not entrust her money with me 
 as she thought of doing once. I wish I had stuck 
 to the cotton ; I should have saved myself and a
 
 LIFE'S LITTLE DAY. 183 
 
 let of otlier people a deal of trouble;' and Jonas 
 brushed his hand quickly across his eyes. 
 
 ' Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk,' Rex 
 said at length. 'To-morrow you shall go home 
 with me if you will. While I live and have my 
 health you shall be cared for. So don't fret about 
 the past any more than you can help.' 
 
 For awhile Jonas was silent. He was evidently 
 trying to swallow the lump in his throat, and was 
 not succeeding very well in the attempt. Every 
 now and then he tried to speak, but the words 
 would not come. At length he got up from his 
 seat, and staggered to his easy- chair by the fire, 
 into which he dropped with a sudden jerk. Then 
 he seized the poker and made a dive at a lump of 
 coal ; after which he seemed to recover himself. 
 
 ' I can't say nothin', Rex,' he said, with his old 
 defiance of grammar ; * I'll do anything you tell 
 me.' 
 
 So the next day saw Jonas comfortably settled 
 in his new home. John received him with great 
 kindness, not to say courtesy, and did his best to 
 make him feel at home. Jonas was evidently 
 deeply touched by the kindness he received; but 
 he said little. He was too feeble and broken down 
 to talk much; nor did he seem to recover his 
 strength as the days passed on. 
 
 For a whole month he never left his room. He 
 was content to sit in his easy-chair, staring into the 
 fire. Of the pictures he saw in the glowmg grate
 
 184 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 he did not speak. Sometimes a tear would start in 
 his eye and roll silently down his withered cheek ; 
 sometimes he would smile a wintry smile, but not 
 often. For the most part he sat in moody silence, 
 with a far-away look in his eyes, as though his 
 thoughts were back in the past, and as though 
 the present had for him no interest and no con- 
 cern. 
 
 As the spring advanced he recovered his strength 
 a little, and on sunshiny days would steal quietly 
 up into the large studio and watch John and Rex 
 at their work. But it was very evident that he 
 would never again be the man he had been. Not 
 only was his health broken, but his spirit was 
 broken as well; he had lost completely his old 
 domineering manner. In many things he was just 
 like a child. 
 
 John and Rex did their best to cheer him, but 
 with poor success. At first they tried to get him 
 interested in pictures, but soon gave up the attempt. 
 Jonas cared no more for pictures than in the old 
 days, while in his heart he had a secret contempt 
 for those who painted them. According to his 
 judgment, it was a sad waste of time, and a miser- 
 able way of trying to earn a living. 
 
 'An' you really make money out of a job like 
 that?' he said to Rex one day when they were 
 alone in the studio. 
 
 * Yes, we make enough to keep us very comfort- 
 ably,' Kex answered with a smile.
 
 LIFE'S LITTLE DA T. 185 
 
 'Humph, I should think you'd rather be an 
 'ouse-painter.' 
 
 * Well, I was a house-painter for a year or two,' 
 Rex laughed ; ' but I gave it up when 1 found I 
 could paint pictures.' 
 
 'You did, eh? I don't think I should;* and 
 Jonas again relapsed into silence. 
 
 When the Raynors had company, he persistently 
 kept out of sight. 
 
 ' I don't want to see nobody,' he would say, ' an' 
 I don't want nobody to see me. Of course, Rex, if 
 you very much wish me to come down, I will. Rut 
 I'd rather not ; I'm happier alone. I sit an' look 
 into the fire an' dream. Sometimes it seems as if 
 something or somebody comes an' talks to me ; I 
 can't understand it. Rut an easier feehng comes 
 into my heart, and I think there may be another 
 life than this, where a fellow will have anotlier 
 chance. May used to think so. Rerhaps it's she 
 as comes an' talks to me ; I don't know. Only I'd 
 rather be quiet. Rex, if you don't mind.' 
 
 So Jonas would be left to his thoughts, and to 
 the workings of that good spirit that never forsakes 
 any of earth's poor children. 
 
 Meanwhile the Royal Academy was once more 
 thrown open, and Rex's picture had again a place 
 of honour. The critics said it marked a distinct 
 advance on his picture of the previous year, and 
 furnished undeniable evidence of the young artist's 
 genius and skill. Great things were predicted of
 
 186 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 him should his life be spared. Indeed, one or two 
 papers prophesied that he was destined to become 
 the most notable painter of the century. On the 
 other hand, however, a few well - known critics 
 declared that they saw no merit in his pictures at 
 all, and insinuated that though he had gone up 
 like a rocket, he would come down like a stick. 
 
 But Rex went quietly on his way, unmoved by 
 either praise or blame. He sometimes wondered 
 whether Evelyn ever read the papers, and if she 
 did, what she thought of the honours that had 
 been crowded upon him, A smile from her at that 
 time, or a kind word, would have been more to him 
 than all the praise of his brother artists, and all the 
 laudations of the press. In his heart she still 
 reigned supreme. 
 
 Naturally he was much sought after, and now 
 and then he went into company. But of all the 
 faces he saw, none to his fancy could compare with 
 hers. Through years of silence and misunderstand- 
 ing his love lived on. He might be forgotten, but 
 he could not forget. Evelyn had ceased to love 
 him, so he believed. But his love had grown rather 
 than diminished. She was still his heart's desire. 
 
 In this respect he was a surprise to himself. He 
 was constantly on the look-out for her, even against 
 his wiU. On private view day he scanned far more 
 eagerly the faces of the crowd than he did the 
 pictures on the walls, and when on rare occasions 
 he went into company, he always wondered if she
 
 LIFE'S LITTLE DA Y. 187 
 
 would be present, and invariably returned to his 
 home with the old hunger gnawing at his heart. 
 
 So another summer wore slowly away, and 
 autumn at length began to steal silently over the 
 land, and with the browning leaf Jonas began to 
 droop and die. He had never gathered any real 
 strength, never recovered his spirits ; and now in 
 the shortening days he took to his bed, owning 
 that he was ' beaten,' though never uttering a word 
 of complaint. 
 
 He felt that his life was drawing to its close, and 
 neither John nor Kex attempted to buoy him up 
 with any false hopes of recovery. He was very 
 patient, and wonderfully gentle for one who was 
 naturally peevish and irritable. His troubles had 
 subdued him to a degree one could scarcely have 
 imagined. 
 
 Rex declined all invitations, and spent his 
 evenings at home with Jonas. The old man liked 
 to have Rex with him. 
 
 'You are very good, Rex,' he would sometimes 
 say. * I don't deserve it, I really don't. But you 
 make me very happy, all the same.' 
 
 ' I want to make you happy,' Rex would say. ' I 
 don't want you to have a trouble or a care.' 
 
 And the tears would roll down Jonas's withered 
 cheeks, and in silence he would press Rex's hand 
 for answer. 
 
 As the end drew near, Rex wanted to send for a 
 minister. But Jonas would not hear of it
 
 188 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 * I'd rather talk with you, Rex,' he said. ' You 
 know me best, an' since you've been so good to me, 
 perhaps God won't turn me away.' 
 
 ' I'm sure He won't,' Rex answered. 
 
 ' And you can pray with me now and then. I 
 like to hear you pray, Rex. You've been a good 
 lad, an' you'll get paid for it in the long-run.' 
 
 'You've only seen the best side of me,' Rex 
 answered. 
 
 * Nay, lad, I've seen pretty well into thy heart. 
 But never mind that. I'm going away now. My 
 life's been a great mistake, Rex. If I could live it 
 over again, I think I would do differently. The 
 little good I ever did has come back in blessings a 
 thousand-fold. If I had sown more corn and fewer 
 tares, Rex, the reapin' ud be different. We reap 
 as we sow, boy ; I've found that out.' 
 
 For a day or two before the end he scarcely 
 spoke a word. Rex and John kept patient watch 
 by his bedside, and now and then Jonas tried to 
 smile his gratitude. 
 
 He passed away in the night. Rex was sitting 
 by his side. 
 
 * Are you there, Rex ?' the words came in a feeble 
 whisper. 
 
 'Yes, I am here,' Rex answered, bending over 
 him. * Can I do anything for you V 
 
 ' Speak to me those words again,' he whispered. 
 * You know. Rex.' 
 
 And Rex spoke slowly the words the old man
 
 LIFE'S LITTLE DAY. 189 
 
 had leaxned to love : ' For God so loved the world 
 that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever 
 believeth in Him should not perish, but have ever- 
 lasting life.' 
 
 He did not speak again. For a moment a feeble 
 smile flickered over his face, like a gleam of winter 
 sunshine, then suddenly vanished, and with the 
 vanishing smile the spirit went out in the night to 
 the God who gave it birth-
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 STKANGERS YET. 
 
 Oh. pleasant days of hope — for ever flown I 
 Could I recall you 1 — but that thought is vaitk 
 
 Availeth not persuasion's sweetest tone 
 
 To lure the fleet-winged travellers back again ; 
 
 Yet fair, though faint, their images shall gleam, 
 
 Like a bright rainbow on an evening stream/ 
 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 In one of his conversations with Rex, Jonas had 
 expressed a desire to be bftried at Barwich by the 
 side of his dead wife, and i*^>v that he was dead, 
 both father and son were anxious to carry out his 
 request. It would entail trouble and considerable 
 expense, but they did not mind that. 
 
 ' I should like to be buried with Jane and the 
 children down at Aberfae when I die,' John said. 
 * And it is only right that Jonas should sleep by 
 the wife he loved.' 
 
 So a letter was sent off at once to Mr. Leslie, the 
 Vicar of Barwich, and by return of post an answer 
 was received saying that everything possible should
 
 STEANGERS YET. 191 
 
 be done at Barwich for tlie purpose of carrying out 
 the late banker's wish. 
 
 'Let me also,' the letter went on, 'express a deep 
 sense of the relief I feel, that poor Mr. Brown found 
 such an asylum during the closing days of his life. 
 I have often wondered, along with many others, 
 what had become of him. I knew that he had 
 served his term of imprisonment and left the gaol 
 alive. But after that no trace of him could be 
 found, I will not say that any of us made very 
 diligent search for him. Perhaps we were all too 
 ready to forget him. Some of my parishioners had 
 lost their all through him, and naturally enough 
 resented even the mention of his name. But to me 
 it is a matter of intense relief to find that in his 
 disgrace and feebleness he was cared for, and that 
 now he is to be buried alongside his wife, whom, 
 no doubt, he fondly loved. Furthermore, let me 
 say, how all the Barwichians rejoice in the growing 
 fame of your son ' (the letter was to John). * In 
 the hearts of the people he has always lived. His 
 going away, on the discovery of his identity, was a 
 real grief to everyone ; though to go away was, no 
 doubt, under the circumstances, a proper thing to 
 do. But we shall feel honoured by his presence 
 amongst us on Wednesday next, though the occasion 
 of his coming is such a sad one. I await your 
 further orders, which shall have prompt attention.' 
 
 B^x read the letter with a frown upon his hand- 
 some face, and felt half disposed not to go to
 
 192 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 Banvich at all. It would be a painful ordeal in 
 many respects to stand there in tlie churchyard to 
 be stared at. On the other hand, it would be a 
 real joy to look again upon the scenes so dear to 
 his memory and around which clustered so many 
 happy associations. But whether the pleasure or 
 the pain would be greater he was unable to 
 determine. 
 
 There was one consideration, however, which 
 determined him. He might see Evelyn. That in 
 itself was a prospect ho could not resist. Two years 
 had passed away since he caught that momentary 
 glimpse of her face, and his heart felt starved for 
 another sight of her. He knew it was foolish to 
 give way to such a feeling, but he could not help 
 it. Day after day and week after week he had 
 kept hoping that by some strange chance he might 
 see her. He knew that she came frequently to 
 London. At least, she used to do, and it was no 
 unreasonable thing to suppose he might now and 
 then stumble across her path. He was frequently 
 meeting people he knew from Barwich and Liver- 
 pool in Fleet Street, Piccadilly, and the Strand, 
 though none of them ever recognised him, and he 
 never made himself known. But with that one 
 exception, Evelyn, he had never met. In every 
 place of public resort which he visited, he looked 
 eagerly for the one face that was fairer and dearer 
 to him than any other face on earth. But it seemed 
 as thoucrh the fates were unkind to him. Other
 
 STRANGERS YET. 1§3 
 
 well-known faces lie occasionally saw, but hers 
 never. 
 
 He did not question himself as to what possible 
 good could come of his meeting her. He knew if 
 be saw her at Barwich the chances were she would 
 not recognise him. But even though she looked 
 scorn and contempt at him, he had a feeling that 
 the sight of her face would appease in some degree 
 his heart's hunger, and that he would go on his 
 way better satisfied. Had he attempted to reason 
 the matter out, he would probably have come to the 
 very opposite conclusion. 
 
 It was a sweet, restful day in late September 
 when the funeral took place — one of those strangely 
 quiet days when it would almost seem as though 
 tired Nature had dropped asleep. The brown leaves 
 hung motionless upon the trees. The wind had 
 died away into utter stillness. Even the insects 
 had ceased to hum. 
 
 In the old churchyard, surrounded by tall and 
 stately elms, the silence could be felt. The town 
 of Barwich was not near enough for its voice to be 
 heard. For some unaccountable reason it had 
 grown away from the church, and so the quiet 
 graveyard remained quite as much in the country 
 as when Barwich was only a village. 
 
 The voice of Mr. Leslie sounded strangely solemn 
 as he commenced the service at the grave : * Man 
 that is bom of a woman hath but a short time to 
 live, and is full of misery.' 
 
 13
 
 194 REX RAYNOR, ARTIS't 
 
 Rex took off his hat and cast a swift glance 
 around him. A crowd of people had assembled — 
 far more than had been in the church. But as yet 
 he had seen no individual face. He had come with 
 his father from the station in a closed carriage. 
 He had walked into the church without looking 
 to the right or to the left ; had seen no one while 
 the service had proceeded within the building; 
 but now, in that swift glance around him, one face, 
 fair and beautiful, stood out clear and distinct from 
 all the rest — the face of Evelyn, 
 
 His heart gave a great throb, and then for a 
 moment seemed to stop. He felt himself grow pale 
 even to the lips. But he did not dare to raise his 
 eyes again during the service. In dreamy mono- 
 tone the Vicar's voice sounded in his ears. But he 
 scarcely heard any of the words he said. He felt 
 all the while that over against him Evelyn May 
 was standing, her eyes fixed upon his face. 
 
 Why had she come ? he wondered. He knew it 
 was not often that people in her walk in life put in 
 an appearance at a funeral. Had she come out of 
 curiosity ? — out of respect for the memory of Jonas 
 Brown ? — to have a look at her old lover ? — to 
 mark the changes time had wrought in him ? — or 
 to show him how different she was, and how com- 
 pletely she had outlived the past ? 
 
 The service ended at length. The Vicar stole 
 away through the crowd back to his vestry. There 
 was a general movement and shuffle of feet. Rex
 
 STRANGERS YET. 195 
 
 replaced his hat and looked round him once more. 
 Evelyn was standing in the same place, very pale, 
 but beautiful as ever. On her left stood her mother, 
 looking a little older, but a lovely woman still. 
 And close to her right hand was Stuart Leslie, with 
 a smile, partly triumphant, partly malicious, upon 
 his handsome face. 
 
 The smile was not lost upon Rex, but his eyes 
 instantly wandered back again to Evelyn's face. 
 It was the face that for years he had longed to see, 
 and they might not meet again for years. They 
 might not meet again for ever. 
 
 She met his gaze without flinching, but without 
 the least sign of recognition. But in her great 
 solemn eyes there was a look he could not under- 
 stand. Was it pity ? Was it reproach ? Was it 
 scorn ? Perhaps it was the latter. Yet there was 
 no scorn upon her face. Her hps were sweet and 
 gentle as of old. 
 
 She had scarcely altered at all in the five years 
 he had been away. She was a little more stately, 
 perhaps. Her figure was a little fuller and rounder ; 
 her face a shade more grave. In other respects she 
 was the Evelyn of old — the beautiful maiden who 
 had won his love, and who had promised to be his 
 wife. 
 
 Did she wait, he wondered, for him to show some 
 sign of recognition ? No, that could not be. He 
 had been the ofiender. He had deceived her when 
 he ought to have been true. And so she would 
 
 13—2
 
 196 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 never forgive him. He felt the hot blood rush to 
 his face as the memory of the past swept over him, 
 and, dropping his eyes, he whispered something to 
 his father, then turned quickly on his heel and 
 followed the Vicar. 
 
 Mr. Leslie was very gracious with him. Would 
 he and his father stay and dine with him and spend 
 ■>he night at the Vicarage ? He would like to have 
 a little talk with him about pictures, especially 
 Rex's latest success. He was proud that a Bar- 
 wichian had won so much fame. And then it was 
 very noble of him and his father to befriend poor 
 Mr. Brown in the way they had done. He would 
 be delighted to have a very long talk about things 
 in general, so much had happened in the last five 
 years. Could he not spend a night in Barwich and 
 visit some of his old friends ? 
 
 But Rex was firm. ' We have arranged to return 
 by the next train,' he said ; 'I have onl}'- just time 
 to pay the fees, then perhaps you would not mind 
 letting me out by the side-door, and I will take the 
 footpath to the station and so avoid the crowd.' 
 
 ' But your father ?' the Vicar questioned. 
 
 * He has gone round the other way in the 
 carriage.' 
 
 At the churchyard gate, near the Vicarage, Mrs. 
 May and Evelyn waited — waited till the crowd 
 had all dispersed, then turned slowly round and 
 retraced their steps up the churchyard path. 
 
 Did they wait in the hope of seeing Rex ? Ir so.
 
 STRANGERS YET. 197 
 
 they were disappointed. They saw the Vicar come 
 out of the church alone, and take the short cut, by 
 a narrow footpath, to his house. Then they, too, 
 left the churchyard, stepped into their carriage, 
 which was waitingr at the fjate, and drove home. 
 
 Meanwhile Rex and his father were speeding 
 back to London. But very little was said during 
 the weary journey. John, indeed, slept most of 
 the way, for they were the only occupants of a 
 first-class compartment, and John was very tired. 
 
 Rex was not at all sorry to be left in silence. He 
 was in no mood for conversation, the events of the 
 day had been too depressing. In one thing he had 
 realized his desire ; he had seen Evelyn, but he was 
 no happier for it. Nay, if possible, his heart ached 
 more stubbornly than ever. 
 
 He had never admitted, even to himself, that he 
 had cherished the faintest hope that he would win 
 again Evelyn May. At the first he told his father 
 that Evelyn was utterly lost to him. He believed 
 it then ; he had believed it ever since. Yet, not- 
 withstanding this, he was sorely disappointed with 
 their meeting to-day. She might have given him, 
 he thought, somo faint glance of recognition, some 
 token of forgiveness. It was hard to feel the re- 
 proach of her eyes, and to carry the memory of it 
 as long as he lived. 
 
 If any Hngering hope had remained in his heart, 
 It was rooted out now. He felt, as he had never 
 felt before, how great was the gulf between them.
 
 198 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 After five years and more they had met as strangers, 
 without even a glance of recognition ; as strangers 
 they had parted. So another page in his life's 
 history was ended, so the last link that bound him 
 to the old life was snapped for evermore.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 GROUND FOR HOPE. 
 
 ' The ancient sorrow now is not, 
 
 Since time can heal the keenest smart ; 
 Yet the vague memory, scarce forgot, 
 Lingers deep down within the heart.' 
 
 Lewie Morris, 
 
 Evelyn and her mother drove home in silence. 
 On reaching Beechlawn, Evelyn went at once to 
 her own room and locked the door. She wanted 
 to be alone, to read her own heart again as she had 
 tried to do many times before. 
 
 Drawing an easy-chair close up to the window, 
 which was open, she sat down and rested her elbow 
 on the sill, while her eyes went wandering away 
 across the billowy landscape which spread far away 
 before her. It was a familiar scene, and one of 
 which she never tired. Yet to-day she paid little 
 heed to its beauty. Her thoughts were in other 
 directions, her heart aching with a load that seemed 
 to grow heavier aU the while. 
 
 It had cost her an effort to go to the churchyard
 
 200 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 and stand face to face with the man to whom she 
 had given her heart, and who, to all appearances, 
 had forgotten her, and who wished himself to be 
 forgotten. It was a very perplexing problem. She 
 wanted to think of him with all charity, for he had 
 been her youthful ideal, and even now, in spite of 
 his long silence and seeming neglect, he held the 
 first place in her heart. He was her first love, and 
 she had a feeling that she could never love another 
 as she had loved him. 
 
 Her mother had tried to dissuade her from going 
 to the funeral She had taken all along a less 
 charitable view of the matter than Evelyn had. 
 Fond as she had been of Rex, she could not quite 
 forgive what seemed his studied silence and all too 
 palpable inconsistency. She knew that Evelyn 
 had written to him on receipt of his letter, and as 
 the letter had never been returned, very naturally 
 supposed it had reached its proper destination; 
 and seeing that he had never responded to it — 
 that he had gone away without letting anyone 
 know of his whereabouts — that he had permitted 
 the months and years to pass away without seeking 
 any reconciliation — the very natural inference was, 
 that he wished to be forgotten as he wished to 
 forget. 
 
 How much Evelyn suffered no one ever knew, 
 for she resolutely locked up her trouble in her 
 heart and went about her daily duties as though 
 nothing had happened. But though outwardly
 
 GROUND FOR EOPE 201 
 
 calm and unmoved, the inward pain and heart- 
 break could not be altogether hidden from her 
 mother's watchful eyes. As the summer advanced, 
 she grew pale and listless. Every day she kept 
 hoping that Rex would come back to her, and 
 every evening added a fresh disappointment to the 
 many that had preceded it. 
 
 One day her mother found her seated by the 
 open window, with hollow, hungry-looking eyes, 
 and tears upon her cheeks, and at sight of her 
 suffering she could restrain her indignation no 
 longer. 
 
 'You are thinking of Rex,' she said, with so 
 much bitterness in hor tone that Evelyn looked up 
 in surprise. 
 
 ' Yes, mother, I am/ she said quietly. ' Is it any 
 matter of surprise that I should ?' 
 
 ' No, not a matter of surprise ; but it would be 
 well if you could forget him. I wish you would 
 try. This trouble is killing you.' 
 
 ' It is not easy to forget, mother,' was the quiet 
 answer. 
 
 ' I don't know. A man who has treated you as 
 he has done is not worth remembering.' 
 
 ' Hush, mother !' she said, rising to her feet and 
 clasping her hands. ' We may not know all ; 
 perhaps some day the mystery will be cleared 
 up.' 
 
 ' But you cannot deny, Evelyn, that he was party 
 to an imposture for some considerable time.'
 
 202 REX RAY NOR, ARTIST. 
 
 ' He admits that himself. It is that which 
 troubles him, and has driven him away. He 
 thinks I will not forgive him.* 
 
 ' How can he think that after the letter you sent 
 to him ? Or, if he had any doubts, why did he not 
 wait and see you ? No, Evelyn, young men are 
 proverbially fickle, and Rex is no exception to the 
 rule.' 
 
 'And you think he has grown tired of our engage- 
 ment, and is anxious to be rid of me ?' 
 
 'What else can I think?' Mrs. May answered, 
 with a flash of indignation in her gentle eyes. ' Put 
 him out of your thoughts, Evelyn, as one unworthy. 
 Forget him as quickly as you can.' 
 
 ' No, mother, not yet,' she answered, with quiet 
 dignity. ' I know he is not perfect, but he is not 
 what you would have me believe him.' 
 
 'Ah, well,' Mrs. May answered with a sigh; 'I 
 would not think unjustly of him, but facts are 
 eloquent as well as stubborn.' 
 
 'We may not have all the facts,' Evelyn said 
 quietly, and then sank into her chair again. 
 
 For a moment or two her mother looked at her 
 with yearning, anxious eyes, then turned and left 
 the room. 
 
 But as the months and years passed away, she 
 returned to the charge again and again. It seemed 
 clear enough to her that Rex had deliberately 
 thrown over her child, and he the son of a name- 
 less painter — the child of a woman who had do-
 
 GROUND FOR HOPE. 203 
 
 scended to fraud and deception of the worst kind. 
 To her it was humiliating in the extreme. She 
 wondered that Evelyn's pride did not come to her 
 rescue. If he were someone of noble birth, it 
 would be less galling. But to be thrown over and 
 made the sport of one who was without name 
 or position made her blood tingle to her finger- 
 tips. 
 
 But Evelyn was generally silent during her 
 mother's indignant outbursts. 
 
 Once she replied, with quiet dignity: 'He was 
 no adventurer, mother, as you know. He grew up 
 with us from childhood ; as a boy he was the soul 
 of honour, and when he became a man he was ever 
 chivalrous and true, and it cannot be that he 
 changed his nature in a moment.' 
 
 * You are stubborn, Evelyn, and in this matter 
 unreasonable,' her mother answered. 'But sup- 
 posing he is all you have pictured him, he evidently 
 wishes the engagement to end, and seeing there 
 are others good as he is in every way, who would 
 cultivate your acquaintance, I think ' 
 
 'Please say no more, mother,' Evelyn answered 
 quickly. ' You hurt me by such allusions.' 
 
 But Mrs. May, having set her heart upon an 
 object, was not easily discouraged. She had seen 
 all along that Stuart Leslie was fond of Evelyn, 
 and though he was neither so manly nor so hand- 
 some as Rex, yet he was handsome enough, and 
 rich enough, and clever enough to please most
 
 204 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 people, and, indeed, from a worldly point of view, 
 might be considered a very good match. 
 
 Moreover, since Rex was out of the way, Mrs. 
 May had promised Stuart she would do all she 
 could to further his suit. She had a feeling that 
 she would be much more content if she could see 
 her daughter comfortably settled. As matters 
 stood, if anything happened to her, Evelyn would 
 be alone in the world, and such a prospect troubled 
 her sometimes. Evelyn was her only care, and her 
 happiness her one concern. 
 
 But though Evelyn was friendly enough with 
 Stuart, and liked him in a general way, the idea of 
 his playing the part of lover was most distasteful 
 to her. 
 
 Notwithstandmg this, however, he went more 
 frequently than ever to the house, and when the 
 rumour got abroad in Barwich that he and Evelyn 
 were engaged, he never attempted to deny it. So 
 it grew into a settled conviction in the minds of 
 the Barwich ians, that sooner or later Evelyn and 
 young Leslie would be married. 
 
 When Evelyn first heard the report she was very 
 indignant, and insisted on going away from home 
 at once, and, indeed, from that day forward she 
 spent less and less time at Beechlawn. 
 
 During one of Stuart Leslie's visits, and just on 
 the eve of Evelyn and her mother's departure for 
 the Kiviera, Mrs. May said to him : ' You must be 
 patient, Stuart. Evelyn will not be coerced.'
 
 GROUND FOR HOPE. 205 
 
 ' But she gives me no encouragement at all,' he 
 said petulantly. 
 
 ' She must forget Rex before she will encourage 
 you,' was the answer. ' And I am helping her all 
 I can to forget him.' 
 
 ' But 'pon my soul, excuse me, but it's terribly 
 hard on a fellow.' 
 
 * Perhaps it is,' Mrs. May answered with a smile. 
 'Still, the discipline may be good for you.' 
 
 * Discipline be ' Then he checked himself 
 
 suddenly. 
 
 ' Stuart, you must not lose control of yourself,' 
 Mrs. May said severely. 
 
 ' And you must not be hard upon a fellow,' was 
 the quick rejoinder. 
 
 * I am not hard,' was the reply. ' On the con- 
 trary, I have encouraged you all I could.' 
 
 ' Will you be away long V he asked after a 
 pause. 
 
 ' Three months at least, perhaps four.' 
 
 'The dev — that is — really, Mrs, May, you will 
 not stay away so long. What am I to do V 
 
 ' Learn self-control, Stuart, and get through your 
 examinations.' 
 
 He bit his lip in silence, and soon after took his 
 departure. 
 
 At length came news of Rex's sudden leap into 
 fame, and hope revived in Evelyn's heart once 
 more, for she thought: 'He has been poor and 
 nameless all these years, and perhaps felt in his
 
 206 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 changed circumstances that he had no right to 
 aspire to me ; but now that he has won for himself 
 a position and can meet me on equal terms, perhaps 
 he will come back. Oh ! I hope he will.' 
 
 But though she watched and waited, he did not 
 come, and slowly but surely the conviction began 
 to eat its way into her heart : 
 
 * He does not want me. Mother has been all 
 along right in her surmise.' 
 
 But she kept her fears to herself, and nursed her 
 grief in silence. Moreover, time, the great healer, 
 had in some measure taken the sting out of her 
 disappointment, and all unconsciously dimmed the 
 memory of those bygone years. 
 
 She had never seen Rex but once since he went 
 away, and then she did not know it was him. She 
 only caught a momentary glimpse of the young 
 painter's face, as he knelt before the door, and did 
 not dream that the panels and friezes she so much 
 admired were the work of her lover's hand. 
 
 Hence it was but natural that the memory of 
 him should grow more and more indistinct, while 
 all the while Stuart Leslie was showing her the 
 better side of his nature, and patiently and per- 
 sistently trying to win her love. 
 
 And so it came about that she began to let her 
 mother's suggestions have a place in her thoughts. 
 She had a vague, undefined feeling, which she 
 would have almost blushed to put into words, that 
 she would have to marry somebody or spend her
 
 GROUND FOR HOPE. 207 
 
 life alone. And if she must marry, Stuart would 
 be less distasteful to her than most people. 
 
 It was not often such thoughts haunted her. 
 Still, the seed was there and was sure to grow. 
 
 Then came the day of the funeral, and all Barwich 
 turned out ; not so much to pay respect to the dead 
 as to look upon the face of the living. For two 
 whole days little else had been talked about, and 
 Rex and his father had been lauded to the skies 
 for their noble and generous conduct. 
 
 Mrs. May, as we have said, did not wish Evelyn 
 to go. But the latter was firm. She had resolved 
 to see Rex again, whatever might be the con- 
 sequences. If he had really forgotten her and 
 wished to be forgotten, she would see it in his look. 
 But, oh ! she hoped he would recognise her. The 
 very thought of his coming seemed to awaken all 
 the fond memories that were beginning to sleep, 
 and her heart ached all the day for the hour to 
 come when she would stand face to face with the 
 man whom she had loved so dearly in the past, and 
 whom she could not help loving still. 
 
 ' Well, Evelyn, if you will go,' said her mother, 
 * I will go with you. But I think you would be 
 studying your own happiness by staying at 
 home.' 
 
 ' Perhaps so,' was the answer ; ' but I must go, 
 nevertheless,' 
 
 Evelyn's heart almost stopped when Rex stood 
 before her with uncovered head. He had greatly
 
 208 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 altered, was older and graver-looking, but hand- 
 somer than ever. 
 
 She waited with throbbing heart till he should 
 raise his eyes, and when he did so she looked at him 
 steadily, hoping and longing for a glance of recog- 
 nition. But he might have been stone, or she the 
 greatest stranger in the world. There was no glance 
 of recognition in his eyes, no softening of his stern 
 set lips. She would have gone to him before all 
 the crowd if she had dared, She longed to hear 
 him say ' Evelyn ' once more in the old tone of 
 tenderness. But clearly he did not want her. 
 
 If he had struck her she could hardly have felt 
 it more. And yet she would not give up all hope. 
 He might return to her when the crowd was gone. 
 Surely he would not go bad? to London the same 
 day he had come. The journey would be too 
 exhausting. 
 
 * Would he come to Beechlawn,' she wondered, 
 ' in the quiet eventide as he used to do ?' 
 
 She could see the carriage-drive from where 
 she sat by the open window. The evening was so 
 still she would be ablf to hear his footfall if he 
 came. 
 
 So she watched and waited. Lower and lower 
 the sun sank in the western sky. The beeches 
 burned and blazed in the yellow light. The distant 
 landscape vanished in a golden haze. The rooks 
 cawed and croaked in the far-off elms, while a faint 
 breath of wind came up from the south, ar^d shook
 
 GROUND FOR HOPE. 209 
 
 the poplars for a moment, then sighed itself away 
 into silence. 
 
 Then a quick step sounded on the gravel, and 
 Evelyn's heart leaped into her mouth. 
 
 * It is he,' she said, and grew pale to the lips. 
 The next moment the hot blood rushed in a 
 
 torrent over her neck and face. It was not Rex, 
 but Stuart Leslie. 
 
 * No, I cannot see him,' she said, rising to her 
 feet and clenching her hands ; ' and what is more, 
 I will not.' 
 
 And putting on her hat, she stole quietly down- 
 stairs and went out at the side- door, hurried quickly 
 across the lawn, and then made for the Thorbrig 
 footpath. * It was the path Rex loved, and perhapa 
 old memories would lead him thither again.' Such 
 was the thought that swept like a flash across her 
 mind. 
 
 To speak with him once more, to have some 
 explanation, even though they parted in anger, 
 was better than this continued silence — better a 
 thousand times. 
 
 So she hurried up the field and into the wood — 
 all aglow now with light from the burning west 
 Through the long avenue she walked slowly to the 
 very end, then turned and as slowly retraced her 
 steps. When she reached the stile she sat down, 
 and rested her face in her hand. 
 
 ' My dream is ended,' she said with a sigh ; * now 
 
 let me try to forget it. And yet how can I ? Ho 
 
 14
 
 210 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 has not the face of a deceiver. His treatment of 
 Jonas Brown shows him to be good and generous 
 still. And, oh, his coming has awakened again all 
 the love of my heart.' 
 
 The next moment she was startled by the sound 
 of a footstep near her, and, looking up, she found 
 herself face to face with Stuart Leslie. 
 
 ' I thought you might be here,' he said apologeti- 
 cally ; ' and so I came to look for you.' 
 
 * Yoj: should not have troubled yourself,' she 
 answered coldly ; ' I am not likeiy to take any 
 harm.' 
 
 'Do not be angry, Evelyn,' he said humbly; 
 you must know how dearly I love you, and ' 
 
 * I am very sorry for you, Stuart — very sorry 
 mdeed,' she interrupted ; ' but ' 
 
 * Nay, there must be no more buts,' he said 
 quickly ; ' I do not ask or even hope that you will 
 love me as you loved Rex. But after his scandalous 
 treatment of you to-day, I am sure you will never 
 think of him again.' 
 
 ' I do not know that you are called upon to be 
 the judge of Rex Raynor's conduct,' she said 
 severely. * Please let us drop the subject.' 
 
 ' But surely, Evelyn, you have no further hope 
 or expectation in that direction ?' he questioned. 
 * Excuse me speaking so plainly.' 
 
 She looked at him for a moment in silence, then 
 answered quite calmly : 
 
 ' No, Stuart j I have neither hope nor ex-
 
 GROUND FOR HOPE. 211 
 
 pectation now. Rex is dead to me, and I to 
 him.' 
 
 * I am glad to hear you say so,' he said triumph- 
 antly ; ' I think he has acted like a villain.' 
 
 ' Stuart !' she said, turning and facing him with 
 flashing eyes ; * never say that in my hearing again ; 
 I know not what secrets underlie his silence. But 
 it is not for you to judge him.' 
 
 ' I cannot help it,' he said ; ' when I see how he 
 has made you suffer.' 
 
 ' What I have suffered is my own affair,' she 
 answered. 
 
 ' Oh, Evelyn, you are severe,' he said, after a long 
 pause. ' Will you not give me any hope at all V 
 
 * I neither give you hope nor take it away,' she 
 replied. 
 
 They had reached the lodge gates by this time, 
 and Evelyn held out her hand to say good-night. 
 
 ' Answer me one question,' he said impulsively. 
 ' Have I as much ground for hope as anyone else T 
 
 * Yes,' she said ; ' and more,* 
 So they parted.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AT SAN VESA. 
 
 * A turn, and we stand in the heart of things \ 
 The woods are round us, heaped and dim ; 
 From slab to slab how it slips and springs, 
 
 The thread of water, single and slim, 
 Through the ravage some torrent brings !* 
 
 E, Browning. 
 
 A MONTH later John and Rex had left London and 
 were on their way to the sunny south. After that 
 day at Barwich neither of them could settle steadily 
 to work. The sight of the old home, the sweet 
 country air, the quiet peacefulness of the hills and 
 fields, the rich colour of moorland and forest, made 
 them eager to get away from the dust and noise of 
 the city, and the constant jostle of the crowded 
 (Streets. 
 
 ' We will join Sam Laerton,' John said to Rex a 
 few days later; and if you don't mind we'll go a 
 fortnight sooner than we intended,' 
 
 ' I should be glad to go at once for that matter/ 
 Rex answered, ' for in truth I am getting a bit tired 
 of London.'
 
 AT SAN VERA. 213 
 
 ' Well, you know I resolved in the spring that I 
 would not spend another winter in England,' John 
 said ; ' the fogs try me so terribly.' 
 
 * I know they do, father ; and the sooner we can 
 get away the better. There is no particular reason 
 why we should stay here.' 
 
 'None at all,' John answered; 'we are no longer 
 pinched for money, and a rest and change will do 
 us both good. I think the sight of the old home 
 has made you restless. Rex, just as it has me.' 
 
 * I really believe it has,' Rex answered with a 
 laugh, as he bounded up the stairs to his own 
 room. 
 
 But in truth it was not so much the sight of 
 Barwich that had made him restless, as the sight 
 of Evelyn. He had foolishly imagined that to look 
 into her eyes once more would ease the pain in his 
 heart; instead of which the opposite result had 
 been produced. 
 
 He almost wished now he had not gone to 
 Barwich at all. Evelyn's unresponsive look had 
 spoiled everything. He and his father had talked 
 about spending a few days there, and familiarizing 
 themselves once more with old scenes and faces. 
 But that one look at Evelyn settled him. 
 
 ' Drive back to the station at once,' he whispered 
 to his father ; * I will settle with the Vicar and cross 
 by the fields.' 
 
 So his visit to Barwich had yielded him no 
 
 <}asure, nor pleasure to anyone else. Those who
 
 214 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 knew him in the years gone by talked of success 
 having made him proud, and popularity having 
 spoiled him. Poor old Dr. Moffat felt quite hurt 
 that Rex had not called upon him, and thought it 
 was too bad that when people became rich and 
 successful they should forget their old friends. But 
 as a set-off against this was the fact that he did not 
 forget Jonas Brown ; that his, in fact, was the only 
 hand stretched out to befriend him in his poverty 
 and disgrace. 
 
 For several weeks after the funeral, Rex and his 
 father were frequently talked about at Barwich. 
 The women said how handsome Rex had grown, 
 and what a splendid face his father had ; while 
 everyone declared it was a noble thing to befriend 
 Jonas Brown as they had done, and to give him 
 such a splendid funeral. 
 
 If Rex had only stayed a few days at Barwich 
 they would have made a hero of him ; but they 
 forgot the seeming slight after awhile, and even 
 Dr. Moffat was ready to excuse him. Meanwhile 
 amid new scenes Rex was recovering a little from 
 his heartache and disappointment. 
 
 San Vera (the name will do as well as any other) 
 at the time of which we write was only just 
 becoming known to English people as a winter 
 resort. It was not big and busy like Cannes and 
 Mentone, or gay and artificial like Monte Carlo, 
 nor seamy-looking and old-fashioned like San 
 Remo. Yet it was as dAlicrhtfnllv situated as any
 
 AT SAN VERA. 215 
 
 of those places. Fronting the Mediterranean, and 
 surrounded on every other side by lofty hills, it 
 enjoyed as mild a climate as anyone could desire. 
 Oranges ripened on the trees at Christmas, and 
 geraniums bloomed in March. Even the date-palm 
 grew here and there in the open, and brought its 
 fruit to perfection. 
 
 Already it had its little colony of English people, 
 chiefly artists and authors, who met regularly to 
 talk shop and discuss the latest English news. 
 The artists liked the place because it was within 
 easy reach of Genoa, and not more than a day's 
 journey from Florence. The authors liked it because 
 'living' was cheap, no mean consideration with 
 knights of the quill. While delicate people liked it 
 because of the mildness of the climate. 
 
 Sam Laerton, an old friend of John Raynor's, had 
 wintered at San Vera for several years, and it was 
 on his recommendation that John and Rex resolved 
 to spend a winter there. Neither had been abroad 
 before, and so the beauty of the Riviera came as a 
 surprise to them both. The lofty mountains 
 clothed with verdure ; the deep ravines and shaded 
 dells ; the rocky cliffs and headlands ; the splendid 
 carriage-way cut here and there through solid 
 rock; the hard beach of yellow sand; and, above 
 all, the lovely blue of the shining sea, made such a 
 picture of loveliness as neither had expected to 
 see. 
 
 Laerton had secured rooms which suited them
 
 Si6 REX itAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 exactly, and in a few days both John and Rex felt 
 quite at home, and were delighted with the change. 
 Every day there were fresh arrivals at the big 
 hotels which had been recently built ; while gossip 
 was abundant for those who cared for it. 
 
 Rex gave up painting, and took to botanizing 
 instead. The hollow in which San Vera was 
 situated narrowed backwards to a mere defile just 
 broad enough for the river and the road. Half a 
 mile up, this defile branched out into half a dozen 
 other dells and ravines, all of them well wooded, 
 all silent and lonely. 
 
 In his present mood nothing suited Rex better 
 than rambhng through these quiet glens. It was 
 such a change from the constant roar of London 
 streets, so restful after the busy life of the last few 
 years, that he gathered strength and cheerfulness 
 every day. Whether it was wise or safe to ramble 
 so far from the town alone he did not stop to 
 consider. Once or twice he had come across 
 suspicious-looking characters, who might or might 
 not be of the bandit class, but he scarcely gave 
 them a second thought. He was like a schoolboy 
 let out of school. He just gave himself up to 
 enjoyment and thought of little or nothing else. 
 
 So matters went on for five or six weeks, and 
 then Rex received something like a shock. He 
 was looking carelessly down the list of new arrivals 
 one afternoon, when he came across the names 
 ' Mrs. and Miss May, Barwich, England.'
 
 AT SAN VERA. 217 
 
 In a moment all the blood had left his face, and 
 he sat staring at the paper as though transfixed. 
 
 'It must be them,' he muttered; 'but how 
 strange !' 
 
 As a matter of fact, however, it was not strange 
 at aUj for they had wintered in San Vera for several 
 years past, though Rex knew nothing of that. 
 
 The minutes sped on, and he still kept staring 
 at the paper, though he no longer saw it. He was 
 back again in Barwich, climbing the sunny slope 
 of the field, or loitering through the dreamy wood 
 with Evelyn leaning upon his arm. How accurately 
 every scene had been photographed upon his 
 memory! In the years that had intervened he 
 had forgotten nothing. He had only to give him- 
 self up to the spell of the past, and it aU came back 
 again. 
 
 A street cry below the window brought him back 
 to himself, and, getting up from his chair, he took 
 two or three turns round the room. 
 
 'This is awkward,' he muttered to himself at 
 length. * I think father and I had better get away 
 from here. If we stay we are certain to meet them. 
 The places of public resort are so few that there will 
 be no avoiding it. And I am sure it is best for me 
 that I should never look upon her face again.' 
 
 Then he fell to musing on the fact that she was 
 still Evelyn May. * I cannot quite understand it,' 
 he said to himself. * If I live till the first of next 
 May, six years will have elapsed since I left
 
 218 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 Barwich. And if Stuart Leslie has not been able 
 to win her in all that time, his chance does not look 
 at all hopeful. She cannot care for him, that's 
 certain. I wonder now ' 
 
 And once more there came into his eyes that 
 far-away look which betokened that his thoughts 
 were back again in the past. He had tried bravely 
 to put Barwich and all its associations out of his 
 memory and out of his heart, but without avail. 
 One touch of kindred association and all the past 
 lived before him again. 
 
 After awhile he put on his hat, and started for a 
 ramble up the glen. 
 
 • I must fight the question out with myself,' he 
 said; 'and I think I can fight best out of 
 doors.' 
 
 The struggle lay between policy and inclination. 
 Prudence urged him to get away from San Vera as 
 quickly as possible. His heart urged him to stay. 
 He liked the place ; he and his father had comfort- 
 able rooms ; several friends were near them whose 
 company they valued ; and last, but not least, he 
 could not deny to himself that his heart was aching 
 for just another glimpse of Evelyn May. 
 
 He walked at a rapid rate, for the December 
 afternoon was already far advanced. Less than 
 two miles away was a deep ravine, the solitude of 
 which would suit his mood just now. Twenty 
 minutes' sharp walking, and he turned suddenly 
 round a large spur of rock and plunged into the
 
 AT SAN VERA. 219 
 
 lonely dell. The sides were rocky and precipitous, 
 and its course tortuous and uneven. He intended 
 to explore its whole length some day. He fancied 
 from certain indications that there must be some 
 caves at the far end. 
 
 Suddenly he was startled by a sharp cry which 
 rang out a little ahead of him and echoed down 
 the lonely dell. He paused for a moment, when 
 the cry was repeated, but muffled this time and 
 long-drawn. It sounded to him like a woman's 
 cry for help. 
 
 Instantly he sprang forward at a rapid rate, and, 
 turning a sharp corner, he came upon a scene that 
 almost horrified him for a moment. A young and 
 handsomely-dressed lady, with a handkerchief tied 
 tightly over her mouth, was being dragged up the 
 ravine, with threats of violence if she made a sound, 
 by a brigand of the most villainous type. 
 
 ' Hands off, you villain !' Rex shouted, as soon as 
 he could speak. 
 
 And in a moment the fellow dropped the lady's 
 hands, and, pulling a revolver out of his belt, fired 
 at Rex. Before, however, he could pull the trigger 
 a second time. Rex had sprung forward and dealt 
 him a blow between the eyes with his fist, which 
 felled him like an ox, the revolver at the same 
 moment flying out of his hand. Instantl37^ Rex 
 rushed forward and picked up the weapon, and the 
 fellow, seeing that his means of defence and ojffence 
 were gone, sprang to his feet and bounded up the
 
 220 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 defile like a deer, and in a moment was out of 
 sight. A shot from the revolver followed him, but 
 without effect. 
 
 Then Rex turned to the young lady, and, pulling 
 the bandage from her face, he stood for a moment 
 as if rooted to the ground. 
 
 ' Evelyn, you here !' he gasped. 
 
 ' Oh, Rex,' was all she could say. And then she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 He recovered himself instantly. * There is not a 
 moment to lose,' he said. * The fellow's con- 
 federates may be upon us directly. Run on in 
 front, and if I hear any of them following, I will 
 turn and fire.' 
 
 She needed no second bidding, and in a few 
 minutes they were out of the dark ravine and in 
 the broader valley. Here she turned and looked 
 back at him, and wondered at the look of suffering 
 upon his handsome face. 
 
 'Don't lose a moment,' he said, speaking as 
 bravely as he could ; ' run your best, and I will 
 follow as well as I can.' 
 
 She did not quite understand the purport of his 
 words, but she ran on as he told her, till she dis- 
 covered he was lagging far behind. Then she 
 paused and waited for him, but wondered he 
 should so reel and stagger while he ran. 
 
 ' Don't wait for me,' he called in a feeble voice. 
 ' Save yourself. I will run till I drop ; but I shall 
 never reach San Vera.'
 
 AT SAN VERA. 221 
 
 Before he had finished the sentence, she had run 
 back to meet him. 
 
 'Oh, Rex,' she exclaimed, her great eyes filling ; 
 * you are not hurt, are you ?' 
 
 ' I am a little,' he gasped. * I was too near for 
 him to miss me quite.' 
 
 * Oh, Rex, why did you not say so before ! Can 
 I do nothing for you ?' 
 
 'No, nothing,' he said resolutely. 'Don't wait. 
 Get home as quickly as possible.' 
 
 * Nay, Rex, I will not leave you,' she said. * You 
 risked your life for me, and I am not a coward.' 
 
 He smiled feebly, while a look of admiration 
 came into his eyes. He hungered to tell her of his 
 love again, feeble and spent as he was. 
 
 ' If you go, you may be able to send help,' he 
 said, after a pause. 
 
 For a moment she stood irresolute, then rushed 
 ofi" like the wind. 1q half an hour she was back 
 again, accompanied hy eight or ten others, chiefly 
 men. They found Rex lying by the roadside, near 
 where she had left him, pale and unconscious, 
 while his life's tide ebbed slowly away through a 
 bullet-hole in his shoulder.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ALWAYS REX TO HER.' 
 
 * A moment after, and hands unseen 
 
 Were hanging the night around us fast ; 
 
 But we knew that a bar was broken between 
 Life and life : we were mixed at last, 
 
 In spite of the mortal screen.' R. Browning. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT later the doctors had given up all 
 hope of Rex's recovery. Ir* extracting the bullet 
 they had been very successful, and had quite 
 expected his speedy restorucion, but unforeseen 
 complications had supervened. Instead of getting 
 better, he gradually grew worse, till now the end 
 seemed only a question of a few hours. Rex felt 
 himseK what all along the doctors had feared, but 
 he made no sign. Life was still very sweet and 
 precious to him. But if it was inevitable that he 
 should lay it down he was not going to complain. 
 If the manner of his death had been left to his own 
 choice, he did not know that he would have chosen 
 differently. To have saved Evelyn from a fate that 
 was worse than death was worth living for and
 
 * ALWAYS REX TO HER.* 223 
 
 worth dying for. She would think of him kindly 
 now. Unwittingly he had atoned for that short 
 month of deception, and when he was in his grave 
 she would remember, perhaps, only what was best 
 in his life, and forget all the rest. 
 
 One day, after the doctors had held a long con- 
 sultation, he called his father to his bedside, and 
 said, with a feeble attempt at a smile, ' And so they 
 think I will not get better, do they V 
 
 ' They regard your case as very serious,' John 
 said evasively, and with a manful effort not to 
 betray his emotion, 'But you know, Rex, while 
 there's life there's hope.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know,' he answered feebly ; * but I don't 
 know that it matters much. I am not afraid, and 
 I am glad I saved Evelyn.' 
 
 ' She has called every day to inquire. I am sure 
 it is a great trouble to her.' 
 
 * I should like to see her once more,' he said 
 after a pause ; * I wonder if she would come.' 
 
 • I can ask her, at any rate,' John answered, and 
 immediately left the room. 
 
 Ten minutes later, after a timid knock, the door 
 opened, and Evelyn May came quietly into the 
 room. She was very pale, and outwardly very 
 calm. She had evidently braced herself for the 
 interview. But the sight of Rex so pale and wasted 
 broke her down completely, and with a low cry, 
 ' Oh, Rex !' she sank upon the floor and hid her face 
 in the bed-clothes.
 
 224 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 She did not seo the smile that lit up his face like 
 a gleam of summer sunshine, but she felt his wasted 
 hand rest timidly upon her sunny hair. For several 
 seconds no words were spokea Evelyn sobbed 
 quietly, her face still hidden. 
 
 * The doctors say I will not get better, Evelyn,' 
 he said at length ; ' and so I sent for you. I thought 
 I would like to look upon your face once more 
 before I died.' 
 
 'Oh no ; don't say that. Rex, don't !' she said 
 with a great sob. 
 
 For a moment or two he stroked in silence her 
 shining hair. It brought back to him memories of 
 the past. He was back again at Beechlawn, and 
 the world was full of love and beauty. 
 
 Then Evelyn raised her tear-stained face, and 
 with a resolute light shining in her eyes, she said : 
 ' You must not die, Rex. I shall never forgive 
 myself if you do. I shall feel like a Cain upon the 
 earth all the rest of my life.' 
 
 'To die for you, Evelyn,' he said with a smile, 
 * is not painful at all. It feels like an atonement 
 for the wrong I did. Oh, Evelyn, you know not 
 what I have suffered !' 
 
 ' I have fancied you were glad to escape from an 
 engagement that had grown distasteful to you, or 
 you would have given me a chance to speak.' 
 
 ' Oh, Evelyn,' he said a little bit reproachfully, 
 ' I gave you time to write ; and when a few months 
 later it was reported you were engaged to Stuart
 
 'ALWAYS REX TO HER.' 225 
 
 Leslie, I knew then you had put me out of ycur 
 life completely.' 
 
 * Engaged to Stuart Leslie V she said starting 
 up, with an indignant blush upon her cheek ; ' and 
 did you believe it, Rex V 
 
 • What else could I do ?' he answered feebly. 
 She did not reply ; but she took his wasted hand 
 
 in both hers, and for awhile silence fell between 
 them. Then Rex spoke again : 
 
 ' I have loved you always, Evelyn. And now, 
 if you will tell me that you forgive me for any pain 
 I have caused you, and that you will think of me 
 kindly when I am gone, 1 can die content.' 
 
 ' Oh, Rex, I have nothing to forgive,' she sobbed, 
 lifting his wasted hand to her lips and kissing it. 
 • In your heart you have been always true ; and 
 could I have seen you then, these long years of 
 silence need not have come between us.' 
 
 ' But I deceived you,' he said, harking back to 
 the old difficulty. 
 
 ' Whether the son of Mr. Brown or Mr. Ray nor, 
 you were always Rex to me,' she said ; 'and I have 
 loved only you.' 
 
 For a moment he looked at her, with an expression 
 of glad surprise in his eyes ; while a smile, like a 
 wave of light, swept over his countenance. Then 
 he drew her face towards him, and their lips met 
 in one long kiss of reconciliation and love. 
 
 The conversation that followed during the next 
 half-hour we need not here repeat. Now that 
 
 15
 
 226 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 the long-standing barrier between them had been 
 broken down, they talked without restraint. Each 
 had a thousand things to say to the other, a 
 thousand questions to ask. And while they talked, 
 holding each other's hand, how swiftly the moments 
 flew by ! Rex almost forgot his pain and weakness. 
 In the bliss of those moments he seemed possessed 
 of new strength and energy. Evelyn's radiant face 
 and voice of music were better than all the 
 medicines the doctors had prescribed. A new 
 hope had come into his heart, and a new inspira- 
 tion into his life. 
 
 When John at length came into the room he was 
 surprised to find Evelyn still there. She came to 
 meet him with a smile and a blush. 
 
 ' I am Rex's afiianced wife,' she said, ' and I am 
 going to nurse him till he gets better.' 
 
 'Till he gets better?' John questioned, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 * Yes, till he gets better,' she said brightly. ' I 
 am sure he is not going to die. He is going to get 
 well again for my sake.' 
 
 * God grant he may,' John answered fervently ; 
 but when a few minutes later he noticed Rex's utter 
 exhaustion, he had no hope that Evelyn's prediction 
 would come true. 
 
 During the night the poor fellow became delirious, 
 and talked pitifully and sometimes incoherently 
 about a beautiful star that had gone out in dark- 
 ness ; how the star might have been his, but he had
 
 'ALWAYS REX TO HER: 227 
 
 not courage to climb the dark stairs of night to 
 reach it. Then he would call for Evelyn to come 
 back to him, to listen to his pleadings once mora 
 Through long years of suffering, he said, he had 
 atoned for those few weeks of deception. Would 
 she be pitiful and forgive ? 
 
 Evelyn, who sat by his side, listened with tearful 
 eyes and an agony of suffering upon her face. His 
 ravings revealed the depth and strength of his 
 affection, and showed her how true his heart had 
 been. But the revelation, to all appearance, had 
 come too late. As the long hours of that solemn 
 night wore on she gave up hope. She had found 
 Rex again only to lose him. 
 
 During all the years of their long separation she 
 had clung to the hope that God would bring them 
 together again. 
 
 And now they had met in a foreign land. God 
 had sent him to rescue her from a fate, the very 
 thought of which filled her with horror. But in 
 rescuing her he had given his own life. Here in 
 the dim lamplight, in the hushed and solemn night, 
 he was slowly dying. Here in a strange land, far 
 from home and kindred, he would sleep. And she 
 would carry back to England a breaking heart, and 
 one sad sweet memory that would never die. 
 
 She did her best to keep back her tears, but they 
 came in spite of herself, and rolled silently down 
 her cheeks. As the night wore on he ceased to 
 rave, and only moaned softly now and then 
 
 lo— 2
 
 228 REX RA YNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 Evelyn, bending lovingly over him, thought the 
 struggle was nearly over. Now and then she 
 moistened his parched lips, and pressed burning 
 kisses upon his broad, pale brow. But he did not 
 heed her. He was wandering in a realm unknown 
 to her. 
 
 At length she crossed over to where John Raynor 
 stood, and laid her fair head upon his shoulder. 
 ' I can bear it no longer/ she sobbed, and burst into 
 a tempest of tears. 
 
 In a moment John's heart went out to this gentle 
 maiden, whom he had scarcely seen until to-day. 
 ' My child,' he said, ' God will help us.' 
 
 ' But it's terribly hard for me,' she moaned ; ' for 
 I have caused it all.' 
 
 * Could he have had his will, he would not have 
 chosen differently,' John said. 
 
 * He was ever noble,' she sobbed. 
 
 ' Yes, yes. A better son never breathed. And 
 know, child, he is my all. All the rest have been 
 taken from me ; they are sleeping far away, yonder 
 in Aberfae ; and it comes hard in my old age to be 
 left alone.' 
 
 ' I will never leave you,' she said with a fresh 
 rush of tears to her eyes, * I will be as a daughter 
 to you.' 
 
 And for answer he bent down and kissed her 
 white, smooth brow, not once, but many times. 
 
 In the very early morning the doctor called 
 again, and found him quietly breathing. Not even
 
 * ALWAYS REX TO HER: 229 
 
 a moan escaped his lips now. Whether or not he 
 was passing into the deeper sleep of death it was 
 hard to say. 
 
 •He has reached the turning-point,' the doctor 
 said. 'An hour or two at most will decide his 
 fate.' 
 
 So they watched and waited as the slow minutes 
 travelled on. By-and-by the pale, gray dawn 
 began to peep through the shutters, and the birds 
 to awake from their sleep ; and still Rex slept on 
 without a movement and without a moan. The 
 doctor watched him intently, keeping his finger all 
 the while upon his wrist. Near the doctor sat 
 John and Evelyn, pale and silent. 
 
 And still the hand of the clock travelled slowly 
 round the dial, and the day broadened and bright- 
 ened, drawing out all the shadows, and filling the 
 room Vvith a rich, warm light. At length there 
 was a movement, followed by a low moan ; then 
 Rex stretched himself feebly and opened his eyes, 
 and looked around him. The next moment a faint 
 smile of recognition stole over his pale and wasted 
 face. 
 
 'There's hope now,' the doctor whispered, and 
 proceeded at once to administer some stimulant, 
 [n a few minutes Rex was fast asleep again. 
 
 From that time the tide, which had ebbed so far, 
 began to flow back again. Slowly at first, it is 
 true ; so slowly, indeed, as to be almost imper- 
 ceptible. But after a few days it began to come
 
 230 REX RA7N0R, ARTIST. 
 
 in with a rush. The rapidity of Rex's recovery 
 was a surprise to everybody. But then everybody 
 did not know that a new hope had come into his 
 heart and a new inspiration into his life. 
 
 A month later he was able to take short walks, 
 leaning on Evelyn's arm. In March the weather 
 was lovely, and he was able to stroll down to the 
 sea and sit in the sunshine, and listen to the 
 dreamy plash of the waves, and watch the light 
 shimmering across the lovely waters. These were 
 hours of unbroken peace and unalloyed delight. 
 All over the past, he and Evelyn wandered again, 
 recounting every scene and every struggle, every 
 sorrow and every joy. 
 
 * We are none the worse, Rex, perhaps, for having 
 wandered so long in the wilderness,' Evelyn said to 
 him one day as they sat on the cliffs looking out 
 over the shining sea. 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' he said with a laugh ; * but it is a 
 great comfort to have got into Canaan, nevertheless.' 
 
 ' Isn't it beautiful here,' she said after a pause. 
 
 'Yes, I should regret the days going by so 
 rapidly, only that the first of May is coming.' 
 
 * Oh, you foolish boy,' she answered, putting her 
 white hand upon his mouth. 
 
 ' I went away on the first of May six years ago,' 
 he said. * We'll honour the anniversary, Evelyn.' 
 
 'As you will, Rex,' she answered, a glad smile 
 upon her face. 
 
 And so it came about that on the first of May
 
 'ALWAYS REX TO HER: ?3l 
 
 they were married. All Barwich turned out to 
 witness the ceremony. Old Dr. Mofiat seemed to 
 have got young again for the occasion, and Rex's 
 ' young men ' of other years had a holiday in order 
 to be present. 
 
 ' She needn't have wanted her boy to be Jonas 
 Brown's son,' a woman whispered in the crowd. 
 * John Raynor is a father to be proud of.' 
 
 * Ah, they were poor then,' somebody whispered. 
 *Ay, an' they kept poor till right was done,' the 
 woman replied. * But here they come. Ain't the}' 
 a handsome couple V 
 
 ' Ayj she's the bonniest girl in Cheshire,' an old 
 woman answered, who had come over from Thorbrig 
 to witness the ceremony. 
 
 * An' he's as handsome as she is,' somebody else 
 replied. 
 
 ' Handsome is as handsome does, I say,' grunted 
 a little man who was edging his way through the 
 crowd. 
 
 * Then if that be so they can't be beat,' was the 
 
 reply from several voices at once. ' They've done 
 
 handsome, both of 'em.' Then the crowd divided, 
 
 to let Rex and his bride pass through. 
 
 m * * * * 
 
 To the foregoing narrative we have only a few 
 words to add. Mrs. Jonas Brown has got married 
 again. As an angler for husbands few women have 
 been more successful, but her daughters, Joyce and 
 Julia, are still waiting for an offer.
 
 -232 REX RAYNOR, ARTIST. 
 
 John Raynor — in what he calls his old age — 
 declares he is a happy man. He spends every 
 winter in San Vera. But when in England, he 
 seems most content when near Rex and Evelyn. 
 Mrs. May still calls Beechlawn her home. But it 
 hardly seems like home to her unless Rex and 
 Evelyn are there. Every summer they come over 
 for a month or two, and bring the children with 
 them. And in the winter Mrs. May visits them in 
 London, or goes with them to the sunny south. 
 
 Of Rex's fame as an artist I need not speak. 
 His praise is on the lips of everyone who makes 
 any pretensions to a knowledge of art. His 
 pictures are in ever-increasing demand. But 
 success has not spoiled him : Fame has not made 
 him proud. He is the Rex of old ; not perfect by 
 any means, but a good man and true, for all that ; 
 full of kindly impulses, and ever ready to do a 
 g-enerous deed. 
 
 TIIE END. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORIX
 
 ...■n 
 
 ^O
 
 lii iinii ill 1. 
 
 3 1205 02043 0573 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 001 409 744 8