^MmMi
T H E
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
AT THE MOORINGS
AT THE MOORINGS
BY
ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY
AUTHOR OF ' Nellie's memories,' 'a passage perilous,' etc. etc.
ILontion
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
1904
A a rights resen<ed
Copyright in the United States of America.
44-lS
(iziia±
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
1. A Coat and its Wearer i
2. A Philosopher at Home 13
3. ' What am I to say, Father ? ' 24
4. Great-Aunt Sarah 34
5. Dreams 45
6. A Silent Romance 57
7. At The Moorings 68
8. The Old Cottage So
9. Martha 91
10. Floral Messages 103
11. 'I HAVE the Soul of a Charwoman' . . . .114
12. The Vicar of St. Jude's 125
13. Betty has an Adventure 136
14. ' Don't be too hard on the Lad ! ' 146
15. The Elder Brother 159
16. Nell 170
17. Nell tells her Story 181
18. 'You are Master here' 192
19. 'We are Sisters now' 204
20. 'A very Healthy-minded Person' 216
V
VI
AT THE MOORINGS
CHAP.
21. Miss Gill'an ....
22. 'Begone, Dull Melancholy!'
23. 'How AM I TO LIVE UP TO IT?'
24. An Evening Hour
25. ' I WILL do my best, Ned ' .
26. 'Why do you call him "He"?'
27. Herr Professor's Plans
28. The Ivy Pergola .
29. Ned makes New Friends .
30. The Christmas Message
31. 'Such a Peaceful Death'
32. 'There must be Some One else'
33. ' We have had a Good Old Time '
34. Between the Lights .
35. Told in the Gloaming
36. ' You must not lose your Crow]
37. The Two Conspirators
38. Sunshine and Shadow
39. A Crucial Hour .
40. Extracts from a Diary
PAGE
228
240
251
262
273
286
297
309
320
332
344
355
366
377
388
399
4x0
422
433
442
CHAPTER I
A COAT AND ITS WEARER
Let any Cause - and - Effect Philosopher explain, not why I wear such
and such a Garment, obey such and such a Law ; but even why / am here,
to wear and obey anything ! — Sartor Resarttis,
* Why, Betty ! my dear Betty ! '
' Now it is no good your trying to hush me, Kate,
for I mean to have my say' — here there was an
indignant thrill in the clear young voice. ' Talk of
Christians ; we are just civilised heathen. We don't
bow down to stocks and stones, but we worship rank
and money and fine clothes and all sorts of detestable
fetishes. I think we are all as mean and cowardly as
possible to take no notice of those two poor things —
strangers, too — just because the gentleman's coat — as
Mr. Fraser has so wittily remarked — has evidently seen
the seamy side of life. Aren't you ashamed to make
fun of honest poverty ? ' and Betty turned her glowing
face to the embarrassed young man.
* Oh, I say. Miss Woodford, you need not be quite so
crushing. If Mrs. Colville chooses to neglect her guests,
it is not our business, don't you know, to remind her
of her duties. I was always a modest, retiring sort
of fellow — as the mater will tell you.'
2 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Betty regarded him scornfully ; she was evidently
very much in earnest.
' I daresay the Levite in the parable was a retiring,
nervous sort of person — and probably he was young
too — picking up wounded travellers wasn't his line at
all. Oh, you may laugh, Kate, it is a fine joke to you
and Mr, Fraser ; but, all the same, I mean to speak
to that poor lady. There, he has left her ' ; and Betty
started up so impulsively, that her foot caught in her
companion's lace flounce, and she would have fallen but
for Mr. Eraser's timely help. ' Dear me, how awkward
I am ; but there is no damage done, Kate ' ; and Betty
blew her a kiss as she sped on her kindly errand.
The large drawing-room at the Grange was crowded
with guests — and the music-room beyond was still
more thronged ; the hubbub of voices was almost
deafening until the tuning of violin and violoncello
compelled them to reluctant silence. Mrs. Colville
was giving one of her grandest musicales that night,,
and one or two famous artistes whom she numbered
amongst her friends had volunteered their services ; so
no wonder the elite of Cottingdean, including the bishop,
the dean, and the Luxmores from the Castle, had
willingly accepted Mrs. Colville's invitation.
Perhaps it was rather an ' omnium-gatherum,' as one
of the canons remarked, after taking an exhaustive
survey of the reception-rooms. ' All Cottingdean and
the adjacent villages seem represented,' he continued in
a confidential aside to the wife of the leading solicitor
in the town. ' Now who can those people be ? ' fixing
his glass more firmly in his eye as he spoke. * The
man's face seems familiar to me, and yet where can I
have seen him ? And, good heavens,' sotto voce, * what
a coat ! It must have come out of the ark ! '
1 A COAT AND ITS WEARER 3
The pair who were attracting so much attention
were neither young nor remarkable for good looks.
From the moment of their entrance into the room, after
a languid hand -shake from the resplendent hostess,
they had placed themselves in a retired corner — an
angle of the wall connecting the drawing-room and
music-room — and they had remained there the whole
evening, apparently absorbed in the music ; the lady
seated on a high -backed chair dating from the early
Victorian period, and the gentleman standing beside her,
drawn up rather stiffly like a sentinel on duty. None of
the passers-by accosted them, and no attentive hostess
approached their corner — to all appearances they might
have been on k desert island as far as sociability
was concerned — neither did they converse together.
Now and then there was a swift upward glance on
the lady's part, as though to assure herself that her
companion was still beside her ; then her eyes were
lowered again and fixed on the breadth of turned silk
in her lap, where the grease spot was still so painfully
apparent. Herr Koch had just finished playing his
delicious fugue, when the gentleman whispered a word
into her ear, and the next minute his tall, thin form
was traversing the music-room. It was then that Betty
crossed the room impulsively.
* Isn't Herr Koch delightful ? he is all the fashion
in London,' she began impulsively. Then, as the lady
started with evident surprise at being accosted, * Oh, I
hope you do not mind my speaking to you in this
unconventional manner ; but you seemed so dull and
shut in in this corner that ' here Betty paused as
though she were embarrassed.
' You are very kind,' in a pleasant, cultured voice ;
' but I am afraid I have no seat to offer you. My
4 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
brother has been standing for hours, and I should
think his long legs must ache by this time. But we
have not been dull ; the music has been so lovely that
I am quite grateful to Mrs. Colville for asking us.'
' Do you know her well ? ' But here the lady smiled
— she had a very charming smile — and shook her head.
* Oh no, not well — hardly at all, I should say.
Mr. Lassiter — that is my brother — did a small service
for one of her sons, and I suppose this is meant as a
return.'
' And you live in Cottingdean ? ' Betty did not in
the least mean to be inquisitive, but she always asked
questions when she was nervous, and she was decidedly
not at her ease just then. The * poor thing,' as she had
somewhat patronisingly called Miss Lassiter, was re-
garding her with large clear eyes, which looked at once
amused and friendly ; and at that moment Betty'?
keen girlish glance detected the grease stains and the
thin turned breadths of faded silk, and she noticed the
lace trimmings were decidedly rusty.
Yes, she was poor — terribly poor — there could be
no doubt of that, but she was a gentlewoman. Betty
had recognised that at once — and she was rather nice
too. Then she started as a hand touched her arm
lightly.
* Do you think you might commandeer that stool
behind the music-room door — no one is using it at
present — and then we could talk more comfortably ?
My brother has discovered an acquaintance in that
long-haired Hungarian who plays the violoncello, so he
will not be back just yet ; and I have not heard the
sound of my own voice for the last two hours and a
half
Nothing could have charmed Betty more. As she
I A COAT AND ITS WEARER 5
reappeared with the stool, she looked over her shoulder
at two astonished faces that were watching her
movements.
* Betty is a regular little besom,' observed Kate
delightedly. 'As I am Scotch, I glory in that word.
Bless her little heart, she is as wilful and as sweet as a
May breeze.'
' Your May breeze had a touch of March sharpness
in it,' returned Mr. Fraser. ' She was a bit too hard on
a fellow, don't you know. A man with a coat like
that can't expect many introductions. I made up
my mind, Miss Allen, that he was a pianist out of
employment ; but no one has asked him to play, so
perhaps he is only a piano-tuner ' ; for Archie Fraser
was a trifle cross at Betty's abrupt leave-taking.
Kate Allen laughed merrily. ' Oh, if Betty could
only hear you say that ! But do look at them now ;
they are talking as happily as possible. Betty is
nodding her head and chattering like a magpie, and
her " poor thing " is actually smiling. Don't you wish
we were near enough to hear their conversation ? '
At that moment Betty was saying —
* It must be rather nice to live in Cottingdean ; it is
such a dear old place — the cathedral and the close
and the castle are all so charming. I stay here for
weeks at a time with my friends the Aliens. They are
such nice people. Kate — that young lady in the blue
dress opposite — is my special crony — we were at school
together — but I like them all — mother, father, brothers,
and sisters. They live in that old red brick house in
the market-place. But perhaps you know them ? '
' We know no one in Cottingdean,' returned Miss
Lassiter quietly. ' We live in quite a small house in
Brook Street; and as we cannot afford to be hospitable
6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
to our neighbours, we think it wiser not to make
friends.'
' And yet you are here to-night ' It was one
of Betty's reckless Httle speeches, but she repented her
words almost before they had left her lips; she blushed
so furiously over her own impertinence that even her
soft little throat was tinged with colour.
' Oh, that was my brother's whim,' replied Miss
Lassiter quietly. ' He wanted to hear Koch play — he
is passionately fond of music — so I could hardly refuse
to accompany him, although ' she checked herself
and smoothed her dress a little nervously. ' One must
sacrifice one's own feelings sometimes to give pleasure
to other people,' she continued rather hurriedly.
' That is what Martha says so often,' returned Betty.
• Somehow, you remind me of Martha. She is my only
sister, and she is eight years older, and she is so good
and sensible, and always thinks of herself last. So
many of us have died, our " green gardens " fill fast,' and
there was something wistful in Betty's tones ; ' now
there are only three of us — father and Martha and me ' ;
and in spite of the faulty grammar. Miss Lassiter thought
the child's speech very pathetic, and the vivid little
brown face, that was quaint rather than pretty, some-
how appealed to her.
* I like that idea " green gardens," ' observed Miss
Lassiter thoughtfully ; ' it seems to veil so prettily
the bald, grim fact of death. I have had more than
one argument with my brother on that very subject,
I remember he once said t'.at you might as well
endeavour to plant flowers on a rock as to disguise
the one stupendous reality "by mere meretricious
word-embroidery." '
Betty opened her eyes rather widely at this speech.
1 A COAT AND ITS WEARER 7
She even drew in her breath, as though she feared she
were out of her depth. This was not the sort of
conversation she had been accustomed to hear at Mrs.
Colville's musicales ; and yet it was rather nice too —
Betty's favourite word.
' Your brother must be a pessimist,' she said, after
a moment's silence.
* Perhaps you are right ; but his pessimism harms
no one but himself And, after all. Miss Woodford ' —
for Betty had introduced herself somewhat hesitatingly
— ' men look at things from such a different standpoint.
" Word -embroidery," as he calls it, is dear to the
feminine mind.'
* Yes, I suppose so ; but all the same I like things
to be true,' returned the girl, with a queer little frown
that made her look like an old woman. * I never cared
for pretty conceits that had no real meaning. It was
dear Martha who always talked about " the green
gardens " when we were children ; and when Rosie
and Drummond and Willie died, we used to go
every week to plant flowers and tidy our gardens.
When I was a tiny mite I used to say they were
buried flowers, which would sprout into angels one
day, and I really believed it.'
A sweet expression crossed Miss Lassiter's face,
but she kept her thoughts to herself, for at that
moment the music recommenced and the babel of
voices was suddenly hushed. Betty sat on her stool
with her hands folded demurely in her lap and her
head slightly drooping. At such moments of passivity
Betty was not pretty — 'just an ordinary little brown
girl with big eyes,' as some one described her. Life,
movement, animation, and constant changes of expres-
sion were Betty's only claim to beauty. Nevertheless,
8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
the masculine youth of Cottingdean had pronounced
the verdict that little Betty Woodford was decidedly
fetching ; and Archie Fraser once told his sister
privately ' that he liked the way Betty did her hair,
it was so nice and crinkly.'
Betty did not understand music in the least
unless it were tuney, as she phrased it : to her it was
a grand unknown language that needed translation.
She listened with non- comprehending ears to the
symphony that was flooding Sheila Lassiter's soul with
quiet rapture. * If I had only a musical ear,' thought
Betty, with a sigh. Of course it was wonderful — Herr
Koch played divinely, even she recognised that — and
in a vague girlish way she felt that it made her long
to be good. * Martha is right,' she said to herself, ' we
ought to live so that people are the better for our
being born into the world. I remember she once said
to me that she never felt quite happy at the end of a
day if she could not recall doing a kind action for
some one : " It might have been only picking a flower
for a friend, or giving a mug of water to a thirsty
tramp, or a bone to a stray dog ; they are little things,
Betty, but they count " ; that was so like my dear old
Marty.'
Betty was in a brown study now ; she was back at
the Old Cottage, and the scent of the yellow gorse
seemed to pervade the atmosphere. She was not
conscious that the music had stopped until the sound
of applause, the hand-clapping and bravos, roused her,
and then she saw Mr. Lassiter approaching them. He
was regarding the intruder with surprise. * Miss Wood-
ford, may I introduce my brother?' and Mr, Lassiter
bowed a Hltle stiffly.
Betty regarded him with shy awe. Later on, when
I A COAT AND ITS WEARER 9
they were better acquainted, Mr. Lassiter told her that,
when he saw her on her little stool beside his sister, he
thought of little Miss Mufifet at once. * And you looked
at me, too, with alarmed eyes, as though I were the
spider. I quite expected you to run away.'
Betty, who was small in size and not much over
nineteen, had some good reason for her shyness. Mr.
Lassiter was the tallest man she had ever seen; to a
stranger his height was tremendous, and as he was
very thin, the rough lads of Cottingdean had dubbed
him 'the Lamp-post' — a not inapt comparison. He
was not young — about thirty-three — and was evi-
dently some years older than his sister ; his face was
thin and sallow, and he wore spectacles, but his fore-
head was broad and indicated intellect, and under the
dark moustache there were firm, closely-shut lips and
rather a pointed chin.
' Well, Edward, have you come to tell me that it is
time to go ? I am quite ready. That symphony was
too lovely — I want to hear no more.'
* It is half-past eleven, and some of the people are
beginning to move,' returned Mr. Lassiter. * Oh, I
forgot, Colville told me to get you an ice or something ;
he says I have neglected you all these hours. I am
so sorry, my dear. Why did you not remind me ? *
* I would rather wait till we get home,' replied his
sister quietly; 'the refreshment -room is sure to be
crowded — there was a regular exodus just now. You
are wrong, Ned, people are not going ; there is still the
quartette, and if you wish, we will remain ' ; but Sheila's
eyes looked a little weary.
* No, I am quite satisfied. But this young lady ' — for
he had already forgotten her name — ' if she would like
to go to the refreshment-room ' But Betty jumped
lo AT THE MOORINGS chap.
up quickly. * Oh no, thank you. I have had two ices
already, and my friend is beckoning to me, so I must
wish you good-night,' — she held out her hand to Sheila
as she spoke.
* Good-bye, Miss Woodford. You were very kind to
take pity on my loneliness ; perhaps, as the world is
not so large as we think it, we may meet again.'
' Oh, I hope so ' ; and Betty evidently meant what
she said. And then she shook hands with Mr. Lassiter,
carefully averting her eyes from the coat as she did
so. * He must have had it for years and years,' she
thought ; ' he has quite outgrown it, and I am sure it
must be an awfully tight fit.'
* So you have made friends with the piano-tuner,'
observed Kate wickedly.
* The piano-tuner ? ' in a mystified voice. ' Are you
talking of Mr. Lassiter ? Surely you are not serious,
Katie ; Mrs. Colville would hardly have asked a piano-
tuner to her musicale!
' Oh, it is only Miss Allen's fun,' observed Mr.
Fraser hastily, but he had grown rather red. * Could
we have another ice. Miss Woodford ; the brown bread
is awfully good ? ' And Betty, who had a penchant for
ices, did not refuse this time.
' Rather a nice little thing. Sheila,' observed Mr,
Lassiter, as they walked through the slumbering town
in the twilight. ' Where did you pick her up ? '
' It was she who picked me up,' returned his sister
with an amused laugh. * The child thought I looked
dull in my corner, and actually left her party to come
and cheer me up.'
* It was a decent thing to do, and very good-
natured. I can't say our hostess overwhelmed us with
attention.*
I A COAT AND ITS WEARER ii
* Did you expect she would, Ned ? I never laid
such flattering unction to my soul. I knew we should
be left in severe isolation, — and who can wonder
at it ? '
* You mean we were a bit shabby ? Sheila, I must
manage to get you a new dress, by hook or by crook.
I don't know much about such matters, but it struck
me that it was not quite up to date — not exactly
chic!
Sheila squeezed his arm with another laugh, but
there were tears in her eyes.
'You silly boy — cJiic, my poor old rag-bag of a
dress ! But it has served me well ; this is its fifteenth
birthday, poor dear. But, Ned, there is one vow that
I mean to register before we go to a musicale again,
that you shall have a new coat — if I go without meat
for six months to save money to buy it' But an
impatient * pshaw ' answered her. When a man has
been caught up to paradise for the last three hours
and has heard celestial melodies, it is a little hard to
be flung so suddenly to earth again.
Presently a low masculine growl broke the silence,
just as they were passing under the shadow of the
cathedral. ' Have you forgotten Teufelsdrockh, Sheila ?
" If Clothes in these times so tailorise and demoralise
us, have they no redeeming value ; can they not be
altered to serve better ; must they be cast to dogs .'' " '
' Certainly not,' returned Sheila with decision ; ' even
Teufelsdrockh could not recommend altering a coat
outgrown by its owner. I dared not look at you,
dear, it made me so miserable ; and then to see people
stare at you ! '
' You foolish woman,' — for there was a little choke
in Sheila's voice, — ' " Shall we tremble," as the Professor
12 AT THE MOORINGS chap, i
finely says, " before clothwebs and cobwebs, whether
woven in Arkwright looms, or by the silent Arachnes
that weave unrestingly in our Imagination ? " Listen
to his words of wisdom, Sheila. " Whatsoever sensibly
exists, whatsoever represents Spirit to Spirit, is properly
a Clothing, a suit of Raiment, put on for a season, and
to be laid off. Thus in this one pregnant subject of
Clothes, rightly understood, is included all that men
have thought, dreamed, done, and been : the whole
External Universe and what it holds is but Clothing ;
and the essence of all Science lies in the Philosophy of
Clothes." Ponder these words seriously and your mind
will recover its true balance.' But Miss Lassiter's
response to this would hardly have satisfied the German
Professor :
' Stuff and nonsense, Ned ! Sartor Resartus may be
a grand book, but I am a practical woman, and a new
coat you shall have, if I starve for it ' ; and Sheila's
voice was full of energy.
CHAPTER II
A PHILOSOPHER AT HOME
We learn not in school but in life. — Seneca.
Whoever evades the burden, misses the blessing. True living is never
easy ; there never comes a day when a noble life can be lived without
effort. — Harden.
Brook Street was a small, insignificant by-street at
the lower end of the town. The dite of Cottingdean
society were grouped round the cathedral close and
the castle ; but there were a few handsome, substantial-
looking houses built round a small green, and these
were designated the Greenery. The largest of these
belonged to the Colvilles. Mr. Colville was the prin-
cipal banker, and one or two of his sons were in the
business. Mrs. Colville had good blood in her veins,
and was connected with the Luxmores, who were very
big people indeed.
It had recently been reported in Cottingdean that
a certain elderly member of the aristocracy, who had
lately lost his wife, had been smitten by the charms
of Blanche Luxmore, and that in all probability the
young debutante was a prospective countess. What
matter if the Earl of Muncaster were the same age as
her father ; the Luxmores were a proud and ambitious
family, and the girl herself was quite willing to sacrifice
13
14 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
her youth and beauty in return for the solid advantages
of rank and influence.
It was not to be expected, then, that the inhabitants
of the close or the Greenery had any dealings with
Brook Street. One of the junior clerks at the Bank
and a lawyer's clerk or two lived there, and also the
national schoolmistress, and the widow of a dissenting
minister who had been left with straitened means and
a large family.
It was a quiet, retired little place, for the main
traffic was down Market Street, and only a tradesman's
cart now and then invaded the stillness. The houses
were small and old-fashioned, and most of them in
summer were smothered with Virginian creeper. The
front door opened on the street, and a low, small-paned
window on either side gave a somewhat insufficient
light to the dusk>^ little sitting-rooms.
One of the smallest of these houses belonged to the
Lassiters, and the largest and most cheerful room had
been allotted to Mr. Lassiter for his study ; his sister
had retained the other as her sitting-room and the
general dining-room. It was a somewhat dull apart-
ment, and Sheila had to sit very close to the v/indow
to do her sewing ; and on fine sunny days she often
betook herself to her own bedroom, where she could
overlook the homely little garden, with its strip of lawn
and wide flower -borders, where old-fashioned flowers
bloomed year after year — hollyhocks and peonies and
great yellow lilies and phlox and sweet-williams and
dainty London pride. At the end was an ancient
pear-tree that still bore fruit, and one or two gnarled,
moss-covered apple-trees. It was a homely little place
enough, but Sheila loved to work in it ; while Kaiser
the big black retriever, stretched his lazy length on the
II A PHILOSOPHER AT HOME 15
warm grass and watched her, only wagging his great
tail at intervals when she spoke to him.
As Mr. Lassiter inserted his latchkey, there was a
short hoarse bark of delighted recognition, and Kaiser
rushed to meet them, almost knocking down his mistress
in his unmannerly joy.
* Down, Kaiser ! What a great blundering fellow
you are ; one would think you were still a puppy ' ; and
Sheila took hold of the long black paws that were on
her shoulders and kissed his glossy head. At the same
moment a somewhat singular-looking figure, in a frilled
nightcap and a peculiarly negligee costume, whisked
round the corner.
' Euphemia ! ' exclaimed Sheila, in quite a shocked
voice ; but there was no answer. It was still early in
March, and the nights were extremely chilly, and the
sight of a brisk little fire burning cheerily was very
welcome. Mr. Lassiter rubbed his hands in evident
enjoyment, and Sheila looked at the coffee-pot reposing
on the hob, and then at the tempting -looking sand-
wiches on the little round table ; to both brother and
sister the shabby study was a nest of comfort seen in
the warm glow of the firelight.
' Euphemia — Eppie — oh, you bad, disobedient
woman ! ' continued Sheila ; and then her quick ear
heard a stealthy footfall on the stairs, and the next
moment she had run the offender to earth.
' Eppie, aren't you ashamed of yourself, getting out
of your warm bed and going about the house in your
stocking feet, you at your age, and with a cold too ! '
and Sheila regarded her embarrassed domestic with
pretended sternness and much secret amusement.
Eppie was a tall, angular woman, with the high
cheek-bones and red hair that spoke of a Celtic origin.
i6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
And indeed Euphemia had spent all her early youth in
a humble cot on the hillside, where her father, Duncan
Gordon, watched over his black-faced ewes. Like so
many other Scotch lassies, she had come south, and
had entered into service with Sheila's mother, more
than thirty years ago, cleaving to the family in all their
troubles and vicissitudes with the devotion of a Celt.
' To my thinking,' Eppie once said, in her painstaking
English, to a congenial spirit, a warm-hearted Irish-
woman, who lived near, ' service rightly understood is
not unlike matrimony : it is for better or for worse —
and it is oftener for worse.'
' Shure it is the truth you are spaking, Eppie,' re-
turned Biddy, putting her apron to her eyes. ' Don't I
mind when the old master died — the hivens be his bed!
— and Miss Eileen, the darlint, came and said to me,
with the tears running down her swate face —
' " Oh, Biddy dear," says she, " and sad and sore of
heart I am to say it, but we can't afford to keep you
and Mary too, and mother is afraid " but I knew
better than to let her finish.
'"Whist ye, my darlint,',' says I, "and if ye can't be
aisy, be as aisy as you can. And it is Mary, who is six
months younger, as his riverence will tell you — and it
is Mary who must go, for all she is a good girl and does
her work well." And I had my way, Eppie, and here I
am, and Mary is the mother of a family, and her eldest
boy is doing finely in Canada, they say.'
' You did your part, Biddy, and I shall hope to do
mine,' returned Eppie; 'though there are days and hours,
I confess, when I fairly pine to see the old sheiling by
the hillside and to smell the peat smoke again. But
what did I tell you, my woman ? it is for better or for
worse, and in sickness and in health ; and the Almighty
11 A PHILOSOPHER AT HOME vj
only knows which, for our times are in His hands. And
if our wage is low here, He will make it up when pay-
day comes, with maybe a " well done, faithful servant,"
at the end of it ' — for Eppie came of a godly stock.
Sheila might well be pardoned for her secret amuse-
ment ; for at that moment Euphemia was oddly attired
in a coarse short nightgown and a red petticoat, and a
checked shawl over her shoulders, and the frills of her
cap were broad and stiff ; but in her mistress's eyes she
was a * glorified angel.'
* You have made your cold worse, I know you have,'
she remonstrated affectionately. ' Did I not tell you,
Eppie, to take your favourite treacle posset and go to
bed early, and I would light the fire if my brother wanted
to sit up ? '
* Now, don't you fash yourself. Miss Sheila, for there is
no harm done. I just drank my posset and then I crept
down in my stocking-feet to see if the fire was burning —
and it was just fine. And then I thought Mr. Edward
was so wild about the music that he would forget all
about "the food, and the pair of you would be starving.
So I cut some mutton sandwiches and made some coffee;
and I was just putting the pot on the hob when Kaiser
barked, and I thought the master would have seen
me ! ' Then Sheila laughed and kissed the old woman's
freckled cheek.
* Good-night, you dear old thing; I might have known
you were not to be trusted. Now I come to think of it,
I am as hungry as possible, so I will just go down and
enjoy my supper,'
* Come along. Sheila ; what an age you have been ! '
observed her brother a little impatiently, for he had
grown suddenly conscious of a vacuum in the inner
man. * I have taken off my war-paint, and feel twice the
c
i8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
man in my old coat ' ; and Mr. Lassiter drew up his
own and his sister's chair to the table, and stretched
out his long legs to the fire with an air of intense
enjoyment.
Sheila smiled brightly at him over her coffee-pot.
' Isn't this nice, Ned ? This is better than eating
Neapolitan ices in a crowd. Besides, I am as hungry
as a hunter, and Eppie's coffee is always so delicious.
Is there a sandwich to spare for Kaiser, or shall I go
and hunt for a bone?' But Mr. Lassiter declared
himself in favour of the sandwich.
' It was not such a bad evening after all, was it.
Sheila ? ' he observed presently, as he sat smoking his
beloved meerschaum with his feet on the fender. They
had been discussing the music, the artistes, and the
company in the most animated manner, and Sheila
and he had proved themselves keen observers of human
nature. Both brother and sister had the same quiet
sense of humour, though perhaps Sheila's gray eyes
noticed a hundred things that escaped Edward
Lassiter's.
' Do you know what I was thinking more than
once this evening, Sheila ? ' he said, after a short silence,
only broken by Kaiser's sonorous snores ; ' I was
wondering if we were not making a mistake in avoid-
ing society so completely. We are becoming perfect
hermits. Why should we deprive ourselves of a little
rational enjoyment when it comes our way ? After all,
it was rather decent of Mrs. Colville to ask us to such
a big affair.'
' The music was certainly a treat,' returned his
sister ; but she spoke rather hesitatingly, and there was
a slight shade on her face. ' I was wrong to dread it
so long beforehand, for it really was not such a terrible
II A PHILOSOPHER AT HOME ig
ordeal. You found me such a nice little corner and
no one molested us — there was just the music and
you.'
Mr. Lassiter gave a low laugh. Sheila's frank
admission tickled him vastly. She was congratulating
herself on being left severely alone ; their isolated
position, and the utter neglect of their hostess, were
evidently matters for satisfaction in her eyes.
*When you have your new dress you will not be
so content to take a back seat,' he remarked shrewdly.
Doubtless he had hit the mark, for his sister coloured
and shook her head at him.
' It was the coat I minded,' she returned ; for her
woman's pride would not allow her to admit that his
words had grazed the truth. * But, Ned, seriously, if
you would only consent to go out without me, there is
no reason why you should not sometimes spend a
pleasant evening listening to Chopin or your dearly
beloved Beethoven. You know George Colville has
taken a fancy to you, and is only too willing to be
friendly.' But Mr. Lassiter puffed slowly at his pipe
and remained silent, and Sheila knew at once that he
did not approve of her speech.
' You see, dear,' she continued gently, ' I have grown
so used to our quiet ways, that it is rather an effort to
get out of my usual groove ; one cannot always find a
comfortable corner to hide one's shabbiness. And,
Ned, I could not lay out the money happily on a new
gown until ' and here she faltered and looked at
him rather wistfully.
* My dear, there is no need to say all this ; of
course I understand what you mean. I only thought
that a little wholesome relaxation might help us to
work better ; but I see the difficulty.'
20
AT THE MOORINGS chap.
'There would be no difficulty, or very little, if you
would leave me at home.' Imploringly — 'If you only
would, Ned, think how I should enjoy sitting up for
you and hearing all you had to tell me ; it would be
new life to us both.'
' Nothing would induce me to leave you at home,
Sheila. There, there ' — a little irritably — ' say no more
about it. I was a fool to hint at such a thing, but I
suppose the music got into my head. We will go on
in the old way, and put our shoulders bravely to the
wheel. The road may be rough for a milestone or
two, but, please God, my dear, it will be smoother by
and by.'
' I hope so — I hope so with all my heart.' Sheila's
face was very sad as she spoke. But the next moment
Mr. Lassiter laid down his pipe with a sudden
exclamation.
'What a duffer I am! That letter! — and I never
even read it. Now what in the world have I done with
the confounded thing ? ' and he began searching his
pockets.
' Do you mean the letter that I brought to your
room, Ned ? '
' Yes. I was shaving, and your knock at the door
startled me so that I nearly cut myself. Let me see ;
I took it in, but I was in such a hurry that I forgot
to read it.'
' Then it will be there still — let me go and look
for it.' But Mr. Lassiter would not hear of this, and
went off muttering anathemas on his own carelessness.
Sheila was too much accustomed to her brother's
absence of mind to express surprise, but at any other
time she would have indulged in a playful jeer at his
expense ; now, however, she only walked to the fire-
II A PHILOSOPHER AT HOME 21
place and stood there looking down at the blaze with
a thoughtful expression.
' He is getting tired of the life — and no wonder,' she
said to herself. ' It must be deadly dull for a man
of his intellect never to mix with his equals. And all
these years he has been so patient. A woman can
inure herself to monotony far more easily. Besides,
Ned absorbs all my thoughts ; when one has an object
for one's tenderness, one can manage to exist — though
perhaps it is not much of a life for either of us.'
'Well, Ned,' breaking off her musings rather abruptly,
' have you found the letter ? '
' Yes ; and the handwriting is strange to me. Ah,'
glancing at the signature, ' I see it is from Roffey and
Williams ; they are Aunt Sarah's lawyers. Now what
can they want with me ? Dear me, Sheila,' as his eyes
scanned the page, ' Aunt Sarah is dead, and we never
even knew she was ill.'
' Dead ! ' echoed Sheila, in a voice of intense surprise,
though it hardly expressed grief ; ' poor old thing. But
she must be very old, nearly ninety, I should think.'
' I suppose so, though I do not know her age. I
wonder why Roffey and Williams wish to see me.
Perhaps, as I am next of kin, they want to consult me
about the funeral.'
* It seems a little strange ' and then Sheila
broke off with a questioning and somewhat eager look.
But her brother shook his head.
' Don't build castles in the air, my dear. Our great-
aunt chose to ignore us all her life, and it is not likely
that she would remember us on her death-bed. Besides,
they tell me she died quite suddenly, without any illness.
You know as well as I do. Sheila, that she quarrelled
with our father, and never could be induced to make
22
AT THE MOORINGS chap.
friends with him ; and she never took any notice of us
after his death.'
* No ; but all the same we are her kith and kin.
Still, you are right, Ned ; and there is small chance
that she will leave us anything.'
* No, indeed ; in all probability her money will go
to hospitals and refuges. I believe she was rather a
philanthropic old person. But what a boon a few
hundreds would be to us.'
* Yes, indeed ' ; and Sheila's sigh came from the
depth of her heart. 'Well, it is no good thinking —
" that way madness lies." But it is rather sad that one
should hear of an aunt's death without any feeling of
regret or sorrow.'
* My dear girl, she was a stranger to us. I don't
believe I saw her more than twice in my life, and I
have only a hazy recollection of her.'
' Oh, but mother and I once stayed with her at
Heme Bay, after I had the measles, so I can remember
her better. Of course, I was very young, and to my
childish eyes she was not particularly attractive — a
sharp-faced little woman in black, with rather a severe
voice and manner. Even mother seemed in awe of
her. I have a notion that she always snubbed and
repressed children. " Little girls should be seen, not
heard," I remember so well her saying that ; and yet
she was kind to me in her way. She used to put
gingerbread snaps under my pillow ; I found them
there when I woke. And I always had the biggest
lump of sugar in my bread and milk, because she said
I needed fattening. So I daresay her bark was worse
than her bite.'
' She could not have been an amiable person, though,
to keep up a feud all those years,' returned Mr.
ri A PHILOSOPHER AT HOME 23
Lassiter. * I remember our father once remarked that
she was a splendid hater, and that Uncle Hartree must
have been somewhat henpecked. He spoke so bitterly
once, Sheila, that I feel sure that the life-long breach
between them troubled him excessively. She had
brought him up, you know, and always meant to leave
her money to him, until he offended her, and then she
refused to see him.'
' But mother went to her sometimes. There was
that Heme Bay visit, for example.'
* Yes, I know, Sheila ; but soon after that all inter-
course ceased, and even our mother's letters were
unanswered. Of course it was a grievous pity ; but,
after all. Aunt Sarah punished herself most — she must
have been very lonely.'
' Was she very rich, Ned ? '
' I should not think so ; fairly comfortable, I should
say. But I am quite in the dark on this subject. Do
you know, my dear girl, it is half-past one, and Kaiser
is snoring loudly to remind me that it is time that he
and I should go to our respective beds. And I have to
take the early train to London, too, as Messrs, Roffey
and Williams are urgent in their summons.'
* And you will not be back until the evening ? '
* No ; I shall catch the 6. 1 5 train, so you may
look for me about half- past eight. I shall want an
early breakfast, I am afraid, but I beg that you will
not disturb yourself But Sheila, who was lighting her
candle, turned a deaf ear to this remark, and only
wished him good-night.
CHAPTER III
•what am I TO SAY, FATHER?'
We are beaten back in many a fray,
But newer strength we borrow ;
And where the vanguard camps to-day,
The rear shall rest to-morrow.
Gerald Massey.
Sheila Lassiter was one of those women who are
content to efface themselves for the sake of those dear
to them. She was absolutely sane and reasonable, and
there was nothing hysterical or emotional in her tempera-
ment; her impulses were under her control, but without
losing her individuality, she was naturally unselfish and
self-sacrificing. As she seldom indulged in introspection,
she was quite unconscious that in her simple, womanly
way she was at times almost heroic, and it would have
surprised her greatly if any one had told her that now
and then she did a fine thing ; for, though she never
said so, she had rather a poor opinion of herself. There
was something childlike in her nature, too ; little things
pleased her, and she enjoyed them with a freshness
that was surprising at her age. Thirty years of life
had not destroyed her illusions or robbed her of hope-
fulness, though she never remembered the time when
she had been free from care. Of course she had her
sad moments, when the limitations of their circum-
24
CHAP. Ill 'WHAT AM I TO SAY, FATHER?' 25
Stances pressed heavily upon her, when she would say
to herself that it was not much of a life after all ; but in
reality she was thinking not of herself but of her brother.
For him she had been ambitious and had dreamed
dreams and seen visions, and it was the failure of
these hopes that still caused her acute pain ; if she
could have had her way, she would have smoothed his
path and cleared away all the thorns and briars. She
never dared trust herself long with such thoughts, for
at these moments something rebellious seemed to stir
within her.
Why had the heaviest burdens been always laid on
his shoulders ? Why should the strong man have to
bear the mistakes and penalties of the weak, and the
innocent have to suffer? Could it be right and just?
Surely this was one of the saddest mysteries of life !
From her earliest years Sheila had been her mother's
confidante ; she knew that the dearly loved husband
and father was a source of trouble to them all. They
were a small household, just the parents and Sheila
and Edward and a younger brother — at once her
torment and delight — who was now a wanderer over
God's fair earth, and of whom they had not heard for
years ; a fair- haired, brilliant youth, almost as irre-
sponsible as his father. Julian Lassiter had possessed
every good gift but one. He had health, intellect, an
attractive personality, and a wonderful capacity for
making friends ; but his will-power was weak and his
moral sense imperfectly developed ; and though by no
means vicious or bad, his self-indulgence and love of
pleasure brought his family to the brink of ruin.
He had lost his parents when young, and his
maternal aunt, Mrs. Hartree, had adopted him. She
was childless and had just lost her husband, and the
26 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
lonely woman soon grew to love the bright-faced boy
as though he were her own child. Nothing was denied
him ; he had every advantage that could be given him.
He was sent to Eton and then to Oxford ; and it was
during his brief stay at that university that Julian got
into lamentable mischief ; and after a series of quarrels
and reconciliations and promises of amendment that
were never fulfilled, he finally left his aunt's house,
practically a beggar.
Mrs. Hartree was not a patient woman and her will
was like iron ; all her milk of human kindness seemed
to have turned to gall. In vain the vicar remonstrated
with her on her severity. ' Julian is young, a mere lad,'
he said to her; ' with all his faults, he has a good heart' ;
for the old man yearned after the prodigal. But she
was obdurate.
' His conduct has been disgraceful, disgraceful,' she
returned ; ' nothing can condone it. He has squandered
my money, and in a few more months he would have
ruined me. I have nourished a viper in my bosom,
and I shall carry the sting all the days of my life.
Let him go and work — it will be far better for him and
me too — and let him take his false face out of my
sight ' ; but Mrs. Hartree looked an old woman as she
spoke.
So Julian shook off the dust of the homely village
where he had lived so long, and went out into the wide
world. For a time he was ashamed and humiliated,
and told himself that he had been a fool ; but a helping
hand was soon held out to him — a wealthy friend who
knew something of his circumstances, and believed
Julian's version of facts, took him into his house as tutor
to his boys. For a few months all went apparently well.
No one in the household suspected that the fascinating
Ill 'WHAT AM I TO SAY, FATHER?' 27
young tutor was making secret love to the only daughter.
Hilda Beverley was rather a plain girl, but she was clever
and amiable, and her father doted on her. She had
inherited a small fortune from an aunt, and some of her
mother's money would come to her. Julian knew he
was doing well for himself He was not in love
with the girl, though her partiality for himself pleased
and flattered his self-love. They were married secretly,
and Hilda left the home that had sheltered her happy
girlhood, in utter ignorance of her young husband's
nature, and thinking him absolute perfection. For
some years things went tolerably smoothly. Julian
took up painting as his profession, and worked fitfully
when the mood was on him. He had undoubted talent
and plenty of imagination, but his lack of perseverance
was fatal to all lasting success.
Julian was quite content to live on his wife's money
and paint an occasional pot-boiler. He liked to talk
art jargon and to fit up his studio with reckless extrava-
gance. It was during this period, while the children
were young, that Mrs. Hartree showed signs of softening
to her erring nephew. She had met his wife at the
house of a mutual friend, and Hilda had behaved very
prettily to her husband's relative. It was after this that
the invitation was given — that she and Sheila had joined
her at Heme Bay. If only Julian had been wise and
taken this opportunity to present himself uninvited, all
might have been well. Hilda wrote to him more than
once entreating him to come, but he was a moral
coward, so he turned a deaf ear, and by and by Mrs.
Hartree, hurt and disappointed, made no more overtures.
Hilda's money was going fast, and soon the little house-
hold found themselves seriously straitened. Again
and again Mr. Beverley helped them out of their
28 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
difficulties. It was he who sent Edward to Winchester
and helped him to go to Oxford ; and if his grandfather
had lived, the young man's future would have been
assured. But a sudden illness carried him off before
Edward had completed his third term. Mr. Beverley
had been very liberal to his daughter during his lifetime,
but, intentionally or not, there was no provision made
for her after his death.
Edward was recalled home hastily. His father was
ill. The doctor had warned them of danger. There
was no money for anything, and the bailiffs were in the
house. Julian had not only run through his wife's money,
but there were heavy debts, and to make matters worse,
Ivor was becoming a daily care.
' Don't be too hard on the lad, Ned,' groaned the
sick man, as his son stood beside him dumb and nearly
stupefied by the weight of all this misery. ' The bo}'
takes after me. We are a poor lot, he and I. I know
I have played the fool, but I swear to you, boy, I don't
know how the money has gone. It is my luck. I never
could keep a coin in my purse if I had it to spend —
Aunt Sarah used to say that. Confound it, Ned, why
don't you speak ? '
* What am I to say, father ? ' returned the poor young
fellow sadly. ' I must do the best I can for mother and
Sheila — and God help us all ! ' The last words seemed
almost wrung from him. Words, what were words !
Ned was too crushed, too heart-sick for speech. His
career was spoilt ; his grandfather was dead, and his
uncles would refuse to do anything for them. There
could be no more terms at Oxford ; he would have to
work and turn his hand to anything. There were his
father's debts and Ivor's schooling, and if his father
died he would have to support his mother and Sheila.
Ill 'WHAT AM I TO SAY, FATHER?' 29
* Good God, how is one to bear it ? ' he muttered as he
turned away his face.
Ned realised at that moment the utter recklessness
and folly that had spoilt all their lives. His father had
wasted his substance and broken his wife and children's
hearts, and yet there was no word of reproach from one
of them. ' What am I to say, father ? ' that was all Ned
had faltered. With all Julian's sins, never had a father
been so tenderly loved. As Ned averted his glance
from the sunken eyes and wasted face, a passionate
pity overcame his just resentment.
' He is right, they cannot help themselves,' he
muttered ; ' there is something wanting in their natures.
But there is nothing that one can do — one must just
bear it.' But Ned's hand was clenched with sudden
anguish as he went out of the room.
Ned and Sheila never knew how they lived through
that awful time. They rarely ever spoke of it after-
wards. ' It was like trying to swim across a half-frozen
lake under a black midnight sky,' Ned said once ; ' every
moment one feared that one would be dragged under
— and there were no stars.' ' I think if we had known
beforehand we should have lost our senses,' returned
Sheila ; ' but we just lived a day at a time, and every
hour had its own pain. Ned, it will not bear thinking
about — it was too cruel, and it killed mother.' And
then Sheila came behind her brother and put down her
face on his shoulder, while a tear or two wetted the
rough tweed. Then she patted it gently. * You were so
brave, my dear — so strong and brave ; and then we were
helped.'
It was during those sad, hopeless days that those
young creatures tested each other's strength and endur-
ance — that they drew together for comfort.
30 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Death did not come to Julian Lassiter as a merciful
angel ; with all his feeble force he clung to life. ' I
am too young,' he would say piteously ; * at forty-eight
a man is only in his prime. I must have better advice.
If only this pain were relieved I should soon get better.
Why don't your brothers help us, Hilda ? But Martin
was always a mean hound and owes me a grudge, and
James takes after him.'
It was too true that the Beverley brothers had no
love for Julian, and that for years they had refused to
have any dealings with him. But they could hardly
allow their only sister to starve. The bailiffs were,
ejected, and a few of the most pressing debts were
paid, and a little ready-money provided for the needs
of the distressed household. After Julian's death a
small allowance was grudgingly paid to Hilda by her
brothers, but it ceased with her life.
Julian's thought turned often to his youngest boy,
and now and then he would say a wistful word ; or,
* Don't be too strict with him, Ned,' he would sigh ;
* the poor little chap takes after me — we were both born
under an unlucky star. You were cut after a different
pattern, lad — it was always easy for you to be straight'
* I don't know about that, father.'
* Well, well, I can't argue about it ' — tossing rest-
lessly on his pillow. ' But somehow I seem to see things
clearer since I have lain here. Your mother gave up
a lot for me ; but I have spoiled her life — and my own
too. Last night those words were haunting me ; they
seemed written up in the wall in flaming fire — " unstable
as water, thou shalt not excel." ' And then he groaned
and turned over on his side.
After his father's death no kind benefactor held out
a helping hand to Ned. Heaven only knows what fond
Ill 'WHAT AM I TO SAY, FATHER?' 31
hopes and visions of brilliant successes were crushed
and trampled underfoot ; outwardly at least Ned never
rebelled.
' What was the use of saying anything ? ' he once
exclaimed angrily, when Sheila was bemoaning his hard
fate. ' I was like a toad under a harrow — I had to grin
and bear it' But Ned's face looked drawn and pale
as he spoke. He had suddenly grown years older.
After a time he found a teaching engagement ; and
as his evening hours were unemployed, he made his first
unfledged attempts to earn a little by literature. At
first his endeavours were not rewarded by success, but
he persevered doggedly, and by and by an article was
accepted by a leading magazine and handsomely re-
warded, and after this he got on.
Hilda did not long survive her husband, and soon
after the funeral the young people moved to Cottingdean.
Ned taught all day in the grammar school ; but his
evenings, and sometimes part of the night, were spent
in literary work. Sheila, too, had a morning engage-
ment. But for Ivor the little household would have
been a peaceful one.
Ned had once promised his mother that, if it were
ever in his power, his father's debts should be paid. It
seemed a shameful thing to both mother and son that
honest, hard-worked tradesmen should be defrauded of
their due,
'Julian never seemed to care what things cost,' the
widow would say to herself; 'he was like a child — he
must have all he fancied — but he never thought of the
day of reckoning. Oh, my darling, if you had only
understood, how happy we should have been ! ' And
Hilda wept heart-broken tears ; for with all his moral
deficiencies, she had loved him well.
32 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Ned tried to keep his promise, but it was sad uphill
work. It was as though with his own hands he had
tied a millstone round his neck and was trying to
breast the rough waves ; but Sheila encouraged and
aided him.
They denied themselves pleasures, and every penny
that could be spared was laid aside for this sacred
purpose. Ivor's pleasure-loving temperament revolted
against the Spartan simplicity that prevailed in the
little household. He would argue the matter almost
passionately with Sheila.
* It is all rot,' he would say. ' What is the good of
you and Ned pinching and grinding in this ridiculous
fashion ? You will be an old woman before your time,
Sheila. As for Ned, he might be fifty already. What is
it to us if poor old dad did not pay his debts ? No one
can call us to account. I hate such Quixotic- nonsense.
' We are only honest,' returned Sheila with spirit.
It always roused her if any one found fault with Ned.
' Why don't you try to help, Ivor, instead of always
pulling us back ? We have anxieties enough without
your adding to them ' ; but she might as well have
spoken to the wind.
Alas, Ivor resembled his father too closely. He
was as irresponsible and reckless and lovable as Julian
had been. As he had played truant at school, so he
played truant with life. One wild March morning,
when the little household in Brook Street opened their
eyes on a new day, Euphemia brought a note to Sheila's
bedside, with a very long face indeed. ' Read it. Miss
Sheila,' she said anxiously, 'and maybe we shall find
out why the dear lad's bed has never been slept in last
night ' ; for Eppie, like all womankind, adored the
scapegrace.
Ill 'WHAT AM I TO SAY, FATHER?' 33
Sheila put down her note ; her eyes looked wide and
frightened. ' He has gone ! ' she exclaimed — ' gone into
the wide, wide world — to seek his fortune — oh, my
poor misguided boy ! Let me get up, Eppie ; I must
go to my brother — he will know what to do.' ,
' Do you mean — but I am no wanting to frichten
you, my dawtie ' — in moments of strong agitation
Eppie always went back to her childish tongue. ' And
the poor truant laddie will get his paiks. We are born
to tribble, my wumman ; but it will be a cauld hame
without our bonnie bairn. Aye, but it is no lichtsome';
and Eppie threw her apron over her face. Dear as
Ned and Sheila were to her, it was her youngest
nursling who came nearest to Eppie's heart.
' Maybe there is some mistake,' she muttered to
herself, ' and we will have the laddie back soon.' But
Eppie was wrong ; months passed, and then years,
but no tidings of the wanderer came to the faithful
hearts that watched for him.
D
CHAPTER IV
GREAT-AUNT SARAH
A little bit of patience often makes the sunshine come,
And a little bit of love makes a very happy home ;
A little bit of hope makes a rainy day look gay,
And a little bit of charity makes glad a weary vfa.y.
Jessie Gordon.
The morning after Mrs. Colville's imisicale Sheila
stood at the front door of the little house in Brook
Street watching her brother's tall figure until it receded
from sight. It was a gray, sunless day, and there was
a nippy feeling in the east wind that was whirling little
eddies of dust to her feet. She was wondering why
she felt so restless and unsettled, and how she was to
get through her long, lonely day. * I suppose it is the
effects of my unusual dissipation,' she said to herself.
' And then we sat up so late talking ; I don't believe I
had more than three hours' sleep — I was so strangely
wakeful. Now, as it is too early for lessons, I will go
into town and get those things Eppie is wanting. A
little walk will do me good.' And as Sheila put on her
hat she planned how she would spend her day. She
would do her Latin translation for Edward to correct,
and perhaps a little algebra ; for Sheila was bent upon
improving herself in these two branches of knowledge.
34
CHAP. IV GREAT-AUNT SARAH 35
One of her pupils was a boy who was too delicate to
go to school and who did his lessons with his sisters.
He was a clever child, and Sheila knew she must work
hard to keep ahead of him.
Sheila was very much attached to her pupils, and
teaching was no drudgery to her ; but that morning she
found it rather difficult to concentrate her attention on
her task, and once she caught herself humming the
bar of a fugue she had heard the previous evening.
The next moment she met the reproachful stare of three
pairs of round astonished eyes,
' Oughtn't you to give yourself a bad mark, Miss
Latheter dear ? ' lisped little Irene ; but her elder sister
looked shocked at this. * Dot doesn't mean to be rude,
Miss Lassiter ; she is such a very little small girl, and
she has not got manners yet ' — here Dot grew red and
ashamed. * When she is as big as me,' continued Flo,
with a self-satisfied and righteous air, ' she will know
that grown-ups and teachers may hum over lessons as
much as they like.'
* May they, Flo ? I am not so sure of that. Now,
supposing you play your scales and Dot finishes her
sum ' ; and then the little busy bees set to work again.
Some one had left a newspaper on the schoolroom table,
and during a pause in the lessons Sheila took it up
and glanced at the list of Births, Marriages, and Deaths,
without perceiving at first that the date was in the
previous week.
It was therefore with some surprise that she read
the following entry: 'On the loth inst, at The
Moorings, Uplands, Sarah Pennell, the Relict of the late
Benjamin Hartree.'
'The loth inst., why, it is the 20th now,' she said
to herself, * so Aunt Sarah died quite ten days ago.
36 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and the funeral must already have taken place — how
very extraordinary ' ; and Sheila was clearly puzzled.
If the funeral were over, what could they want with
Edward ? Surely there must be some carelessness or
oversight. They were her next of kin, and, as her
grand-nephew, Edward would have attended the funeral
as a matter of course — why had the poor lonely woman
been taken to her grave without a single kinsman to
follow her ? Sheila was so absorbed in these thoughts,
as she walked rapidly towards Brook Street, that she
never even noticed a bright-eyed little girl nodding
and smiling across the road, and she was very much
startled a moment later when some one touched her.
* You did not see me, so I thought I would just run
across and speak to you,' observed Betty rather breath-
lessly. ' I hope you do not mind, as I am leaving
Cottingdean to-morrow.'
* And you are sorry for that ? ' returned Sheila, for
there was something regretful in Betty's voice.
' Oh, one is never sorry to go home,' returned the
girl, rather shocked at this ; ' though, of course, it is
always a pity when a pleasant visit comes to an end.
The Aliens are such dear people ; but dad and Martha
say they can't do without me any longer, and Miss
Mowcher is fretting herself and losing her appetite
Oh, I forgot,' interrupting herself with a laugh, as Sheila
looked politely perplexed at this ; ' how are you to
know that Miss Mowcher is my dog — the dearest wee
doggie you ever saw, just like a little gray door-mat,
with bright beady eyes and jet-black nose. You should
see her begging for sponge-cake and sugar ; Miss
Mowcher knows no end of parlour tricks.'
' What made you give her such a name, Miss
Woodford ? ' for Betty was tripping beside her in the
IV GREAT- AUNT SARAH 37
friendliest way, though the Allen's house was in the
opposite direction.
* Oh, I was reading David Copperfield just then,
and she was such a volatile little ball of a puppy — here,
there, and everywhere — and I thought the name would
suit her down to the ground. Dad told me I was a
goose and Martha called me a ridiculous child, but I
had my way. It is only our old Jane who won't give in.
Oh, she is such a funny old dear ! She says it is little
short of a sin to christen a dumb beast after any dead
and gone woman, and that nothing would induce her to
use the name, and that she should only call her Missy.'
* I prefer Missy myself,' returned Sheila, smiling.
* My brother has a fine collie, and we have named him
Kaiser. Oh, here we are at Brook Street, and I have
taken you so much out of the way.'
* Oh, I shall soon run back ' ; and Betty glanced
curiously at the little old-fashioned houses. 'What a
quiet little backwater of a street this seems ! '
' Yes, we have no traffic to disturb us,' replied
Sheila, holding out her hand. It never even occurred
to her to ask Betty to come in, and the girl felt vaguely
disappointed. Betty had taken a liking to her new
acquaintance. Sheila's soft gray eyes full of kindliness,
and her pleasant voice and smile, had attracted her.
* I suppose it is being poor makes her so stiff,' she
thought as she retraced her steps ; * but, in spite of her
shabby clothes, she looked rather nice. Kate told me
last night that she teaches the Goulburn children and
that they are quite devoted to her.'
Sheila felt a grain of remorse as she let herself in ;
it would have done no harm to have asked the child
in for a moment, just to see Kaiser. ' Ned is right,
we are becoming hermit-crabs,' she said to herself. ' I
38 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
am not sure, after all, if we are wise to keep to our-
selves so entirely ' ; and more than once that afternoon
Sheila remembered the winsome little brown face — that
was not pretty and yet had a quaint attractiveness —
with a feeling of regret at her own standoffishness.
Sheila had set herself a long task of mending for
the afternoon, and before tea she would take Kaiser
for a run ; the days were lengthening, and they could
well do a couple of miles on the London road and be
back before it was dark. The rest of the evening
should be devoted to her studies ; she would get at
least two quiet hours before Edward returned for her
Latin and algebra.
Sheila carried out her programme, and, in spite of
fatigue and drowsiness, worked on bravely. The study
was always a cosy place in the evening, and they
generally had their supper there. Sheila was just
mending the fire and putting the finishing touch to
the table, when she heard her brother's key in the lock
and went into the passage to greet him.
'You are as punctual as possible, Ned,' she said
brightly. ' I made up my mind that you would not
arrive for another quarter of an hour.'
' Oh, I walked fast from the station,' returned her
brother, divesting himself of his greatcoat and follow-
ing her in. * Come, this looks snug ; the wind cuts like
a knife to-night, and I am as hungry as possible.'
' Then I will ring for Eppie to bring in the coffee,
and you shall begin your supper before you say a
word. " It is ill talking to a fasting man," as mother
used to say ' ; and with a severe self-control that was
worthy of all praise Sheila began to put sugar in the
cups and to busy herself with numberless little minis-
tering offices. It was this sweet reasonableness and
IV GREAT- AUNT SARAH 39
unselfishness that made Sheila such a delightful house-
mate in her brother's opinion. One glance had told
her that he was tired and preoccupied ; nevertheless
there was a brightness in his eyes that spoke of
suppressed excitement. Something had happened —
something must have happened, Sheila was convinced of
that ; nevertheless she filled up his coffee-cup a second
time, and went on quietly with her own supper until
the right moment came, and then she had her
reward.
* There, I feel better now,' he said, pushing away
his plate ; ' but the truth was, I was so taken up that
I forgot my luncheon, and I only got some tea and a
sandwich late in the afternoon. Well, now you will
be wanting to hear about my visit to Roffey and
Williams. They are very decent people, and were un-
commonly civil, though I confess I was a bit startled
when I heard the poor old lady had been buried three
or four days ago.'
* Oh, I saw that too,' returned Sheila eagerly ;
' there was an old newspaper lying on the schoolroom
table, and, curiously enough, there was the announce-
ment of Aunt Sarah's death. I have been wondering
all day why the lawyers were so anxious to see you
now that the funeral is over.'
' Well, they very soon explained matters to me,'
replied her brother. ' Aunt Sarah had left particular
instructions that no one should be asked to follow her.
She wished to be buried with her husband at Appleby
as quietly as possible, without giving unnecessary
trouble. She told Mr. Roffey herself that her great-
nephews were perfect strangers to her.'
* But all the same you would have gone, Ned.'
' Yes, if she had wished it ; but it is useless thinking
40 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
of that now. Sheila, what will you say when I tell
you that, after all, we have not been forgotten ? '
' Do you mean that she has left us any money? Oh,
do be quick and tell me ' ; for there was a crinkle of
satisfaction round Ned's tired eyes that Sheila had not
seen for years.
' Yes, I have grand news for you. Aunt Sarah has
made me her heir. After all, we wronged the poor old
thing. " Blood is thicker than water ; I mean to leave
my money to Julian's eldest son ; I hear he is a steady,
good sort of young man " — she said those very words
to Mr. Roffey a few months before she died.'
Sheila did not answer ; she had turned very pale
and her lip trembled ; only her eyes implored him to
go on.
* I am to have the house and furniture — indeed
everything, with the exception of legacies to the old
servants. Mr. Roffey went into things very thoroughly
with me. He thinks the invested property will bring
us in about six or seven hundred a year.'
' Ned, how is one to believe it ? ' But under her
breath Sheila was murmuring, ' Thank God ! thank
God ! ' in a perfect ecstasy of gratitude. Her sup-
pressed emotion seemed to infect her brother, for he
got up and began to pace the room.
' It was difficult for me to grasp it. Mr. Roffey
seemed to think me a trifle dense. He made me read
the will for myself, and one or two of her letters,
and then by degrees comprehension came. I would
have told you the moment I entered the house, only I
was so faint for want of food that I was afraid I should
make an ass of myself; and you were so patient, dear,
after your long, lonely day.'
'I understood you — of course, I saw how it was.'
IV GREAT-AUNT SARAH 41
Then, as Ned flung himself into his chair again, Sheila
stood behind him, with her hand resting quietly on his
shoulder.
* Shall you have enough to ' but there was no
need to finish her sentence.
'Yes, indeed. Of course I thought of that first. I
made a clean breast to Roffey ; he seemed such a decent
chap, and so willing to help me. There will be at
least six or seven hundred a year when all the debts
are paid — think of it, Sheila,' and Ned gave vent to
a low triumphant laugh. ' Think how we have been
going without things, and what a miserable little sum
has been scraped up ; at this rate it would have taken
us another ten or fifteen years to pay off the debts,
and now everything will be settled by midsummer.
Oh, the relief of it ! ' and Ned stretched out his hand
for his pipe, with a sigh of satisfaction that spoke
volumes.
The great tears gathered under Sheila's eyelids ; it
needed all her self-control to repress her agitation. If
she had been ten years younger she would have thrown
her arms round his neck and sobbed out her joy and
thankfulness, but the discipline of life had taught her
to restrain her feelings. * Dear Ned, if you only knew
how I rejoice for your sake,' she said in a voice that
was hardly as calm as usual ; and Ned put down his
pipe and patted her hand gently.
* Poor old Sheila — but we will have our good times
yet, please God. Do you know what my first purchase
will be ? '
' An evening dress suit, I hope,' with an attempt at
sprightliness.
* Oh, my poor coat, I had forgotten it for the
moment. But I give you my word, Sheila, that my
42 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
first thought as I walked to the station was, that you
should have the best silk gown that could be bought.
Hush — why, my dear, how can a little thing like that
upset you ! ' but Ned spoke to blank walls ; Sheila had
fairly run out of the room.
It was too much ; she could bear no more — this little
mark of Ned's thoughtfulness for her comfort had been
the finishing stroke. The relief had been too sudden
and overwhelming too utterly unexpected. Even Ned
owned afterwards that his wildest visions had never
conjured up such an idea. ' I thought perhaps Aunt
Sarah might have left us a hundred apiece ; and we
should have been grateful even for that,' he said, when
later on they discussed things more calmly. It did
Sheila a world of good to sit in her dark room and
think over it all quietly ; even the tears that would
come relieved and calmed her.
' Dear Ned was so kind,' she said to herself ; ' it was
sweet of him to think of a new frock for me ; but
somehow I could not take it in. I could only think of
him a free man, with all his burdens lifted. Now he
will be able to give up his teaching and write his
books. All these years he has been working far too
hard, but I could do nothing to prevent it. It would
have killed him in time ; Ned is not strong.'
When Sheila was calmer she went down to the
room where Edward was still smoking, with Kaiser at
his feet. He gave her a quick glance as she entered,
and held out his hand without speaking ; those two
seldom needed words.
A delicious half-hour followed, and then they heard
Eppie putting up the chain on the front door. ' Let
us tell her to-night, Ned,' exclaimed Sheila ; * the dear
old thing will be so happy ! ' and Edward nodded
IV GREAT-AUNT SARAH
43
and put down his pipe, and the next moment Eppie
entered.
' It is getting late, Miss Sheila, and I will be wishing
you and Mr. Edward good-night.' Then Eppie's tone
changed into anxiety. * Why, what's to do. Miss Sheila?
I shall go to my bed with a sore heart this night if
there is fresh trouble for you and the master.'
* One can cry for happiness as well as sorrow, Eppie,'
returned Sheila ; but her brother interrupted her.
' If there were any wine in the house you should
drink our health, Eppie!' he exclaimed; 'for a wonderful
bit of good fortune has come to us, — our great-aunt,
Mrs. Hartree, has left me all her money.'
' Havers,' was the sole remark Eppie vouchsafed to
this. She was sleepy and somewhat offended at the
late hours they had kept the last two nights, and when
Eppie was in this mood she never saw a joke.
' But I am not jesting, Eppie. I have been to the
lawyers, and they have shown me my aunt's will ; she
has left me her house and furniture and a good bit of
money.'
' Keep's a', but you will take my breath away,
Mr. Edward, for it is past belief; so no more of your
havers, for it's no reasonable to expect me to hearken to
tales at this hour of the nicht' Eppie was becoming
decidedly cross.
* But it is true,' observed Sheila. ' Why, you foolish
woman, didn't I just say I was crying with happiness.
Aunt Sarah must have been a good woman after all to
remember her next of kin. We shall be quite rich,
Eppie ; at least, we shall have a nice little income, and
there will be no need to do without things. And Eppie
shall have a new dress too, and anything else she wants,
shan't she, Ned ? And, oh dear, I feel I could sing for
44 AT THE MOORINGS chap, iv
joy ' ; and Sheila's bright face would have convinced the
greatest unbeliever.
Eppie's hard-featured face worked a little. ' You are
no' making a mistake, Miss Sheila ? '
' No indeed ; my brother would not joke about such
a thing.'
' Ah weel, but my hert failed me to hear him ; if it is
true, but it is just michty. A fortune — aye, but I am a
happy woman this night ' ; and now the tears were run-
ning down her cheeks as Ned grasped the work-hardened
hand in silence. Eppie had been their chief comfort, the
one link with their old past. ' Aye, but it cows a',' they
heard her say to herself as she went out of the room.
CHAPTER V
DREAMS
Hasten then to the end which thou hast before thee, and, throwing
away idle hopes, come to thy own aid, if thou canst at all for thyself,
while it is in thy power. — M. AuRELius Antoninus.
In spite of his fatigue, Edward Lassiter smoked an-
other pipe after his sister had left him. Weary as he
was with the long-drawn-out excitement of the day,
he felt it would be useless to try and sleep until he
had reasoned himself into a calmer state of mind. On
the stand beside his chair there was a pile of small
books in shabby bindings — old and well-beloved friends,
who had often enlivened his solitude with sweet and
wise counsels — and in his despondent hours, when life
seemed flavourless and over full of care, he would
fortify himself with a pregnant page or two. Chief
among these were TJie Essays of Elia, The Republic of
Plato, and The Thoughts of M. Aurelms Antoninus.
The latter was a special favourite, and the pages bore
traces of age as well as usage. He took it up now,
for, as he had often told Sheila, * the old heathen was
wiser than many a Christian,' and read the first passage
that met his eyes : * Labour not unwillingly, nor with-
out regard to the common interest, nor without due
consideration, nor with distraction ; nor let studied
45
46 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
ornament set off thy thoughts, and be not either a man
of many words or busy about too many things. . . .
Be cheerful also, and seek not external help nor the
tranquillity which others give. A man then must
stand erect, not be kept erect by others.' And a little
farther on : ' Never value anything as profitable to
thyself which shall compel thee to break a promise, to
lose thy self- respect' And again : * Try how the life
of the good man suits thee, the life of him who is
satisfied with his portion out of the whole, and satisfied
with his own just acts and benevolent disposition.'
* What a grand old soul he was ! ' he murmured as
he laid down the book ; ' perhaps in the distant aeons,
when the wheel of Time has ceased to revolve, one
may come upon him in some far corner of paradise,
very likely talking with Socrates and Plato and
Buddha' ; and Mr. Lassiter smiled tranquilly at his owa
conceit.
' A man must stand erect, not be kept erect by
others ' — how often those words had been to him like
a flash of torchlight in the murky darkness ! How they
had appealed to his masculine judgment and sense of
rectitude ! From an angel's point of view even the
most sordid and meagre life must present infinite
possibilities ; the battle of good and evil, with its
tremendous issues, can be fought out in a garret. In
the old Judaean days, when the Saviour's feet trod on
this earth, it was * the common people who heard him
gladly,' the babes and little ones who crowded round
so eagerly for a blessing.
All these years Edward Lassiter had set himself a
task. The promise that he had given to his mother
after his father's death should be fulfilled as far as lay
in his power ; but there were times when his courage
V DREAMS 47
had failed, and he had told himself that his was the
heart-breaking labour of Sisyphus.
* One can save so little/ he once said to Sheila ;
* we must live, and the few pounds we put by monthly
seem only a drop in the ocean.' But Sheila would
never allow that.
* At least we have paid Jenkins,' she said once.
Jenkins was the joiner that Julian Lassiter had em-
ployed, and who was now old and past work. ' Have
you forgotten, Ned, how the poor old man cried for
joy when we gave him the money, and said we had
saved him from the workhouse ? ' but Edward, who
was in a gloomy mood, was not much comforted at
the recollection of Jenkins.
There were others who also wanted their money.
The tradesman who had furnished Julian with canvas
and paints had fallen upon evil days by no fault of his
own, and was threatened with insolvency.
It was of this man that Edward was thinking as he
^aid aside his beloved M. Aurelius Antoninus. Only
^Ib previous week he had received a letter from him,
begging for the advance of a few pounds ; he had
shown the letter to Sheila, and they had both made
themselves extremely unhappy about it, but there was
nothing to be done.
'Jenkins has had all our reserve fund,' he had said,
' and there will be no more money forthcoming until
that article for the Fortnightly is finished. Good God,
how are these debts to be paid ? ' and Edward paced
the room in impatient misery. It was that night
Sheila told herself that the burden was too crushing.
' If the debts were only off our minds and Ned
free, how happy we could be ! ' she murmured. 'Neither
of us mind being poor, and Ned loves his evening
48 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
work ; he says little about it, but I know he has made
his mark'; for the devoted sister read all Ned's articles,
and gloried in them. ' They are just splendid ! ' she
would say to herself.
But now the wheel of fortune had turned, and
the good things of this life were to be no longer with-
held from them ; and the first cheque that Ned would
sign should be in favour of this very Reuben Armstrong,
and all the rest of his father's creditors should be
satisfied in due course.
* Roffey and Williams think I am quite right,' he
went on, as he knocked out the ashes of his pipe ; ' they
are honest, straightforward men, and they will help and
not hinder me. Roffey tells me that last investment
has turned out splendidly, and that our income will
probably be nearer seven hundred a year ' ; and at this
reflection Ned gave a low chuckling laugh. ' Eppie v/as
quite right, he said to himself, ' it cows a' ! ' and then
he stretched himself with a mighty yawn and took up
his chamber candlestick.
Sheila heard his step pass her door, and turned
happily on her pillow. She had just been dreaming
that she and Ned were children again and were
gathering cowslips in the meadows. 'Look at my great
big cowslip ball, She,' she heard Ned say, using his old
pet name for her ; ' it is so heavy it makes my hands
ache ' ; and as he threw it at her it broke to pieces and
lay at her feet a heap of shining gold coins.
* How absurd ! ' she muttered drowsily. And then
she wandered into another dream, and it seemed to her
that she and Ned were roaming hand in hand through
the dim galleries of some magnificent palace ; her
feet felt clogged and heavy, and Ned was urging her
to walk faster. ' We must find the Master,' he said ; ' he
V DREAMS 49
is an emperor, you know, and of course this is his
palace.' ' But it is not any emperor that I want, Ned ;
I thought we were looking for Ivor ' ; and as the words
crossed her lips Sheila woke in tears, and as usual she
murmured a prayer for the beloved wanderer.
It was of Ivor she spoke the next morning as they
sat at breakfast. 'If we only knew where to find him,'
she said wistfully as she repeated her dreams. They
had amused Ned vastly.
' The golden ball is easy to be understood,' he
returned laughing ; ' but whatever could have put M.
Aurelius Antoninus in your head? There must be some
wonderful transmission of thought between us, for I
was reading a passage or two of his writing as a sort
of sedative.' But at her mention of Ivor he became
grave.
*It is his birthday,' she went on. 'Did you remember,
dear? Let me see, Ivor is six years younger than you,
so he must be seven-and-twenty. Somehow, I cannot
fancy it ; he seemed such a boy when we last saw him.'
Sheila's face wore its sad look as she spoke. The
loss of her young brother was still a heavy trouble
to her ; he had been so dear to her and Ned, and
all his wrong -doing had failed to obliterate her
tenderness.
On her bedroom mantelpiece there was a photo of
him in a shabby little frame. The face was beautiful
enough for a youthful angel. Julian's perfect features
and fair hair were reproduced in Ivor ; the eyes had a
bright, eager look in them, and there was a sweet
expression about the mouth. He had been little more
than a boy when the photo had been taken, but during
the next year or two moral deterioration had set a
stamp on the features.
E
50 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' Poor dear Ivor, if we could only hear of him,'
she went on. ' We have never had the means of
advertising, Ned, but now ' and she looked at her
brother anxiously.
* The world is a big place, Sheila,' he returned ;
' how are we to know where he is — east or west, north
or south ? ' But Edward never uttered the thought that
often occurred to him — ' Eight years and no word,
perhaps, who knows, he may be dead ' — for he knew
well that no such idea had ever entered her head. That
her darling was living was absolute certainty both to
her and Eppie. Of course he was alive ; but what if
he were in any distress or difficulty ?
* I would rather break stones on the highway than
live as you and Ned are living,' he had once said to
her in youthful scorn. ' Ned is like Gaffer Morton's
blind horse, who is drawing loads all day. His name is
Ned too. I am always so sorry for the poor old fellow ;
it seems such a hopeless sort of life. I got him some
carrots the other day, and dangled them before his nose.
My word, if he did not whinny in quite a friendly way
when I spoke to him next day ! ' Sheila often recalled
this speech ; she loved to think how good Ivor was
to animals, and how he hated to kill even an insect.
' It has as much right to live as I have,' he would
say.
Sheila would willingly have pursued the subject, but
Ned had no more time at his disposal ; breakfast and
luncheon were always hurried meals, as lessons occupied
most of the day.
A nondescript meal — a combination of tea and
supper — was always ready by half-past six, and this
was the most sociable hour of the day ; though Ned
would often start up from his chair declaring that he
V DREAMS 51
had no more time to waste in talk, unless Sheila wished
him to sit up all night. But this evening was to be
an exception to the rule. Ned had promised not to
put pen to paper. ' We will just cackle over our golden
egg like Mother Goose and her Gander,' he said, as he
buttoned up his thin greatcoat — for the same unkindly
east wind prevailed ; and Sheila beamed at him in
answer, and then went off in search of Eppie, for she
was bent on providing an unusually festal meal by way
of inaugurating their good fortune.
'Don't you think we might have a pigeon -pie?'
but Sheila spoke with bated breath, as though she was
somewhat ashamed of her extravagance. 'The dear
fellow nearly starved himself yesterday. And it is Ivor's
birthday ; and you know, Eppie, it is such a favourite
dish of Mr. Edward's, though he has not tasted it for
years.' Then Eppie, who had first looked aghast at the
suggestion, calmed down.
* Well, there's no need to reckon the pence now,'
she said oracularly ; ' so, as it is market-day, I'll just
take my basket and get two of the plumpest pigeons
I can find, and a bit of tender steak. You leave it to
me. Miss Sheila. I might toss up some pancakes too
— there is nothing that Mr. Edward likes better than
pancakes. Aye, but it is just michty,' relapsing into
her vernacular at the visions of bliss that unfolded
themselves with these homely details. ' Isn't it mother
that always said, " Eppie is the wumman that will be a
gran' han' at the bakin'"? Well, I'll hae to be movin' ;
but I doubt we're ower extravegint ' ; and Eppie gave a
little dry clucking laugh which always expressed supreme
satisfaction.
Kaiser gave a surprised sniff or two at the delicious
odours that pervaded the small house that evening.
52 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
His canine instinct soon made him aware that some
unusual feast was being provided for his delectation.
A vision of hot savoury bones mingled with his dreams,
and every movement on Eppie's part was followed by a
heavy thump of his tail on the hearth-rug.
Sheila crooned a little song as she went softly to
and fro. She had bought two or three bunches of
spring flowers to adorn the supper-table. A clear little
fire burned cheerily in the grate, and a small gray
kitten — a forlorn, half-starved little creature that Mr.
Lassiter had brought in one bitter evening for warmth
and shelter — was playing with Kaiser's thumping tail.
Kaiser, who, like his master, had a benevolent nature,
had at once taken the poor little waif and stray under
his protection. ' The Orphan,' as Ned called her,
thrived amazingly in the kindly atmosphere, and was
fast developing all sorts of pretty tricks. Kaiser only
wagged his tail in tolerant fashion when * the Orphan '
in merry moments executed fantastic dances on his
prostrate form. On cold evenings he even allowed her
to take her nap crouched snugly on his glossy coat ;
and it was pretty to watch their games together — the
patience and gentleness with which Kaiser bore the
caprices and exactions of his small companion.
Edward had been detained later at the school that
evening, but his face looked bright as he stood at the
door regarding the peaceful scene ; and Kaiser jumped
up with so loud a bark of welcome, that ' the Orphan '
fled in dismay under the table.
' There is going to be a change in the weather,'
observed Mr. Lassiter presently, when he had done
sufficient justice to the good things provided for him.
The pigeon-pie had been highly praised, and the pan-
cakes were pronounced perfect. Eppie had been over-
V DREAMS 53
whelmed with compliments when she came to clear
the table, which she received with inward delight and
outward incredulity. ' Havers, Mr. Edward,' she re-
turned gruffly ; nevertheless Eppie was a proud woman
that night.
' March will go out like a lamb, mark my words,
Sheila,' went on her brother. * Well, I have had a long
talk with Martin to-night. The old fellow was quite
demonstrative. He shook my hand and wished me
joy of my good luck. He even said he would find it
difficult to replace me, but I reminded him that Gregson
was wanting a berth. We shall have to keep on this
house until June. By the by, my dear, Mr. Roffey
wants me to go down to Uplands and have a look at
the house, and of course you must go with me. Do
you think next Wednesday will suit you ? '
* Oh yes, I should think so ; Mrs. Goulburn is always
very kind and considerate in sparing me. As you have
had your talk with Mr. Martin, Ned, I suppose I ought
to tell Mrs. Goulburn that she must look out for another
governess. Fancy my being a lady at large ! But I
daresay I shall find plenty to do. Uplands is country,
is it not, Ned ? I think father said that it was rather
a pretty place.'
* Yes, I believe so ' ; but Ned spoke absently. * Sheila,
I have got all sorts of plans for the future. Do you
know, I should like to go to Oxford and work up for
my degree. It would be quite possible. I could have
a lodging in the town.' But interrupting himself, as
Sheila looked rather disturbed at this, ' Of course it
would cost a lot of money, so it would require a good
deal of consideration. There is something else I might
do,' and Ned's eyes gleamed very brightly through his
spectacles — ' I might set about that book.'
54 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Then Sheila nodded with decided approval.
During the last few years of stress and toil, Ned had
been unable to develop his literary tastes. His articles
were all written to suit the editor who employed him,
and he had often playfully compared himself to a cab-
horse. * I never get out of the ordinary groove ; if I
followed my own bent, I should just get the lash.*
And in his dreamy, unpractical way he would talk too
of a historical novel that he longed to write. * I cannot
get it out of my head,' he would say. ' The plot must be
laid in the days of the Stuarts — probably just before
the Civil War broke out ; there is no other period of
English history so fascinating and so terrible.'
' But there is John biglesantl Sheila had objected.
* Yes, and a grander book was never written. But I
should not encroach on Shorthouse's masterpiece ; the
mine is too rich — it is almost inexhaustible — a hundred
books could be written on the subject'
' Do you really think so, Ned ? '
' I am sure of it ' ; and Mr. Lassiter spoke with
unusual animation. ' It is extraordinary how vividly
some of the characters move before me. I can even
see the rooms. It is a house divided against itself:
a gentle, narrow-minded, Puritan mother ; a hot-blooded
Royalist father ; sons and daughter ranged in rival
camps ; the great pageantry of battlefields ' ; and Ned
would wax so eloquent on this theme that Sheila grew
almost as eager as he. But when she proposed that he
should set about it at once, he always shook his head
very sadly. ' It is only a dream, a castle in the air,' he
returned with a sigh. * Where am I to get my books
of reference, Sheila, or even time to study ? I should
have to read volumes, to take notes, to verify facts.
There could be no guesswork, no tampering with truth,
V DREAMS 55
no glossing over of unexpected difficulties ; the stern,
unvarnished truth should be told ; no distorted facts, no
exaggerated and unreal romance for me.'
' Then I am afraid, Ned, that your Stuart romance
will never be written,' replied Sheila regretfully ; and
though Edward had winced at the word ' never,' he
evidently agreed with her.
But now the subject had been brought forward
again, and Ned had announced his intention of setting
about the book, and Sheila had applauded his resolu-
tion. ' What a splendid idea ! ' she had exclaimed ; ' you
will be master of your own time, and there is sure to
be some room that we could turn into a study,' Sheila
privately made up her mind that the best room and
the best view should be chosen for him. But Edward
interrupted her.
* Softly, softly, my dear girl. You do not quite
grasp the matter. I am hardly likely to find the books
I want at Uplands. What would you say, Sheila, if,
when we are comfortably settled at The Moorings, I
were to go up to London for a time, and leave you to
keep house with Eppie ? I would get a lodging near the
British Museum, and go to the reading-room every day.
It would be just the thing I should like — if you are
sure you would not be dull ? '
For a moment Sheila was conscious of a feeling of
disappointment — it had not entered her mind that her
brother would wish to leave her ; but her common-sense
and unselfishness soon gained the mastery. ' Dear
Ned, let it be so if you wish it,' she said gently. ' Up-
lands is not far from town, and I daresay you would
often run down for a few hours.'
' It would only be for a time, my dear, until I had
got my facts together. Now I think of it, I could
56 AT THE MOORINGS chap, v
always run down for the week-end, and we could
spend our Sundays together'; and Sheila's face so
brightened at this that Ned secretly determined that
no amount of engrossing work should tempt him to
disappoint her.
CHAPTER VI
A SILENT ROMANCE
Heart to heart was never known ;
Mind with mind did never meet ;
We are columns left alone,
Of a temple once complete.
Cranch.
Mr. Lassiter was right in his prognostications, and
the last days of March were conspicuous by their
lamblike qualities. The east wind, with its nips and
pinches and swirls of slaty dust, had disappeared ; the
atmosphere was milder, and held out the promise of
spring ; the brown hedgerows showed signs of bursting
buds and tiny green shoots ; and April appeared in a
dainty and tender mood, mingling sunshine and sweet,
refreshing showers. It was on some such springlike
day that the Lassiters set out for their holiday excur-
sion ^-hitherto a rare pleasure in their hard-working
lives — to visit their new home and make acquaintance
with the surrounding neighbourhood. Uplands being
terra incognito to them.
Edward had been up to town again, and matters
had been definitely arranged between him and the
lawyers. The old servants were to receive their
legacies and be paid off, and the house was to be
given into the charge of a respectable caretaker until
57
S'8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
the time when he and his sister should be free to take
possession of their new hon:ie. Neither of them was
wilHng to shirk their responsibilities, but they indulged
the hope that the beginning of June would see them
settled at The Moorings. There would be much to do
before then, Edward would have the settlement of
his father's debts, and as one or two of the creditors
were dead, there would be some amount of trouble in
finding out their representatives. Sheila, too, would
have sufficient occupation in replenishing her meagre
wardrobe. In this matter Ned was inclined to be
extravagant, and she had some difficulty in bringing
him to reason. ' We shall not be rich, and there is no
need for so many things,' she said to him ; * three
new gowns are all I shall want for the present.'
On this festive occasion Sheila wore her old clothes.
Nevertheless, as she sat opposite to him in the railway
carriage, Ned looked at her more than once with secret
approval. * I wonder what you have done to yourself.
Sheila,' he exclaimed at last ; * you look very nice, my
dear, and half a dozen years younger ! ' Then Sheila
blushed in quite a girlish way. After all, thirty was
not a great age, and Sheila's simple, quiet life had
preserved her youth wonderfully.
People who cared for her always said Sheila
Lassiter was a sweet-looking woman. Without being
exactly handsome — for her features were not clearly
cut enough for beauty — she was at times exceedingly
attractive in a quiet way. Her eyes were very soft
and frank, and her mouth lovely. Little Betty Wood-
ford had been won by her voice and smile. ' My nice
Miss Lassiter' she always called her.
Sheila often spoke of herself as an old maid. ' No
thoroughfare for lovers ' might have been written over
VI A SILENT ROMANCE 59
the door of the little house in Brook Street, and
certainly only Edward's shabby hat was ever hung up
in the hall.
Sheila seldom troubled about such things. If she
had her moods of discouragement, of inward rebellion,
no one suffered from them. But indeed she tried as far
as possible to put such thoughts from her ; it was part
of her life's discipline ; it was not worse for her than for
Edward. ' Neither of us can marry,' she would say to
herself; 'we are too poor. Besides, there is no one —
no one ! '
Once, in the old days, while her mother was living,
there seemed as though there would be some one.
A friend of Edward's, a certain Mark Telford, had
appeared very frequently on the scene ; perhaps
Sheila's soft eyes were the magnets that drew him.
It was a very shadowy little romance, almost word-
less on Mark's part ; he only came and looked, and by
and by he went away, and that was the end of it ; but
for a time it occupied Sheila's thoughts. Love has its
dumb as well as its spoken language ; it can convey
its tenderest messages by signs ; a look may convey
the weightiest meaning ; even silence can be eloquent ;
the touch of a hand may be magnetic.
Mark was poor and honourable ; he came of a good
stock, but his prospects left much to be desired.
When he set out like the prince in the fairy tale to
seek his fortunes, he said no word to lead Sheila to
suppose that she would be the end and object of all
his efforts ; yet in the depths of her soul she knew that
she was dear to him. * If he had only said one word —
one little word, to tell me so ! ' she had thought, when
the news of his death had been brought to her. Some
vague word had indeed passed between them on the
6o AT THE MOORINGS chap,
evening before Mark had left England. They had
met at the house of a mutual friend — a little gathering
of young people had been there to wish him good-bye
— all his old neighbours and companions, Sheila
amongst them. Mark was very quiet and somewhat
out of spirits, but they had no opportunity for private
talk ; one of Mark's sisters followed him about like a
shadow. Once, when the three were pacing the
garden paths together, Lucy Telford chattered to them
both about a love-story that had reached her ears that
day.
' It was quite a medieval romance ! ' she exclaimed ;
* one seldom hears of such a thing nowadays. Nora
Middleton was only nineteen when Robert Clare went
to India. They were not engaged even, but there was
a sort of understanding that she would wait. Aunt
Joanna says that Nora was so pretty in those days.'
'Are you talking about old Miss Middleton ?' asked
Mark. ' Hurry up, Luce ; there is no time for a long
story.'
' Old Miss Middleton ! why, she is only a little
over forty. But you see Joyce is young Miss Middleton
now. Well, he has come back — Robert Clare has come
back — after twenty-two years. And they say Nora
has refused more than one good offer for his sake ; and
they are to be married ; and he is just as much in love
with her as though she were still young and pretty.'
' Of course he is,' muttered Mark, as though to him-
self ; 'do you suppose all those years go for nothing?'
And then he turned round abruptly to Sheila, and
even in that dim light under the trees she could see the
brightness of his eyes. ' Could you have waited ? ' he
asked a little breathlessly.
' Yes, if I cared for any one it would be easy to wait,'
VI A SILENT ROMANCE 6i
returned Sheila quietly ; but her heart was beating a
little faster than usual.
' I need not have asked the question '—in a voice so
low that Lucy could not catch the words ; ' I know you
would be faithful. If we only dared ' And
here he pressed closer to her. Oh, if they had only
been alone !
* Mark, they are calling for you ; we must go in.
Don't keep him, Sheila.' Lucy was hurrying them
towards the house. She had pushed herself between
them in her affectionate, girlish way, and taken an arm
of each.
' Don't be a goose, Lucy ' — Mark's tone was strained
and irritable — ' if you are in such a hurry you can go
on, and Miss Lassiter and 1 can follow you.'
' But it is you they are wanting.' Lucy's voice rose
shrilly and insistent ; it brought a little group round
them in a moment.
' Here he is ! What do you mean by deserting us
like this, old fellow?' And Mark was pinioned and
carried off to the house.
' If we only dared ' What was it that Mark
would have said if only the opportunity had been
vouchsafed him ? But Sheila was never to know that.
A quiet hand-shake, a whispered ' God bless you ! ' that
lingered long in her memory, and Mark Telford passed
out of her life for ever.
Two years later he died of malarial fever in West
Africa ; and a certain vague sweet hope in Sheila's heart
died also.
One wonders how many thousands of these dumb,
unfinished love-stories have been lived and then
died a natural death — budding romances that never
blossomed, nipped by some unkindly and adverse
62 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
way of circumstance, and yet stored in a hidden recess
by many a faithful heart. That little old maid, for
example, whose prim ways are so irritating, who jars on
one with her endless gossip and her girlish affectations
and fineries, even she has a faded flower or two that
a loving hand had given her. Once she was young
and the hopes of womanhood dawned brightly on
her horizon. And then He — it was always He with
a capital letter — rode away and forgot all about her ;
and the world grew very gray and cold for a
time.
* When I was young ? Oh yes, my dear, of course I
expected to be married ; we all do, you know. And
when one has good looks ' Here there would be
a girlish toss of the head, and the lean little shoulders
would shrug in the old artless fashion. ' He was very
attentive — every one noticed it ; they said he made
me so conspicuous. Poor fellow, he was very much
in earnest — quite unhappy, in fact. But he had to go ;
and he never came back.' It was a round-faced chit
who asked the question.
'No!' — and the gentle little spinster seemed to
swallow something — * he settled out there, and in time
he married — in time, you understand. I think men
are more impatient than we are — they do not like
waiting.' Miss Rachel never finished her sentence,
or she might have added with truth — * perhaps we
do not like it either.'
No one — not even her brother — had guessed at
Sheila's poor little wordless romance. When they
settled at Cottingdean they lost touch with the Telfords.
If a girl's fond hopes and dreams were buried in that
West African grave, no one knew it ; and after a
time Sheila forgot it too. Only she would say to
VI A SILENT ROMANCE 63
herself in lonely moments that Mark was gone, and
that there was no one now.
Sheila felt an unusual sense of exhilaration as she
sat opposite Edward in the railway compartment.
There were other passengers in the carriage, so he
unfolded his paper and Sheila looked out of the
window. Both were pleasantly surprised by the short-
ness of their journey.
Uplands was two or three miles from the station,
and Edward Lassiter suggested that they should take
a fly and drive straight to the house. One of
Mrs. Hartree's old servants had consented to remain
as caretaker, and would give them luncheon.
Sheila gave Ned's arm a playful little squeeze as
they drove away from the station. ' Isn't it just like
a fairy tale ? Fancy having a house of our own that
we have never seen, with furniture and plate and linen
all ready for use ! I feel as though I were a princess
in the Arabian Nights, with a benevolent genie at hand.'
' But you must not expect a mansion,' returned
her brother. * I recollect my father speaking of The
Moorings once as rather a dull, old-fashioned house.
' " It was a cottage originally, and then some one
bought it and built a large and more modern house,
still keeping the cottage rooms. I thought it rather
ugly myself" — I remember so well his saying that.
" And the cottage part is certainly very dull ; but the
views from the upper windows are remarkably fine." '
* Father never cared for anything but picturesque
red brick houses,' returned Sheila. ' But after Brook
Street I expect we shall find it palatial ; our little
rooms are so very dark and low. But,' interrupting
herself, ' I don't call this country, Ned ; it is very
towny and suburban.'
64 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
They were driving slowly up a wide steep road,
with houses on either side, and seats here and there
for the benefit of pedestrians.
' The air seems remarkably fine, though ' ; and Mr.
Lassiter inhaled the strong, free breeze with decided
pleasure. ' This is not Uplands, so we had better
reserve our criticism for the present.' The driver, who
had overheard this remark, turned round to address
him.
' They call this HilHngton, sir. It is a rare climb,
as you see. Uplands lies on the top of the hill. I
suppose you will have heard that the old lady at The
Moorings is dead ? She was a great age, they do say ;
but quite peart-like and with all her faculties.'
' Yes, we know Mrs. Hartree is dead,' returned Mr.
Lassiter curtly. Perhaps it was owing to their retired
life that he and Sheila had shy, reserved ways with
strangers, for he sought no further information.
' He was a stiddy sort of taciturn chap,' remarked
the coachman later ; ' but he was not squeamish about
a sixpence. I should say they are a tidy sort, and
you might go farther and fare worse ' ; for honest Jem
was an oracle in the bar-room of the Cross Keys.
Sheila made no more disparaging remarks, and
after a time matters improved. They branched off
from the main road, skirting a pleasant village green,
with the church and vicarage adjoining it.
The churchyard was pretty and well kept, and
shaded by yew trees ; and there was a picturesque lich-
gate. As they drove slowly past, a tall man in clerical
attire came out of the vicarage gate, and looked at
them rather searchingly as he responded to Jem's
respectful greeting.
He had a thin, ascetic-looking face, and dark, closely-
VI A SILENT ROMANCE 65
cropped hair : but there was something striking in his
carriage, and Sheila's curiosity prevailed over her shyness.
* I suppose that is the vicar ? ' she asked.
' Yes, ma'am,' returned Jem, pleased to have an
opening given to him. ' That's the parish church, St.
Jude's ; and the vicar is the Rev. Luke Brett. He is
a good sort of a parson, and does a deal for the place.
Not being a married man, his aunt lives with him and
keeps his house.'
Sheila felt vaguely surprised and disappointed to
hear this. She thought it would have been nice to
have a motherly woman at the vicarage, with a family
of children or young people in whom she could take
interest. She thought the vicar was a little severe of
aspect ; though she acknowledged he held himself well
and had an aristocratic air.
* Rather an unusual type of face,' observed her
brother in an interested tone. And then they came
out on a broad road, with handsome houses and
prettily laid-out gardens. The air grew fresher here.
Presently Sheila caught sight of a little sandy lane or
path winding between gorse bushes, with two or three
houses lying snugly in a hollow.
' Oh, Ned, what a pretty corner ! ' she was exclaiming,
when Jem suddenly pulled up.
' The second house is The Moorings — the one with
the firs in front,' he said, pointing with his whip. * The
first house is Heathside, and belongs to the Lorimers ;
but they mostly lives abroad. And they do say that
Mrs. Lorimer's health will oblige them to give up the
house. Yon is the Old Cottage,' pointing now to a
low, pleasant -looking cottage, which, in spite of its
humble appearance, appealed to Sheila's fancy ; the
dark woodwork of the porch blended with the creamy
F
66 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
tone of the walls so harmoniously, and it looked so
peaceful, with its outlook on the tiny common.
' Oh, Ned, do let us get out and walk ! ' she said
eagerly. * There is no need to drive up to the door.'
And Edward assenting to this, they dismissed their
driver. Both of them were good walkers, and the road
to the station would be all downhill. Jem gave them
one more piece of gratuitous information before he
drove off to refresh himself at the Cross Keys.
' That's the golf-house,' pointing to a tall, substantial-
looking building, * and the links lie beyond ; it is all
common or moorland after that. People do say that
they can see the sea from the golf-links, though I have
never seen it myself; but as it is only twenty-one miles
as the crow flies, maybe they are right'
The brother and sister stood still for a moment in
the narrow path to admire the pleasant prospect. ' It
seems a peaceful little world, doesn't it, She ? ' and Ned
bent his head and took in another long draught of
the invigorating breeze. ' One could live here happily
— " the world forgetting, by the world forgot." I think
we shall be content with our new moorings.'
' It is just lovely ! ' and Sheila's tone expressed
great rapture. 'Think what it will be when the gorse is
in bloom ! ' But it was later on when Sheila described
the rippling sea of gold that seemed to stretch to their
very gates, and the honey-sweet breath of the furze on
warm sunny days.
' Heathside seems a pretty place,' observed Mr.
Lassiter. ' Look at the touch of blue haze between the
cottages ; we must have a look round that corner after
luncheon ' ; and then at the sound of footsteps behind
them Ned stood back in the narrow path to let the
new-comer pass.
VI A SILENT ROMANCE 67
It was a young lady walking beside her bicycle, who
bowed gravely as Ned lifted his hat. She had rather
a plain face, but her figure looked trim and graceful.
To Sheila's surprise she stopped at the gate of the Old
Cottage.
* I wonder if she lives there!' ejaculated Sheila, feeling
some natural curiosity about such close neighbours, for
the gate of The Moorings opened full on the Old Cottage.
But the next moment she had a sudden shock of
surprise at the sight of the little figure running out
from the porch.
' Why, Ned, it is actually my little friend Miss
Woodford,' she said so audibly that Betty heard her,
and the next moment the impulsive little creature came
flying down the road to meet them.
CHAPTER VII
AT THE MOORINGS
The world would be better and brighter if people were taught the duty
of being happy, as well as the happiness of doing our duty. To be happy
ourselves is a most effectual contribution to the happiness of others. —
Sir John Lubbock.
I find nonsense singularly refreshing. — Talleyrand.
' Martha, it is my nice Miss Lassiter ! ' they both
heard her exclaim. Betty's little brown face was
glowing with surprise and pleasure. Sheila was never
quite sure that the child did not put up her face to be
kissed, but if so she was too shy to respond.
' Why, you don't mean to say that you live in that
charming old cottage, and that we shall be near neigh-
bours ? ' she asked ; and Betty's eyes grew wider with
astonishment.
' Near neighbours !' she gasped. ' Are you coming to
live in our dear little sleepy hollow ? ' Then, as a light
broke on her, ' Surely you are not old Mrs. Hartree's
niece and nephew who are coming to The Moorings ? '
' We certainly lay claim to that relationship. Miss
Woodford,' returned Ned, with an amused look. ' The
world is very small, you know, and life is full of surprises,
and I can assure you that Mrs. Hartree was really our
great-aunt' But Betty was too excited to listen.
68
CHAP. VII AT THE MOORINGS 69
' Marty, oh, Marty, do come here ! ' she exclaimed.
* Such a wonderful thing has happened ! ' Then the tall
young lady who had passed them in Sandy Lane came
forward a little reluctantly.
* I hope you will excuse my little sister,' she said
apologetically to Sheila ; ' she is very much excited at
recognising an old acquaintance.'
' Well, it is a surprise to both of us,' returned Sheila
frankly. ' We thought not a creature would know us
in Uplands. We have never been here before in our
lives — indeed my brother has only seen Mrs. Hartree
two or three times — so you may imagine our astonish-
ment on hearing that she had left him The Moorings.'
' We heard that some relations were to have it,'
returned Miss Woodford. But Betty struck in :
' Yes, and we were so surprised when Nanny told
us; for, though we saw so much of dear old Mrs. Hartree,
she never once mentioned you by name, and we had
no idea that she had any one belonging to her. What
a pity to think that she was lonely all those
years, when she might have had you to look after
her ! '
' Betty, dear,' observed her sister gently, * I think
we are keeping Miss Lassiter standing too long. You
have come down to see the house, have you not ? I
know Nanny was expecting luncheon company.'
' We have the day before us, and it is quite early,'
returned Sheila, who seemed a little unwilling to part
with such pleasant acquaintances. Then the irrepres-
sible Betty chimed in again.
' Marty, you might ask Miss Lassiter and her
brother to have tea with us — father would be so
pleased.' Then her sister reddened a little and seemed
slightly embarrassed. Betty's unconventionality and
70 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
neglect of etiquette often placed her in awkward
positions.
' We shall be very glad,' she began shyly, ' and the
Cottage is so close ' but Sheila, who had been pre-
pared with a civil refusal, thinking Ned would be bored
by the invitation, was secretly surprised when he took
the answer on himself
* Thank you, you are very kind, and I am sure
my sister will be delighted. Will four o'clock suit
you, for we have to catch our train ? ' Then, on Miss
Woodford's answering him that any hour would be
convenient, they parted with mutual goodwill.
' Betty, how could you do such a thing ? ' remon-
strated her sister, when they were out of earshot.
' You have only seen Miss Lassiter twice, and you
know that they are perfect strangers to father and me.
Nanny would have given them tea, and there was not
the least occasion for us to invite them ; they will
think it so odd and forward on our parts.'
* Forward ! ' repeated Betty, firing up at once at the
obnoxious word, and tossing her brown mane after the
fashion of a little Shetland pony — for Betty had a
temper of her own. ' How can you be so prudish and
old-maidish, Martha? Haven't I told you a dozen times
how much I like that nice Miss Lassiter, and how much
I want to know her ; and are they not going to be our
near neighbours ? Why, we live at their very gate,
and of course they will only think we are kind and
hospitable and that sort of thing, I suppose ' — in the
same ruffled tones — ' it is Mr. Lassiter who frightens
you ; but he is not a bit young, you know, and I am
sure he thought us rather nice for asking him — he
certainly looked pleased.'
•Well, dear, I hope so,' replied Martha amiably.
VII AT THE MOORINGS 71
' Anyhow, they are coming, so I must get Jane to
bake some scones.'
' We must just make the best of it,' she thought, as
she hurried off to the kitchen. ' It would never do for
Betty to get into one of her tantrums — that would spoil
everything. If she would only remember that she is
grown up now,' the elder sister said to herself. Betty was
too childish for her years, too outspoken and impulsive.
She never would act as though she were nineteen, and the
worst of it was her father only indulged and spoilt her.
Her eight years' seniority had enabled Martha to
exercise a maternal supervision over her young sister
since their mother's death, and her calm judgment and
practical good sense somewhat counteracted her father's
injudicious tenderness. Not that Martha was unduly
strict or severe with what Mr. Woodford termed ' Bet's
skittishness.' She was far too gentle and loving for
that, but it could not be denied that she had her
moments of anxiety.
Betty was wilful at times. She would have her
own way, and was not always to be coerced and coaxed
into reason. She had a queer little code of her own,
which she maintained with a considerable amount of
obstinacy. If people chose to be stupid and censorious,
that was not her fault, averred Betty. But Martha's
experience had taught her that the world was some-
what harsh and exacting, and that there were certain
hard-and-fast rules which it was not well to transgress —
that one may have the harmlessness of the dove, and
yet it behoved such an one to walk warily.
* Perhaps Betty is right, and I am a little prudish,'
sighed Martha ; * and I daresay, after all, they may be
pleased with the little attention.' And then with much
tact she contrived to smooth Betty's aggrieved feelings.
72 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Meanwhile Ned was saying — ' Your little friend will
be quite an acquisition, She. It was really a pretty
attention on her part to ask us to tea, and I thought
it would be rather churlish of us to refuse.'
' I am afraid I was going to do so though, only you
were so ready with your answer,' returned Sheila. ' I
thought Miss Woodford looked rather shy and em-
barrassed. I suspect Betty is startling at times. I
really like the look of Miss Woodford, Ned.'
' So did I,' but Ned's tone was not enthusiastic.
' She is rather a plain young woman though. But your
little brown Betty is quite a piquant little person. Well,
shall we go in, She ? ' and Ned' unlatched the gate of
The Moorings. Sheila gazed round her almost with
awe. There was a row of firs in front ; and on one side
of the house there was a little lawn shaded by the same
trees ; on the right side there stretched a small, old-
fashioned garden which at once attracted their atten-
tion ; a long pergola covered with ivy led to the kitchen-
garden, and other arches, also ivy-covered, led to a
small tennis-lawn.
All along this side of the house ran a narrow,
passage -like conservatory ; beyond, across a flagged
court, they could see the stables and a cottage for the
coachman.
' Do you see where they have built on to the old
cottage ? ' began Ned, anxious to explore his new
possessions ; but at the sound of his voice a little old
woman, with a brown, nutcracker face, came round the
corner of the house and dropped quite a rustic curtsey.
Nanny Weare had lived all her life at Uplands and
knew nothing of modern ways.
* Would you be pleased to go round to the front of
the house, sir ? ' she said, wiping her hands on her
VII AT THE MOORINGS y^
coarse but scrupulously clean apron, and they retraced
their steps accordingly and waited meekly on the door-
step until Nanny admitted them.
The entrance hall was not imposing, being a mere
passage, and the staircase was narrow and rather steep.
On either side of the door was a good-sized, com-
fortable sitting-room, well furnished in an old-fashioned
way. One or two cabinets in the drawing-room were
Sheraton, and contained some beautiful old china ;
but the dark oil-paintings in massive gold frames in
the dining-room made Sheila secretly shudder — they
were so crude and bad. But she forbore from any
remark in Nanny's presence.
' How homelike and comfortable it all looks,' she
observed; 'and what delightful easy- chairs ! ' And
indeed Sheila felt that she had reason to be content.
A bright fire was burning cheerily, and the table was
already laid for luncheon. Sheila's housewifely eyes
at once noted the old-fashioned cut glass and massive
silver spoons and forks.
' Maybe you will like to be looking round while I
dish up,' observed Nanny. ' I have put hot water and
towels in two rooms ' ; and they at once took the hint.
* Shall we go upstairs first ? ' whispered Sheila, as
her brother seemed disposed to explore a low, dull-
looking room in front of him.
* There is nought to see in the cottage,' observed
Nanny. ' The rooms were never used, to my knowledge,
except as storerooms and such-like. During the last
year or two my mistress was forced to stay upstairs,
and we turned the best bedroom into a sitting-room
for her. It is the room over the drawing-room, and
has a grand view.'
It was a large, pleasant-looking sitting-room that
74 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
they entered first, with one window in front and another
at the side, overlooking the ivy -covered pergola and
tennis-lawn. A simultaneous cry of admiration burst
from the lips of both brother and sister as they looked
at the prospect.
A grand view indeed ! A perfect panorama
stretched before them. On one side Sleepy Hollow,
Sandy Lane, the Old Cottage, and the golf- house,
and a white road winding into the distance. The
other window commanded a splendid view of the
moorland. A vast expanse of furze and heather,
with gently sloping hills, and glimpses of dark woods
and fine plantations, the soft blue and purple tints of
the horizon giving them a sudden sense of joy and
freedom.
' My word, this is glorious, Sheila ! ' exclaimed Ned ;
but she only pressed his arm in silence, as though she
had no words at her command.
' It is a dream,' she said at last. * Think of waking
up to this every morning. How is one to believe it ! '
and Sheila laughed softly, though the tears were in
her eyes. ' It will be like living on the outskirts of
the Land of Beulah ; these must be the Delectable
Mountains ; they are not high certainly, but one can
imagine them veiling their heads in cloudland.'
' I can't see the mountains, my dear — it is some
cloud-effect you are noticing ; but all the same, it is a
fine view.'
* Yes, and this must be your study, Ned. No,' as
he shook his head, ' you may talk and argue until
you have lost your voice, but I made up my mind
to this directly I crossed the threshold.'
' Indeed no, Sheila, I will not agree to anything so
preposteious.' Nevertheless, there was a longing look
VII AT THE MOORINGS 75
in Ned's eyes. But he was to know that wilful woman
would have her way.
* This will be your sanctum sanctorum. Here you
and your beloved M. Aurelius Antoninus and Charles
Lamb and other congenial spirits will hold high revelry.
Here ' — still holding him with a firm grasp — ' you will
write not one but many books, and each will be better
than the last. " Have you read Edward Lassiter's new
book, my dear ? " I can hear the British husbands putting
that question to their better halves. " It is one of the
best books of the day." There, sir ! Now, will your
mightiness be pleased to come and see my room ? ' and
Sheila marched him into the opposite apartment, which
had a lovely view too, although it was more limited.
Of course, Sheila carried her point. Nothing that
Edward could or did say would move her. Poor Aunt
Sarah's room should be hers ; it was a charming room,
and she could get rid of the four-post bedstead and the
dingy hangings. Edward could sleep in that nice little
back room. There were two or three of the original
cottage rooms vacant, besides those the servants had
occupied. Upstairs there were two immense attics,
with low windows commanding delightful views. Ned
was half-inclined to choose one of them for his own use,
but his sister dissuaded him. ' They are too large,' she
objected ; ' they must be cold in winter, and you will
be far more snug in that cheerful little blue room down-
stairs. Besides, I should feel lonely if you were not on
the same floor.' And then, when this point was carried,
Nanny summoned them to luncheon.
Well, if they behaved like two children, one could
hardly wonder at it, for they had worked much and
played little, even in their youth, and, as Ned remarked,
they had arrears of holidays owing to them. ' We are
76 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
going to have a good old time,' he said, as lie filled his
glass with excellent Marsala. ' Here is to your health.
Sheila. Long life and happiness to you, my dear ! ' But
Sheila's hand shook a little as she put down her glass.
' We are at our Moorings, Ned. I think it is such
a lovely name for a home, and I like little Betty's name
of Sleepy Hollow too. Somehow I feel almost oppressed
to think of it all. It seems too much happiness to be
living in this dear old house alone with you, Ned ; and
if only Ivor '
Then Edward, who had finished his luncheon,
jumped up rather hastily. ' We must keep our talk
for our homeward journey,' he said ; ' we have not
half seen the place yet' But to Sheila's secret amuse-
ment he went back to his prospective study. He was
soon so busy planning low bookcases and settling where
his writing-table was to stand, that Sheila left him at
last to his own devices and went down to Nanny.
She found that the old woman was expecting her.
She had washed up, and was sitting in her elbow-chair
by the kitchen fire, with a great white cat curled up on
her lap. In her neat black dress and quaint mob-cap,
Nanny looked a perfect picture.
' There's plenty that I ought to be showing you,
ma'am,' she said, as she put the cat down on the hearth-
rug. ' Aye, Dick's a fine fellow,' as Sheila stooped to
caress him. ' We've had him since he was a little un,
and he is that clever and companionable that he might
be a human creature. Dick's going with me when I
leave The Moorings. We are getting old, Dick and me,
but we shall go nestling along ' — a term which rather
puzzled Sheila at the time, but she often heard it later
on, used to denote feebleness and want of power.
Nanny grew rather loquacious as the afternoon wore
VII AT THE MOORINGS 77
on — evidently Sheila's quiet sympathy had won her.
Her mistress's death had been a great grief. ' Fifty-
four years have I lived here,' she said, shaking her head
with a slightly palsied movement. * I was a strapping
wench of sixteen when Mrs. Hartree engaged me.
" You serve me faithful, Nanny," she says to me, " and
you'll never repent it."
'And she spoke gospel truth too, Miss Lassiter,' and
Nanny wiped away a tear or two ; 'for I am a rich
woman this day, and Mr. Roffey tells me that I am to
live rent-free in one of mistress's cottages near the mill,
and that it is to be furnished for me when I leave here.
" You have been a faithful servant, Nanny, and I am
very glad that Mrs. Hartree has remembered you
so kindly," he said. Oh, he is a civil, kind-spoken
gentleman ; and he had a friendly word for Anne and
Emma Parkins, too.'
' Were they Aunt Sarah's servants too, Nanny ? '
' Yes, to be sure, Miss Lassiter. Emma had lived
with her five-and-thirty years. She was her maid, and
of late years she slept in her room. Anne had one of
the village girls under her ; she trained her for service.
She was only here for twenty years, but they both got
handsome legacies. Anne is not much above forty,
and they do say that she and Joe Martin are going
to be cried in church ; and a good job too, for Joe has
waited for her those fifteen years.'
Nanny talked much of her mistress, as she opened
presses and store -cupboards. The piles of lavender-
scented table- and bed-linen, the shelves of glass and
china, were wonderful sights to Sheila, who remembered
the thin, much-darned tablecloths in Brook Street.
* The linen was always Emma's charge,' went on
Nanny. ' Missis was always so proud of her linen-
78 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
press ; those cloths with the small spot were her
favourites, she thought a heap of them ' ; and Nancy
sighed at the idea of all these treasured possessions
passing into the hands of strangers.
Sheila well understood the old woman's feeling, and
as Nanny closed the linen-press she put her hand over
the shaking fingers.
' I am so sorry for you, Nanny,' she said softly.
' Fifty-four years of faithful service is almost a lifetime ;
indeed, you well deserve your rest.'
' Hard work never moithered me,' returned Nanny ;
' I was never one to sit idle. But when a body has
turned seventy, and the rheumatism gets into one's
bones, one is forced to give up a bit. But at the Mill
Cottage Dick and I will nestle along famously.'
'There is one thing I have forgotten,' observed
Sheila as they went back to the warm kitchen where
Nancy had reigned supreme for nearly fifty years. ' My
brother begged me to tell you that if there be anything
you would like to have out of the kitchen or house-
keeper's room, you are welcome to take it.' Then
Nanny's melancholy face brightened up at once.
' That is real handsome of Mr. Lassiter ; and I was
going to make bold and beg for my old elbow-chair.
And there's the clock too ; haven't I wound it up for
nearly fifty years, and many a evening when the girls
were gallivanting ' — Emma and Anne were always girls
to Nanny — ' it has kept me company like.'
' Of course you shall have the clock. But surely
there are some other things you would like ? ' But
Nanny was not grasping. A certain tea-pot she had
always used, and ' some pink and white chaney,' as
she called it, an eider-down quilt, and her mistress's
Bible and Prayer Book, and the spectacles she had
VII AT THE MOORINGS 79
always used, proved the limits of her desire — though
later on Sheila found many cherished odds and ends
which she carried over to the Mill Cottage. Nanny
found herself the proud possessor of Aunt Sarah's best
silk dress and the old fur-lined cloak that had kept
her warm. Indeed, many a garment found its way
to Nanny. Neither were Emma Parkins or Anne — now
^Irs. Joe Martin — forgotten by the Lassiters.
Sheila had not half finished her delightful rummage
when Ned came down to remind her that it was four
o'clock, and they must keep their engagement.
' We must come down again in a week or two,' he
said, when they had said good-bye to Nanny. ' It
would not be a bad idea, Sheila, if we were to run down
for a week-end occasionally. Nanny could get a girl
from the village to help her. I shall have to see a
carpenter about those book -shelves, and I must pick
up an oak writing-table to match that bureau. I
should like to have the room all ready before we take
possession in June.' But what more Edward meant to
add was never uttered, for at that moment a little figure
appeared in the porch of the Old Cottage, and a small
gray dog flew out of the gate, barking furiously at the
strangers.
CHAPTER VIII
THE OLD COTTAGE
To Adam paradise was home ; to the good among his descendants home
is paradise. — Hall.
' Oh, I am SO sorry ! Miss Mowcher, hold your tongue
directly. How dare you bark at my friends ! ' Betty
was apologetic, breathless, radiant as she piloted the
Lassiters through the little square hall ; they were her
find, her treasure -trove, the captives, so to speak, of
her bow and spear. Betty's voice thrilled with natural
pride as she made her introduction. ' Miss Lassiter,
this is my father ' ; and the next moment Sheila was
shaking hands with an elderly man, who rose somewhat
feebly from his seat.
Sheila said afterwards that Mr. Woodford was a
beautiful old man. He had a fine face, though it was
somewhat worn, either from trouble or ill -health —
probably both ; and that and his snowy hair made
him look older than he really was. He had a singu-
larly gentle expression ; it was a good face, though not
a strong one, and he was unmistakably a gentleman.
A slight nervousness in his manner as he greeted
Edward gave them the impression that he was unused
to strangers, but it soon passed.
* My father is rather an invalid,' observed Miss
So
CHAP. VIII THE OLD COTTAGE 8i
Woodford, ' He had an illness some years ago, from
which he has not fully recovered ; but this place suits
him, and he grows stronger every day. Don't you, dear?
Will you take that chair beside him, Mr. Lassiter ?
He is not deaf, only just a little hard of hearing.' And
then Martha moved away to the tea-table, inviting
Sheila with a quiet gesture to sit beside her.
The sitting-room they had entered was a long and
rather low room, with a window overlooking the front
garden and The Moorings. A glass door at the other
end opened on a wide verandah and a trim little
garden. The furniture was arranged so as to form two
separate sitting-rooms. One part was furnished as a
study. There was a writing-table in the window, a
handsome bureau and bookcase, and a couple of carved
oak chairs covered with green morocco — evidently relics
of past luxury. The garden end seemed devoted
to the daughters' use ; here there were a piano and
couch, some easy -chairs, a round table and a few
little nicknacks and work-baskets. A spinning-wheel,
and an ebony cabinet filled with Chelsea china, and
one or two choice engravings, were the chief ornaments.
Sheila had never seen a room that was more homelike
and to her taste, and she delighted Betty by a quiet
word of approval. ' I do so love a room that looks as
though it were lived in,' she said ; ' and this is so
pleasant and cosy.'
* It is our only sitting-room,' returned Miss Woodford.
* Betty and I do not care for the dining-room except
for meals. You see we have devoted the front part to
my father's use, and Betty and I do all our work here,
as father never likes us to leave him. We are never
in his way, and Betty's chatter and songs do not trouble
him in the least.'
G
82 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' Isn't it a funny arrangement, Miss Lassiter? ' struck
in Betty in her vivacious way. ' You see we can't call
it either a drawing-room or study — though it is a com-
bination of both — so I have christened this end " The
Ingle-nook" and the other "Dad's Workshop." In
winter we are as snug as possible, and don't mind close
quarters ; and in warm weather we have our separate
ends of the verandah — our summer parlour, as we
call it.'
' My father reads a good deal,' explained Miss
Woodford ; ' and in the evening he likes us to read aloud
or to play chess with him. He is very fond of games.
When I am busy Betty often plays cribbage or back-
gammon with him, as he cannot read by lamplight,
and in winter the evenings are so long.'
' Not that we ever find them so, Marty,' broke in
Betty ; * they always seem too short to me. Martha
reads so beautifully, Miss Lassiter, she makes even a
stupid book seem interesting ; and when it is anything
exciting, one is quite thrilled and gets cold shivers
down one's back, and then I am obliged to work off
my feelings by playing a valse.' Then, ' No, Mr.
Lassiter,' interrupting herself, as Ned rose from his
seat, ' do please sit down again ; I mean to do all
the waiting myself. You are far too tall and big for
our room. Besides, you frighten Miss Mowcher ' ; for
the wee gray doggie seemed appalled at Mr. Lassiter's
height — Ned's tall figure seemed gigantic to Miss
Mowcher.
Mr. Lassiter remonstrated in vain. Betty would
have her way. She fenced him in with a little table,
and barricaded him with tea-cups and plates of cake.
If Betty did not absolutely dance across the room, she
certainly tripped so lightly that she scarcely seemed to
VIII THE OLD COTTAGE ' 83
touch the floor. Such airy, breezy movements had never
attracted Ned's notice before. Neat-handed Phyllis,
Hebe, and Titania were the names that occurred to
him as Betty went to and fro, with Miss Mowcher
trailing after her like an animated gray door-mat
* It is such a pleasure for father to have a gentleman
with whom he can talk politics,' observed Martha, with
a bright look directed towards Mr. Lassiter. * He sees
no one but Mr. Brett and Dr. Moorhouse. We have
only lived at Uplands during the last five years ; and
as my father's weak health has prevented him from
making friends, our circle is rather limited. Mr. Brett,
our vicar, is very good to him, and often drops in of
an evening for a game of chess.'
' My brother is extremely fond of chess,' returned
Sheila. ' His literary pursuits allow him so little leisure ;
but sometimes we indulge in a game after supper,
and I am afraid when it is a very exciting game we
sit up dreadfully late.'
' Martha, you must ask Mr. Lassiter to come in very,
very often,' interrupted Betty. * It will make father so
happy, for neither you nor I play well enough to satisfy
him.' Then raising her voice, in spite of Martha's
reproving shake of the head, ' You will be kind and
neighbourly, will you not, Mr. Lassiter, and play chess
often with dear dad ? '
* To be sure I will,' returned Ned, with one of his
kind looks. ' Little brown Betsy,' as he called her,
seemed such a child to him, that he saw nothing at all
singular or unconventional in her warm invitation.
He was quite willing to join so charming a family
circle — only, of course, Sheila must come too, Miss
Woodford would be such a nice friend for her — for
Ned was quite as unconventional as Betty. Ned had
84 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
no idea of Martha's shocked feelings at that moment.
He never guessed how hot she grew with shame and
annoyance at Betty's forwardness, while Ned beamed
at her through his spectacles, quite expecting Miss
Woodford to endorse the invitation. Poor Martha
turned her head aside, only to meet Sheila's amused
and sympathetic glance.
' Don't be afraid,' she said in a low voice ; ' neither
of us are likely to misunderstand childish impulsiveness
and kindness. You do not know my brother. Miss
Woodford ; he is a most unconventional person ; Miss
Betty's invitation has simply charmed him. But you
need not fear his taking advantage of It. Besides, I
give you warning that you will have to ask both of us.'
This was healing, and Martha seemed relieved.
* That is nice of you,' she said gratefully ; ' and
indeed I hope that we shall be good neighbours. And
if only Betty ' but here she checked herself, for,
after all, she had no right to inflict her small grievances
on a new acquaintance.
Edward Lassiter had spoken the truth when he
called Miss Woodford a plain young woman. Her
features were undeniably homely ; and though her
brown hair was very thick and abundant, it was not
so glossy and pretty as Sheila's, which Ned once said
reminded him of a ripe chestnut in the sunshine ; and
her complexion was a little sallow and colourless.
Nevertheless, people who cared for Martha never could
be induced to call her plain.
' There are days when I think her quite beautiful,'
remarked one poor invalid whom Martha frequently
visited. And another enthusiastic young creature be-
longing to Miss Woodford's Bible Class declared that
she had lovely eyes. ' One can see the angel looking
VIII THE OLD COTTAGE 85
through them,' she once said, though it must be owned
that other people found nothing striking in Martha's
hazel eyes.
Ned thought her rather stiff and reserved. Betty's
winsome ways — even her * forwardness ' — were far more
to his taste. He told Sheila when they left the
Cottage that he had quite fallen in love with her little
friend.
Sheila was somewhat disappointed at his lukewarm
praises of the elder sister. Ned owned that he had
hardly spoken half-a-dozen words to her. ' She seems
a good sort of person,' he went on, * very ladylike and
pleasant ; but she was inclined to be a little down
upon Betty. It was " Hush, Betty ! " more than once.
Not that the little thing took any notice — one might
as well try to keep a stray sunbeam or a bit of quick-
silver in order. Betty is lady paramount at the
Cottage — that old man dotes on her.'
' She is certainly a dear child ' — but Sheila spoke
absently. Martha Woodford, in spite of her plainness,
had attracted her strongly. ' A good sort of person '
hardly explained her, and was a trifle chilling. How
like a man to pass over Martha's quiet retiring gentle-
ness and avow a preference for a sparkling, childish
little creature like Betty ! To her Martha seemed the
embodiment of restfulness and serenity. Betty was a
thing of moods and tenses, and would certainly be
fatiguing at times.
' I like old Mr. Woodford,' went on Ned ; ' not that
he is particularly old either, for he told me that he was
only fifty- six. "It is my troubles that have aged me
and given me my white hairs " — poor chap, he actually
said that. He told me he had lost three children, and
that two of them were boys.'
86 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* How strange thai; he should have told you that,
dear ! '
' Oh, it came quite naturally. He saw me looking
at the picture over the mantelpiece. You were noticing
it too, Sheila — two boys in Highland dress with a
sheep-dog between them.
* " They are my boys," he said so sadly ; " they were
fine lads too. There was something wrong with the
drains — it was an old house — no one suspected it ;
but diphtheria took them both off, and a little girl as
well. It killed their mother." '
* Oh dear, how dreadful ! I recollect that little
Betty telling me that they had lost so many. No
wonder his hair is white.'
' I fancy there has been other trouble too,' returned
Ned. ' I feel sure that the Woodfords have known
better days. That oak bureau and those carved chairs
looked quite incongruous in a cottage.'
' I daresay you are right, dear. Did you notice the
cups and saucers ? — they are real Wedgwood ; and that
old Chelsea china in the little cabinet is beautiful.
How delightful for us to have such neighbours, Ned,
and to be so kindly welcomed by them ! '
' Yes, we are in luck's way. Did you see the old
man's face, She, when I promised to play innumerable
games of chess with him ? He was like an old war-
horse who scents the battle. He used to be a crack
player, he tells me.'
' So much the better,' returned Sheila in a delighted
tone ; ' there will be no need for you to put up with
me now. Mr. Woodford will be an antagonist far
more worthy of you.'
And Sheila, with vivid imagination, pictured the
Ingle-nook on a winter's evening. There would be a
VIII THE OLD COTTAGE 87
lamp on the little round table. She and Miss Wood-
ford would be working by it, and talking in soft under-
tones. There would be the little chess-table and two
absorbed faces opposite. And Betty — ah, Betty would
be flitting between them ; now leaning over her father's
shoulder to watch the game, now taking up her bit of
fancy-work and doing a few stitches. Sheila was so
busy with her pleasant fancies that she quite started
when Ned made some casual remark. Perhaps their
solitary and quiet life had fostered this harmless habit
on Sheila's part ; for on dark or gloomy days — when
the mending basket was full and Ned busy with his
writing — the castle-building went merrily on.
Sheila declared that she was quite worn out with
the day's excitement. ' It has been three days rolled
in one. Fancy pleasure coming to us in a great lump —
how is one to digest it properly ? ' Ned laughed.
' We will run down again soon for the week-end,'
he returned. ' I don't know how you feel, Sheila, but
I don't believe I can keep away from that place. I
feel inclined to play truant and cut the whole concern.
I can no longer say " Blessed be drudgery ! " with any
semblance of truth.'
' I know v/hat you mean, dear ; but we must be
patient a little longer. Mrs. Goulburn has promised
to let me free by the middle of May, — only six weeks
more of teaching.'
' I mean to shake off the dust of Cottingdean on
the 1st of June.' Ned spoke very decidedly. ' I
want to see Sleepy Hollow when the gorse is in bloom
— when it is a golden world, as your little friend
says.' And Ned held his head high as he marched
down the hill with seven-leagued boots, humming ' Ye
banks and braes ' under his breath ; till Sheila, panting
88 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and flushed, begged him to slacken his pace. ' I am
just like a broken-winded pony trying to keep up with a
race-horse/ she remarked, as Ned, with many apologies,
promised to amend his ways.
Meanwhile, the inmates of the Old Cottage were
discussing their new neighbours.
• Well, father ! well, Marty ! ' Betty had flown in
like a miniature whirlwind, for she had accompanied
her friends to the point where Sandy Lane joins the
main road. Sheila had refused to let her go a step
farther. ' You will catch cold without your hat ;
besides, even in Uplands, one must attend to les con-
venances ' ; and Betty, pouting and protesting, had
been obliged to retrace her steps, but not before she
and Sheila had exchanged a warm kiss. ' Isn't she a
dear thing, Marty ? '
' Miss Lassiter is certainly very nice,' returned
Martha cordially. ' Don't you think she has a sweet
face, father ? ' and Mr. Woodford assented to this.
*A very pleasing person, my dear — a thoroughly
ladylike and sensible woman ; and her brother is a
downright clever fellow. Do you know, Martha, my
dear, that he writes for The Circle ? He is on the staff
now. Don't you remember those delightful sketches
called " Town and Country," by E. M. L. ? Well, they
are his initials, Edward Morrell Lassiter.'
' Why, dad, they were just beautiful,' returned Betty
before her sister could answer. * Marty read them to
us ; and I remember saying that E. M. L. must be a
nice man. Not that I am a bit surprised — for, of
course, I knew Mr. Lassiter was very clever. He has
a learned look like a professor, and you know he does
teach in the Cottingdean grammar school.'
* We knew that,' replied Martha ; but she spoke in
vm THE OLD COTTAGE 89
rather an awed tone. Ned had risen tenfold in her
estimation. A literary man had never crossed her
path before. The Rev. Luke Brett was an intellectual
person, but he sank into comparative insignificance
beside this brilliant, versatile writer, whose word-
pictures and fine descriptions had often thrilled
Martha's soul. She almost gasped with confusion as
she remembered how cavalierly Betty had treated him.
Her perfect ease, her assurance, her hail-fellow-well-
met sort of greeting filled her with dismay. She
herself had been too shy to accost him ; she had
addressed her conversation to his sister, Ned, who
was really a harmless individual, looked very formi-
dable in Martha's eyes ; he was so tall, so overpowering,
and his eyes gleamed through his spectacles in such a
penetrating way, that Martha felt quite nervous. If
she had only talked to him she would soon have
found out her mistake ; strange to say, Mr. Woodford
was at that very moment scolding Betty in playful
fashion for her boldness.
* Fancy this little chit talking to Mr. Lassiter as
though she were his equal ' ; and here he lightly pinched
the pink, shell-like ear that was one of Betty's beauties.
* She stood up to him like a little bantam strutting
before a big cochin-china. I wonder you were not
afraid of such a big Fee-fo-fum, a silly little thing like
you ! '
' Dad, it is you who are a silly old man ! ' exclaimed
Betty, indignant at this slight to her intellect. * Why
should I be afraid of Mr. Lassiter just because he is
tall and clever, when he is as nice as possible and has
such kind eyes ? '
' My dear Betty ! ' and Martha quite blushed.
'Well, and so he has,' replied Betty obstinately —
90 AT THE MOORINGS chap, vm
' nice, affectionate eyes like Peter's at the vicarage.'
Peter was a small brown dachshund belonging to Mr.
Brett. ' And then he is quite old too.'
' Do you call a man of three- or four-and-thirty old,
my little Betty } ' asked her father in an amused tone.
' If so, I must be a Methuselah at fifty-six.'
' No one cares how old one's father is,' returned
Betty, with a severe hug that nearly took away his
breath. ' Sometimes I call Martha an old maid, and
she is not eight -and -twenty yet. Two years and nine
months before you are thirty, Marty. Of course, at
thirty an unmarried woman must be an old maid.' But
as though to atone for this rather sweeping assertion,
Betty graciously added : ' But never mind, Marty dear,
you will be the dearest and sweetest old maid in the
world.'
* With the exception of Miss Lassiter ! ' for Martha
never took offence at Betty's childish speeches.
* With no exception at all ' — and there was a world
of love in Betty's brown eyes. Miss Lassiter might be
a dear thing — but Martha was simply Martha. And
no invidious comparisons could be drawn, ' for there
is no one like a sister ' after all.
CHAPTER IX
MARTHA
For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather ;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands.
Christina Rossetti.
It was Martha's habit ever since Betty was a child
to go to her room the last thing at night and tuck
her up ; and if Betty were wakeful and disposed for
conversation, she would often linger for a chat. At
such moments Betty would be at her best, and Martha
would often find an opening for a word in season,
which the girl would receive with much docility and
meekness.
After their visitors had been fully discussed that
evening, Betty had seemed a little restless. She roamed
about the garden until it grew quite dusk, and even
then was unwilling to settle to any employment. As
Martha was reading aloud she curled herself up on the
rug with her head against her father's knees. When,
later on, Martha asked if she liked the book, Betty
confessed that she had not been listening to a word.
* I was jurft thinking of Mr. Lassiter in his funny
91
92 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
old coat at Mrs. Colville's vmsicale' she said frankly,
'and how dignified he looked in it. How dreadfully
poor they must have been, Marty ! I recollect how
sorry I was for them. And how I longed to box that
horrid Archie Eraser's ears when he said he must be
the piano-tuner.'
* That was rather rude of Mr. Fraser ; I should
have thought he would have been too gentlemanly to
make such a remark.'
' Oh, he is rather a nice boy,' acknowledged Betty,
and her tone was lenient. ' But I was obliged to snub
him a little, and that made him cross. Archie is
rather too conceited and cocksure of himself — as
Charlie says.'
' Oh, that is Charlie's opinion, is it ? ' and Martha
looked somewhat amused ; but Betty took no notice
of this remark. ' I am so sleepy that I think I shall
go to bed,' she observed. And Betty marched off with
much dignity, after bestowing a butterfly kiss on her
father's white head. Nevertheless, an hour later, when
Martha stole gently into her sister's bedroom with
carefully shaded candle, she found Betty lying wide
awake and looking out on the moonlight.
Betty looked like a child in her white frills, with
her small face almost smothered in hair. The thick
curling masses seemed to embower her ; and on hot
nights she would sit up in bed and coil them on the
top of her head ; but she never could be induced to
plait them. ' I hate plaits,' she would say obstinately ;
' I think one's hair feels so nice and comfy when it is
all lying over the pillow in curly lumps.'
' I thought you were so sleepy. Bee ? ' observed
Martha, somewhat surprised at her wakefulness. Then
she sat down on the bed and stroked the rough brown
IX MARTHA 93
mane affectionately. Martha was secretly proud of her
little sister's abundant tresses.
' One is never sleepy at the right moment,' observed
Betty oracularly. ' Blow out the candle, Marty — the
moon is quite light enough — and we can have a
prittle-prattle ' — a word Betty had often used when she
was a child.
* Very well, dear ' ; for Martha rarely objected on
the score of her own sleepiness. A ' prittle-prattle' was
seldom carried on in a serious vein ; so Martha was
almost electrified when Betty suddenly remarked, in a
sober voice, ' I am afraid I rather shocked you this
evening, Marty.' Martha fairly gasped. Here was Betty
taking the bull by the horns — marching with a red
flag into the enemy's domain. * I don't know how it
is/ continued Betty with the same marvellous meek-
ness, * but I always seem to say the wrong thing ; the
words come tumbling out before I know I am speaking.
Of course, it would have been better for you or father
to give the invitation to Mr. Lassiter.'
* Yes, darling, I am so glad you see this for your-
self Martha was enchanted ; her refractory pupil
had actually learnt her lesson unasked.
' Wait a moment,' Betty's tone grew less meek and
more argumentative. ' I quite own that it was your
prerogative, Martha ; only you were so dreadfully slow,
and then my tongue galloped away with me. But
there was no need for you to look so shocked ; it
did not matter, really.'
' But, Betty dear ' but here the girl moved rest-
lessly.
* It is such a stupid world,'''she said rather crossly,
as she thumped her pillow. ' Of course I understand
your view, Marty. I may be like the gray goose in
94 AT THE MOORINGS cha?.
Jackanapes, but my head is not so small after all. If
it had been Archie Fraser now, or any other young
man ; but Mr. Lassiter, as if you could be afraid of
him!'
Martha was silent. She thought Betty's forwardness
mattered very much indeed ; but, as she often said to
herself, it would be a mistake to put ideas in the child's
head. There was something so bewitching in Betty's
innocence and unworldliness ; even her ' forrardness,' as
Jane called it, was pretty and piquant.
' You heard what father said, Betty ; Mr. Lassiter
is not really old.' Then Betty thumped her pillow
again.
' If that is yours and father's opinion, it is not
mine,' she said in rather a dogged tone. ' He may be
the nicest man in the world, but he will always seem
old to me. But, Marty dear ' — her voice softening —
' I won't do it again if I can help it. I never can be
proper and well-behaved like you ; but you must not
be so shy and stand-offish with my friends, dear ' ; and
Betty spoke in a wheedling and caressing manner.
* When you go into your shell like that people have
no idea how nice you are, or they would fall in love
with you at once.'
' Oh, you silly child, how can you talk such
nonsense ! ' and Martha gave her a loving though hasty
embrace, and wished her good -night. Her cheeks
were rather hot as she went out of the room. Betty's
remark about her shyness somewhat troubled her.
Perhaps the child was right, she said to herself; she
was certainly a little slow and unready. She would
never have thought of inviting Mr. Lassiter to the
Cottage, and yet there was Betty proffering hospitality
with the air of a little princess, and Mr. Lassiter looking
IX MARTHA 95
as though he liked it. ' I suppose I shall get used to
him in time,' thought Martha, ' but I own I was
frightened of him this evening ; any one so big and
clever must be formidable. " You must not be so shy
and standoffish with my friends " — fancy the child
actually saying that. Well, I must try and get out
of my prim, old-maidish ways, if it is only to please
my darling Betty,'
Martha Woodford's experience in some respects
resembled Sheila's. They had both been brought face
to face with the grim realities of life in their youth ;
but Sheila's troubles had come to her earlier, for until
Martha had passed her seventeenth year, her life had
been uneventful and singularly happy. A luxurious
home, delightful environment, parents whom she rever-
enced as well as loved, and a merry household of
brothers and sisters — these were some of her blessings.
Mr. Woodford was a wealthy merchant, and the Grange
— where the children had all been born — with its
beautiful gardens and pasture -lands, was charmingly
situated in a lovely Kentish village. The property
had come into the market owing to the ill fortunes of
its late owner, and Mr. Woodford, who had fallen in
love with the place, thought it an excellent investment.
When Martha knew Sheila better she often talked to
her about the dear old home.
* It was such a lovely home,' she said once ; ' even
strangers who saw it for the first time thought it ideal.
You don't know how often I dream of it, and think
that I am pacing the terrace again watching Drummond
and Willie racing over the lawn with their butterfly
nets, and dear little Rosie running after them. I
even see our fantail pigeons, the dear things, perching
amongst the great chimney-stacks, and the martins
96 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
flying in and out of the eaves. I used to wake with
tears running down my face, and sob myself to sleep
again with home-sickness and longing.'
' How sad for you to leave such a beautiful place,'
returned Sheila sympathetically.
' Yes, was it not ? and yet not one of us would
have lived there a day longer. There was such a fine
old hall ; part of it was fitted up as a billiard-room,
but it was a grand play -room for the boys. There
was a gallery at one end, with a small organ, and
delightful hidie- holes where the children played hide
and seek. And there was the tiger -skin before the
fireplace. I remember, when Rosie was a tiny child,
she would never pass it alone — the terrible head and
gleaming teeth frightened her so. She used to hide
her eyes and hold fast to Betty's hand. " He won't
bite 'oo, baby dear ; he is deaded quite," she would
say ; but she never lost her fear of the great striped
cat, and nothing would induce her to remain alone
with it for a moment'
But, as Martha went on to tell her, the Grange, in
spite of its picturesque beauty, was not a healthy abode
for children ; and one damp, muggy November, when
the white mists came climbing up the vallej', that
terrible and fatal disease diphtheria made sad ravages
in the happy household. Drummond was the first to
succumb to the malady, but Willie and Rosie soon
followed him. Betty lay at death's door for some
days, but as soon as she could be moved the distracted
parents fled with her and Martha from the house of
death. A furnished house was taken at Brighton, and
here Mrs. Woodford — always a delicate woman — died,
worn out with sorrow, and commended her father and
Betty to Martha's care. Martha was only seventeen
rx MARTHA 97
then, but she accepted her responsibilities without a
murmur, and was a veritable ministering angel to her
broken-hearted father.
Mr. Woodford never recovered his wife's death ;
they had been a singularly united couple. He aged
perceptibly, and lost all interest in life. The Grange
was let to strangers. Martha only revisited it when
she went to pay a pilgrimage to the graves, or ' green
gardens,' of her dear ones. They still lived at Brighton.
With some difficulty Martha persuaded her father to
take a cheerful house at Hove ; the sea suited him
and Betty. Mr. Woodford was too indifferent to
oppose her, but he left her to make all the necessary
arrangements. The house was chosen and the furni-
ture arranged without any assistance from him. It
was a great responsibility for a girl not eighteen, but
Martha had good friends who helped her. Yet, in
spite of the cheerful surroundings, it was never a
home to any of them. * I think we all felt that it
was only for a time that we should live there,' Martha
once remarked to Sheila ; ' neither Betty nor I cared
much for 18 Shepperton Terrace. It was a good
house — the rooms were large and lofty and it was
thoroughly comfortable — but somehow it was not
home.'
But they had not yet reached the end of their
troubles. Martha was nearly three- and -twenty when
the final crash came. There were business worries —
heavy losses. Martha, who was her father's confidante,
had known for the previous eighteen months that he
was hampered by financial difficulties. There was a
good deal of business depression in the mercantile
world just then, and more than one well-established
house was on the verge of bankruptcy.
H
98 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Martha took alarm at once — she was for instant
measures. The house was too large and expensive,
only a rich man ought to live in it. She urged him
to move at once into a smaller one ; but Mr. Woodford
would not listen to her for a moment. He was an
easy-going, sanguine man, and disliked trouble of any
kind. He was proud too, and hated the thought of
curtailing his expenses.
' You are too anxious, Martha, like your namesake
in the Bible,' he said, trying to put a good face on it.
' This is only an awkward corner ; when we win round
it we shall weather the storm. You don't understand
business, my dear,' he went on ; 'no woman does. It
is our duty to keep up appearances. It would be a
great mistake to give up the house ; it would be just
giving ourselves away.'
' But we spend so much money, father. Some of
the servants have such exorbitant wages ; Mrs. Drayton
was saying so the other day. And then there are the
stables. You never use Black Peter now, and Harvey
was telling me when he brought the horses round that
Peter is just eating his head off and getting fat and
lazy. Don't you think he had better be sold,
father ? '
' Oh, I will see about it when I am a little less
busy. Don't you trouble your head about the stables ;
that has always been my province, and your dear
mother never interfered.' Mr. Woodford spoke rather
irritably, but Martha took her rebuke in silence. ' Poor
dear old father,' she said to herself, ' if only he would
have the courage to face things ! ' and Martha sighed
with a prevision of evil.
Weeks passed and then months, and still Black
Peter was in his stall engaged in that mysterious and
IX MARTHA 99
impossible employment called 'eating his head off' ;
and then one day, when they least expected it, the crash
came. The house of Woodford Brothers had failed.
Martha never knew all the particulars ; but she was
well aware that there were fraudulent and disgraceful
dealings mixed up with it. Mr. Woodford's hands
were clean, his honour unblemished — no man who
knew him could distrust his integrity for a moment —
but he had been deceived and cheated by a clerk.
In some ways Mr. Woodford was an excellent man of
business, but since his wife's death he had lost spirit
and energy and his natural indolence had increased.
He had always been prone to trust people, and no
suspicion of his head clerk's nefarious practices had
ever entered his head.
' Nicholson is the best man I ever had,' he would
say boastingly to his friends. ' I would trust him to
carry through any business, however difficult ' ; and yet
it was this very Nicholson who ruined his master.
Mr. Woodford was a weak man — he had never
faced any trouble yet — and the blow to his commercial
pride was too much for him. That the Woodford
name, his father's and grandfather's honoured name,
should be bespattered with mud was a teirible thing
in his eyes. * Do well to thyself, and all men shall
think well of thee,' had been his life - long motto.
Poverty could be borne, but not disgrace.
One morning Mr. Woodford rose, after a sleepless
night, to be in time for the early train, when the
housemaid, startled by the sound of a heavy fall in the
dressing-room, aroused Martha from her sleep. The girl
flew down the passage ; but the door was locked, and it
was some little time before the butler could force his
way in. They found Mr. Woodford lying insensible
TOO
AT THE MOORINGS chap.
on the floor — he had had a paralytic stroke. Medical
aid was at once procured, but it was some time before
he regained even partial consciousness, and for many
weeks there was much cause for anxiety. From that
day he was a broken man, and only the care and
ministrations of his devoted daughters made his life
bearable to him.
' And you had no one to help you ? ' asked Sheila,
when Martha reached this point in her narrative.
* There was no one but our dear Mr. and Mrs.
Allen,' returned Martha ; * they were staying at
Brighton for the winter, because Bertha was so deli-
cate. But it is wonderful how one finds help. Mr.
Allen is a solicitor in Cottingdean. Betty often stays
with them. They are such thoroughly nice people.
Mr. Allen was so good. He went into business
matters with me, and explained investments, and told
me how much we should have to spend. Dear Mrs.
Allen was with me every day. Oh, I don't know what
I should have done without them, for Betty was too
young to 'help me. She was only fifteen, and very
childish for her age.
' It was a sister of Mrs. Allen's, Mrs. Merrick, who
lived then at Uplands, who told us about the Old
Cottage, and Mrs. Allen went with me to see it. It
seemed a poor little place to me after i8 Shepperton
Terrace, and yet I liked it. It was early in May, I re-
member, and the little common was golden with gorse.
' Father was very helpless just then, and he and his
nurse and Betty had lodgings in Church Road, near
Mrs. Merrick's, while Jane and I got the cottage
ready ; but humble as it is, I do not think we have
ever repented coming here.
* " What a dear, sweet, cosy little place," were Betty's
IX . MARTHA loi
first words, when I showed her the house. " It is quite
a doll's house, and we shall be dreadfully squeezed,
but it is far more homelike than Shepperton Terrace."
You do not know how thankful I was to hear her say
that.'
' And Mr. Woodford ? ' Then Martha sighed.
* He was very much depressed at first, and I was
afraid he would never settle. You see, his nerves
had suffered so cruelly from the shock of Nicholson's
shameful behaviour and double dealings, that it was
months and months before he could recover himself.
It used to make me so unhappy to see him sitting in
his easy chair just brooding over his troubles ; but our
good Dr. Moorhouse cheered me up. He told me
that in these cases time and patience were needed.
" His whole system has sustained a severe shock," he
said once ; " it is a wonder that he is as well as he is.
This fine air, and the perfect quiet and the absence of
all anxiety, will be better than any medicine. Get a
boy to wheel him out on the golf-links for two or three
hours every day, and in the evening play some simple
game with him." And Dr. Moorhouse was right.
Father seems quite content and happy in his life.
Now he seldom speaks of the past ; when he does it
is only to recall the old happy days at the Grange.
When he looks sad we know he is thinking of mother
and the boys ; but he never troubles about business.
I am thankful to say, that he is now as great a
reader as ever, and though he has never recovered his
walking powers, he manages, with the help of an
arm and his stick, to get to a seat on the links on
sunny mornings, where he can read his paper and
watch the players. Winter is his worst time, but even
then Betty and he take what they call their Polar
I02
AT THE MOORINGS chap, ix
bear prowl in the verandah ; and sometimes Mrs.
Merrick takes him for a drive. Oh, I am far more
happy about him now,' finished Martha, in a contented
voice ; ' and now he has a new pleasure in your
brother's society.*
CHAPTER X
FLORAL MESSAGES
A sweet warm world in the sunlight basking
Under the widespread arch of blue ;
A maze of blossoms the green grass masking,
Fragrant and fresh with the morning dew.
Helen Marion Burnside.
Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry
it with us, or we find it not. — Emerson.
The seven or eight weeks which elapsed before the
Lassiters took possession of their new home passed
rapidly away. Sheila declared afterwards that they
were the happiest she had ever known. ' You see we
had all the pleasure of anticipation and preparation,'
she remarked to Martha. * We were like children
gathering apples in an orchard — our mouths and our
pinafores were full, but the fruit was still dangling
before our eyes, all ready to be picked. When I
pencilled my churchman's almanac at night, I felt
like a schoolboy counting up the days before the
holidays.'
Ned, indeed, had fits of impatience, and declared
that he felt utterly demoralised and unfit for work ; but
in reality they were both too busy with their various
engagements to have an unoccupied hour.
103
I04 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
At the beginning of May they went down to The
Moorings for the week-end. As they walked down
Sandy Lane in the spring sunshine, the heavy sweet
perfume of the gorse was almost overpowering, and the
little common was a golden glory. They had a long
day of business before them, and it was not until the
evening that Sheila proposed calling at the Old Cottage.
' I think it will be only neighbourly,' she said ; and
Ned assented at once. They found Mr. Woodford and
his elder daughter sitting in the verandah. Martha
coloured with surprise and pleasure when she saw
them, and Mr. Woodford greeted them warmly.
* We had no idea you were at The Moorings,' Martha
observed. * None of us have seen Nanny during the
last few days.' And then Ned caught sight of a white
sun-bonnet flitting among the gooseberry bushes, and
the next minute Betty and Miss Mowcher came flying
over the lawn.
' Oh dear, how nice of you to come ! ' she exclaimed.
* I do love surprises, and it is just splendid to see
you again,' with an affectionate glance at Sheila. ' I
have been so busy all day working in the garden with
Andrew that I never looked across at The Moorings.'
' We have been hard at work too,' returned Sheila ;
' but I thought you would forgive this late visit ; we
have to go back to town by the early train on Monday.'
' But we shall see you to-morrow ! ' exclaimed Betty,
drawing a little wooden stool beside her dear Miss
Lassiter. Betty, with her usual heedlessness, was quite
oblivious of her own appearance. She looked a quaint,
piquant little figure in her sun -bonnet and holland
garden apron, with her blue serge dress pinned up to
protect it from the mould. She tossed off her sun-
bonnet presently and ran her fingers carelessly through
X FLORAL MESSAGES 105
the rough masses of hair. ' I am as grubby as a
navvy,' she observed frankly, 'and my hair feels like an
old ragged bird's nest ; but I know you will excuse
it ' ; and Betty's smile was adorable, though it must be
owned that her face and hands bore liberal traces of
her work.
' You are a true daughter of the soil,' observed Ned,
with a quizzical look through his spectacles. ' I see
that Mother Earth has been rather liberal in her gifts
to you.*
Then Betty glanced at her feet and the hem of her
bespattered petticoat. ' I don't care,' she said defiantly ;
' I have done a day's honest work, and Andrew and
I have finished the new bed.' Nevertheless, Sheila
noticed that a few minutes later Betty slipped away
unperceived. She came back presently a renovated
Betty, her face rosy from her ablutions and her hair
neatly brushed. But Ned, who was in a teasing mood,
told her that he was not sure that the sun-bonnet was
not more becoming. But Betty only shrugged her
shoulders at his badinage.
On this occasion Martha joined naturally in the
conversation. She was making an effort to overcome
her shyness, and her intelligence and good judgment
evidently surprised Ned, and he found himself talking
to her with ease and freedom.
* One should never be hasty in one's opinion of
people,' he remarked rather penitently when they left
the Old Cottage an hour later. * On our last visit I was
not impressed with Miss Woodford ; I regarded her as
an amiable but somewhat uninteresting young woman.
I was too previous — I own it frankly.*
* And you found out your mistake to-night ? ' Sheila
spoke with moderation, but she was secretly charmed.
io6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Martha Woodford had attracted her strongly from tiie
first
' Well, you see we had had no talk together ; you
kept her all to yourself, Sheila, and little Miss Betty
fell to my share.'
' Poor Bett}', she was rather neglected this evening.'
' Not at all,' returned Ned hastily ; for he did not wish
to allow that 'brown Betsy' had been a little huffy
and on her dignity with him. ' She is only a child,'
he went on — ' a nice, bright-ej-ed little thing. But her
sister has more in her. She has evidently read and
thought a great deal I was ver^' much struck with
some of her observations. Really, once or twice I
forgot I was not talking to you. Sheila ' ; and at this
compliment Sheila gave a happy little laugh.
Ned could be quite loverlike sometimes in his intense
appreciation of his house-mate. No one in Cotting-
dean who noticed their clever faces and shabby attire
knew how this son and daughter of toil clave to each
other, and their deep mutual tenderness — silent and
undemonstrative as it often was — for life is made up
of other things than meat or drink or the wealth that
perishes. For, as Marden has beautifully said, ' we all
live on lower levels than we need to do. We linger
in the misty and oppressive valleys, when we ought to
be climbing the sunlit hills.' ' We should count time by
heart-throbs,' says the poet ' He most hves who thinks
most, feels the noblest, acts the best' And from this
point of view the life lived in that shabby little house
in Brook Street had its elements of grandeur. ' It was
dull and perhaps limited, and there was plenty of
scope for self-denial,' Sheila said afterwards, ' but as
long as we had each other we were not unhappy. Ned
had his literary^ dreams and I had my castle-building.'
X FLORAL MESSAGES 107
Ned had found his visit to the Old Cottage very
satisfactory on the whole. He had enjoyed his talk
with Miss Woodford and her father, and he had found
some pleasure in teasing Betty. But Betty had no
mind to be snubbed, even by a literary giant.
•'Mr. Lassiter was not a bit nice to-night,' she
grumbled, when Martha came as usual to bid her good-
night, ' He had no business to laugh at me because I
was a little grubby, — and I had been digging all that
border ; and it was horrid of him to notice my sun-
bonnet, and pretend he liked it ; and I must have
looked like a scarecrow too.'
' No, only like a busy bee ; and indeed, darling,*
returned Martha gently, 'you looked as nice as
possible when you made yourself tidy. Mr. Lassiter
was only in fun.'
But Betty, whose womanly amour propre had been
wounded, was not to be so easily soothed. ' I
do hate to be messy,' she said crossly. * And you
were so trim, Marty — not a hair out of order. I
think Mr. Lassiter liked talking to you. He has
found you out' Here Betty's good-humour returned.
* You were not a bit stiff with him this evening. You
were your own nice, clever self, and I was only silly
little Betty,' and there was a quiver in Betty's voice.
She had no jealousy in her nature, but she had a great
idea of her own dignity and an immense respect for a
certain Bettina Maud Woodford. ' For, after all,' as she
once observed, ' one is always of consequence to oneself
— and I am really very fond of myself, and always
have been. Don't you remember when I was a wee
thing, Marty, I used to make you hold me up that I
might kiss dear little Betty in the glass ? I really did
love her, you know.' And Martha had smiled at the
io8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
remembrance. What a quaint, sweet thing Betty had
been, and she was still as sweet in the elder sister's eyes.
The Lassiters had another jaunt by and by. When
Ned had paid the last of his father's debts, he and
Sheila went up to town for a day's shopping, and
slept at the Metropole for two nights. What a
wonderful day that was to Sheila ! No little rustic
lass just fresh from the country enjoyed her outing
with more zest than Sheila did. They went first to St.
Paul's Churchyard, and then Ned chose two silk dresses
— not only the black that Sheila had set her heart on,
but a soft pearly gray that took his fancy ; and then
they had bought the promised black silk for Eppie.
When Ned went off to the tailor's, Sheila made
endless purchases. Ned had strictly enjoined her
to have a tailor-made gown such as he had seen
the Cottingdean young ladies wear — for, to Sheila's
secret astonishment, Ned proved himself rather a close
observer of ladies' apparel. * You have a nice figure,
She, and you will look as well as any of them. Miss
Woodford seems to dress very nicely.' But Ned was
ignorant, as he made this patronising remark, that
Martha's clever fingers made her own and Betty's frocks.
As they sat at their little table at table d'hote that
night, almost screened by the tall palm that over-
shadowed them, while Sheila, tired but happy, ate her
dinner and looked at the smart groups around her,
Ned said suddenly, with much 7iaiveti —
' I had no idea spending money was so pleasant,
She. I don't know when I have enjoyed a day more.
I won't go so far as to say that " the soul of this man is
his clothes," but I own that the thought of those three
suits of decently-cut garments is a satisfaction to me.'
And here Ned helped himself to another glass of hock.
X FLORAL MESSAGES 109
' What drdles these English are,' observed a young
Parisian lady to her companion. ' Did you see that
tall lamp-post of a man and that shabby young
woman with him ? She had rather a nice face, Victor.
I should think she is his wife.' But the stout French-
man only shrugged his shoulders as he devoted his
attention to mixing his salad.
* You have the imagination, mon amiel he replied
after an interval. * How is one to find out such things ?
He has the air of a professor, but his clothes make one
shudder. If I looked long at him, I should have an
indigestion.'
'Oh, but they seem so happy,' the little French-
woman replied wistfully ; ' they have the laugh of
children. What does it matter that their clothes are
shabby? they are gay and tranquil. See, they are
going. Ciel ! what a tower of a man ' — in an under-
tone as Ned passed her. Then Madame's expression
changed. She jumped up from her chair with an
exclamation and pounced upon the pocket-book that
Ned had left behind him. Madame was small and
nimble — she soon overtook them.
' A thousand pardons ! Monsieur has left this beside
his serviette,' she said breathlessly.
' Oh yes, it is my brother's. I am so much obliged
to you ' ; and Sheila smiled gratefully.
* She has lovely eyes,' muttered Madame ; ' they are
gray and soft as a dove's wing. So it is her brother !
Oh, but they are drole these English ! ' as she returned
to her seat.
Ned and Sheila were hurrying off to the theatre.
They were to see Wyndham in David Garrick, and
for the rest of the evening Sheila laughed and wept,
and was entranced and thrilled by the wonderful
no AT THE MOORINGS chap.
pathos and passion of that marvellous performance.
Ned took his pleasure more coolly.
They spent the greater part of Sunday at West-
minster Abbey, and between the services they walked
over Westminster Bridge and along the Embankment ;
and in the evening they strolled there again, listening
to the church bells and watching the golden reflec-
tions in the river and the red glare of the sunset ;
two wonderful days to be treasured up in Sheila's
memory.
The last day at Brook Street came on them almost
suddenly. Sheila was surprised at the little pang of
regret that crossed her as Ned closed the door behind
him. But Kaiser, who was seldom taken out for a
walk at this hour, almost lost his head with excite-
ment, and rushed round them barking with glee, and
every now and then jumping up against Euphemia,
who was carrying a covered basket wherein ' the Orphan'
lay licking buttered paws and mewing piteously.
' Down, you great gawk,' remonstrated Eppie, ' or
you will drive me dottle, leaping on me in that fashion.
Aye, but the puir beast is in an awful feery-farry. Miss
Sheila. And nae wonder ' — under her breath — ' when
our world is turned upside down,' But Eppie was a
proud woman that day, for in her box there lay folded
between silver paper the shining folds of that marvellous
silk dress, and on the top a cashmere mantle that
Sheila had brought from town and presented to her
old nurse.
'Your cloak is so shabby, Eppie dear,' she said,
* and you have grown such a miser and spend so little
on yourself Then the old woman regarded the mantle
with admiring eyes.
' It is ower fine for me, my doo,' she said at last.
X FLORAL MESSAGES in
' Oh, it is just grand — and it comes from London too ! '
And Eppie fairly gloated over her treasure.
Martha had recommended a young housemaid to
the Lassiters. She was a member of Martha's Bible
Class, and had just left an unsatisfactory situation.
Some correspondence had passed on the subject
between Miss Woodford and Sheila.
' Ruth is a thoroughly nice girl,' wrote Martha ;
' but she is very pretty, and her stepmother is an
injudicious woman, and she needs gentle and firm
management. When she cares for any one she is
easily guided. I have never had any trouble with her,
and she has ever been a great favourite with me. But
her last mistress did not understand Ruth, and was
always finding fault with her.'
Sheila thought she could not do better than engage
Martha's protege. The girl was strong and willing,
and Eppie would be good to her.
It was Ruth who opened the door to them when
they arrived at The Moorings that bright June morning
— -a pretty, dark -eyed girl, who glanced at her new
mistress anxiously, until Sheila smiled at her. As Ned
followed his sister into the house neither of them saw
a girl, with a white sun -bonnet tilted over her eyes,
running round the side of the house and then suddenly
vanishing through the gate. But she left plentiful
tokens of her presence.
* I think the fairies must have been at work,' observed
Ned as he looked round the sitting-room ; ' or is it
your new handmaid, Sheila?' But Ruth, who was
following them, overheard the question.
' It was Miss Betty, sir ; ,she has been hard at work
since the early morning. She said she wanted you and
my mistress to have a welcome.'
112 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Betty must have risen betimes, Sheila thought, to
fill all those flower-vases. Not only had she robbed
their little garden, but she had scoured the woods and
hedgerows, and brought in trophies from moor and
marsh — syringa and guelder roses, pink and white
hawthorn, and choice specimens from the flower-borders
at the Old Cottage, and wild-flowers of every description.
Betty had roamed for miles the previous day, filling
her basket with bright red pimpernels and ragged robin,
the green-winged orchis that flowers in early summer,
myosotis and lady's smock, bedstraw and wild rasp-
berry. Betty, who had a genius for arranging flowers,
did marvels. Sheila's sitting-room and bedroom were
transformed into bowers, and even Ned's study had its
modest bouquet.
' Isn't it sweet of her ! ' exclaimed Sheila ; but her
eyes were a little misty as she spoke, for she was
touched as well as pleased.
When Kaiser had been introduced to his new home,
and had hunted visionary cats in the kitchen -garden,
and had barked himself hoarse, and the long-suffering
' Orphan ' had been released from durance vile. Sheila
went across to the Old Cottage. Both the sisters came
out into the porch to greet her. Betty blushed with
delight as Sheila praised the floral decorations.
' No one arranges flowers as Bee does,' observed
Martha ; ' she is the vicar's chief helper at all our grand
festivals. I always enjoy seeing Betty arrange flowers ;
she just touches them and they seem to fall naturally
into their place. And then she has such an eye for
colour ; and yet her contrasts are very daring some-
times.'
* I put a wee bunch into Mr. Lassiter's room,'
whispered Betty confidentially. ' I was just a teeny
X FLORAL MESSAGES 113
weeny bit cross with him that night because he teased
me, so I thought I should like to make up for it.' And
Sheila, with much amusement, repeated this speech to
Ned.
When Ned saw Betty a few hours later he looked
very kindly at the little girl.
' So it is pax is it, Miss Betty, and we are friends
again ? I think the pimpernels brought me that
message ? ' Then Betty seemed a little confused.
* I was tired, and I expect that made me cross,' she
said quite frankly. * I don't really mind your laughing
at me a bit ; I am always laughing at myself I
thought I had been a little touchy and rude, and I
wanted you to have a nice welcome ; and it was not
fair that your sister should have all the flowers.'
'Thank you,' returned Ned simply. He held out
his hand and gave hers a warm grasp. What a child
she was ! And yet it was a pretty thought.
When Ned wished his sister good-night he put his
hands on her shoulders for a moment.
' Well, are you happy, She ? '
But as Sheila raised her soft eyes to his he needed
no answer.
' To-morrow,' she said quietly, ' will be the first day
of our new life. God grant it may be a peaceful
and happy one to both of us ! '
And Ned murmured ' Amen ' from the bottom of
his heart.
CHAPTER XI
'I HAVE THE SOUL OF A CHARWOMAN'
She was such an artless little creature, and was in such a sunny,
beaming, hopeful state. — Dickens.
She had great sense, but the playfulness of a child ; extreme rectitude
of mind, but with the tenderness of a gazelle ; if she laughed, all her
countenance, lips, eyes, forehead, cheeks laughed too. — BuLWER.
The Lassiters very soon settled down in their new
home.
' It is astonishing how quickly one adapts oneself
to new conditions and environment/ Sheila observed
one morning, while she and Ned were lingering over
their breakfast. Those social, unhurried meals were
among their new pleasures. ' We are conjugating the
verb " to dawdle " for the first time in our life,' she
continued ; and then she added, after a moment of
apparently blissful reflection, ' Isn't it strange how one
gets used to happiness } I feel as though I had lived
here all my life ' ; and yet when Sheila uttered this
paradox, a week had not yet elapsed since they had
shaken off the dust of Cottingdean.
Sheila had been too busy to see much of the
inmates of the Old Cottage. ' Her playtime had not
come yet,' she said laughingly.
Martha had too much tact and good sense to
114
CH. XI 'I HAVE THE SOUL OF A CHARWOMAN' 115
embarrass the new-comers with officious offers of help.
* If you need any little service, I hope you will
remember that you have neighbours,' she had said to
Sheila that first evening ; and Sheila had thanked her
quite gratefully.
Betty had not spoken, but she looked at her friend
a little wistfully. Betty was rather chagrined to find
that there was no demand for her willing hands at
The Moorings. If Sheila had held up her finger, Betty
would have verified her pet name and worked like a
little busy bee. But in those sweet early days, when
Sheila opened her eyes each morning on a new world,
she and Ned were all-sufficient to each other.
When Ned was not on the golf-links striding over
the bracken and heather, he was hard at work arranging
his study. With a man's short-sightedness and want
of judgment, he would entreat Sheila to bring up
her work and sit by the window while he arranged
his book-shelves and writing-table. ' I can work as we
talk,' he said quite condescendingly ; but Sheila only
laughed in his face and fllecked her duster at him.
Sheila and Eppie had their own domain of labour.
There were store implements to investigate and china
and linen closets to overhaul and rearrange. Eppie's
eyes were wide with wonder and surprise as Sheila
brought some new treasure to light.
* It cows a',' she would mutter. ' " If riches increase,
set not your heart on them," that's what the Guid Book
says, Miss Sheila. We must watch over ourselves, lest
we be eaten up with pride and vanity and the lust
of life.'
Sheila repeated this speech with much amusement,
when one evening she came upon Betty in the lane.
* It was a pair of brocaded silk curtains — very old,
ir6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
but still as good as possible — that provoked the
speech, " the lust of life tapestry," as I call them.'
Then out of sheer kindness of heart, or in answer to
the vague wistfulness in the girl's eyes, Sheila gave
her a cordial invitation for the next day.
' I am going to fit up a new china cupboard, the old
one is so dark ; and if you would like to come and help
me ' But Betty hardly let her finish her speech.
' I should love it above all things,' she returned
rapturously. * I am just dying to be busy. I really
believe that if father had been a carpenter, or plumber,
or something of that sort, instead of a merchant, I
should just have gone out charing. I think charing
must be such a delightful occupation. Miss Lassiter,'
went on Betty, with the bewitching smile of a blissful
infant. She had a basket of eggs in one hand and
a tin pail in the other, and she wore a red Tam-o'-
Shanter cap set rather rakishly on her curly hair.
* It must be so nice to take possession of somebody
else's house, and trundle the furniture about, and make
a mess and plash and clean to one's heart's content.
I have the soul of a charwoman, I have indeed, and
I would do a day's work with any one.'
Sheila found out the next day that this was no
idle boast on Betty's part ; the small brown hands
were very strong and capable. * She was worth two
Ruths,' Sheila acknowledged afterwards. ' She has
the cleverest little head, and was brimful of ideas,
and she hummed over her work like a veritable busy
bee.'
Betty was quite in her element. This was what she
wanted — to have a finger in The Moorings' pie. Some-
times, when she paused for a moment, she could hear
Mr. Lassiter whistling or trolling out snatches of song
XI 'I HAVE THE SOUL OF A CHARWOMAN' 117
in rather a deep, melodious voice. At intervals he
would call over the banisters for * She ' to come up
instantly and look at some improvements.
Once Sheila turned restive. She was perched on
the high steps, putting away sets of superfluous custard
glasses and decanters and other heterogeneous articles
on the top shelf of the glass cupboard, and was unwilling
to break off her employment ; and half in fun, and to
teach Ned a lesson for the future, she sent Betty up to
the study to tell him that she was busy.
' Ruth can go on handing me the things until you
come back,' she said quietly.
Betty needed no second invitation. Ned, who was
in his shirt -sleeves, was somewhat startled at her
entrance.
' I thought it was my sister,' he said rather lamely.
Betty saw at once he was not quite pleased to see her,
* Miss Lassiter is busy,' returned Betty with much
dignity. ' She sent me up to say so. When a person
is standing on the top of high steps, with her head in a
china closet, it is not very considerate to ask her to
come down.' Betty's voice was distinctly aggressive.
Ned whistled. * Poor old She, — I had no idea she
was so busy. Well, as you are here, Miss Bettina,
you may as well be kind enough to give me your
opinion. Do you think this end of the room looks a
little crowded ? '
' Yes, I do,' returned Betty quickly ; and without
waiting for Ned's permission, she pounced on a super-
fluous article of furniture and dragged it away, while
he watched her with much astonishment. ' If you
were a cripple or a very old man, you might want
everything round you, because you could not get up to
fetch it ; but it is not the least necessary just yet, and
ii8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
only fosters self-indulgence ' — here Betty looked at
him sternly. ' You have got the little stand for your
pipes and the reading-lamp and writing-table, but that
whatnot with its litter of papers must go to the other
end.'
* Oh, do you think so ? ' returned Ned doubtfully.
He was certainly getting into fussy old bachelor ways.
' If Sheila were here ' But Betty was not going to
put up with shilly-shallying and nonsense ; she knew
she was right, and that Ned was destroying a charming
corner.
' If you will just help me carry this thing across
the room,' she replied, ' I will show you what I mean ;
but it is so heavy with all those books and papers that
I can't do it alone. You see,' explained Betty cheer-
fully, ' even a charwoman needs help sometimes.'
Ned laughed. He could not help it. What a
ridiculous child it was ! Then he asked mischievously —
' Have you dressed for the character. Miss Bettina,
or has Eppie lent you that apron ? '
' No indeed, it is my very own ! ' returned Betty
indignantly. ' I could never keep myself nice without
a regular charwoman's apron.' As the storeroom was
draughty, Betty still wore her Tam-o'-Shanter cap and
a little red shawl that Eppie had offered her. No one
could accuse Betty of vanity and coquetry in her
charing costume, and Ned might be forgiven for the
secret amusement that prompted the question ; but
Betty was too much in earnest to resent his imperti-
nence properly.
Here were pastures new — a space of masculine
territory evidently given into the hands of a Philistine.
Mr. Lassiter might be a learned professor, but in the
arrangement of furniture he v/as lamentably deficient
XI 'I HAVE THE SOUL OF A CHARWOMAN' 119
in taste ; it would only be kind and neighbourly to
rectify his mistakes. * It was all in the day's charing,'
thought Betty, as she arranged and ordered, pushing a
chair here and a table there, until Ned's private and
particular sanctum was quite transformed into a com-
fortable and orderly study.
' There, doesn't it look nice ! ' exclaimed Betty,
flushed but radiant. 'Sit down in that chair, Mr.
Lassiter. Isn't your corner far more comfortable ? '
And in sheer honesty and gratitude Ned was forced to
agree with her.
It was at this supreme moment that Sheila dis-
covered them. For a time she had been too busy to
miss her fellow-worker ; the top shelf demanded all
her attention, for it was not easy to stow away all that
surplus glass. It was not until her job was accom-
plished that Sheila descended from her perch to seek
for the truant. She gave a nod of approval when she
saw the alteration.
* Bravo ! ' she said ; * you have made Ned do the
very thing I wanted him to do yesterday. I told him
again and again that that ugly whatnot with his papers
quite spoiled his corner, but he absolutely refused to
listen to me. You know, Ned, you were as obstinate
as possible.'
' Oh, men are always obstinate,' returned Betty
calmly ; ' and then they are so dreadfully opinionated
that it is waste of words to argue with them. I just
made him carry the ugly thing to that nice corner
where the curtain will hide it — and he did it like a
lamb.' Betty spoke with spirit ; in her excitement she
had pushed her Tam - o'- Shanter until it was more
rakish than ever ; but the little red shawl draped the
study chair, where Betty had flung it half an hour ago.
120 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* It really looks very nice, Ned, and is a great im-
provement,' observed Sheila in a tone of full conviction.
' That corner by the window is deliciously cosy.'
' I was just thinking so myself,' returned her brother ;
' but if Miss Bettina were to try the effect ' But
Betty shook her head.
* No, thanks, I am far too busy. Come, Miss
Lassiter, we will leave the professor in peace ' ; and
Betty nodded to him in a friendly manner as she with-
drew.
Ned followed them to the door. ' I rather approve
of your new charwoman. Sheila,' he said gravely. ' She
seems rather a clever young person, though perhaps a
little wanting in humility. Somehow the virtue does
not seem to belong to the age.' He sighed as though
oppressed with the shortcomings of the younger genera-
tion, and then went back to his corner to smoke a
matutinal pipe and admire his room under its new
aspect.
After dinner Ned announced his intention of going
out. * Supposing we all spend the afternoon on the
links,' he suggested. But Sheila, who was tired with
her exertions, shook her head.
' You had better have your ramble alone,' she
replied ; ' there is some needlework that I must finish.
I was going to suggest that we should carry out some
chairs and that little rustic table and sit under the firs.
We might have tea there if Betty liked. For Betty
had insisted that very morning that Sheila should dis-
pense with ceremony and call her Betty.
' But your name is Bettina,' objected Sheila. ' I
notice Ned calls you that'
* Oh, I daresay,' returned Betty indifferently ; * he
is a gentleman, so it does not matter. But I hate the
XI *I HAVE THE SOUL OF A CHARWOMAN' 121
name, and I won't have you use it. I am plain Betty.
No one calls me Bee but Martha — it is her own special
and particular name.
Betty was a little disappointed at Miss Lassiter's
decision, but she was an amiable little soul and easily
accommodated herself to circumstances. Their en-
campment was soon formed, and before half- an -hour
was over Betty was chattering nineteen to the dozen.
Sheila's work dropped to her lap as she leaned back
in her chair, while the soft June breezes fanned her
face. She was very tired, with that pleasant feeling
of fatigue that follows hours of honest labours. How
sweet and still it was under the firs ! There was a
scent of roses from the low straggling bushes in the
bed before the house ; through the white gate there
were glimpses of the common — a veritable Sleepy
Hollow it was this afternoon, for the bees and the
butterflies had it all to themselves. ' I think I shall
sit here every afternoon,' she observed. * I like it
better than the tennis -lawn. Ned means to have a
hammock or two slung — it is a fancy of his. Do you
know, Betty, when I have got the house in order, I
must turn my attention to the garden ; it has been
dreadfully neglected.'
' Mrs. Hartree was so very old, you see,' returned
Betty. ' During the last year or two she never came
downstairs. Martha or I used to go and see her every
day. Did you know she left us each five hundred
pounds — because she said we had been so kind to her ? '
* Yes, Ned told me ; we were both so pleased.'
' Martha thought we had no right to take it when
she found that Mrs. Hartree had relations,' went on
Betty ; ' but Mr. Roffey soon talked her round. And
of course the money will be extremely useful. Martha
122 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
is such a splendid manager, no one who knows us
has an idea how poor we really are. And yet we are
as comfortable as possible.'
' I do not think you were as poor as we were,
Betty.'
' Well, perhaps not,' as a vivid remembrance of Mr.
Lassiter's coat crossed Betty's mind ; ' but it was not
always easy for Martha to make ends meet. She never
liked to trouble me with her worries, but as she sat
over her accounts of an evening her dear face would
look quite lined with care ; so you may think what Mrs.
Hartree's legacy meant to us.'
' I am so very glad,' repeated Sheila. She listened
with unfeigned interest as Betty launched forth on the
merits and perfections of this dearest of sisters.
' Oh, you do not know ' — Betty spoke in a fervid
tone — ' you would never guess what Martha is to us.
I never knew any one half so good and unselfish. She
never seems to think of herself at all ; it has always
been so all her life. But you would never find it out
for yourself, Martha is so quiet.'
* Quiet people always attract me,' replied Sheila,
taking up her work again. ' People are a little like
books, I think. I know there are some who prefer
large print and wide margins ; they like their reading
made easy to them, and to plunge into the middle of
a story at once. But I like a smaller print and plenty
of matter, and not to know the end too quickly.
And so with people ; I like to find them out by degrees
— it is so much more interesting.'
' Oh, what a funny idea ! ' laughed Betty ; ' I wish
Marty could hear that'
' Now your sister interested me at once,' continued
Sheila, too much interested in her subject to find out
XI 'I HAVE THE SOUL OF A CHARWOMAN' 123
if Betty's girlish wits were following her ; ' I never felt
so drawn to any one. I have not seen her half-a-dozen
times, and yet if I were in any trouble I should go to
her at once and feel sure of her help and sympathy ' ;
but before Sheila could finish her sentence, the im-
petuous Betty jumped up and gave her a hug.
' Oh, how sweet of you to say that ! ' returned the
girl. ' I love you all the better for caring for my dear
Marty.' And then the warm-hearted little creature
narrated touching little instances of her sister's self-
denial and generosity. How she had worn her shabby
old cloak another winter, that Betty might have the
new dress she coveted ; and how she had stinted
herself of all but absolute necessaries, that her young
sister should have all she needed for her visit to
Cottingdean.
' Martha knew how I longed to go, and there was
so little money just then,' continued Betty. ' Of course
I offered to give it up ; but no, Marty said it could
be managed. But I have no idea where she got the
money for my new jacket and the soft white silk for
the dance the Aliens were giving before Charlie went
away.' Betty flushed and dimpled a little over this
part of her narrative.
* Charlie,' observed Sheila absently. She was follow-
ing the movements of ' the Orphan,' who was playing
in a kittenish fashion with a reel of cotton at her feet,
and so she failed to notice the little girl's blush.
' Charlie is the third son,' explained Betty hurriedly.
* He is an engineer, and has just gone out to West
Africa. He had rather a good berth offered him.
Vernon, the eldest son, is with his father — Mr. Allen
is a solicitor, you know — and Stuart is at Oxford. He
wants to be a schoolmaster. Grace com.es next to
124 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xi
Vernon, she is such a nice girl ; and Katie, my special
crony, is a year younger than Charlie. Bertha comes
next, and then there is Peter. He is at the grammar
school, but he is so clever that they all say that he
will get a scholarship and go to Oxford too.'
' I know the Aliens' house,' returned Sheila, in a
tone of sympathetic interest. ' I used to pass it on
my way to the Goulburn's. Sometimes I would meet
your friend Katie — what a pretty girl she is ! — and one
or other of her brothers. They are all good-looking
young fellows,' went on Sheila, 'but there was one I
specially noticed. He is not tall, but he has a strong,
athletic figure, and his face is tanned almost like a
sailor's, and he has merry blue eyes and a nice laugh,
and I remember I took quite a fancy to him, and
called him " my sailor boy " when I mentioned him to
Ned.'
* That must have been Charlie,' returned Betty
rather quietly, but something in her tone made Sheila
look at her. The next moment she smiled and
changed the subject
CHAI'I'I-.K XII
TFIK VKAR OK ST. [UKK'S
'I'lir woil'l Irn |j>illiiii|; In hrdlow,
l''r()iii oiir own m-Ivci niir lili'.'i inir,l How.
Con ON.
QlMrful penpln llvo lonij in our iiifmory. - Maudkn.
A il'".W mlMutcs lalcrr an iiilcmiptioii occurred which
jml a ;tl(»|) to the convcrHation ; the jjiccii jjalc was
iinlatchcjj and lhiu\r open, and Mr. Lassiter'.s tail fi^jiin;
appeared iii •.ii.lil, followed hy a f^enlleinan in clerical
attircr. Sh<;ila rt^co^in'sed ;it otuc. ihe stem, ascctic-
lookinjj face of (he vicar of St. Jiidc's, and, a.s before,
.she was .struck with his conniian(lin|.j and aristocratic
bearinij. 'There is soniethinfj almost majestic in his
r;irriai;e,' she said afterwards; 'and lhoni;h he is .so
(jiiiet in voice and m.unier, he {jives one the impression
of a slronji; and intense natun! kept in check.'
'Mr. Ilretl wishes to make your acquaintance.
Sheila,' observed her brother, 'lie was a constant
visitor at TIk' Moorin{js during Aunt Sarah's lifetime.'
* Mrs. llartrce was a {.jreat friend of nnne,' returned
the vicar, shakinn^ hands cordially with Sheila. His
smile was cxceedin^jly pleasant and li|;hted up his face,
makiuj; it l(K)k youn|;er.
'I introduced iiij'self to Mr. Lassiter on flie litiks,
126 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
when I came upon him with Mr. Woodford and his
daughter. Ah, Miss Betty, I did not see you for the
moment. Where is your volatile friend ? '
* I am doing a day's charing, Mr. Brett,' returned
Betty with dignity, ' so I left her with Jane. Kaiser is
so big that I was afraid he might eat up my darling
Miss Mowcher.'
* You need not be afraid of that, Miss Bettina,'
interposed Ned. ' Kaiser is always chivalrous to ladies,
and he never fights with any dog that is not of his own
size ; and to do him justice, he is never the aggressor.'
' He is a magnificent fellow,' observed Mr. Brett, as
he took the seat assigned to him. Ruth was just
bringing out the tea-things. As he leant back in his
hammock chair, Sheila saw at once that he was much
fatigued, and there was an air of lassitude about him
that contrasted strangely with his fine physique. ' I
have a great fancy for collies,' he went on, ' and would
willingly be the owner of one ; but, owing to circum-
stances, I have a four-legged companion who would die
of jealousy if I introduced another dog. He is a small
dachshund who followed me home one winter's even-
ing and who was never claimed, though I advertised
more than once in the local paper. He had a hand-
some collar with "Peter " on it, and was evidently a well-
bred animal.'
* And you kept him ? ' Then again a smile came to
Mr. Brett's dark face.
* How was one to refuse hospitality to a homeless
stranger on such a night, Miss Lassiter ? The poor little
animal was in sorry plight between cold and hunger and
fright. I heard something pattering behind me in the
darkness, and as I stopped a little dachshund fawned on
me and whined. We had him dried and fed, and after
xii THE VICAR OF ST. JUDE'S 127
that he refused to leave me. His devotion is almost
embarrassing at times. My aunt and the servants tell
me that when I go out without him — which I have to
do continually, as his short legs cannot keep up with
mine — he just lies in my study and moans, unless they
give him a glove or slipper that belongs to me, and
then he is pacified. But when I come back he rejoices
over me as though I had been absent for months.'
* Peter is a dear dog,' observed Betty ; ' I don't
think I ever saw any creature so devoted to his master.
I think, if anything happened to you, Mr, Brett, he
would die of grief.'
' I am afraid you are right,' returned the vicar.
* There is something mysterious in the affection of our
canine friends. They are not only the patient slaves
of our whims, but they depend upon us for happiness.
They respond to our moods, and our depression reacts
on them. Peter knows at once when anything is
troubling me, and tries to sympathise in his dumb
way.'
' Kaiser is just the same,' observed Sheila. And
then, as they all grouped round the little tea-table,
first one and then another recalled amusing or pathetic
anecdotes of their special pets ; and Mr. Brett, who
seemed a dog- lover, related stories of sagacity and
heroism that he had heard or read. Presently the
conversation veered round to the late owner of the
house.
* This is a very pleasant retreat on a summer's
afternoon,' observed Mr. Brett. 'Do you know, Miss
Lassiter, that though I was at The Moorings three
or four times a week, I have never sat in the garden
before ? Like many other old ladies of the past
generation, Mrs. Hartree seemed afraid of air.'
128 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' They did not understand hygiene in those days,*
remarked Ned.
' I am so glad our poor old aunt had such kind
friends and neighbours,' observed Sheila, with one of
her beaming looks.
* As far as friends were concerned, Mrs. Hartree was
not lonely,' returned Mr. Brett ; ' the Woodfords and
my aunt were constant visitors, and during the last
two or three years of her life I saw her almost daily.
But until a twelvemonth ago we had no idea that she
had relatives living.'
' There was a misunderstanding with my father,'
explained Ned. ' I do not deny that he was greatly
in fault, but my aunt never forgave him, and refused
to have anything to do with us. You may judge
my amazement and incredulity when I heard from
Messrs. Roffey and Williams that she had left me
everything.'
' No, not everything,' corrected the vicar ; ' there was
a favourite charity or two largely endowed ' ; but Mr.
Brett said nothing more.
Ned and Sheila little guessed that they owed their
unexpected windfall to the tact and persuasive eloquence
of the vicar. A twelvemonth before, when Mrs. Hartree
was consulting him about some institution for the blind
which she intended to include in her list of legacies,
Luke Brett gathered from a remark which she made
casually, that she had actually relatives living. His
surprise was great, but he answered her firmly and
quietly.
* The institution you have named is an excellent
one, but if you have great-nephews and a niece surviv-
ing, your money should go to them, especially as you
hint that they are not in good circumstances.'
XII THE VICAR OF ST. JUDE'S 129
This plain speaking had offended Mrs. Hartree, and
she had been so angry at what she termed his inter-
ference, that he had taken his leave ; but she was old
and ill, and after a time a reconciliation was effected ;
but both he and his aunt, Miss Lorimer, with whom he
had taken counsel, spoke very seriously to the aged
invalid of her injustice to her own flesh and blood.
More than once Luke Brett was quite stern with her.
' You have no right to endow charitable institutions
and defraud your own flesh and blood. Do you think
your money will carry a blessing with it ? You tell me
that your nephew, Julian Lassiter, repaid your kindness
with ingratitude. Well, he is no longer here to answer
for his sins — at least his children are innocent of all
wrong towards you.'
Then Mrs. Hartree had been silent. Her lonely
old age had embittered her, and she had brooded over
injuries real or imaginary until the name of Lassiter had
grown hateful to her. Even when the vicar's eloquence
prevailed, and a more just will had been signed and
witnessed, Mrs. Hartree refused to see her heir. * No,
no,' she said, with the fretful selfishness of old age, ' I
am too old and weak to see new faces, and Edward
Lassiter is a stranger to me'; and so great was her agita-
tion that Mr. Brett forbore pressing her on this point.
Little did Sheila and her brother guess that they
owed their present prosperity to the faithfulness of the
vicar of St. Jude's ; but they were never likely to hear it
from his lips, and there was no significance in manner
or tone to lead them to suspect the truth.
When Ned again alluded regretfully to the life-long
estrangement, Mr. Brett quietly endorsed his words.
' A family misunderstanding is always to be deplored,'
he observed ; ' nothing can be sadder than a lonely old
K
I30 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
age. " To err is human, to forgive divine." Mrs.
Hartree was in many respects a good woman — she
was a kind mistress, a loyal friend, and she was very
benevolent — but she could not forgive easily, and so
by her own act she condemned herself to loneliness. It
is sad to think how we ourselves sow the thorns and
briars that are eventually to hedge us up.'
Sheila looked a little thoughtful ; it distressed her
to think that the kindly folk of Uplands might imagine
that she and Ned were to blame. ' If Aunt Sarah had
been poor it would have been easier for us to make
overtures, but in our position ' she stopped, but Mr.
Brett comprehended her at once.
' There were difficulties — one understands that.
Mrs. Hartree's nature was complex and peculiar ; any
advances on your part would probably have been mis-
understood. Well, I am only glad that the right thing
was done at last, and you are so comfortably established
at The Moorings. Now I must be going or Peter will be
moaning his heart out and thinking I am lost indeed.'
' I have to go to the village, so I may as well walk
up with you,' observed Ned, who was unwilling to part
with a congenial companion.
On his return he found Sheila still waiting. Betty
had just left her, but she was not sorry to be alone a
little. She had pleasant thoughts to keep her com-
pany ; for once in her life no castle -building was
necessary to gild a meagre, unsatisfactory present with
the rainbow gold of glittering fancies. They were at
their moorings, peacefully anchored in a still back-
water ; and as Sheila looked out on the little common,
where some children were playing, her soul swelled with
a sense of deep gratitude. ' It will give Ned back his
youth,' she thought, as she recalled the animation of his
xii THE VICAR OF ST. JUDE'S 131
look and manner. ' He was far too old and staid for
his age ; I was always telling him so, but there was no
scope for him in Brook Street'
She roused herself from her reflections when Ned
threw himself into a seat beside her. ' Well, She,
what do you think of the vicar ? He seems dispo.sed
to be friendly and pleasant. That was a good idea of
yours having tea under the firs.'
' I was just telling Betty that I always intended to
have afternoon tea in the fir parlour when you gentle-
men marched in. I think our first tea-party was quite
a success. But I wanted Miss Woodford to be with us
— that would have made it perfect. So you were with
them on the links, Ned ? '
' Yes ; Mr. Woodford was in his bath-chair, and I
walked beside him as far as the Dene, and then we
came upon Mr. Brett. He had been calling there, I
think. He was exceedingly cordial in his manner, and
when we left the Woodfords he proposed that he
should pay his respects to you. Well, Sheila, you
have not answered my question. I hope you like Mr.
Brett ? '
' How could one help it ? ' returned Sheila ; ' he is so
very kind and friendly. But, to own the truth, I felt
rather in awe of him ; at first sight he is rather a
formidable individual, he is so exceedingly dignified.'
' I expect that is natural to him — mere mannerism.
You have no idea how unaffected and jolly he was on
the links. But then you see the Woodfords were old
friends, and he seemed thoroughly in touch with them.
He is very enthusiastic about his work, and, like myself,
he is a book -lover. He wants me to go round and
have a chat with him some evening. He was immensely
interested to know that I wrote for the Circle. I fancy
132 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
from his manner that he dabbles in literature himself,
though he would not own to it.'
' I should not be surprised ; I am sure he is a clever
man. But he seemed very tired, Ned.'
' Oh, you noticed that ; but it is a warm afternoon,
and it is rather a long walk to the Dene. I felt
rather lazy myself This strong air bowls one over
at first. Mr. Brett says that we shall soon become
acclimatised.'
They talked on happily about their new acquaint-
ance until the supper-bell roused them, and then Sheila
jumped up in a hurry to put away her work.
The next morning, as she was arranging some flowers
in the drawing-room, she heard the click of the gate,
and saw an old lady tripping up the garden path. She
was such a picturesque little figure, and was dressed in
such a quaint, old-world fashion that Sheila was instantly
attracted by her. As she went out into the hall she
was greeted by a cheery voice, with just a touch of
brogue in it, and a fine old face beamed on her from
under the Victorian bonnet.
* You are Miss Lassiter are you not, my dear ? Of
course, I should have known you anywhere from Luke's
description, — not that he said much. Well, I am Miss
Gillian ; that is what folk mostly call me, though my
father's name was Lorimer, He was an Englishman,
and my mother was Irish. So I am a bit of a Paddy,
you see, and I have kissed the blarney stone with the
best of them. I am paying you an early visit, because
I am not a conventional person, and never do things by
rule of thumb. And I have brought you these flowers ' —
thrusting out a huge bunch of roses and lilies and pinks
that scented the place with their fragrance.
* Are they for me ? How very kind ! ' and Sheila
XII THE VICAR OF ST. JUDE'S 133
blushed with surprise and pleasure. ' Do please come
into the drawing-room, Miss Lorimer.' But to her
amusement Miss Gillian shook her head, and sat down
on the oak settle by the open door.
' I hate drawing-rooms, my dear, especially on summer
mornings — they are so exceedingly stuff}\ Why should
we not sit here and have our little chat ? ' Here
Miss Gillian looked at her critically and approvingly.
' What a remarkable thing it is that even a clever, sensible
man like Luke should be so bald in his descriptions.
* " Now, my good lad," I said to him ; for he will
always be a lad to me — for have I not tucked him up
in his cot, night after night, when his blessed mother
was too weak to look after him herself.'' — "just tell me
what sort of a person Miss Lassiter is." '
' Oh, if you please, Miss Lorimer ' Sheila's cheeks
were beginning to burn at the old lady's frankness.
What might she not say next?
' You'll find Miss Gillian handier,' replied the other
rather drily. * Lorimer is too stiff and English for
the likes of me, and my mother was an Irishwoman,
Well, as I was saying, I just put the question out of
sheer curiosity, and Luke just hummed and hawed in
his lordly way. " A nice, ladylike woman," says he,
" and very intelligent and pleasant. You go and see
her. Aunt Gill " — the boy often calls me that. Woman
indeed ! Why, you are just lovely, my dear ; and it is
not blarney either, for I have taken a liking to you.'
' You are much too kind,' returned Sheila in great
confusion. Then her sense of humour overcame her,
and she began to laugh. Miss Gillian stared at her in
rather an affronted way ; but Sheila's merriment was
infectious, and after a moment she laughed too.
The situation was intensely comical. Sheila hardly
134 " AT THE MOORINGS chap.
dared glance at the droll little figure beside her. Miss
Gillian wore a wonderful Victorian bonnet, tied
down by a black lace scarf, and she had a little red
silk shawl over her shoulders, and a short black skirt
that displayed her neat little feet incased in strong
country shoes. There were diamond rings on her tiny
hands, and her smooth, unwrinkled face still retained
its beauty. Even in this first visit Sheila wondered to
herself why she was still Miss Gillian. * What must
she have been in her youth ? ' she thought ; and she
was not surprised when Mr. Brett told her later that
his aunt had been a great beauty when she was young,
and had refused innumerable offers.
' How strange that she should have remained single,'
she observed to Ned one day.
' No, I should not call it strange,' he returned
quietly. ' Perhaps the right man came too late, or
perhaps he died, or there were complications and mis-
understanding. Women keep their own counsel. " If
I can't get Mr. Right, I would never degrade myself by
taking Mr. Wrong " — I remember you once said that
to me, and I thought you a sensible woman.'
' In that case she was right,' returned Sheila ; and
a little twinge crossed her, as she remembered Mark.
How seldom she thought of him now ! Mark belonged
to her youth ; he was part of the distant past. Her
nature was faithful, and she would have waited for
him ; but what if his return had brought disillusion
and disappointment ? They were both so young. Life
had brought tham so little experience. They had
been boy and girl together. Perhaps at thirty it was
natural that Sheila should ask herself the question
whether Mark would have satisfied her if he had lived
to come back to her.
XII THE VICAR OF ST. JUDE'S 135
Sheila would have apologised for her merriment,
but Miss Gillian told her promptly not to waste her
words.
' I like a person to be natural,' she returned.
' People always laugh at me at first. They say they
can't help it ; but when they know me better they
think it is just Miss Gillian's way, and put up with me
as I am. Now there's Martha Woodford, as I tell
Luke sometimes — if there are saints nowadays that
girl is one, for a sweeter and sounder nature could
not be found anywhere.
'"Never mind your want of beauty, Martha, my dear,"
I say to her sometimes, for I always speak my mind
to friend or foe. " You have got your share of good
things, and a loving heart is better than a complexion
all roses and lilies ; and you may trust my judgment
there, for when I was a giddy young thing they used
to call me the Rose of Limerick." And talking of
Limerick,' went on Miss Gillian, ' reminds me, my dear,
of an old beggar wife's speech to me. " Arrah, darlint,''
says she, " shure, you are a little stray angel come
down on airth, and they will just be missing you up
r.bove, mavourneen ; and faix it is Judy Sullivan who
knows it." Poor old Judy, I always called it my six-
penny compliment; but it was cheap at the price'; and
Miss Gillian gave a cheery little laugh as she rose
from her seat.
* Now I must be stepping across to the Cottage, for
Martha will be expecting me. But you will come and
see me soon ? I am generally at home in the after-
noon.' And Miss Gillian dropped her a playful little
curtsey, and then kissed her hand to her at the gate ;
and Sheila went up to her brother's study to regale his
ears with an account of her amusing visitor.
CHAPTER XIII
BETTY HAS AN ADVENTURE
But yet the pity of it, lago ! O lago, the pity of it, lago ! — Othello.
For this relief much thanks. — Hamlet.
One warm July morning a few weeks later Betty
Woodford was walking up Church Road on her way
from the vicarage. In spite of the heat Betty was
enjoying herself There was a delicious scent of
new -mown hay in the air, mingled with the aromatic
fragrance of firs. Betty, who had not a care in the
world, would have liked to have sung for sheer light-
heartedness and gladness.
' After all, it is a beautiful old world,' she said to
herself; 'if people's manners would only match it!'
And Betty began whistling, and then checked herself
as she perceived that she was not alone on the road.
A man was walking slowly on the shady side ; by
his dress he seemed to be an artisan, and he limped
slightly. As Betty overtook him he suddenly stopped,
and leant for support against some palings as though
he were tired or in pain. As he turned his head she
saw to her surprise that he was young.
Betty, who was never shy or backward with
strangers, accosted him at once.
1.^6
CHAP. XIII BETTY HAS AN ADVENTURE 137
' I am afraid you are not well — you seem in pain,'
she said kindly ; * is there anything I can do ? '
' I have hurt my foot,' returned the young man ;
' there seems to be a nail running into it. I must get
my boot off and see, for it is laming me.' He winced
with pain as he spoke. To Betty's surprise his voice
was cultured, and, in spite of his working dress, he had
the air of a gentleman.
'You must not walk another step,' returned Betty,
rather alarmed at his pallor. ' I know the woman who
lives in this cottage, and I am sure she will let you sit
down in her kitchen and rest your foot. I will go and
ask her.' And the stranger muttered a word of thanks as
he hobbled painfully after her up the little garden-path.
Mrs. Deeds came bustling out to greet the young
lady, — Betty was a great favourite of hers. Indeed,
Betty's friends in the village might be termed legion,
for she was on speaking terms with every man, woman,
and child on Church Green and its environs.
' Halloo, Miss Woodford, bean't ye coming to our
place ? ' was a customary greeting from shock-headed
urchins swinging on gates ; while tiny children would
toddle after her, signifying in baby language that they
wished to be noticed.
Mrs. Deeds was quite ready with offers of hospi-
tality to Betty's pi'otege. She was a gossiping, good-
natured creature. She shook up the cushion of her
master's chair, and the young man was not slow to
avail himself of the invitation. Though neither of the
women guessed it, he was fairly spent with fatigue and
pain and want of food ; and as Betty thoughtfully placed
a little wooden stool for the wounded foot, the object
of her care quietly sank back against the cushions and
fainted.
138 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Mrs. Deeds uttered an exclamation of dismay ; but
Betty, who, with all her fussiness, had plenty of common-
sense, asked her for some water, and dipping her own
handkerchief in it, she gently bathed his face. There
was no brandy to be got except by sending to the
vicarage, so she begged for a glass of sweet new milk,
and as soon as the stranger opened his eyes she held
it to his lips.
' Drink this, it will do you good,' she said. And to
her relief the glass was instantly drained.
'Thanks awfully,' he murmured ; and as he looked
at her gratefully, Betty was struck by some vague
resemblance that somehow eluded her. She had never
seen him before, and yet his face seemed familiar to
her. His eyes reminded her of some one she knew,
yet who could it be ?
His features were undeniably handsome, though
they were worn and sharpened as though by privation
or illness. The rough, untrimmed condition of his
hair and moustache, and the shabbiness of his clothes,
had led her to suppose him a mechanic out of work.
But his voice and the delicacy of the long-fingered
hands puzzled her. Betty had sufficient knowledge of
the world to guess that gentlemen in fustian, with
broken boots, were generally shady customers. But
even a tramp in trouble would have appealed to her.
' Do you think you could get your boot off now ? '
she suggested, after a glance at his face. * I daresay
Mrs. Deeds would help you.'
But the young man shook his head. ' I had better
do it myself.' And setting his teeth, he pulled it off;
but the torn sock was stained with blood.
' Why, it is all blistered and sore ! ' exclaimed Betty
in a shocked voice. ' Mrs. Deeds, you must let me
xiii BETTY HAS AN ADVENTURE
139
have a tub of hot water for this' — Betty stumbled at
the word ' gentleman ' and substituted * person.' ' His
foot is in a dreadful state.'
Mrs. Deeds was hospitable, but she was also busy ; for,
as she explained, she had to cook her master's dinner.
' I will fetch you the water, and welcome, Miss
Woodford,' she said ; ' but I have not a minute to spare,
for the potatoes aren't peeled yet and my master isn't
one to wait.'
' Oh, I could easily do it,' returned Betty cheerily.
One would have thought from her tone that bathing
the feet of tramps was a daily occurrence in her life.
She set aside the young man's feeble objections and
ordered him quite peremptorily to take off his other
boot. * Nothing is so healing as hot water,' she ob-
served sedately. * I daresay Mrs. Deeds will let us have
some nice clean rag to wrap them in.'
Betty was too full of her charitable business to
wonder why a tramp's foot should be so small and
white. The sock was soiled and somewhat grimy, but
not the foot. Betty was just starting off for the rag
when she felt a touch on her arm, and the young man
looked at her wistfully.
' I am almost ashamed to ask — but you are so kind
— but if I might beg for a further favour — a crust of
bread and cheese ; for I have had no food since yester-
day morning, and ' His voice shook a little as
though from weakness, and Betty saw there were tears
in his eyes.
'Mrs. Deeds' — Betty pursued that much -enduring
woman to the outhouse, where she was washing vege-
tables, and a few minutes later a brown loaf and butter
and cheese was placed before the wayfarer ; and then
with much tact she withdrew until he had finished his
I40 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
meal. He smiled at her as she re-entered, and again
that mysterious likeness evaded her.
' I feel better,' he said gratefully ; ' and now the
nail is out of my boot, I think I can hobble a bit. It
can't be much farther — close to the links, they said.
Perhaps, as you live in the place, you may know the
name of Lassiter ? '
' Of course I do.' Then Betty stopped as though
she were suddenly galvanised. She knew now of
whom he reminded her ; it was Miss Lassiter — the
eyes, expression, smile were hers. Betty felt positively
giddy, but she did not betray herself ' Do you mean
the Lassiters who live at The Moorings ? ' she asked.
Then the young man nodded.
' The Moorings — that's the place. Well, as I am
so near the end of my journey, I had better be getting
on. I have no right to be taking up your time like
this.'
' We live just opposite The Moorings,' returned Betty,
trying to speak calmly, but she felt much disturbed ;
' and the Lassiters are friends of ours. Do you know
them — have you any business with them?' Betty
put the questions a little breathlessly, and waited
anxiously for the answer.
' Not business exactly ' — here the young man
laughed a little nervously — ' but all the same I want
to see them. Perhaps you may have heard from them
that they had a brother out in Australia of whom they
have not had news for years.' But Betty shook her
head.
' No indeed. Do you mean — is it possible '
but here Betty stopped and caught her breath. If a
volcano had suddenly opened in Sleepy Hollow she
could not have been more aghast.
XIII BETTY HAS AN ADVENTURE 141
The young man looked a little disconcerted. ' I
wonder why they kept it dark,' he muttered ; ' it was
not like Ned or Sheila either. All the same, my
name is Ivor Lassiter,'
' Oh dear, oh dear ! ' exclaimed Betty. ' Then you
were on the way to The Moorings when I overtook you ? '
' Yes ; I had been walking since daybreak, and I
was pretty much at the end of my tether. But I have
met with a good Samaritan, which is more than I
deserved. Thanks to your kindness, I think I can get
on now, Miss — oh, I forgot I do not know your name.'
' I am Betty Woodford,' returned the girl promptly ;
* and, as we are neighbours, I can show you the way if
you like.' Then a flush crossed Ivor's face.
' You are very good — if you are sure you do not
mind ' — and the poor fellow glanced at his frayed trousers
and trodden-down boots. * People will take me for a
tramp ; and, to tell you the truth, I feel like one my-
self, for I slept under a haystack last night. Not that
it was any hardship on a warm night — and I have often
slept out in the Bush — but it has not improved my
appearance.'
He spoke in a tone of mingled bitterness and shame
that appealed to Betty's tender heart.
* What does it matter ? ' she said kindly ; * I never
care what people think, and we may as well go
together.' She gave him one of her bright, cheery
smiles, which seemed to animate him with fresh courage,
and without another word he took up his battered
straw hat and followed her. He still walked with
difficulty, so their progress was slow.
As they turned into the main road, a sudden mis-
giving crossed the girl's mind, and she accosted her
companion.
142 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' Will it not be too great a shock their seeing you
like this, without any preparation ? ' she asked. ' Would
it not be better if I were to go on and say a word
to Miss Lassiter ? ' But Ivor would not hear of
this.
' No,' he said a little moodily, ' I would rather do
my own business. I daresay they have been expecting
me to turn up any time these eight years.'
' Eight years ! But surely you have written to
them ? ' Then again there was an ashamed look on
the young man's face.
' I wrote for the first year or two ; but it seems they
never got my letters, for I had no answer ; and then
somehow I left off writing. Yes, it must be nearly
eight years, for I was only nineteen when I left Cotting-
dean, and I am over seven-and-twenty now.'
' But they must think you are dead ! ' Betty spoke
in a shocked voice ; but it was evident that this idea
had never crossed Ivor's mind.
' Do you think so ? ' he said, rather startled at this ;
' perhaps in that case it might be well to prepare them.'
He paused irresolutely ; he was evidently reluctant to
employ a go-between, and yet if the girl were right
and Sheila thought he was dead !
They were just at the top of Sandy Lane, and in
another moment Betty would have pointed out The
Moorings to him.
* Perhaps you had better let them know,' he said at
last, * and I can wait here if you like.' But he was too
late, for as he spoke Betty saw Sheila coming towards
them, with Kaiser bounding before her.
Ivor saw her too, and turned very pale.
Kaiser, who was still a young dog, was not likely to
recognise him, and was snuffing suspiciously at what
XIII BETTY HAS AN ADVENTURE 143
he supposed was a tramp. Kaiser hated tramps and all
poorly-dressed people, and Sheila in rather an alarmed
voice called him off.
' Kaiser, come here instantly. Down, you bad dog —
leave the man alone.' But Ivor, who understood all
animals, merely patted the dog's head.
' You will know me better next time, old fellow,' he
said, but his yoice shook a little with agitation. ' Don't
be afraid, Sheila, he will not hurt me.' Then, as she
heard the supposed tramp utter her name. Sheila grew
as white as death.
' Oh,' she said faintly ; and then, as though she were
unable to say more, she pushed past Betty in the
narrow path and gripped the young man's coat with
both hands.
' Who is it that calls me Sheila ? ' Then, as Ivor
looked at her and tried to smile, she fell on his breast
with a cry of joy.
' Oh, my darling, is it you — Ivor, really Ivor ? '
And she kissed him and fondled him, stroking his pale
face with her trembling hand, with little cooing
expressions of mingled pity and pleasure. The tears
came to Betty's eyes as she watched her. Her poor
prodigal was in good hands, she thought.
' Sheila, dear old She, you are too good to me. I
have not deserved this — this welcome — I have treated
you both so badly. I have been such a selfish cad — a
regular brute.' But Sheila put her hand over his lips.
' Hush, darling, there is no need to call yourself
names ; you have come back to us, and my prayers are
answered, as I knew they would be some day. Come,
let us go to Ned ' ; and she took his arm and turned
him gently in the direction of The Moorings. ' Dear
Ned, how rejoiced he will be, and Eppie too ! '
144 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Both of them had forgotten Betty, who was looking
after them with wistful eyes. Sheila's thoughts were
absorbed with joy and gratitude ; but it was Ivor who
remembered her, and who, with gentlemanly instinct,
came back to thank her and wish her good-bye.
' Sheila does not know yet how much I owe to your
kindness,' he said gratefully ; ' perhaps, as you live so
near, I may see you again ' — and he grasped her hand.
Betty smiled vaguely at him, but she made no response
— her little adventure was ending rather flatly. She
followed slowly down the path, until the gate closed
behind them; then she quickened her pace, Martha
looked up from her work with some surprise as Betty
entered the room.
' How late you are, Bee,' she said quietly. * Luncheon
will be ready in a moment, and father has been asking
for you. What have you been doing, dear ? you look
so hot and tired.'
* I have been walking with a tramp,' returned Betty,
with a nervous little laugh, for all this had upset her.
' He had broken boots, and the edges of his trousers
were frayed and ragged, and oh, his socks, Marty ! and
he had a nail in his boot, and his feet were all festered
and sore, and I bathed them.'
* What ! ' exclaimed Martha in an astonished voice.
' My dear Bee, you bathed the feet of a common tramp ! '
Then Betty's eyes began to twinkle, and she went on
glibly : * Oh, he wasn't a common tramp, you see ; and
Mrs. Deeds gave me a nice tub of hot water. The poor
fellow fainted, and we found he had had no food since
yesterday, and he had slept under a haystack ' — here
Betty laughed and then choked a little. ' And his name
is Ivor Lassiter; and Sheila hugged him when she saw
him and called him " darling " ; and — oh dear, what a
xiii BETTY HAS AN ADVENTURE 145
goose I am ! ' And Betty, to her own surprise and
Martha's dismay, suddenly burst out crying and ran out
of the room, leaving Martha to digest this extraordinary
piece of intelligence.
Meanwhile Sheila had left Ivor in the passage and
had sought her brother. He was finishing some work
and hardly looked up at her entrance, and she stood
opposite him for a few moments in silence.
' Ned,' she said at last.
' I am very busy — must you interrupt me, my dear ? '
Ned's tone was a trifle impatient. Authors are liable
to be irritable when the divine afflatus is upon them.
Ned's imagination had just struck a rich vein ; the
chariot wheels of his fancy no longer drove heavily ;
he had a store of wealth to unfold. At another time
the brightness of his eyes and his repressed excitement
would have warned her to withdraw with her errand
untold, but to-day she remained.
' Ned, I am sorry, but I cannot go until I have told
you something.' Then as he looked up, struck by the
unusual agitation of her tone, he saw she was very pale
and that her eyes were full of tears.
' Ned, we have news of our boy at last ' — her voice
was low and she almost whispered the words.
Then he gave her a keen glance. ' Oh, I see,' he said
quietly. ' I can read your face. She — Ivor has come
home.' He laid down his pen, pulling himself together
as he did so. 'Where is the boy? — I will go to him.' But
Ivor, who was standing outside, at that moment entered
the room and stood a shabby figure in the sunlight.
' Ned, I have turned up again like a bad penny,' he
said with a deprecatory smile. ' Don't be harder on me
than you can help, old fellow ; for I am in Queer Street
and no mistake,'
L
CHAPTER XIV
' don't be too hard on the lad ! '
In your life's shipwreck you might have saved yourself but that you
were ashamed to seize your plank of safety, and so went to the bottom. —
Carmen Sylva.
As Ned grasped his brother's hand, his face worked
and he was silent with repressed emotion, but there
was a pained look in his eyes. •
Sheila's whole-souled tenderness had, however, no
such cloud. The prodigal had returned to them in
sorry plight, but she had only rejoiced over him as of
one from the dead. He was Ivor, and still her darling,
and nothing else mattered. But to Ned the gladness
was mingled with bitterness ; and though there was no
want of kindness in his greeting, something in his
manner seemed to embarrass Ivor.
' Don't be harder on me than you can help, Ned,'
he said again. As he stood there, a forlorn, dejected
object, in the sunshine, his battered, weary, footsore
appearance filled Ned with indignant pity.
Eight years before, the boy had left their roof,
secretly and without compunction, to seek his fortune
in the wide world, and from that day no word had
reached them from the wanderer. How was a man,
146
CHAP. XIV 'DON'T BE TOO HARD ON THE LAD !' 147
even though he was a brother, to forget such black-
hearted selfishness and ingratitude. Could any father
have done more for him than he had — and Sheila too,
whose love had been truly maternal ? And yet all
these years Ivor had never cared to inquire if they
were living or dead !
Ned felt something like the Elder Brother in the
parable as he stood there during those first few minutes.
He would say no word of reproach that should break
the bruised reed, but neither could he pretend to a
gladness that he did not feel.
' So you have come back to us, Ivor, because the
world has not treated you well,' he said at last, putting
his hand on the young man's shoulder. The tone was
kindly, but, alas, the words were too true to be contra-
dicted. Ned had not meant to say them, but he was
not quite master of himself
Ivor shrank a little under his brother's firm grasp.
• I could not help it,' he returned sadly. ' I was
ashamed to write and let you know how badly I was
getting on. Nothing seemed to go right with me.
Of course you are not pleased to see me, Ned. When
I think how I have treated you and Sheila, I could
not hope for a warm reception ; but I knew you would
not let a fellow starve.'
' No, you were right there.' But at that moment
Sheila hastily interposed. Ned's constrained manner
and pained expression filled her with alarm. Ned was
her dearer self, and she could not be hard on him,
but her heart bled for Ivor.
' Dear Ned,' she said pleadingly, ' why need we
trouble about the past ? We must forgive as we hope
to be forgiven. Ivor has come back to us. He has
been ill, and is nearly starved. Look at his poor face —
148 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
how thin and sharp it is.' And again there was a rush
of bitterness and pity in Ned's heart.
' Yes, I see. Well, Ivor, lad, I will do my best for
you. Sheila '—turning to her as usual for advice and
help — ' do you think we ought to let Eppie see him
like this ? And then there is Ruth.' But Sheila's
answer was conclusive. ' Take him to your room, dear,
and give him some fresh linen. If he could only wear
your clothes — but that is impossible. I will tell Eppie
to keep back the luncheon for half an hour.' And
Ned nodded and withdrew.
Ivor was only too thankful to follow him. When
the brothers reappeared, Ivor looked a different being.
The luxury of a warm bath and clean linen had fresh-
ened him immensely, and, in spite of his dilapidated
garments, he had lost his cowed, down-trodden look.
The news had been broken to Eppie, and as Ivor
appeared at the kitchen door, the faithful creature
rushed at him and flung her arms round him. ' Oh,
my bonny man,' she sobbed, — ' my ain wee laddie !
Oh, but it makes my heart leap to see your face again.
I am an auld dune body, but I'm clean driven dottle
with joy ' ; and Eppie threw her apron over her head
to hide the tears that were running down her rugged
face. ' May the Almichty have mercy upon us for
doubting Him ! * they heard her murmur. ' And if our
laddie has done any wrang, dinna cast it up against
him, for we are sinners all — and ye ken the lave.*
' Amen,' whispered Ned. And then with full hearts
they gathered round the table, and Eppie, sending
Ruth from the room, waited on them herself.
In spite of Sheila's efforts, it was rather a silent
meal. Ned, who had recovered himself, strove to draw
his brother into conversation ; but Ivor seemed depressed
XIV 'DON'T BE TOO HARD ON THE LAD !' 149
and uncommunicative, and answered almost in mono-
syllables ; and Sheila, with quick tact, gave Ned a
sign to leave him in peace.
Eppie created a diversion when she bore in the
pudding with a triumphant look. * It is the bairn's
favourite,' she whispered in Sheila's ear; and as she
carried round the plate to Ivor, she patted him on the
shoulder.
* Ye'U ken it weel, my laddie,' she said in a coaxing
voice. ' Aye, many a time have you given me the cry
for golden pudding. What for no do you not eat it ? '
But Ivor laid down his fork with a smile that went to
Sheila's heart.
' I know it well, Eppie ; but I have feasted royally,
and I have not been used to such luxurious meals.
There, I will taste it to please you, but I can do no
more. I think I am too tired to eat' Then, at
Sheila's bidding, the plate was taken away.
When luncheon was over, Ned informed them that
he would be obliged to leave them for an hour. * I
have not quite finished my article,' he said, ' and I
promised the editor that it should go by the evening
post. You had better take Ivor to the garden ; he
will be glad of a little rest and quiet.'
Then Sheila saw a look of relief on Ivor's face.
Ned's presence evidently embarrassed him. Perhaps
there was something that he wanted to say to her
alone. He seemed greatly depressed, and even Ned's
kindness had not cheered him ; and Sheila's head sank
a little as she saw the moodiness of his face.
She led the way to the shady corner under the firs ;
and as Ivor stretched himself with a sigh of comfort
on a hammock chair, she sat down beside him. ' Ivor
dear,' she said, and there was exquisite tenderness in
ISO AT THE MOORINGS chap.
her voice, ' there is something troubling you. We are
not making you happy. Ned is so good and kind, and
yet you seem to avoid talking to him.' But here she
stopped, dismayed at the change in his expression.
His face had grown suddenly white again, and he
seemed hardly able to speak. The next moment his
head was buried in his hands.
'That is just it,' he muttered. 'I am afraid of
him. Ned is so straight, he won't understand how a
fellow is tempted, and he will think me such a pitiful
cur. Sheila,' turning to her with a sort of desperation,
' there is no hiding things, and I may as well make a
clean breast to you. I am m.arried.'
Now it was Sheila's turn to look pale, and it was
evident from her face that Ivor's words had given her
a shock.
' Married ! ' she gasped.
' Yes, for the last seven years. I was little more
than a boy when I made a fool of myself; and Nell
was young too. We were just a couple of children.
She.' But here Ivor groaned. ' I have got to think
of her and the kids. There is a boy and a girl ; the
other two are dead.'
' You have two children living ? ' The crescendo
note in Sheila's tone spoke of dire dismay.
' Yes ; a girl of six — Bunnie ; she is such a good
little soul, and so sensible for her age ' ; here there
was a trace of fatherly pride in Ivor's voice. ' Tom is
just three ; he is delicate like his mother, Nell, poor
girl, has had a hard life of it. I could not get on over
there, so I brought them to England. I had enough
scraped up for the passage-money — of course we came
steerage — but the few pounds that remained have all
gone. I could not even pay the railway fare down
XIV 'DON'T BE TOO HARD ON THE LAD!' 151
here. I had to walk every step of the way. I had
been down to Cottingdean and got your address. I
would have waited to write, but we had only a
shilling between us, and Nell and the kids must be fed.'
Sheila put her hand to her throat as though some-
thing choked her, but her words were quiet enough.
' If things were as bad as that, you should have written,
Ivor, and told us the truth. You know Ned and I
would have come to you. It was not right to keep all
this from us, as though we were strangers ; it was not
kind, my dear.' It was her sole reproach to him, and
the gentleness of her voice quite unmanned Ivor. He
laid down his head on the table and sobbed like a
child. Hardship and sickness had broken his spirit, and
Sheila's soft, compassionate tone was too much for him.
* It is not for myself — I deserve to starve,' he went
on presently ; ' but I can't face the children asking me
for food. London is such a cruel place. She : miles of
houses and thousands of faces, and not one helping
hand held out to a poor chap in misfortune. I can't
get work. They won't trust me ; my appearance is
not respectable enough, and they think me a shady
customer — and no wonder. And if Ned will not help
me, we must go to the workhouse, unless I break
stones on the road.'
* My poor dear — my poor dear boy ! ' Sheila was
kneeling beside him now, and her arm was round him.
What did it matter that he had deserted and left them
in the dark all these years ! He was ill, unhappy, and
he needed her — could there be stronger claims to any
woman ?
' Dear Ivor, Ned will surely help you ; but you must
tell me more, and then we can consult together. There
must be no more holding back — let us know the truth.'
152 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* You shall know everything as far as I know it,'
returned Ivor wearily ; ' but it has been a muddle
from beginning to end. At first I got on fairly well.
I was determined to see the world and have my fling ;
and I and another fellow, George Garnett — you re-
member Garnett, She, though you never liked him —
well, we worked our way to America.'
' Do you mean that dreadful boy was with you ?
Oh, Ivor, when you knew how Ned warned you against
him, and would never allow him to come to the
house ! '
Ivor shrugged his shoulders drearily. ' I don't want
to excuse myself — it was all of a piece — but I was
infatuated with George, and he managed to keep me
under his influence. We kept together a bit — picking
up jobs and amusing ourselves as well as we could.
Then I hired myself out as travelling attendant to an
invalid gentleman going to Sydney. I came across
him somehow, and he took a fancy to me ; and if
I had kept my situation it would have been better
for me ; but I got sick of it after a time and threw it
up. After that I got a clerkship in a store, and
though the pay was small, I managed to live on it ;
and if I had not met Nell ' he paused, but Sheila's
eyes asked him to proceed, and he went on hurriedly :
' Nell wasn't what you call a lady. Sheila, but she
was a good sort all the same. She served in the same
Store — she was in the haberdashery department — but
we used to walk home together at night. She
was rather pretty then — very fair and slight — only
I am afraid you and Ned might have thought her
common. Her father was — he was an agent for a
coal depot — and they lived in some pokey little rooms
behind the office. It was such a grubby little place —
XIV 'DON'T BE TOO HARD ON THE LAD!' 153
the windows all caked with coal-dust — but it looked
cosy enough of an evening, with a bright fire and the
curtains drawn. Nell's mother was dead, and she
and old Josiah Cobbe lived alone. He wasn't a bad
fellow — though he would eat his dinner in his shirt-
sleeves — and Nell was very fond of him.
' I think it was because I knew no one in Sydney
that I felt drawn to Nell ; she was a bit lonely too.
I don't know that I was exactly in love with her ;
but I saw she liked me, and I could not help noticing
how she brightened up when I came near. That sort
of thing appeals to a man's vanity, and very soon
I fancied myself in love.'
' Oh, my poor misguided boy ! ' but Sheila was
fondling his hand as she spoke. If she had given
utterance to her thoughts at that moment she would
have said : ' What is the use of reproaching him ? If
he has sinned, he has been punished enough. He
has hung a millstone round his own neck, and he will
have to drag it after him all his life long. If Ned
is angry with him, I must take his part ; he was so
young, it was just thoughtlessness ' ; and here Sheila
stiffened inwardly. ' " The woman beguiled me, and
I did eat," ' she said to herself For, with all her
generosity, Sheila felt inclined to turn a cold shoulder
to Ivor's wife.
' Nell was quite inclined to marry me,' he went on ;
' in fact, when I asked her, she cried for joy, and told
me that she had been in love with me ever since
I had spoken so kindly to her the first evening.
' " Of course, I see you are a cut above me," she said ;
" and I can tell from your ways and speech that you
have mixed with gentlefolk. I am just a rough little
Colonial girl, and as for father " but I would not
154 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
let her go on in that strain. I told her a clerk who
only had fifty pounds a year had no right to be
proud. Well, the long and short of it was, we
determined to be married ; and as Nell would not
leave her father, and Josiah was willing to put up
with my company, we all packed into that grimy
little nest behind the coal-yard. It was not much
of a place certainly, but it was better than a lonely
garret and a nagging, scolding landlady. Nell was
a good little girl, if she was a bit rough, and she made
me fairly comfortable, though I own I was homesick
at times, and wished myself back in Brook Street.
I could not bear to let you know I was married ; I just
put it off from day to day, and then I was ashamed
to write.
' Nell went to the Store for a few months after we
were married, and then she fainted one day and was
forced to give it up ; but I got a rise, and we had no
rent to pay, and old Cobbe was good to us, and
while he lived we did pretty well.'
Sheila sighed, she was trying to picture it, how
narrow and squalid it all sounded.
' Nell was ailing for a long time after Bunnie was
born. We called her after you, Sheila, but she had
given herself the name of Bunnie, and we have never
used any other.
'The coal -yard was not the best sort of place for
children, and in the hot weather Nell and the baby
drooped sadly, I don't want to make a long story
of it. She. There were two other children born there —
boys both of them, and fine little fellows ; but one
terribly hot summer, when there was a good deal of
sickness in Sydney, especially among children, we lost
them both. It was some sort of low fever, but the
XIV 'DON'T BE TOO HARD ON THE LAD!' 155
doctor said that better air and nourishment would
have saved them — that they had no chance in that
stifling hole. Nell nearly broke her heart. Ned was
such a pretty little fellow ; and though Willie was
only a baby, he was such a bright, lively child. Don't
cry about it. She — they are better off, poor little chaps.'
And Ivor frowned and looked distressed as Sheila
wiped away her tears.
' It is such a sad story, dear, and you have gone
through so much.'
' You are right there. But let me finish — there is
not much more to tell. Soon after Tom was born,
poor old Cobbe died, and we had to clear out of the
yard. Tom was always sickly from the first — I
suppose his mother had fretted too much — and many a
time we thought we should have lost him ; but he
always pulled through. Often and often, when Nell
was dropping with fatigue, I have had to walk up and
down the room with him at night, when his fretting
would not let us sleep. I had stuck to my work all
this time, but I soon found that it was impossible to
keep out of debt. Our lodgings were poor enough,
but they were too dear for us ; and one day, when
they gave me the sack, I determined to come home.'
* Your employers turned you off. But why, Ivor ? '
' Oh, I failed to give them satisfaction. They said
that I made so many mistakes. On my word, there
was nothing wrong, She ; but the loss of my nights'
rest, and the constant worry, nearly drove me wild.
I think my illness must have been coming on. Nell
begged me to see the chief and ask him to give me
another trial, but I knew it was no good ; besides, the
home-sickness was too strong for me. I thought, if I
could only get to England, that you and Ned might
156 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
help me to find employment, I know now that I was
not in a right state to reason it out, though no one
knew it — I was just sickening for the fever. Nell
indeed tried to dissuade me, but I would not listen to
her. A small sum of money had come to her from her
father, and we sold off our few sticks of furniture and
started for the old country.
' I was ill during most of the voyage, and but for
the doctor — a good chap he was too — I should have
been long ago thrown overboard. It was a sort of low
fever — not infectious, but very undermining to the
constitution ; but Dr. Maule's care and Nell's nursing
brought me round.
' There was a decent fellow on board, a plumber
and glazier, who was coming home, with a bit of
money, to set up business with his brother. He was
an intelligent sort of chap, and had educated himself,
and we fraternised together. He and Bunnie were
great friends ; and when I was at my worst, and Nell
could not leave me, he would take the children on
deck for a breath of fresh air. Sam Bell was his name,
but the kids always called him " Uncle Sam,"
' He was bound for Camberwell. But he told me
that he had a sister living at Camden Town, and that,
as she was a decent woman and the rooms were cheap,
I could not do better than take them while I looked
for work ; and as we had not a notion where to go,
I acted on his advice. I offered to pay a fortnight in
advance, and Mrs. Jennings let us take her top floor, and
we had some furniture from the broker's. As our purse
was getting low, I wanted to go down to Cottingdean
and make inquiries ; but I got wet one day and was
laid up with another touch of fever, and it was nearly
three weeks before I was strong enough for the journey.
XIV 'DON'T BE TOO HARD ON THE LAD!' 157
' It was rather a shock to find you no longer lived
there ; but I felt more hopeful when I heard that Aunt
Sarah had left you some money, and that you were
settled at Uplands.
' There was no time to be lost. When the week's
rent was paid there was only a shilling in my pocket,
and I had to give that to Nell. I had to tramp every
mile of the way, and to sleep, fasting, under a haystack.
It is not a nice story, is it, She ? ' But Sheila could not
speak for the tears that choked her utterance. She
grew calmer presently.
' Ivor, it is all so sad and hopeless, but we must
think what is to be done. There is Ned to be told ' —
here Ivor winced — ' and it would be better for you
to do it yourself
'Yes, I suppose so,' but it was easy to see that
Ivor was funking it.
* I don't know how it is,' he said, with an uneasy
laugh, ' but I was always a bit afraid of Ned, and I
have the feeling still. But if it has to be done '
and here he looked appealingly at Sheila. But she
was wise enough to harden her heart.
' Yes, it has to be done, darling, and you must do it,'
she said firmly; and at that moment Ned came
towards them from the house.
He was walking rather stiffly and holding his head
high, and his face was unusually grave. His manner
was so strange that Sheila looked at him in surprise.
'You must have dropped this in my room, Ivor,' he
said in a judicial tone, * and I have just found it ' ; and
he handed a photograph to his brother.
It was only a common cheap photograph, and had
been done by some amateur. There was a little family
group — a young woman with a child on her lap and a
158 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xiv
little girl beside her, but the young man behind her
was unmistakably Ivor.
' Yes, I must have dropped it,' returned Ivor hastily,
but he changed colour and avoided Ned's eyes.
' I hope you have told Sheila that you have a wife
and children,' observed Edward dryly, and he would
have turned and left them only Sheila caught his arm.
' Ned, you must hear him ; it is all so sad, and Ivor
knows how wrong he has been.'
' I will tell you all about it, Ned, if you will only
listen,' returned Ivor in a weak, spent voice, that some-
how drove the frown from Ned's brow. Why did a
sudden recollection cross his memory ? He was stand-
ing by his father's bedside, a feeble hand was holding
his — * Don't be too hard on the lad, Ned ! The boy
takes after me.*
' Yes, I will hear you ' ; Ned turned suddenly round
on his brother, and there was a gleam of kindness in
his eyes. Great God, how like Ivor was to his father !
After all, they were brothers. ' Now let me hear the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, for
heaven's sake,' — and Ned composed himself to listen.
CHAPTER XV
THE ELDER BROTHER
A more glorious victory cannot be gained over another man than this,
that when the injury begins on his part, the kindness should begin on
ours. — TiLLOTSON.
The story had been told, and Ivor, worn out with
fatigue and emotion, had retired to his room and had
already sunk into heavy sleep. When Sheila went in
search of Ned, she found him pacing up and down the
ivy-covered pergola, solacing himself as usual with his
pipe. ' My Lady Nicotine,' as he would say, ' is the
best sort of mate a man can have. She is for better
and for worse. If I ever feel inclined to cut my throat,
I shall just light my pipe, and criminal instincts will
vanish into smoke. Ah, She, what you miss by being
a woman ! ' and Ned's shrug of the shoulder conveyed
a vast amount of contemptuous pity.
Sheila felt vaguely anxious. Ned had treated his
brother with forbearance and kindness. He had said
little, it is true, but as far as possible he had tried to
refrain from any expression of disapproval or censure.
When Ivor had blundered through his confession,
Ned had sat for a few minutes in silence ; then he put
his hand on his brother's shoulder.
'You need not say any more, I can grasp things
159
i6o AT THE xMOORINGS chap.
now. You are dead-beat, old fellow ; Eppie will have
got your room ready, and I advise you to have a long
night's rest ' ; and Ivor was thankful to take this advice.
Sheila accompanied him to see that all was ready
for his accommodation. The large front attic had been
set apart as a guest-room. As Ivor looked round the
spacious apartment, in spite of its sloping walls and
homely furniture, it seemed to him almost palatial. The
window was low, but a glorious view stretched before
him. Ivor thought of the rooms with their tiny case-
ments opening on the coal-yard, and then of the two
bare little attics in Juniper Place, and the tears rose to
his eyes. If only Nell and the children could have had
all this space and fresh air ! And then he thought of
his boys, who had pined and sickened in the hot, stifling
atmosphere. * It is the innocent who suffer,' he
groaned ; but he was too spent to indulge long in re-
morseful reflections.
Sheila had stolen to his door to assure herself that
he was asleep before she went into the garden. It was
growing dusk now — the sweet, uncertain gloaming of a
summer evening — and the milk-white bloom of the nico-
tianas gleamed from the garden walks, their fragrance
somewhat overpowered by Ned's pipe. It was just the
hour when they loved to pace up and down, now silent
and now talking of any subject that interested them ;
and at such times Ned would speak of his day's work,
of the book he had been reading — ' thinking aloud,' as
he called it, to the sister who was his other self
* Well, Sheila ? ' It was his sole greeting ; and
then they turned as usual into the kitchen-garden, but
fo'. a time nothing more was said.
' Ivor is asleep,' she observed presently. ' I stole
into his room, but he never heard me. He looks just
XV THE ELDER BROTHER l6l
his old self, Ned, only his face is so thin and worn.
How he must have suffered ! Did you notice the
hollows in his temples ? '
* I noticed everything,' replied Ned rather gloomily ;
for there were limits even to ' my Lady Nicotine's '
influence, and one could hardly appreciate the full
flavour of a pipe when one's little world was in chaos.
* I suppose one must pay the penalty of behaving
like a madman,' he went on. ' Shylock is not the
only creditor who will have his pound of flesh. I take
it, an apostle cannot be far wrong when he says we must
reap as we sow. If we sow tares we shall reap tares —
and only a fool would expect a crop of corn,'
' Ivor has been punished,' returned Sheila sadly.
' In rags and starving ! Oh, if you had seen Eppie
crying over his socks ! And his boots, why, they could
hardly hold together ' ; for, being a woman, she realised
the outward and visible signs of the prodigal. But to
Ned they were merely symbolical of inward destitution.
* He has done wrong and must suffer for it,' he
said rather sternly. ' Good heavens. Sheila, surely
you cannot defend his conduct ! A clerk earning his
fifty pounds per annum in a store and marrying on
this salary — a shop-girl too ! And then bringing
helpless creatures into a world which has more kicks
than halfpence for beggars' brats. When I think of
the gross selfishness, the weak, exasperating folly of
the whole thing, I feel that I can hardly trust myself
to look at him.'
* Dear Ned, we must be patient ; what is done
cannot be undone.' But Ned was too much absorbed
in his bitter reflections to pay any heed to Sheila's
remark.
' Mark my words,' he went on, * Ivor is responsible
M
i62 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
for his boys' death — in a sense he is a murderer. He
married and brought children into the world, though
he knew he could not maintain them. Why, the very
birds of the air rebuke him — do they hatch their
young until the nest is warmly lined ? What did that
Sydney doctor say — that better air and food would
have saved the boys ? Good heavens, if such words had
been said to me — if such an inhuman crime had been
imputed to me, I would have hung a millstone round
my neck and thrown myself into the nearest mill-dam ! '
But he spoke figuratively, as Sheila knew. It was
the indignation of the elder brother — of the strong man
over the weak, tempted one. * There goes John Baxter
save for the grace of God ' had been a worthy speech
handed down for all time, but it had not occurred to
Ned at that moment. Edward Lassiter was not self-
righteous, he had nothing of the Pharisee about him,
but he had an utter contempt for weak self-indulgence
or fatuous folly ; in being angry he was only acting
according to his nature. His own life had been hard-
working and joyless, and its very limitations had
shielded him from temptations. If he had loved any
woman he would have desired to marry her, but no
such woman had crossed his orbit, and so all pain of
conflict had been spared him. Nevertheless, he knew
well, and his guardian angel knew it too, that if any
such temptation had assailed him, he would have had a
fierce wrestle for the mastery.
Ned could close his lips firmly, but he could not
conceal from his own inner consciousness that he
despised Ivor for his weak selfishness. And Sheila's
face clouded more and more as she listened to him.
It was better for him to say what he thought, and
she would not check him if she could help it. But
XV THE ELDER BROTHER 163
it was growing late, and there was much to decide.
Perhaps it was owing to some transmission of thought,
but, as Sheila sighed, Ned suddenly pulled himself
together.
* Well, it is no good talking ; Ivor is here, and we
have got to put up with him. And now the question
is — What is to be done ? '
* That is what I have been thinking.' Sheila was
so suspiciously ready with her answer, that it was
evident that she had come to some sort of conclusion.'
' Ned, I have been wondering if it would not be best
to go back with him to-morrow and see his wife and
the children. We might take them a few comforts,,
and find out what they need most'
' We had better take the early train, and then we
shall have the day before us.' As Ned uttered no
word of objection, it was evident that he recognised
the reasonableness of this suggestion. * Great minds
jump together,' he was fond of saying, and neither he
nor Sheila were likely to beat about the bush when
there was work to be done.
' I had better take Ivor to Tottenham Court Road,'
he continued, ' and get him some ready-made clothes
and some boots ; we cannot let any one see him as
he is.'
' No indeed,' sighed Sheila ; ' and he must have his
hair cut, it looks so long and wild. * I wonder what
Betty could think of him.' But at this allusion Ned's
face darkened again ; it hurt his pride cruelly that
their kind neighbours at the Old Cottage should hear
this humiliating tale. He wondered what Miss Wood-
ford would have said when Betty carried the story
home. If only Betty had not mixed herself up with
it, he thought irritably, and it must be owned rather
i64 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
unreasonably. But Sheila, who had been much touched
by Ivor's account of the girl's kindness and considera-
tion, wrote a little note to Betty before she went to bed,
thanking her so lovingly for all her goodness to her
poor brother, that Betty nearly shed tears over it.
' I think I had better walk up to Burton's and order
a fly for the early train,' suggested Ned, after a little
more conversation ; but at this moment an interruption
occurred.
They had been sauntering up and down the garden
paths, and Sheila, who was tired, had paused for a
moment to lean against the front gate and enjoy the
fresh air blowing from the common. It was almost
too dark to see each other's faces, and in the upper
windows of the Old Cottage a light was moving to
and fro.
The stillness, the darkness were so soothing and
restful ! Now and then a night-moth brushed against
them, or the harsh creaky note of the nightjar sounded
in the distance ; but Sheila was lost in thought, and she
started perceptibly as a tall dark figure emerged from
the bushes — neither of them had heard footsteps in the
soft ruts of Sandy Lane.
* I hope I have not startled you, Miss Lassiter,' and
a voice that had grown familiar to her of late sounded
close to her. ' I am afraid that I am a very late visitor,
but as Peter insisted on a walk, I thought I would call
and ask your brother for that number of the Circle he
promised me.'
* Please do not apologise, we are always glad to see
our friends — are we not. Sheila ? ' and Ned unlatched
the gate ; but his tone was a little forced.
Mr. Brett had been a frequent visitor during these
last few weeks. From the first the two men had been
XV THE ELDER BROTHER 165
mutually attracted. ' Brett suits me down to the
ground,* Ned had remarked ; while the vicar had
observed to Miss Woodford on one occasion, 'I like
Lassiter ; he is a genuine product, and there's no
humbug about him ; it is the real thing, not a layer
of good bricks and then shoddy and rubbish,' and
Martha had understood this as high praise.
Ned had smoked the pipe of peace frequently in
the vicar's sanctum, and it had grown rather a habit
with Luke Brett to saunter up to The Moorings on
what he called * Peter's prowl,' and join them in the
garden. They always made him feel that he was
welcome, and the hour that followed was one of
refreshment to them all. Sheila, who seldom joined
in the talk, sat by an interested listener, only putting
in a word now and then when one or other of the
gentlemen appealed to her.
Ruth had been lighting the hall lamp, and a pleasant
radiance streamed on them as they went towards the
house, followed by four very short legs and a body so
near the ground that 'the Orphan' fled up a tree, thinking
it was a new species of animal — not that Peter, pattering
solemnly at his master's heels, would have noticed any-
thing so frivolous.
Ned, who knew his duty, brought the chairs into the
radius of the light, and Peter squatted contentedly at
his master's feet. Propinquity to his master con-
stituted Peter's notion of heaven. His idea of utter
bliss was to curl himself up within reach of a fondling
hand. When Mr. Brett touched him, a quiver of joy
passed through his sensitive body. It was evident that
this strange pair understood each other thoroughly.
Ned went to his study to look for the paper.
Then Mr. Brett, who had stooped to pat his faithful
i66 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
satellite, said in his quiet, level voice, * I am afraid Peter
and I are de trop to-night. Something is troubling
you both. Shall I go away, or is there anything I
can do ? '
' No, oh no ' — but Sheila sighed — ' please do not go
away ; you always do Ned so much good. One must
have troubles in this life ' Sheila stopped, and her
expression was harassed. Ned's moodiness and de-
pression had infected her. He had not rejoiced as she
had over Ivor's return ; but then, as Edward rather
quaintly put it, 'he could have put up with Ivor
barring his wife and children, but that was rather too
large an order.'
* I wish you would treat me as a friend and tell
me all about it ' — Luke Brett's deep voice was very
persuasive. People often said that the vicar was an
excellent father confessor, and that there was some-
thing magnetic in his voice and manner when he chose
to exercise his influence. Sheila, worn with the day's
emotions, found herself unable to resist it.
* We have had a shock,' she faltered. ' You did not
know — of course not, for we have not told any one
here — that we have another brother.'
*No, I did not know that' If Mr. Brett were
surprised, he did not appear so ; he only leant forward
and played with the dachshund's long ears.
' Ivor is younger than either of us, and somehow
he was always younger than his age, and he was weak
and easily led.'
' Weak people give a good deal of trouble some-
times ' — Mr. Brett was giving her a helping hand.
* You are right,' with a sigh. She was thankful
that he understood her so quickly. * Perhaps Ned was
a little too strict with him — it was so difficult for him to
XV THE ELDER BROTHER 167
understand a nature like Ivor's — but I know he did his
best and tried to be kind.
' I think we may take that for granted,' in a clear
voice.
' But all the same he made Ivor afraid of him, and
it was very difficult to keep the peace between them ' —
Sheila spoke dejectedly ; she had never named this
before to any human being, but Luke's quiet influence
was making itself felt.
* Peacemakers have their work cut out for them in
this world,' murmured her listener.
* One morning Eppie came to me in a fright. Ivor's
bed had not been slept in that night. She brought
me a pencilled note that he had scrawled. He had
gone away to seek his fortune, and wished us good-
bye — nothing more than that. It cut Ned to the
heart to think of our boy stealing out of the house
in the gray dawn. Oh, it does not bear thinking about
even now — and that was eight years ago.'
' But you have heard from him ? '
' No, not a word — all those weary years, not one
word.'
Mr. Brett's lips were slightly compressed at Sheila's
tone ; its quiet patience seemed to speak to his trained
ears of a whole gamut of emotion from suspense and
fear to hopeless waiting and endurance.
* Not one word,' she repeated. ' And then to-day
he came. Betty Woodford met him in the village and
showed him the way. I came upon them in Sandy
Lane.'
* Well — oh, please do not stop.' Luke's dark face
was vivid with interest.
' It was Ivor ; I recognised him at once, but Kaiser
thought he was a tramp, and I had to call him off.
i68 AT THE MOORINGS ch-A.p.
He was shabby and worn, and was limping as though
he were lame. But here comes Ned. Of course he is
terribly upset about all this.'
' I have been hunting all over the place for that
number. I found it at last wedged in between the
what-not and the v>-all.' Ned's voice was fatigued but
triumphant ; he hated to be beaten even in finding a
book.
' Thanks,' returned the vicar briefly, as he held out
his hand for the magazine.
' I have been a long time, I am afraid.' Then he
caught sight of Sheila's face, and his expression
changed, ' So you have been telling Mr. Brett about
it. She ? ' But Shelia could not guess from Ned's
ambiguous tone if he were sorrj' or relieved.
* I have not told him all, Ned — only that Ivor has
come home.'
' Our version of the prodigal has its complications '
— here Ned's short laugh was hardly mirthful. ' He has
come back from the far country with a wife and two
children. To-morrow we are to make the acquaintance
of our sister-in-law.'
It was evident that Mr. Brett was surprised. This
was worse than he expected, — it was easy to grasp the
situation.
' I am sorry to hear this,' he said very gravely, but
he looked at Sheila as he spoke. ' I can only hope,
for both your sakes, that you may be favourably
impressed with your brother's wife.'
' We are neither of us very sanguine on that point ' —
Ned spoke with forced calmness. ' She was a colonial
girl, and from what Ivor tells us we cannot expect
much.'
Ned could not bring himself to say more — he thought
XV THE ELDER BROTHER 169
the sordid details of the coal-yard need not be repeated
— but Mr. Brett guessed much of the trutL
'I cannot tell you how sorr>* I am for you, Lassiter,'
and Luke Brett's voice was full of feeling ; ' if I can
help you in any way, I hope you will tell me so. And
you go up town to-morrow ? '
' How are we to help ourselves ? ' and Xed spoke
with concentrated bitterness. ' Mv brother tells me
that only the workhouse is before them. I believe
they are even in need of food.'
' Yes, I see there is no help for it — the duty is a
plain one. But your sister looks worn out, and it is
getting late ; I will see you again and have a talk
about this.'
* If you will wait a moment I will walk down with
you — I have to order the fly ' ; and as Ned went into
the house a moment, Mr. Brett turned to Sheila.
' Thank God that his shoulders are broad enough
for the burden ; I do not fear for him or you either,' — he
took her hand as he spoke. ' Trv' to rest ; to-morrow
will bring you counsel. I shall remember you both.
God bless you ! ' And then Xed joined him, and the
two men went out silently together.
CHAPTER XVI
NELL
A loving heart is the great requirement. — Teaching of Buddha.
Let's find the sunny side of men —
Or be believers in it ;
A light there is in every soul
That takes the pains to win it.
Anon.
More than once during her long wakeful night Sheila
thought of Luke Brett's valediction, and the strong
warm grasp of his hand as they stood together in the
dim starlight. He had said little — the vicar was a
man who never wasted words — but his very silence
had been eloquent. He was sorry for them — as far as
lay in his power he was ready to help them — but it
was his creed that preaching was most effective in
the pulpit, and that sympathy was best translated into
action.
There was an old motto that he loved, and which
he had had illuminated on the wall over his study
m^-nteX^iece, Dm'uvi frango patietitia — 'I break a hard
thing with patience.'
*I bain't afeerd of parson,' an old labourer once
said to Sheila ; ' he don't terrify a body with shouting
textesses at un ; he just takes up the poker and
makes a flare, and says he, " My aunt must send
170
CHAP, xvr NELL 171
you something good for that cough, Robin, or we shall
not be seeing you at our Christmas Eve Service."
And,' says he, ' I bean't put my foot across the
threshold of the church all the summer — and he
never let fly at un ; he knowed without telling that
the rheumatics were in my boanes. Oh, he is a rare
good sort, is parson.'
It was Luke Brett's belief that every back was
fitted for its burthen — that trouble must be looked in
the face and not shuffled into the background to scare
and harass a man in his hours of weakness and depres-
sion. ' We must grapple with a difficulty,' he would say,
' or it will crush us in the end.' At the same time he
was slow to speak words of consolation until the right
time came. He was a man who had always kept his
troubles to himself — who, in a world full of human
beings, had dwelt alone. And yet no heart was truer
to his fellow-creatures or more open to the appeals of
suffering humanity.
There were hours, though no one knew it, when the
problems and mysteries of life seemed to lie like a vast
wall built up round him, that threatened to fall inward
and engulf him in utter ruin. But overhead the stars
were still glimmering. ' One must walk by faith in a
dark world,' he said once. * We human children cannot
expect to solve enigmas that would baffle an archangel,
so what is the use of trying ? There will be plenty of
time in eternity to decipher the hieroglyphics that have
bewildered us here.' And so, when he had strengthened
his hands and heart in that silent communion that
never failed him, he went forth to help others.
Sheila found it somewhat difficult to rouse Ivor
the next morning. He had slept the heavy sleep of
exhaustion, and woke dazed and confused by his new
172 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
surroundings — until his eyes met Sheila's smile, and
then he understood.
His feet were still extremely painful, and he made
such slow progress with dressing that the fly was at
the gate before he had half finished his breakfast.
Sheila seemed distressed at this, but Ivor rose at
once.
' I have done very well,' he said ; ' that cup of
coffee was meat and drink to me, and we must not
lose the train.' And Sheila reluctantly acquiesced
in this.
Ivor was very silent during the journey. He said
his head ached. Sheila was painfully struck by the
delicacy of his aspect. Years of privation had evidently
told on his constitution, and it would be long before he
would regain his normal strength. His dejection and
air of lassitude appealed to her with irresistible force.
He was evidently ill at ease, and when Ned had left
them together for a few minutes, she took the oppor-
tunity of saying a word to him.
' What is it, dear ? ' she asked gently ; * you are
troubling about something. Ned is good to you, is
he not ? '
* Oh, it is not that ' — and Ivor frowned and pulled
nervously at his moustache. ' He is far better to me
than I deserve. But I am wondering what you will
both say to Nell. She isn't your sort at all. What
chance has she had } ' he continued bitterly ; ' her
mother died before she was ten years old, and old
Cobbe, though he was a decent chap in his way, wasn't
exactly the sort of person to understand a girl. He
did his best, but it was a roughish life. And when the
children came, and she lost her health, she had a lot to
bear, poor girl.'
XVI NELL 173
Ivor spoke with real feeling ; Sheila wished Ned
could have heard him. With all his faults and short-
comings, he was evidently loyal to the woman who was
the mother of his children ; and though he had brought
her almost to beggary, he was prepared to stand up for
her before his relations.
* She isn't a bad sort really,' he went on, ' and after
a time you'll get used to her. She hasn't recovered
from nursing me on the voyage, and she rarely gets
her night's rest with Tom, poor little chap. He's so
fretful and ailing that he gives his mother a lot of
trouble. She says her back is always aching ; I have
seen her cry with the pain sometimes.' And then,
as Ned came back to them, Ivor limped away to the
bookstall for a moment to recover himself.
Happily the journey was a short one, and they soon
found themselves at Victoria, and then a cab conveyed
them to their destination.
Juniper Place was not exactly a cheerful locality ;
it consisted mainly of a row of dingy-looking houses,
facing some railway arches, with a blank wall at the
other end. The houses were high and narrow, and
had areas, and were chiefly inhabited by the families of
stokers and porters and navvies employed on the rail-
way, the cheapness of the houses counterbalancing the
confined view. To maternal eyes Juniper Place had its
advantages, for on wet days the children used the arch-
way end as their playground, where they could whoop
and whistle and air their lungs in healthy freedom.
As Ned paid the cabman, a little group of urchins
collected round him, and Sheila heard one little fellow
say to another, ' Ain't he big. Jack ? That Goliath
teacher told us about can't be no bigger.' But Jack was
equal to the occasion.
174 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' He's Fee-fo-fum, he is, what ketches and eats
children ; so look out for yourself, Joey ' ; and at
this alarming intelligence there was a scattering and
sudden dispersion into the safe recesses of the railway
arch.
' Poor little things,' sighed Sheila ; but Ivor only
shrugged his shoulders and led the way into the house.
' It is the top floor,' he said in an undertone.
As they toiled up the last flight of narrow stairs
they Could hear a child crying. 'That's Tom — he is
always at it,' muttered Ivor. Then he opened the door
for Sheila to enter. As she did so an unexpected sight
met her eyes.
A little girl was pacing up and down the room with
a small boy on her back, and bent nearly double under
the weight. She was such a tiny dot of a child that
she looked very little bigger than the boy she was
carrying, and she had a sharp, thin little face and a
crop of curly red hair. Ivor uttered an exclamation.
' Bunnie, how often I have told you not to carry Tom
like that ! Give him to me directly.' Then the boy,
with a fretful wail that went to Sheila's heart, clutched
his sister more tightly round the neck.
' Bunnie is Tom's gee-gee ; Tom's having nice ride.
Go away, dada. Gee-up, Bunnie!' But the next
minute he was in his father's arms.
' Don't be a naughty boy, Tom ; I have brought a
kind lady to see you.' But Tom, with the waywardness
of a sickly child, only buried his face in his father's
shoulder. * Don't want no ladies,' he muttered ;
' Tommy wants a ride.'
* Where is your mother, Bunnie ? ' Ivor's voice
sounded despairing. Tom was in one of his obstinate
moods. Bunnie stood by her father and regarded them
XVI NELL 175
both rather anxiously. The drops of perspiration stood
on her pale little face.
* Mother's gone out for a drop of milk,' she said in a
curiously sharp little voice. * Tommy was bad in the
night, and mother had to play horses with him. When
he has the pain some one has to be his gee-gee, dad.'
Bunnie spoke with decision. Obedience was good, but
necessity knows no law. If any one could have ex-
plained to Bunnie that she was contracting spinal
disease by her misplaced devotion, she would not have
budged from her point one inch. When the pain
troubled him, some one had to suffer too, and even
infantile backaches had to be endured.
* Mother said she had the toothache in her back,
and she could not play any more,' continued Bunnie
dejectedly. 'And she was afraid I should spill the
milk, and there was no more pennies, was there, Tom ? '
Here there was a fresh wail from Tom.
Ned could not bear it any longer. He had been a
silent witness in the background. The attic they were
in had sloping walls, and he could only stand upright
in the centre. It was clearly impossible to carry his
nephew pickaback without knocking both their heads,
but some primeval instinct made him drop on his hands
and knees.
* I will give Tommy a ride,' he said suddenly, to
Sheila's astonishment ; * put the little chap on my
back, Ivor, and hold him on ' ; and the next moment
Tommy's fretful whine turned into a shout of glee as
he felt his steed moving under him. He was rather a
pretty little fellow, and he had his father's fair hair and
blue eyes, but he was terribly emaciated — a mere little
bag of bones, as Ned said afterwards — but at that
moment his joy was great.
176 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* Gee on, Man ; Tommy wants to go faster.' And
it was at this moment that the door opened, and a
young woman with a little yellow jug in her hand
stood transfixed with astonishment on the threshold.
Sheila was the first to see her, but before she could
speak Ivor placed himself between them. * Nell,' he
said, ' this is my sister Sheila. She and my brother
have come to see you ' ; and he lifted off the protesting
Tom, and Ned rose to his feet with a sigh of relief
Nell gave him a frightened look as she shook hands
with him — ' His head almost touched the ceiling,' she
said afterwards — but a glance at Sheila's face seemed
to reassure her.
* I am glad to see you. Miss Lassiter,' she said,
trying to appear at her ease. * This is a poor place,
but there are chairs enough, I think ' — here she looked
round the room rather doubtfully. * Why don't you
ask your sister to sit down, Ivor? Come to mother,
Tommy, and she will give you some milk.' And as the
little fellow waddled towards her. Sheila saw the poor
little legs were not straight.
Nell was clearly nervous as she ministered to her
boy's wants. It was an embarrassing moment for all of
them, and Ivor's face was flushed as he stooped over his
wife's chair.
' Tommy seems more fretful than usual, Nell. He
was tiring out poor Bunnie, so my brother was giving
him a ride.' Then Nell glanced up again at Ned.
She had pretty eyes and long dark lashes, but they
were her only redeeming features. Perhaps, when she
had been younger, she might have had some claims to
good looks, but she was now a plain, sickly young
woman. Her face was thin and drawn, as though with
constant pain ; her hair, which had once been soft and
XVI NELL 177
glossy, had grown thin too, and the straggling fringe
gave her a slovenly appearance. The red dress
that Nell had once thought so chic was frayed and
faded, and the velvet with which it was trimmed
was threadbare. The poor cheap finery, the wan face,
the tired, anxious eyes, made Sheila's heart ache —
it was all so common and tawdry, so indescribably
pitiful ; and yet there was womanly tenderness in the
way she ministered to her suffering child.
'You take him, Ivey,' she said, when Tom bad
drunk his milk. ' He will be quieter now, and I am so
tired, for I have been walking about with him since
daybreak. Go to dada, Tommy.' But Tom objected ;
he had fresh wants, which only his mother could
supply.
' Tom's hungry, and wants bread and dam, mummy.'
Then Nell gave a hopeless sigh.
* There is nothing but a loaf in the cupboard, you
might cut him a slice,' she whispered to her husband.
* Dam too, dada.' But Nell shook her head.
* There isn't a spoonful left,' she said ; ' I scraped
the pot yesterday ' ; and then she kissed the fair curls a
little sadly. ' Tommy will eat his bread and not tease
poor mummy any more ; she has got to talk to the kind
lady and gentleman.' But Tom had no intention of
being good — he had begun the day badly ; he opened
his mouth for a roar, and Sheila felt it was time to
make a diversion.
' We have brought some things with us,' she said.
' We shall all of us be glad of a little luncheon, for we
had a hurried breakfast. Ned, if you will bring in the
hamper, Mrs. Ivor will give us some plates.' Then
Nell, colouring at hearing herself addressed in this
formal fashion, sent Bunnie to fetch what was required.
N
178 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
In a few moments the table was covered with good
things. Eppie, who had been up since daybreak
packing the hamper, had almost emptied her mistress's
larder. There was the leg of lamb from yesterday's
dinner, and half a fowl, a piece of cold bacon, and the
remains of a tongue, a cake, and several pots of jam,
besides tea, sugar, and other useful articles, which made
Nell open her eyes. Tom positively chuckled with
delight. ' There's dam,' he said, taking a moist thumb
out of his mouth and pointing out the coveted dainty
— ' lots and lots of dam.'
Sheila made them all gather round the table, but
neither she nor Ned felt they could touch a morsel.
Ned cut a slice of cake for himself and Sheila, but
his portion remained untouched.
' It took away my appetite to see that poor girl
eating as though she hadn't tasted meat for a month,' ,
he said afterwards to Sheila. ' I felt as though the cake
would choke me. Ivor hardly ate anything either — he
was too busy attending to Tom — so when we had done
our business, we had a good square meal at Buszard's.'
When the little feast was over, Ned and Ivor left,
and Tom, who was drowsy with repletion, consented to
sit on his aunt's lap while Nell and Bunnie cleared the
table and put things straight.
Sheila sat and watched them. She noticed Nell's
slow, languid movements and frequent frown of pain ;
and she noticed, too, that Bunnie was her mother's
willing little slave — that the tiny hands did more than
their fair measure of work. It was ' Wipe those plates,
Bunnie, and put them one by one in the cupboard ' ; or
' Just run down and ask Mrs. Jennings to let us boil our
kettle at her fire ; and then you can straighten Tommy's
bed, for he is getting sleepy.'
XVI NELL 179
' Bunnie must be tired by this time, I should think,'
observed Sheila, when the child had been dispatched
across the road for some matches, and Tommy was
safely asleep in the other room. Then Nell, who had
at last leisure to attend to her visitor, looked at her
rather anxiously.
' I hope you don't think I put on Bunnie, Miss
Lassiter ? ' she said in a deprecatory voice.
* Oh no,' returned Sheila hastily. ' But she is such
a mite of a child, and she looks so pale and tired.'
* She is such a willing little creature,' returned Nell
with a sigh, * and such a help to me in a hundred ways,
that I sometimes forget she is only a baby too. She
is as good as gold and always has been, and what I
should do without her I don't know. For when I am
busy with the cooking or washing, she will amuse
Tom for hours ; for I have had to work hard since I
married.'
* I can well believe it,' replied Sheila gently, her eyes
resting on the thin roughened hands lying on Nell's
lap. * I am afraid you and Ivor have had a great deal
of trouble.' Then the slow tears of weakness coursed
down Nell's cheeks.
* It has been terribly hard,' she said in a hopeless
voice. ' I am afraid father was right when he said it
was a judgment on me for marrying against his wishes.
He told me that I should repent marrying Ivor. Not
that he did not get on with him — for they were good
friends in their way — but he never quite trusted him.
But there, I was too fond of Ivor to listen to him ;
and he has made me a good husband.' And the soft
blue eyes brightened a little.
' I am glad to hear you say that,' returned Sheila
warmly. * Nell — may I call you Nell ? — I want you to
i8o AT THE MOORINGS chap, xvi
feel that we are friends, that Ned and I are anxious to
give you both a helping hand, and to do what we can
for you. We are not rich, but Ivor must work '
* He will do that willingly enough, poor fellow,'
replied Nell ; ' but they gave him the sack out there.
Ivor always said that if he could only bring us to
England, we should get on right enough. It was
just our ill luck his getting that touch of fever again,
for that threw us back. Would you believe it, Miss
Lassiter, that Tommy's milk was bought with our last
penny ? There was only a big loaf in the cupboard,
and until to-day we had not tasted meat for weeks.'
Nell wiped away some more tears as she spoke. * I
think father would turn in his grave if he knew all
that I have been through. But there, it is done and
can't be undone, and I am not so sure I repent it even
now ' — and a faint tinge of colour came to her wan
cheek.
Nell might be a common, rough colonial girl, but
she was a patient creature for all that. Years of
poverty and struggle and ill-health had not made her
repent her hasty marriage ; with all his faults, Ivor
was the man she loved, the father of her children,
and Nell had never faltered in her loyalty and devotion.
She had taken him for better or for worse, and she
must dree her weird like other women.
CHAPTER XVII
NELL TELLS HER STORY
Poverty is the only load which is the heavier the more loved ones there
are to assist in supporting it. — Richter.
And out of darkness came the hands
That reach thro' nature, moulding men.
In Memoriam.
Nell lost her shyness when she found herself alone
with Sheila, and seemed more disposed to be com-
municative. Probably Sheila's gentleness of manner
gave her confidence, and before long a few judicious
and timely questions on her sister-in-law's part drew
from her the whole history of her first acquaintance
with Ivor.
Bunnie had long ago returned from her errand, and
seeing her mother engaged, had crept noiselessly away.
An hour later they found her on Tommy's bed fast
asleep, with her head on the same pillow. Nell looked
very lovingly at the flushed little face and tangled
curls. ' I mustn't forget that she is only a baby,' she
said half to herself, but Sheila heard her.
Nell told her story in homely language.
* I never had much schooling,' she explained apolo-
getically ; * father spoilt me, and I had my own way
too much, and even as a child I was never over strong,
i8i
i82 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and I played truant most fine days. I am afraid the
little I know has been taught me by Ivor. I never
was one for books. I could do a sum and add up
figures as well as most of the girls at the Store, but I
did not care for reading and going to lectures as some
of them did. In the evening I was too tired for any-
thing ; my feet and back ached with standing so long,
and I often fell asleep over my mending, and then
father would tell me to put it away and go to bed.'
' You and Ivor were in the same Store, he told me.'
' Yes, but he was in the office, and of course I never
saw him there ; it v/as quite by accident that we met.
A tipsy man was following me, and I was so frightened
that I went up to a young man who seemed going my
way and asked him to protect me. Father said it was
a risky thing to do ; but I saw he was a gentleman and
he had a nice face, and no one could have been kinder.
He walked with me to the very door, talking all the
time as pleasantly as possible. The next evening I
saw him again, and he stopped and asked me if I had
got over my fright ; it was then that I found out that
he had a situation in the same Store, and that he
lodged at a house a little higher up the road.
* " I pass your place every evening," he said ; " so, if
you like, I can walk home with you ; the road's a bit
lonely after dark." And as I was rather timid —
though I would not own it to father, for it would have
made him uneasy — I was glad enough to accept this
offer. I could see it was just good -nature on Ivor's
part, not that he cared about walking with me. He
said afterwards that he had hardly looked at me, and
that he would have done the same for any one.
Somehow his manner made it easy for me, and though
I said nothing about it to father for a week or two, I
xvii NELL TELLS HER STORY 183
began to look forward to my evening walk and think
it the best part of the day.'
Sheila smiled.
' We got quite friendly after a time, and Ivor told
me a lot about himself, and how lonely he was, and
how he hated his work. " It is my own fault," he
said once ; " I have a good brother and sister in
England, but I got sick of the life and wanted to see
the world, so I took French leave one fine day. I
can't say the office is much to my taste, but I have to
earn my bread and cheese, so I must hang on for a
bit." And then he told me how lonely and homesick he
was ; but it was not until after we were married that I
found out that he had broken with his people.'
' That was the saddest part of all, Nell ; it was
cruel to leave us in such anxiety when we loved him so.'
' I think he was just ashamed of himself,' returned
Nell, ' and that he could not bring himself to own it.
When things were very bad once, I wanted him to
write and ask you to help us, but he was quite angry
with me. "They have not got more than enough for
themselves," he said ; " Ned works from morning to
night, and Sheila too, and they deprive themselves of
everything but absolute necessaries. No, I won't write,
Nell ; I would starve rather than do it " ; and seeing
him in this mood I daren't say any more.'
' Ah, if you had only written ! ' Then Nell gave her
a quick look.
* I would have done it in spite of Ivor if I could
have found the address,' she returned. ' It was when
dear Ned and Willie were ill, and my heart was just
breaking. Father did all he could for us, but we had
no money to move them into the country, though
the doctor said that might have saved them. I
i84 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
was nearly out of my mind when they told me Ned
was dying ; he had always been so strong and hearty,
and Ivor was so proud of him. Oh, I was wicked
that day, but I don't think God will cast it up against
me. I know I prayed that I might die too ; for Ned
heard me and slipped his hot little hand in mine — it
seemed to burn me through and through.
' " You come too, mother," he whispered, for his
poor little throat was sore ; " there are lots of flowers
there, and the harps will sound so pretty " — those were
his last words. When they had carried him and Willie
to the cemetery it seemed to me there was nothing
more to live for. And then Tommy was born, and I
had to do the best I could for him and Bunny '
' And for Ivor.'
* Yes. Ivor was always good to us, but when father
died, and he lost his berth, his courage seemed to fail
him. The fever was on him too, though we did not
know it until we were on board. Oh, that voyage !
But for Sam Bell giving me a helping hand with the
children, I think I should have died.'
' Poor Nell — poor girl ! ' murmured Sheila softly.
' You would have pitied me then, Miss Lassiter.
Many a night I could have screamed with the pain in
my back, and I could not lie down for more than half-
an-hour at a time — for how could I rest with him
moaning in misery ! There were times when he was
light-headed, and I dare not leave him ;' it was then
that he would talk of you and your brother. Some-
times he would beg me to send for you. " Sheila is such
a famous nurse," he would say ; " she always makes a
fellow comfortable. She would know what to do for
this pain, Nell ; she has such nice hands, they are not
rough and hard." I used to cry when Ivor said these
XVII NELL TELLS HER STORY 185
kind of things, but of course he did not know what
he was saying ; but it was a cruel time ' — and Nell's
face grew haggard with the recollection.
Sheila would not let her talk any more ; they were
both tired, she said, and a cup of tea would do them
good. Nell was to sit still while she got it ready.
But Nell refused to do this ; she must go down to the
basement, she said, and fetch the kettle of boiling
water, and beg one of the little Jennings to get her
some milk. So Sheila contented herself with arranging
the tea -cups and cutting a plentiful supply of bread
and butter.
By the time they had finished their tea Ned and
Ivor returned. They both looked hot and fagged, and
were laden with brown paper parcels. Ned opened his
triumphantly. One of them contained a handsome
horse covered with real skin, and was evidently an
expensive toy ; and the other was a baby doll very
prettily dressed, lying in a cot.
Sheila, who was somewhat shocked at this extrava-
gance, thought it better to reserve her lecture until
afterwards.
Ned was evidently pleased with himself. He was
much disappointed when he heard the children were
asleep, and that Nell thought it wiser not to wake
them. Tommy would wake up cross and fretful, she
said, and very likely he would be so excited when he
saw his toy that there would be little sleep for any of
them that night.
' If you don't mind, Mr. Lassiter, I will hide them
away in the cupboard until the morning. They are
just beautiful ' — and Nell's eyes quite sparkled with
pleasure. * Ivor gives them a penny toy now and then,
but it soon gets broken. Tommy will be ready to
i86 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
jump out of his skin with delight when he sees that
horse.'
And she was right. Tom's ecstasy was too deep
for words ; for months to come he absolutely refused
to be parted from his ' beauty gee-gee,' as he called it,
and it was stabled on a chair every night beside his cot.
As for Bunnie, when she pressed the new baby to her
thin little bosom, her cup of bliss seemed full to the brim.
* I couldn't love it better if it speaked to me,
mummy,' she said, as she sat on her little stool
hugging her treasure. ' My baby is the dearest,
beautifullest, darlingest, sweet thing, and I shall call
her Susan Jemima Mary Anne 'cos she is so lovely.'
Ned and Sheila took their departure soon after-
wards. Ned had given his brother some money for
present expenses, and had promised soon to see him
again. * Sheila and I will have a talk about things
and see what is to be done,' he had said, and Ivor had
been quite satisfied to leave matters in his hands.
Sheila bade good-bye very kindly to Nell, though
she did not kiss her — the time had not come for that.
Sheila was not a demonstrative woman, and was always
rather slow in making advances. Nell looked at her
a little wistfully.
' You have done me good, Miss Lassiter,' she said
gratefully.
And then Ivor accompanied them to the street door.
* You will come again soon. She ? ' he said pleadingly.
* Yes, oh yes,' she returned quickly, and then she
put her arms round his neck and kissed him affection-
ately. There was a misty look in Ivor's eyes as he
watched their retreating figures. ' God bless her, she
is a good woman — she knows how to forgive ! ' he said
to himself, and a warm sense of comfort and gratitude
XVII NELL TELLS HER STORY 187
stole into the young man's heart as he toiled slowly up
the stairs again. To his surprise he found Nell having
what she called a good cry, rather a luxury in her
hard-working life.
' Don't scold me, Ivey,' she said tearfully, as he
uttered an impatient exclamation ; ' I am only crying
because your sister was so good to me. She has such
a sweet face, and if she had been my own sister she
could not have been kinder to me. I could not help
fretting a bit, because she must have thought me such
a poor creature ; I must have seemed so common and
rough to her, and the children and I were in such a
muddle.' But Ivor knew better than to let her go on.
Nell was sensitive and had nerves, and she was
suffering from the want of her night's rest ; he made a
diversion by telling her about his new outfit and the
grand luncheon they had had.
' I am a bit lame still,' he said, and this aroused
Nell's solicitude at once, and she insisted on pulling off
the new boots herself, Nell wept afresh when she saw
the poor feet, and quite forgot her own fatigue as she
tenderly bathed them. If Ivor remembered a softer
pair of hands that had ministered to him the previous
day, he forbore to allude to it except by a casual word
or two.
Nell was always a little jealous of her wifely pre-
rogatives, and would allow of no interference with her
monopoly. It would not have pleased her to listen to
the story of the little Samaritan. Ivor, who under-
stood her thoroughly, was well aware of this. ' The
Miss Betty episode,' as he called it, was best buried
in oblivion. Nell had had a jealous fit once or twice,
and the remembrance was not pleasant to him.
Meanwhile Sheila was giving Ned the lecture that
i88 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
he so richly deserved. The complex emotions of
the day had exhausted her, and it gave her positive
relief to speak her mind in her old fashion ; to
scold Ned in a bantering, half- serious manner was
part of her day's work, and yielded her perpetual
satisfaction. Sheila had a suspicion that Ned rather
enjoyed it than otherwise. He would say sometimes
' that it was like sitting in a draught on a warm day,
it gave him a breezy feeling ' ; for he was fond of
an argument even when he knew that he was on the
losing side.
' Ned, dear,' she said more seriously than usual, * I
don't want to find fault with you, but it was really
wrong to throw away money on those expensive toys
when Nell and the children are almost in rags.'
Sheila certainly made a point here, but Ned would rot
admit it.
' I wanted to give them something that would last,'
he said. ' Ivor did not wish me to buy them anything
so good ; he was quite distressed about it, so I sent
him to the other end of the shop while I bought them.
I don't repent one bit what I have done, She,' and Ned
looked good-humouredly obstinate. ' That poor little
chap is heavily handicapped ; it is a satisfaction to do
something that will give him pleasure.' And Ned gave
a quick sigh as though the recollection oppressed him,
and changed the subject by asking Sheila what she had
made of Nell. ' She's not much to look at, poor thing,'
he observed, ' and she has rather a common type of
face, but she seems harmless and amiable, and she is
certainly very fond of Ivor and the children.'
' Yes, she has her good points.' But Sheila refrained
from adding how Nell's want of refinement and slow,
drawling voice had oppressed her. ' It was difficult to
XVII NELL TELLS HER STORY 189
judge of her this afternoon/ she said hastily ; * Tommy
was harassing her so, and she was looking ill with
fatigue and want of sleep. Considering the circum-
stances, she is rather better than we had a right to
expect. With no mother and little education, she
might have turned out much worse. There is nothing
loud or flashy about her, and she is certainly unselfish
and very affectionate. Did you notice what pretty
eyes she has, Ned ? When any one says anything
kind to her they look so soft and bright. She nearly
made me cry once or twice when she talked about
those poor boys who died ' — and Sheila repeated the
substance of Nell's words.
By and by, when they were in the train, Sheila
broached a fresh subject. She told Ned that it would
be best for her to go to Juniper Place alone next time.
' Ivor could stay with Tommy while Nell and I do
our shopping,' she went on. * .1 know you would wish
me to get them all that is absolutely necessary' — and
Ned nodded.
' You can have a free hand,' he said ; ' I have a good
balance at the bank, and there is more coming in. Ivor
has his outfit, and his wife and children must have
suitable clothing. But there is more than that to
settle. She,' and Ned frowned rather anxiously.
* Yes, dear, but not to-night.' Sheila spoke with
quiet decision. * I do not know how you feel, Ned,
but my head is in a whirl and needs a night's rest.'
But Ned's answer was conclusive.
* He wanted his pipe and nothing else in heaven
and earth,' he asserted ; but Sheila smiled and let the
exaggeration pass — she was only too thankful to be
allowed to relapse into silence.
It was soothing to drive through the sweet summer
I90 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
darkness, full of the fragrance of night-blowing flowers
and the scent of newly-stacked hay. Sheila's throb-
bing head and pulses seemed stilled and rested, as
though a healing hand had been placed on her temples.
It was so still that she could hear the hooting of an
owl in the distance. As they drove past the vicarage
Sheila saw a tall dark figure pacing up the churchyard
path. It was Luke Brett and Peter taking their
accustomed prowl. As the sound of wheels caught his
ear, he turned round and waved his hand.
* So that is where Brett takes his evening walk,'
muttered Ned. ' A new version of Harvey's Meditations
among the Tombs. I wonder if he believes in ghosts.
I am not fond of churchyards myself; the village
green would be more to my taste ' ; and Sheila agreed
with him.
The lonely figure rather haunted her. There was
something suggestive of melancholy in those nocturnal
rambles ; but Luke would have denied this, for he
loved the stillness and solitude of the hour. Down
below in the village his people were sleeping, and
round him lay the quiet dead resting from their
labours. Above his head stretched the infinite, fathom-
less worlds of light and mystery, while shadowy
footsteps of mighty presences seemed to encompass
him. ' Their old men shall dream dreams, and their
young men shall see visions,' he would say to himself;
for at such times his very soul would be uplifted as
though on eagle's wings, and the earth-garment would
drop from him.
* Yes, they rest from their labours,' he would muse.
' What does it matter to them now that the work was
hard and the fight so fierce that their hearts failed
them, like their Master ? They see now of the travail of
xvii NELL TELLS HER STORY 191
their soul, and are satisfied. Peace after battle ; but
for me the battle is not yet ended. Night brings its
own counsel, but each day is a new call to arms.'
Then, as the pattering feet behind him ceased, Luke
would rouse himself from his meditation, and look
round to find Peter, patient and protesting, sitting on
the gravel walk. ' Tired, Peter, and ready for bed ? '
and Luke lifted up the little animal and carried him in,
while Peter licked his face in silent gratitude.
It was long past eleven before Ned and Sheila
reached The Moorings. Eppie, who was somewhat
scared by the lateness of the hour, was at the door
watching for them. She had sandwiches and coffee
ready in the dining-room. When they had finished
their little repast. Sheila wished her brother good-night ;
but Eppie followed her to her room on the pretext of
helping her, and Sheila, who knew the old woman's
anxiety, was obliged to narrate the day's experience.
* Oh, the puir, misguided laddie,' Eppie groaned ;
* he's made a sair bargain with a sickly, feckless sort of
body like yon. But there, I will not be keeping you,
my dawtie, for you are just dropping with fatigue. It
is an awfu' business. It fairly sickens me to think
of those puir bairns. This world is a weary place,
but we must aye do our pairts ' ; and Eppie sighed as
she closed the door and left Sheila to her much-needed
repose.
CHAPTER XVIII
'YOU ARE MASTER HERE'
The soul that is meekly honest must ever consider the simplest, the
nearest duty to be the best of all things it can do. — Maeterlinck.
' The night brings counsel,' Luke Brett had said, and
it was certainly true in Sheila's case ; for, strange to
say, although she had been too weary for consecutive
thought the previous evening, and had slept like a
tired child, she woke the next morning with a clear
perception of the duty in hand. To a woman of
Sheila's nature, to see the right thing was immediately
to try and do it in a straightforward, matter-of-fact
way. The duty might be an unpleasant one, but not
for that would she turn her back on it.
' It is the best thing to do,' she said to herself,
* if only Ned will consent.' Nevertheless, as she dressed
herself, her heart felt strangely heavy. Outside the
July sunshine was flooding the little common. She
could hear the liquid notes of the lark as he soared
into the blue ether ; a goat with her kid was browsing
among the gorse bushes ; already the air was im-
pregnated with the resinous smell of the pines. It
was all so beautiful — God's world ! — how strange that
hearts should ache and eyes grow dim with trouble on
such a morning ! And then Sheila thought of Juniper
19?.
CHAP. XVIII 'YOU ARE MASTER HERE' 193
Place and the dark railway arches, and shuddered
slightly.
She was a little silent during breakfast, and Ned
peered at her once or twice rather curiously over the
edge of his newspaper. But he said nothing until the
meal was over and she took up her key-basket ; then
he put out his hand to stop her.
* Well, Sheila, I thought we were going to discuss
matters this morning?'
' Yes, dear,' rather hurriedly ; ' but Eppie is waiting
for me now. I will come to you presently, when you
have finished reading your paper.' Then Ned let her
go ; but he had finished his morning's pipe and was
half through the debates before Sheila joined him.
' You don't look quite fit this morning, She,' he
observed affectionately, as he put a chair for her. ' I
feel rather as though I had been dragged through a
mill-pond myself.' But Sheila only smiled at him
and let this pass ; her mind was too preoccupied to
heed her own feelings.
* Ned, dear,' she said very seriously, ' I was too tired
to talk or even to think last night, but this morning
things seem clearer to me. When you asked what we
were to do with those poor things, I could not answer
you ; but I see it now — we must bring them here.'
Ned looked at her aghast.
* Here ! Do you mean to this house ? '
* That is what I do mean certainly ; but you are
master here, and it is not for me to dictate to you.'
Then Ned gave an impatient * pshaw ! ' 'If you will
listen to me a moment, dear,' she went on, ' I will try
and explain what I really do mean. This house is
large, and it is impossible for us to use all the rooms.
There are those two large attics, and then that room at
O
194 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
the back of the dining-room opening into the con-
servatory. It is a h'ttle dull and low, but it would
make a splendid day-nursery where Nell could sit and
sew. I thought it all out when I was dressing. The
children need never be in your way ; Nell and I would
take good care of that.'
' Good heavens ! ' and it was evident from Ned's
disgusted face that such an idea had not occurred to
him. ' Have you thought for a moment how it will
spoil things ? Just as we were so jolly and comfortable
too ! We have not had much pleasure in our lives,
She ' ; and Ned's reproachful tone was so full of bitter-
ness that a lump came to Sheila's throat, and for a
moment she could not speak.
' It would be a confounded nuisance having that
woman here,' he continued. * Couldn't they have a
lodging near, or a cottage ? There is one to let near
the mill.'
' Yes, if you wish it, Ned. As I said, you are
master, and this is your house, not mine.'
' Don't talk rot, Sheila ' — Ned was becoming
decidedly cross.
* I think you are misunderstanding me, dear,'
returned Sheila gently. ' I never intended that they
should live at The Moorings. Why, what nonsense,
Ned ! ' as he stared at her. ' Do you suppose that you
are to be saddled with a family for life ? The idea is
too preposterous for words. Oh, you foolish fellow,
how could you think I meant that ! ' and Sheila slipped
her hand affectionately into his arm.
* My good girl, will you tell me what you really do
mean ? ' but Ned's tone was a trifle less crusty.
' I thought, if we could bring them here for a few
months,.- 1 could take care of Nell and the children.
xviii 'YOU ARE MASTER HERE' 195
Think what this air would do for them. And then
our poor Ivor would have a chance of regaining his
health, Ned, dear, I have thought it all out ; it will
be months before Ivor will be fit for work, and all
that time you will have to keep them. It will cost
less to have them here; and there are the rooms — they
would not trouble you much. You could go up to
town as you planned, and study at the British Museum,
and leave them to me.'
* I shall do nothing of the kind ! ' indignantly. Then
Ned's voice softened again as he saw her anxious face.
• When I proposed the plan I never thought all this
was to come on me. I could not afford it. Sheila. I
quite see that for a good many months to come I shall
have practically to keep Ivor and his family ; even
when he gets a berth it will be years before he can
make a decent income. I am sorry if I seem touchy
and put out, She, but it needs the patience of Job to
put up with the consequences of that boy's folly.' And
Ned started up and began pacing the room impatiently,
while Sheila watched him sadly. Her heart was full
of pity for him. Her good dear Ned, that he should be
so sorely tried ! Oh, if he only knew how her heart
ached for him !
Ned worked off his restlessness a little, and then he
came back to her.
' Do you mean that you really wish this ? ' he asked.
Sheila seemed a little distressed at the question.
' You must not ask me what I wish ' — here her voice
broke a little. ' I want nothing but to go on with this
dear life — ^just we two. Oh, it was so peaceful and
happy, Ned ! And we have hardly been here two
months — two months of such perfect enjoyment, and
now it is to end.'
196 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* Must it end, She ? '
' I am afraid so, dear — at least for the present.
There would be no real happiness for either of us if
we refused to do what was right. If you prefer taking
lodgings for them in the village, it shall be done, and I
will not say another word about bringing them here.
But they would not be so comfortable, and I could
not look after them so well.'
' Besides, it would cost more,' returned Ned ; 'I think
that is the chief point to consider. It would take a
lot of money to run another establishment as well as
this. I foresee doctor's bills and endless expenses ' —
and Ned shrugged his shoulders in a hopeless way.
' Well, my dear, I see the force of your argument, and
we will make up our minds to give the thing a fair
trial. Tell Ivor that he may bring them here for a
time — better say a month or two — and we shall see
how it works. After all, it will be worse for you than
for me. You will have the lion's share of the work.'
' Dear Ned, it is so good of you to agree to my
plan,' and Sheila's tone was full of gratitude ; but Ned
only gave a short laugh as he took up his paper again.
' There, let me go out for a breath of air, the house
feels stifling this morning. I suppose you mean to go
up again to-morrow or the next day ? ' Sheila nodded.
' All right, you can settle it as you like, and I will
promise not to grumble.'
Ned spoke in a cheery, resolute tone. Then, as he
was about to leave the room, their eyes met, and Sheila's
were full of tears.
While Ned betook himself to the society of Mother
Nature and * my Lady Nicotine,' finding himself as
usual soothed in temper and nerve. Sheila carried
her work-basket to a shady corner of the tennis-
xviii 'YOU ARE MASTER HERE' 197
lawn. The fir parlour was not secluded enough for
her present mood ; it was in full view of the gate and
Sandy Lane, it was clearly impossible for any friendly-
disposed neighbour not to drop in and join the little
encampment — Betty and Miss Mowcher, or Martha, or
even Miss Gillian, who was a frequent morning visitor,
might invade her privacy at any moment. Sheila felt
too depressed and weary to care for even Martha's
society, although a very real friendship was growing up
between them, and she felt that Betty's light-hearted
chatter and repressed curiosity would be unbearable.
Nevertheless, when a tall figure in clerical attire came
down the grassy bank towards her, she was conscious of
a feeling of involuntary pleasure.
' I hope I am not disturbing you,' he said, as they
shook hands. * Eppie told me that your brother was
out and that I should find you here. You have chosen
a pleasant little hermitage for yourself,' for Sheila sat in
a sort of leafy bower, under a trellis-work arch, covered
with clematis and Gloire de Dijon roses. ' May I sit
down and talk to you a little, or would you rather be
alone ? '
'Oh no, I am very pleased to see you, Mr. Brett.'
Sheila spoke with sincerity. Even at this early stage
of their acquaintance she had found out that Luke
Brett's society was always congenial to her — that some-
how he never jarred on any mood. But as he sat down
beside her his expression was graver than usual. He
was accustomed to read faces, and Sheila's air of deep
depression was not lost on him. The clear soft eyes
had a troubled look in them.
*I saw you pass last night,' he said quietly. 'Did you
hear Peter bark ? You were very late, so I am afraid
you had a hard day's work.'
198 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' Yes, it was hard,' she returned with a sigh. * I
suppose most people have to live through these sort of
gray days, when things seem a little hopeless.'
'I imagine so' — Luke spoke with quiet sympathy.
' But the worst is, such a day seems to age one ; if we
were to measure our life by feelings, some days would
be equal to a year's existence.'
' I certainly feel older this morning, so I suppose
you are right,' returned Sheila with a faint smile.
' Do you mind telling me about it ? ' he asked gently.
' I was thinking of you both so much yesterday.' And
then, as before, Sheila felt herself impelled to speak.
Briefly but graphically she sketched that little scene of
the two children. Bunnie, a mere baby herself, stagger-
ing under the weight of her suffering little brother, and
then the pale-faced mother with her tired eyes and worn
cheeks. Luke listened to it all intently, but he asked
no questions ; he very seldom asked questions, people
always told him what he wished to know — there was
no need to spur the willing horse. Somehow, as Sheila
talked, the weight on her heart seemed insensibly to
lighten a little, and yet Luke had spoken no word.
Perhaps, if people realised more the power of even silent
sympathy in a great trouble, there would be fewer Job's
comforters. As Ruskin quaintly says, ' Men will not open
their hearts to us if we are to broil them on a thorn-fire.'
Before long Sheila found herself speaking of Nell in
the frankest possible manner.
' She is not quite impossible, you know,' she said,
and there was no dearth of womanly kindness in her
tone. ' She is very colonial, and her education was
neglected, and she has had a hard life, poor thing, with
weak health and ailing children. Did I tell you, Mr.
Brett, that they have lost two boys ? '
XVIII 'YOU ARE MASTER HERE' 199
' No,' he returned quietly ; ' there was so little time
to hear things the other night.' Then Sheila told him
about the fever, and Nell's despair when her boys died.
' Poor woman,' was his sole comment. But not for
worlds would he have uttered his thought aloud —
that it was better it should be so, better for the little
lads and for their parents too. * Those whom the
gods love die young,' says the wise heathen, and
the Christian knows that the folded lamb is safest.
Suffering infancy and crippled childhood always
affected Luke Brett strongly ; but when he read the
funeral service over a little child, a curious note of
triumph always mingled with the vibrating tenderness
of his voice. Miss Gillian, who, on principle, always
attended funerals, was once so strongly impressed by
this that she spoke to him afterwards.
' I was so sad at losing dear little Dick Sullivan,'
she said, * that I could not help crying at the service.
Poor Mrs. Sullivan seemed quite broken-hearted — and
no wonder, losing her only child — and yet your voice
sounded almost cheerful, Luke.'
' Yes, I know ; but just then I was not thinking of
her, but of Dick. He was such a sturdy, bright-eyed
little rogue, and so full of life.'
' That makes it all the sadder, Luke.'
* Ah, there I differ from you. Aunt Gill,' and a
strange smile came to Luke's face. ' He loved life so
much, and endless days have been given him. Happy
Dick, to have so short a fight, to be spared manhood
with its possible failures, its pains and penalties, its
falls and senile decay. If I had a dozen boys, Aunt
Gill, and lost them all, however I might grieve, I
could read the service over each one, and feel that
God knew best for them and me too.'
200 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
But Miss Gillian only gave a little sniff and made
no reply. When Luke was in certain moods, he said
such extraordinary things. ' A dozen boys/ she said
to herself rather crossly. ' Why, it is utter nonsense to
make such a speech, and he telling me over and over
again that nothing will induce him to marry, till I am
fairly crazy with his wrong -headedness.' And Miss
Gillian, who was devoted to her nephew, and always
thought there was no one like him, shook her head
rather sadly. If she worshipped Luke, he puzzled
her sorely. How was an old gentlewoman of the
Victorian period to comprehend the com.plex per-
sonality of the vicar of St. Jude's?
In spite of their short acquaintance, Sheila under-
stood him better than Miss Gillian did, although the
latter lived under his roof and cared for his outward
comforts. Her perception was keener, and already she
guessed intuitively that Luke Brett's life had a dark
background ; that, notwithstanding his devotion to
duty and his absorption in his pastoral work, he was
not altogether a happy man. She once hinted this to
Ned, when they were returning from an evening visit
to the vicarage.
' He seems to me so lonely,' she said. ' Miss Gillian
is an old dear, and she is as nice and amusing as
possible, but she can hardly be a companion for a man
like Mr. Brett'
' Well, she mothers him, and he is very much
attached to her,' replied Ned. ' But I know what you
mean, Sheila. They are not quite on the same plane.
It is rather like an eagle and a plump partridge trying
to keep house together. He soars miles above her.'
Then Sheila laughed at this droll conceit ; but Ned
went on with his subject.
XVIII 'YOU ARE MASTER HERE' 201
' Brett is a good fellow, but he is a survival of the
medieval ascetic in nineteenth-century dress. I told
him only the other day, when we were arguing about
something, that he would have made a splendid monk.'
' And what did he say, Ned ? ' Somehow the idea
was repellent to Sheila, and yet how well she could
imagine Luke Brett's dark, ascetic-looking face under
the monk's cowl.
* Well, he did not exactly deny it. He gave that
dry low laugh of his, as though he were amused, and
remarked that, though a conventual life might suit him
in some respects, he would find it impossible to yield
an unreasoning obedience to any authority. " I must
always reserve my right of private judgment, Lassiter,"
he said ; and of course I told him he was right. In
my opinion a monk is hardly a man — at least there is
a blend of the old woman about him.' For on these
subjects Ned was apt to express himself rather strongly,
being somewhat pugnacious, after the fashion of John
Bull.
When Sheila had finished her touching account of
the death of Ivor's boys, there was a brief silence,
which Mr. Brett was the first to break.
' And now, what do you mean to do ? ' he asked
curtly ; but he knew as well as possible what her
answer would be.
' We shall bring them here,' she returned without a
moment's hesitation ; * my brother and I have talked
it over this morning, and we think it will be best.
Of course we hope that it will be only for a few
months, until Ivor regains his strength and is able to
find a berth ; but there seems nothing else to be done.'
' Are you sure of that ? ' he asked, looking at her
intently.
202 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
'Yes, I am quite sure,' rather hastily; 'and Edward
has come round to my opinion. There is plenty of
room for them all, and it will cost far less to have them
here ; and then I can look after poor Nell and the
children. We are both afraid that there is something
seriously wrong with the boy. I should make every
possible arrangement for my brother's comfort, that he
should not be disturbed in any way.' Then one of
Luke's rare smiles flitted across the dark face.
' No, the burden would not be on your brother's
shoulders. Miss Lassiter,' and Sheila coloured at his
meaning tone.
* Oh, I hope not,' she said earnestly ; ' I want to
spare him all I can, but of course it must spoil things
for us both.'
' Yes, I am afraid so.' But Luke was saying to
himself, ' You are a good woman — a brave woman,
Sheila Lassiter ; and you will have your reward.*
' We have been so happy together, we two,' she
went on rather sadly ; ' it was such a peaceful exist-
ence, and we had planned all sorts of delightful
things for the winter, and now nothing will be carried
out. We are not rich, Mr. Brett, and there will be
heavy expenses, so it would never do to be extra-
vagant. Somehow, I am afraid Ivor will always
be a care to us, and yet in some ways he is im-
proved.'
' I hope so,' returned Luke quietly. * Will you let
me say just one word ? You are doing the right thing
— you are proposing to sacrifice leisure and comfort to
your sense of duty. Do not weaken your strength
by looking to the future, the day's work is enough.
Of all the Divine commands that are laid upon us,
there is none more fitted to our human needs than
XVIII 'YOU ARE MASTER HERE' 203
the Master's words : " Sufficient unto the day is the
evil thereof." ' And when he had said this, Luke Brett
rose from his seat ; but as he bade her good-bye there
was a vivid brightness in his eyes that Sheila had
never seen there before.
CHAPTER XIX
*WE ARE SISTERS NOW'
We may, if we choose, make the worst of each other. Every one has
his weak points ; every one has his faults : we may make the worst of
these ; we may fix our attention constantly upon these. But we may also
make the best of each other. By loving what is lovable in those round
us, love will flow back to us, and life will become a pleasure instead of
a pain, and earth will become heaven. — Dean Stanley,
When Ned joined his sister at the luncheon table he
was relieved to see that she had in some measure
regained her quiet cheerfulness, and he listened with
much interest to her account of the vicar's visit,
though he pretended to take umbrage when Sheila,
with her customary frankness, told him that Mr. Brett
had approved of their little plan.
' Oh, I daresay,' he remarked drily. * Isn't it La
Rochefoucauld who says that " we have all strength
to support the misfortunes of others " ? '
* Come, come, that is hardly fair on Mr. Brett, Ned ;
no one could have been more sympathetic'
* I remember he also observes that " it is far easier
to be wise for others than to be wise for one's self,"
and that " nothing is given so profusely as advice." '
But Sheila turned a deaf ear to this proverbial
philosophy, in which Ned so much delighted, and
changed the subject by asking him if he had come
204
CHAP. XIX *WE ARE SISTERS NOW 205
across their friends from the Old Cottage. To her
surprise Ned returned an affirmative answer. Kaiser, it
appeared, had discovered the Woodford family snugly
encamped in the hollow, and had conveyed the
intelligence to his master.
' Kaiser barked so loudly that he attracted their
attention,' went on Ned, ' so of course I was obliged
to speak to them. Miss Woodford was sketching that
little farmhouse on the hillside — she is quite an artist,
I tell her — and Miss Bettina was reading the paper
to her father, and they looked so uncommonly snug,
that I joined them,'
' That was very pleasant, Ned.'
It never entered into Sheila's head to wonder why
Ned was always coming across the Woodfords; he saw
them far oftener than she did — indeed, he rarely returned
from a walk without meeting one or other of them.
The golf-links were their happy hunting-grounds, as
Ned well knew, and as he rarely turned his steps in
any other direction, it was a foregone conclusion that
he would meet them. But Ned's perfect frankness on
the subject forbade any arriere pensee.
* Mr, Woodford went home after a time,' continued
Ned. ' The old gentleman has not been quite so well
the last two days, and Miss Woodford seemed a little
anxious about him. Miss Betty went with him. By
the by, she sent her love to you. She.'
* And you stayed behind with Martha ? ' Sheila
asked the question in all good faith, and Ned never
turned a hair.
' Well, I thought it would be only decent to help
her carry in her tackle ; and as she did not object
to my pipe, and it was hot for walking, I saw no good
in shifting my quarters.'
2o6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' I suppose you told her about yesterday ? ' asked
Sheila quietly.
'Well, we were talking, you know, and it somehow
came out in conversation ; and she was so very much
interested, and was so extremely kind about the whole
thing, that I could not help telling her.'
Then Sheila smiled, for she was much amused.
Ned had once told her that Martha Woodford was
one of the most intelligent women that he had ever
met, and that he always found her a good listener.
Probably he had done so on this occasion. But when
she asked innocently what Martha had said to this,
Ned declared that he could not remember.
' She was awfully kind,' he observed ; ' but I believe
that I talked so much myself. She, that Miss Woodford
never got her innings.' And Sheila laughed, for she
knew that this was probably the case. Though Martha
was no longer shy with him, she would very likely find
no opportunity to put in a word ; and evidently this
view of the subject seemed to strike Ned also.
* I am afraid I talked an awful lot,' he returned seri-
ously, ' but she did not seem bored. I remember one
thing she said ' — after a slight pause for recollection —
* that you were sure to do the kindest thing for every-
body, and that you would certainly not spare yourself,
or words to that effect ; and of course I endorsed this,
and said what a regular brick you were.'
* Thank you, dear ; that was very nice of you and
Martha too.' And then Sheila reflected for a moment.
If Ned had given his version, there would be no
need for explanations on her part ; but still it would
be only kind to run in for a few minutes on her
way back from the village. Martha and Betty too
had shown such good taste in leaving her alone that
XIX «WE ARE SISTERS NOW 207
day, and somehow she yearned for Martha's gentle
sympathy.
• I am going down to Wheeler's after tea/ she
observed presently, when they rose from the table — ' I
want to get some Bovril and other little things for
Tommy ; and I will call in at the Cottage when I come
back. I must go by the early train, of course, Ned, for
the days are so hot now. I have written a line to
Ivor to tell him that I shall be with them soon after
eleven, and to ask Nell to be ready for me.'
' All right. I shall be at the station in the evening
to meet you,' was Ned's reply ; and then Sheila went
off to make out her list for the next day's shopping.
The outer door of the Old Cottage was always open
in summer time, and Sheila, as usual, went in un-
announced when she paid her evening visit. She found
Martha alone in the verandah, sorting rose leaves for her
pot-pourri jar ; as she moved quickly to greet Sheila,
her path was strewn with pink and white blossoms.
' Dear Sheila, it is so good of you to come ' — and
Martha's quiet kiss conveyed a world of welcome. ' I
am alone, you see. Father is so tired that he has
gone to his room ; the heat tries him sadly. Betty is
sitting with him for a little, but she will soon come
down.'
* It is rather a treat to have you to myself, Martha ;
but I must not stay long, as I have another journey
before me to-morrow.'
' Yes, I know — your brother told me ' ; and Martha
looked at her wistfully. * I hope you understood why
I would not intrude to-day. Betty begged so hard to
run in for a moment, but I would not let her. I
knew you would rather be quiet ' ; and Sheila could
not deny this.
2o8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* Bee was quite huffy with me,' went on Martha
smiling-, and Sheila thought she had never seen her
look so well. She had more colour than usual, prob-
ably from the heat, but it certainly suited her. The
sweetness of her expression often made people forget
her plainness, but this evening there was a soft-
ness and animation about her that was certainly
attractive.
' Dear little Betty ! ' observed Sheila ; ' but all the
same I was not in a mood for her chatter. And then
the vicar called while Ned was out, and as he could
not see him, he talked to me.'
* Oh, I am so glad ; there is no one like Mr. Brett
when one is in trouble — he seems to understand every-
thing without being told.'
' Yes ; he was very kind, and he certainly did me
good. Martha, I know that Ned told you about
things, so there is no need to repeat them.' Then
Martha coloured a little, as though she were slightly
embarrassed.
' It was very good of him,' she returned hurriedly.
* I would not have questioned him for the world. I
just asked after you. Sheila, and hoped you were not
tired ; but I should not have said a word about your
poor brother, until Mr. Lassiter began to talk about
him quite naturally, and of course I was glad enough
to let him go on.'
' Ned says you are a good listener, Martha.' Then
again a little flush came to Martha's cheek ; she was
evidently rather sensitive on the subject of Mr. Lassiter's
confidence.
' I think it was so kind of him,' she returned rather
nervously ; ' but I hope you do not mind my know-
ing, Sheila?' Then Sheila assured her with absolute
XIX *\VE ARE SISTERS NOW 209
sincerity that she was too thankful that Ned had antici-
pated her.
' I own I was a Httle surprised,' she said truthfully ;
* for, though Ned is a great talker when he finds himself
in congenial society, he is generally extremely reticent
on private matters. You may take it, therefore, as a
great compliment that he thought you such a safe
confidante. I expect if Betty had been there he would
not have said a word.'
' Oh, do you think so ? ' and Martha looked rather
shy and excessively pleased. ' I assure you he and
Betty are excellent friends. Why, the naughty child
actually calls him " Herr Professor " to his face.'
* Yes, and Ned is quite proud of the name. It is
no use your being shocked, Martha, for they are both
incorrigible, and Ned never will realise that Betty is
quite grown-up.'
' I cannot wonder at it ; but it is no use my
lecturing Betty in private when you both encourage
her in her childish ways ' but here she checked
herself and changed the subject. ' And so you are
going on your errand of mercy to-morrow, Sheila ? '
* I am going to shop for Nell and the children,'
returned Sheila resolutely. And then, the ice once
broken, the two friends talked together of the im-
pending change at The Moorings ; and Sheila's troubled
heart was soothed by another assurance that she was
doing the right thing.
' I am so glad you think so,' she returned with a sigh.
' Yes indeed,' was Martha's reply. ' But you do not
need to be told how sorry I am for you and your
brother. I am afraid, from his description of your
sister-in-law, that you will both have much to bear ;
and then those poor children ! '
P
2IO AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' Duty and pleasure are not always synonymous
terms,' observed Sheila, trying to smile. * How strangely
one's prayers are answered sometimes, Martha. How
many hundreds of nights I have offered up a petition
that I might see my darling Ivor's face again, and now
my request has been granted, and the dear fellow has
actually slept under our roof, and yet there was more
heartache than pleasure. How could I rejoice when I
knew all this burden was to come on Ned ! '
' I understand your feelings so well, dearest'
' It was the drop of gall that spoiled the sweetness of
the draught. All these years I have thought more of
Ned's comfort and happiness than of my own. There
is nothing praiseworthy in this, for you know what we
are to each other.'
' Yes, I know, Sheila.'
' Ah, but you do not know the life that we led in
Brook Street. How, day after day and week after
week, no friendly footstep crossed our threshold. How
absolutely we lived for our work and for each other.
To me the worst of our poverty was that it seemed
to shut us out from human fellowship. People who
tried to be kind to us would not understand when we
refused their invitations. They were only offended,
and let us go. I used to cry about it sometimes,
Martha. It did seem so hard that a clever man like
Ned should be deprived of congenial society. If only
he would have gone without me ; but he always said
that we would swim or sink together.'
' I am not so sure you were to be pitied, dear,'
returned her friend quietly. ' I have always so longed
for an elder brother with whom I could take counsel.
If our dear boys had only lived ' — with a sigh of tender
regret.
XIX 'WE ARE SISTERS NOW 211
' No, you are right. As long as I have Ned and know
all is well with Ivor, I have cause enough for thank-
fulness ' But Sheila never finished her sentence,
for the next moment there was a little whirlwind, and
she found herself enveloped in clouds of pink muslin,
while a soft flushed cheek was pressed against hers.
' Oh, you dear thing — you dear thing,' exclaimed
Betty rapturously, * to think I never knew you were
here, and Marty has had you all to herself!'
Martha and Sheila exchanged guilty looks. They
felt rather like two conspirators who had been
found out. It was seldom that they found an
opportunity for a quiet talk. Betty never could be
made to understand that her presence was not
absolutely necessary. She insisted on a monopoly of
Sheila's society. * I knew her before you did, Marty,'
she would say in rather an injured voice. ' Oh yes,
she is your friend too ; but all the same, I shall
always feel that she and Herr Professor are my special
property.' And Betty certainly acted up to her
words, and Sheila was too fond of the child to
damp her girlish enthusiasm. As for Ned, he talked
to Martha and teased Betty, and had rather a good
time on the whole.
Sheila could not stay any longer, but Betty, who
was determined to have her innings, went with her to
the gate of The Moorings. ' I hope your brother —
Mr. Ivor, I mean — is better? ' she asked rather shyly. ' I
know what the Herr Professor told Marty this morning,
that he has a wife and two dear little children, and
I know how good you will be to them.'
' Somebody else was good too,' returned Sheila,
taking the girl's hand. * Dear Betty, I was obliged to
write to you that night, I felt so grateful to you for
212 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
your kindness to my poor Ivor. Now I must go in,
dear, for I have a long day's work before me to-morrow';
and then Betty bade her a reluctant good-night.
It was all so tantalising, she thought. She did so
long to hear more about that poor wife and those
children. Betty hated to be on the outside of things.
It was all so wonderfully interesting, like a little bit
out of a novel. ' After all, it was I who found him,'
thought Betty with unconscious egotism. ' He may be
a sort of prodigal son, but he is a dear fellow for all
that ' ; and tears came to Betty's eyes as she recalled
the meeting of the brother and sister.
When Sheila reached Juniper Place the next
morning she found Nell and Bunnie ready for her —
Bunnie with her baby doll in her arms.
Already the place had a more cheerful aspect.
Tommy was sitting on the floor at his father's feet
with his new toy — his face beaming. Nell had
evidently taken pains with herself and Bunnie, and
though their attire was woefully shabby, they had lost
their slatternly appearance. Nell had curled the
feather in her hat and mended her one pair of gloves,
and the little flush of excitement on her cheek rather
became her.
Sheila had already made out a list of things that
would be absolutely necessary for Nell and the children,
and as there was much to do she hurried them off*, after
exchanging a few words with Ivor.
At first Nell was too much subdued by the grandeur
of the shops and the smart appearance of the assistants
to dare to assert herself. But after a time, when she
grew more used to her position, her natural love of
finery was too much for her. Sheila had made up
her mind to provide three useful dresses for Nell to
XIX «WE ARE SISTERS NOW 213
wear at The Moorings. And Nell, who had at first
expressed her gratitude, and intention of leaving the
choice to Sheila, could not refrain from hinting that
she had a fancy for bright colours. She looked
longingly at a red costume braided with black ;
then a pale green one took her fancy. But Sheila
turned a deaf ear to these hints. The dark gray
summer tweed with the spotted silk vest would suit
her far better, and the blue serge would be more useful
and becoming. Nell only got her way in the sateen
that was for daily use, and she was wise enough to
select a navy blue, though the white braiding was not
to Sheila's taste.
Sheila was glad when they left this department,
though a fresh difficulty arose with the hats. Nell
would have fixed on one trimmed with crimson roses,
or a white straw loaded with blue feathers, which would
have overshadowed her thin little face. But Sheila was
resolute. Nell should not disfigure herself, she said.
The pretty black hat with the touch of gray in it
suited her exactly ; and the plain sailor straw hat
with a blue ribbon would do for everyday. Nell
looked disappointed, but she dared not rebel. And
Sheila, pleased with her submission, added a smart
lace tie and a pretty pink silk bow, which brought
back Nell's smile again.
They had a hasty luncheon at a confectioner's, and
then resumed their shopping. There were shoes and
boots required for Nell and the children, and a jacket
for cool days. They were almost worn out by the
time they returned to Juniper Place. Ivor, who had
been wondering at their long absence, had got tea
ready ; and Tommy, who had been clamouring for his
mother the last hour or two, climbed up in her lap.
214 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Nell gave an account of their purchases as they sat
at the tea-table, while Tommy played with a box of
soldiers that Sheila had brought him.
' I shan't know myself, Ivey,' Nell said rather tear-
fully ; ' and you won't have to be ashamed of me or
Bunnie either when you put on your new suit. And
to think of the rags I have been wearing.' And Nell
sighed as if she were almost oppressed with her riches.
But even the glories of her new wardrobe paled before
the prospect that opened before her dazzled eyes when
Sheila gave Ned's message to his brother.
Ivor seemed scarcely able to believe his ears.
* I am to bring Nell and the children to The
Moorings,' he asked breathlessly — 'did you say for a
month or two. Sheila?'
* Yes, dear, those were Ned's words. We both
think that the fine air will do you all good. And then
when you are stronger, Ivor, you will be able to look
about you and find something to do.'
'But we shall be in your way' — Ivor spoke in a
tone of compunction. ' It is awfully good of you both,
but I don't deserve this kindness ; you are heaping
coals of fire on me. And, hang it all, how am I to
repay it ? ' and Ivor walked to the window to hide his
emotion. But after a minute or two Sheila followed
him. Nell was quietly crying for sheer happiness.
' Dear Ivor,' she said gently, ' we both know how
good Ned is — few brothers would be so forgiving and
generous — but it is in your power to pay him back.'
' But I feel such a cad, She. I have no right to
burden Ned or you either. Nell is a stranger to you ;
she has not been used to your ways.' But here
Sheila's soft hand was laid on his lips.
' Not another word, darling,' she said firmly ; * you
XIX 'WE ARE SISTERS NOW 215
are all coming to The Moorings for a long and pleasant
visit, I hope.' And then she quietly told them of the
arrangements she intended to make for their comfort.
The large pleasant attics, with their cheerful outlook,
and the little back room that was so cool and shady in
summer, and that opened on the tiny conservatory.
* It is a mere cottage room and belongs to the old
part,' she went on, ' and had been used in Aunt Sarah's
time as a servants' sitting-room, but Eppie prefers her
kitchen. Nell could do her sewing there and look
after the children, and on fine days they would be in
the garden and on the golf-links. Ned will have his
study. Nothing must disturb his work. It is I who
will look after Nell and the children,' proceeded Sheila
in her kind, frank way, as she looked at the pale,
excited faces round her.
Then Nell did an unexpected thing. She let Tommy
slide to the floor, upsetting the little army of tin
soldiers who were marching to the victory, and gave
her sister-in-law an impulsive hug.
* Oh, how I love you for this, Miss Lassiter ! ' she
said in a broken voice.
Then, as Sheila warmly returned her kiss, her
good heart prompted her to say : ' We are sisters now,
Nell, and you must call me Sheila.' And then they
all quieted down, and after a little more talk Sheila
took her leave.
CHAPTER XX
' A VERY HEALTHY-MINDED PERSON '
Success and happiness are only to be had in giving up our own will. —
General Gordon.
God has furnished us with constant occasions of bearing one another's
burdens. For there is no man living without his failings ; no man that is
so happy as never to give offence ; no man without his load of trouble. —
Anon.
The busy traffic of the streets made it impossible for
Sheila to time her arrival at Victoria with any degree
of exactitude. She found herself therefore far too early
for her train.
In spite of the lateness of the hour, for it was nearly
eight, the station was somewhat crowded with passengers
and luggage, and Sheila, who was tired out with her
day's exertions, was looking vainly for a seat, when a
deep voice behind her made her start. ' I think I can
secure a quiet corner for you, Miss Lassiter ' ; and Sheila
turned to find herself face to face with the vicar of
St. Jude's. As she stretched out her hand to him with
a look of frank pleasure, her smile was reflected on
Luke Brett's dark countenance.
' I had a telegram this morning that obliged me to
come up to town,' he explained, as they walked across
the crowded space towards the corner he had indicated.
216
CHAP. XX 'A VERY HEALTHY-MINDED PERSON' 217
* An old college friend whom I have not seen for some
years was passing through London, and begged me to
join him at the Club. We have been together until an
hour ago. I had a sort of impression that you would
take this train. I think you told me that your brother
intended to meet you at Uplands ; if so, I am sure you
will be good enough to give me a seat in your fly.'
* Need you ask such a question ? ' returned Sheila,
with one of her sunny smiles. What had become of
her fatigue and lassitude ? Her step was as springy as
ever, and there was no expression of disappointment
on her face when, on reaching the seat, they found it
occupied by a fat German and his substantial-looking
spouse.
' I am afraid we must beat a retreat,' observed Mr.
Brett regretfully ; ' all the world and his wife seem
abroad this evening, and there is not another seat to
be had unless you like to go into the waiting-room.'
' Oh no,' returned Sheila, ' it is so much cooler out
here, and we shall not have long to wait now. You
must have enjoyed seeing your old friend again, Mr.
Brett'
* It was a very real pleasure. Isn't it Longfellow who
says, " How good it feels, the hand of an old friend "? '
' Yes, I think so.'
* And Shakespeare bids us " keep thy friend under
thy own life's key." They were both right. Miss
Lassiter. A new friend may in time become a very
dear friend, but as one goes on in life, one yearns more
and more for those old companions of one's earliest
years ; school and college friendships, somehow they
seem to mean so much even now.'
' My brother would agree with you there,' returned
Sheila ; ' he often tells me that even during that short
3i8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
time he was at Oxford he made the beginnings of at
least a dozen friendships, although they were broken
off by his being obHged to leave so suddenly. Poor
fellow, he had only just begun to enjoy the delights of
university life when our grandfather's death obliged him
to give it up.'
* Yes, we have talked about it more than once,'
replied Mr. Brett ; ' it was one of those lost opportunities
that can never return in later life. In the old myth
they put Pegasus to the plough ; there is a world of
meaning in that. But I have a great faith in the law
of compensation. I have a notion somehow that your
brother may have gained as much as he has lost.
There are wonderful lessons taught by the discipline of
life. Ah, there the gate is open, and we shall be able
to take our seats at once.'
The train was a long one, and to their surprise
they had the compartment to themselves. This made
conversation possible, and Luke at once took the
opportunity of asking Sheila how her day's work had
progressed.
' It was rather trying,' she returned. * My sister-in-
law's notions of dress are somewhat crude and
undeveloped.' And then she gave Luke Brett rather
an amusing sketch of Nell's yearning to crown her
little white face with a fine structure of poppies or
rosebuds, or wistfully regarding herself under the
nodding blue plumes. ' I had to be firm,' she said
smiling, ' and to put my foot down, but I am afraid,
poor thing, she imagined me unnecessarily cruel ; but
I thought of Ned and steeled myself against all wistful
looks. Oh, you may laugh, Mr. Brett, but I assure you
there were weak moments when I was tempted to yield ;
it was so pathetic to me, that longing for a bit of
XX 'A VERY HEALTHY-MINDED PERSON' 219
colour and smartness to bring brightness into her dingy-
life ; but I am glad now that I was firm.'
' I think you were right/ observed Mr. Brett. ' But
it has often amused me to see how inherent that love
of finery is in all classes and under all circumstances.
The coster's young woman with her borrowed hat and
feathers, the factory girl with her fringe and smart
blouse, are at one end of the ladder, and the fashionable
beauty, with her French milliner and dresses from
Worth, is at the other. In the Old Testament days
they seemed pretty much the same ; " the king's daughter
was all glorious within," Miss Lassiter.'
* Then you do not think it wrong ? ' asked Sheila,
anxious, as usual, to know his opinion.
'Wrong — the love of finery, do you mean?
Certainly not, within due limits, and if people dress
in accordance with their station and means. I am
not fond of bright plumage myself, and am rather
Quakerish in my taste.' But as Luke Brett made
this remark he glanced with decided approval at
Sheila's soft gray dress and black hat. She would
have been pleased if that secret criticism could have
reached her ear, and still more if she had heard him
remark to Miss Gillian that he wished a certain young
Sunday School teacher would follow Miss Lassiter's
example. * She is always well dressed, but one never
knows what she wears.' And though Miss Gillian
privately agreed with him, she had been very con-
temptuous of this masculine verdict.
Sheila was talking out of sheer lightness of heart.
She had done a troublesome piece of business, which
had cost her much labour and a good deal of un-
easiness. It had not been easy to manage Nell ;
but patience and quiet perseverance had brought her
220 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
success. Nell would look a different creature when
she was properly dressed. Sheila felt like a good child
who had done some unusually difficult task, and was
now let out of school. She was in holiday mood, and
inclined to enjoy every moment of her return journey.
Not being given to introspection, she was quite
unconscious of the reason why the presence of Luke
Brett at once stimulated and rested her. But from
the first it had been so, and at every meeting she
became more at her ease with him ; and her heart had
fully endorsed Martha Woodford's remark that ' there
was no one like Mr. Brett when one was in trouble,
for he seemed to understand everything without being
told.'
More than once, as they talked, Luke Brett looked
at her rather keenly. But it was not until the subjec:t
was exhausted that he gave utterance to his thought.
* Miss Lassiter, are you aware that you are a
very healthy-minded person ? Excuse me ' — as Sheila
coloured at this unexpected compliment — ' I did not
intend to be personal, only the fact struck me.'
' How do you mean ? ' she asked a little timidly.
' You have such recuperative power.' And then, of
course. Sheila understood.
* Oh, I see now — you are thinking how different I
was yesterday. But I am trying to make the best of
things ; and ' — very sweetly — * you do not know how
much you helped me.' But he looked a little surprised
at this.
* I had no idea you were a homoeopathist, Miss
Lassiter.' Then Sheila laughed.
' It was not so much what you said,' she remarked
truthfully, ' as what you implied. But all the same
you helped me.'
XX 'A VERY HEALTHY-MINDED PERSON' 221
^ Deo gratias for that' And then he added drily,
' No doubt, believers in homoeopathy swallow their
minute globule in all good faith and with an honest
belief in results.' And then his manner changed, and
he said earnestly, * I think that old saying contains a
mine of truth, " Heaven helps those who help them-
selves." When you put self in the background, you
were beginning to climb out of your low valley.' And
then for a little time there was silence.
But by and by they began talking again ; but
Sheila never could remember what induced her to
speak of her old life — it may have been some question
or word on Mr. Brett's part — but she presently found
herself talking to him of her parents and Ivor, of the
ceaseless pressure of care that dominated the little
household, of Ned's brave boyish struggles, and the
sad limitations of their young life.
' It was a starved existence,' she said frankl3^ ' Do
you know, I never had a friend of my own until I met
Martha and Betty Woodford ? I am very fond of
them both, but I am most in touch with Martha.'
' I knew from the first you would be friends,' he
replied quietly. * Miss Woodford has a charming
personality ; she does not unfold at first to strangers,
but when she once gives her friendship, she will never
withdraw it. There ought to be a very real community
of feeling between you, for you have both worn the
yoke in your youth.'
* You are right,' returned Shelia in a low voice ;
and then two young women entered the compartment
with babies and bundles, and by mutual consent the
conversation lapsed.
It was during this pause of enforced silence that
Sheila noticed with concern the air of extreme lassitude
222 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and weariness with which Mr. Brett leant back in his
corner. He had been talking with such animation, his
manner had been so genuinely interested, that she had
noticed nothing amiss ; but now there was a blueness
about his lips, and he closed his eyes as though he were
in pain.
Sheila watched him anxiously, but at first she did
not venture to speak ; she had already found out that
he was extremely reticent on the subject of his health,
and never liked allusions to his looks. Miss Gillian
had told her this.
* Men are so perverse, my dear,' she had remarked
one day ; * they never will allow that anything is the
matter with them — it is just their pride and masterful
ways — and Luke, with all his good qualities, is no better
than any of them. He knows he is not as robust as
he used to be, and that his work tires him, but do ycu
suppose he makes any difference for that ? Not he.
Every Sunday evening he comes back from service too
jaded to eat his supper, but if I take any notice, he
has a civil sort of way of bidding me hold my
tongue.'
As Sheila remembered this speech, she remained
silent. But Luke Brett could easily have explained
matters — he always paid dearly for his pleasures.
He had had an exceptionally happy day. He had
enjoyed several hours of unrestrained intercourse with the
friend of his youth, and had felt himself strengthened
and refreshed ; and now there was this pleasant journey
with the woman who already interested him, and to
whom he felt himself drawn unconsciously. The hour
had passed to him as agreeably as it had to Sheila, but
as usual his physical powers had been unequal to
the prolonged effort ; the old feelings of strain and
XX 'A VERY HEALTHY-MINDED PERSON' 223
exhaustion were asserting themselves, and he knew that
he must be quiet. Just then the train stopped, and he
opened his eyes and met Sheila's anxious glance ; but
the women and babies were getting out, and there was
nothing said until the train moved on again.
' Don't look like that,' he said, smiling at her ; * I am
only a little tired.'
* But you are not well, I am sure of it. Is there
nothing I can do ? ' But he shook his head.
* Please do not take any notice — I often have these
fits of exhaustion ; besides, I am better now ' ; and
indeed his colour looked more natural. But by and
by, as Sheila sat quiet in her corner, looking out at
the darkening fields and hedgerows, he spoke again of
his own accord.
' I am sorry I made you uneasy, but I have had a
long day. Some time before I was ordained deacon,
I had a serious boating accident, and that and the
illness that followed told on my constitution. Until
I was three-and-twenty I was as tough and strong as
other men, with a passion for boating and all athletic
sports, but I have to live more soberly now * ; and
then, without waiting for her comment, he quietly
passed on to another subject.
Soon afterwards they reached Uplands, and found
Ned and Kaiser waiting on the platform. During
their drive Mr. Brett talked in his usual manner. It
was Sheila who was silent ; she found it impossible to
divest herself of a vague uneasiness. She could not
forget the sudden haggardness and pallor of Luke
Brett's face, and the curious blueness of his lips ; and
every time she woke that night she was haunted by
the remembrance. But she said no word to Ned ; she
had a feeling that Mr. Brett's confidence was intended
224 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
only for her ear, and she could not bring herself to
repeat it. She wondered why Miss Gillian had not
mentioned it, for she was extremely garrulous on family
matters, and Sheila was already in possession of
numberless biographical sketches of dead and gone
Bretts — uncles and aunts and cousins with marvellous
life-histories and incredible adventures and love-stories.
Sheila knew all about Luke's mother, the dark-eyed
Doreen, who had been Miss Gillian's sister and the
darling of her heart, and had heard countless anecdotes
of Luke's childhood.
* If I had not loved him for his mother's sake,' Miss
Gillian said once, ' I should have done it for his own,
for a more engaging child never lived ; and the queer
speeches he would make too.
*" Why can't I see my soul. Aunt Gill ? " he said once
to me. " I can feel it beating here like a little bird
trying to fly." Dear, I can hear him now, and see him
patting his little velvet tunic. Don't I remember the
night when I was putting him into his little cot, and
he asked me if people dressed and undressed in heaven ;
*' for it 'pears to me Aunt Gill," he said quite solemn
like, though he could not speak plain, " that the wings
must get dreffully in the way "; and then he flapped his
arms as though to make believe he was flying. " I
hope mine will fit," says he. Did you ever hear such a
speech from a child of five ? but there, Luke was the
most knowing little fellow.'
Sheila was so tired when she reached home that
Ned would not allow her to talk, and the narrative of
the day's doings was left for the breakfast table. The
night was hot and she could not sleep for hours, and
she looked far from rested the next morning. But she
would not allow Ned to condole with her.
XX «A VERY HEALTHY-MINDED PERSON' 225
' My dear old boy,' she said, * any one but a sala-
niander or a crocodile would have been fatigued walking
the streets on such a day. The shops were stuffy and
the dust seemed to get into one's throat.'
' You did far too much,' he remarked judicially ;
* I cannot have you knocking yourself up after this
fashion ' — for her eyes were heavy from want of sleep.
* Oh, nonsense ! ' she returned with a sprightly
air. ' Don't you know that I am a very healthy-
minded person, and have such recuperative powers ? '
Then Ned stared at her, not being aware that she was
repeating Luke Brett's speech.
' I tell you what, young woman,' he said, as he
carried off* the local paper for more leisurely perusal,
* you had better tuck yourself up in the hammock and
have a nap.' And this advice was so tempting that
Sheila actually took it.
' I am glad I followed your prescription, Ned,' she
said, as she took her place at the luncheon table. ' I
have wasted the whole morning dozing or sleeping.
I have a fancy that Betty peeped at me through the
gate, but I shut my eyes and lay quite still and she
went away. And then a wood-pigeon cooed, and I had
a sort of Alice in Wonderland dream ; for I thought I
had an immense feathery ruff" round my neck. " I
suppose I am a pigeon too — a Jacobin," I said to
myself; "but it is rather odd that I can talk so well,
and it is not pigeon-English either. I suppose when
humans turn into birds they have wings ; but mine
won't flap nicely because they are only muslin." Oh,
the absurdity of dreams, Ned ! '
'They are utter rot,' he returned. But he was
pleased all the same to hear her talk this nonsense ;
for her jaded look and heavy eyes had troubled him.
Q
226 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
But Sheila was determined to prove the truth of Mr.
Brett's speech, and as they sat at tea together in the
fir parlour she was as cheerful as possible.
' We shall have a whole week to ourselves,' she
remarked presently ; * Eppie says that we cannot get
the rooms ready before that. A whole week — think
of that, Ned ! I mean to make the most of every
minute.'
' A week,' he returned rather dubiously. ' In
that case I am afraid that I shall be obliged to go
up and see Ivor again.' But Sheila dissuaded him
from this.
' There is not the slightest need,' she observed. * I
mean to write to him myself to-morrow, and to Nell
too. He will have to get a neat black trunk for her
and a Gladstone bag for himself. They could not
really bring that battered tin box to The Moorings.'
' No, I suppose not. Do you think Ivor will know
what to get ? '
* Oh yes. There is a shop in Tottenham Court
Road where there are very good trunks. I shall give
him all particulars. Don't think of going up, Ned ; it
is far too hot. Besides, I can't part with you ; we are
going to be together every day this week. I mean to
stick to you like an affectionate leech.'
' " Barkis is willin'," my dear.'
' We shall be quite gay next week,' she went on
cheerfully. * Surely you have not forgotten that
Tuesday is Miss Gillian's birthday, and that she has
invited us and the Woodfords to her last straw-
berry tea ? '
' I think it had slipped my memory. She ; that
was the very day I meant to go to town.' Then she
shook her head at him.
XX *A VERY HEALTHY-MINDED PERSON' 227
' And our picnic tea at Chorley Grange ? ' And
again Ned had to plead defective memory.
Sheila pretended to be much offended. It was a
little outdoor fete proposed for her special gratifica-
tion. Mr. Brett had told them one evening that they
certainly ought to see the beautiful grounds belonging
to Chorley Grange. ' There is a cottage on the estate
where you can get tea,' he had remarked. And Ned,
who was always willing to give Sheila pleasure, had
suggested that they should charter a waggonette and
invite Miss Woodford and her sister to accompany them.
* I think we might ask Miss Gillian too,' remarked
Sheila. Then Mr. Brett assured her that his aunt
would gladly accept the invitation, as anything in the
shape of a picnic or jaunt pleased her,
' I will give her your message,' he returned seriously,
* if you will promise to include me in the invitation.'
And so a very pleasant little party had been arranged ;
and yet that tiresome Ned had forgotten all about it,
and the waggonette was not even ordered.
' But what can you expect of a Herr Professor ! '
exclaimed Betty, when Sheila carried her story to the
Cottage the next day, * His head is so full of big
thoughts that he has no room for little ones ; but he
might have remembered that Martha and I were going '
— and Betty spoke in an injured voice.
CHAPTER XXI
MISS GILLIAN
But as we hurry on our way
And gird ourselves to run the race,
A moment still do we delay
For some loved face.
We scan some milestone where we met
A guide, a friend, a little child,
Whose loving eyes, remembered yet.
With blessing smiled.
Annie Matheson.
As Miss Gillian's birthday fell early in August, her
invitation to a strawberry tea was somewhat puzzling,
except to the initiated. To be sure, there were still a
few late strawberries to be found in the sunny borders
at the vicarage, but these were always kept for the vicar's
benefit. But Miss Gillian, who was a notable house-
keeper, prided herself upon her strawberry preserve ;
and a finely-cut old crystal bowl, full of the delicious
delicacy, was always placed in the centre of her tea-
table, the crimson fruit swimming in clear syrup.
' I have never tasted anything so good as Miss
Gillian's strawberry preserve,' Martha had said to Sheila
when the latter had remarked on the strangeness of
the invitation, ' but I have never ventured to ask for
the recipe.' And then she went on to explain a little
228
CHAP. XXI MISS GILLIAN 229
peculiarity on the old lady's part. Miss Gillian had
a rooted aversion to receiving presents. Even on her
birthday only her nephew was permitted to offer a gift.
Flowers alone were acceptable. And then Martha
related with a smile how she had once taken a pretty
rustic basket of flowers to the vicarage in return for
some kindness on Miss Gillian's part. The flowers had
been admired and kept, but the basket had been sent
back the next morning with a message of thanks. * It
was such a pity,' she went on, ' for I had arranged
the flowers in wet moss, and they looked so lovely.
But Miss Gillian declared she had no use for the
basket'
Sheila found this rather perplexing. She knew Miss
Gillian had her idiosyncrasies, but this seemed rather
ungracious, and she hinted as much to Martha. * I
suppose, in that case, she never gives presents herself?'
she observed ; but Martha assured her that no one was
more lavish of gifts.
' She is the most recklessly generous person I know,'
she went on. ' She has a nice little income of her own,
and she is never happier than when she is spending
her money on other people. She is the Lady Bountiful
of the village, and Mr. Brett often remonstrates with
her on her injudicious lavishness. He declares that she
is quite pauperising the people.*
* If people give, they ought not to be too proud to
receive,' returned Sheila.
' There is no pride in Miss Gillian's reluctance to
accept presents, Sheila ; indeed, it comes from a very
different feeling. As it is no secret at Uplands, I may
as well explain it to you. You know that Mrs. Brett
was much younger than Miss Gillian — "her darling
Doreen," as she always calls her — but you probably
230 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
do not know that Miss Gillian was engaged to the
elder brother Cyril, who was also a clergyman.'
* No, I never heard that'
* The Rev. Cyril Brett had a parish at the east end
of London — Stepney or Whitechapel, I forget which —
and the sisters were to have been married on the same
day.'
' Oh dear, do you mean that my dear Miss Gillian
was jilted ? '
' No. Cyril Brett died two days before the wedding
was to take place. He was a very zealous, hard-working
man, and never grudged time or strength for his people.
There was a terrible case of typhus in one of the
courts, and the people were panic-stricken and would
do nothing for the poor creatures. Cyril Brett was
told of it, and he went at once, and stayed in the fever-
stricken place amongst the dead and dying until help
came. Then he went home, and the next day he
sickened.'
' Oh, my poor Miss Gillian ! '
' Yes, it was terribly tragical. Of course, she never
saw him. There was no hope for him from the first —
it was typhus in its most malignant form. Miss Gillian
was stunned at first, but as soon as she could grasp
things, she insisted that Doreen should be married on
the day appointed ; and then she said a very strange
thing — and for the moment her sister thought that the
shock had been too much for her brain — " There is no
need for us all to be unhappy. Lionel has lost his
brother, and he needs you to comfort him. You can
go to church and be married quietly, and Cyril and I
will be there too." But of course she meant in spirit,
for she was far too feeble to rise from her bed for many
a day. And when Doreen was not to be persuaded,
XXI- MISS GILLIAN 231
she actually sent for Lionel Brett, and he at once saw
that nothing else would quiet her. Then, as soon as
she was able to move, she had all her presents packed
and sent back to the donors, and never from that day
would she accept a gift except from her nearest and
dearest'
' But Miss Gillian is so cheerful and full of life,
Martha, no one could have suspected that her life held
such a tragedy.'
* You must remember, dear, that all this happened
about forty years ago. Miss Gillian has had time
to recover her spirits. But I can give you a proof that
she has not forgotten her lover. On the anniversay of
his death she always wears black, and takes a little
bouquet of lilies of the valley — his favourite flower —
to lay on his grave. And she does the same 'on the
day her sister died. But as far as I know, she has
never mentioned Cyril Brett's name to any one. It
was an old servant of theirs who told me the story.
She said once to me that two more beautiful girls than
Gillian and Doreen Lorimer could not have been found
in the United Kingdom, but that most people thought
that Miss Gillian took the palm.'
' Of course, appearances are deceptive,' returned
Sheila thoughtfully, 'but I should never have imagined
that Miss Gillian had lived through such a sad ex-
perience.'
* It was sad enough,' observed Martha ; * and you
see she has been faithful to his memory, " though lovers
were thick as blackberries," as old Charlotte put it.
There is heart-break in many women's lives. Sheila, but
as far as I can judge, death is not the worst evil.'
' You mean that the pain would have been more
unendurable if he had jilted her ? I think you are right
232 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
there ' ; and then Betty had interrupted them as usual,
and there was no more said.
It was only natural that Martha's story should have
interested Sheila. From the first she had been strongly
attracted to Miss Gillian — in spite of her oddities and
innocent egotism — she was such a staunch, courageous
little creature, and so loyal to her friends. She thought
very lovingly of her as she gathered her simple posy
the next morning, and she answered Ned very gently
when he scoffed at the homely gift.
* Martha and Betty always take flowers,' she said
quietly — ' they know Miss Gillian prefers it ; and
Martha begged me to do the same.' And Ned held
his tongue ; he was beginning to have a great respect
for Miss Woodford's opinion.
On their arrival at the vicarage they found the
other guests had arrived. Mr. Woodford was sitting in
his wheeled chair under an acacia, and Mr. Brett was
beside him. Martha was helping Miss Gillian arrange
her tea-table, and Betty and Mr. Ducie, the curate,
were playing bowls. The Rev. Howard Ducie had
only recently come to St. Jude's. He was a pleasant-
looking man — a noted cricketer — but Mr. Brett knew
that he was a hard worker. Miss Gillian, who
mothered all the curates, had invited him as a matter
of course ; but she had told Betty not to flirt, as he
was engaged to a nice girl who lived in Westmorland.
But Betty had taken this hint in bad part.
' It is so absurd of Miss Gillian,' she observed rather
crossly ; * as though one cannot talk to a man without
being accused of flirting ! ' But Martha had with
difficulty suppressed a smile. She knew Betty could
no more help making herself pleasant to a man than
a honey-bee can help draining the sweetness of the
XXI MISS GILLIAN 233
nectar cup in the heart of the flower. If she were a
flirt, she was a most harmless and transparent one,
and the gray -eyed girl who was waiting for Howard
Ducie in the old manor-house at Kendal need not
have feared Betty's winsome smiles and childish
coquetry.
There was something idyllic in the little scene.
The tea-table set in the shade of a gnarled old pear-
tree ; the picturesque little hostess with her fine old
face beaming with smiles, and her lace lappets floating
over her shoulders — she herself as light-footed and
erect as a girl.
* I am seventy to-day,' she said as she kissed Sheila
on both cheeks, * and in some respects I am as young
as my little Betty. Give Miss Lassiter a chair, Luke,
and then you can wheel Mr. Woodford closer to the
table. I see I have an uninvited guest,' as a wasp
hovered round the crystal bowl. And then the little
group gathered round their hostess, and Betty handed
round the silver basket of thin crisp biscuits which
were always served with the strawberry preserve.
It was always pleasant to Sheila to see Luke Brett
with his aunt — his manner was so caressing and gentle
to her ; and though Miss Gillian teased and rallied
him, and ordered him about as though he were still a
boy, it was easy to read her pride and delight in him.
Whether she understood him or not, their mutual
attachment was evidently deep and sincere.
Peter, as usual, squatted closely beside his master,
unless some intrusive sparrow had to be put to flight,
and from time to time Luke drew the brown ears softly
through his fingers. Sheila was relieved to see how
much better and brighter he looked ; but when she
hinted at this, he shook his head a little reproachfully.
234 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
'You have too good a memory, Miss Lasslter. I
never remember my tired moods ; they belong to
yesterday.' And then he continued, smiling, ' What
should we do if night were to be erased from our time-
dial, and life were to be one long monotonous day — all
sunshine, not even twilight ? '
' What a strange thought,' observed Sheila in a low
voice. The strawberry feast was over, and Mr. Brett
had taken her to see the bee-hives ; and then, as though
by force of habit, he had unlatched the little gate lead-
ing to the churchyard, and presently they were pacing
up and down the yew-tree walk, with the white head-
stones and crosses gleaming amidst the greenery.
' Dr. Pusey once said something of the kind,'
returned the vicar. ' I remember one sentence, " We
can have no thought what we should lose if we could
dispense with sleep, and prolong day into day by the
loss of new beginnings. Every three years we have a
thousand of such new beginnings." '
* Such an idea has never struck me before, but it is
very true,' and Sheila seemed impressed.
* It helps us to preserve our sanity,' observed Luke.
' It is true that many of us sleep like worn-out pilgrims
with our heads pillowed on our burdens. They are
loosed, but we cannot get free from them. With
morning comes fresh strength to bear them. By the
by,' changing the subject abruptly, as though he found
his mood was too serious, ' I hear from my aunt that
we are to drive to Chorley Grange on Thursday.'
' Yes indeed,' returned Sheila brightly. * Ned and
I are going to make the most of the week. I feel so
proud giving my first picnic tea. On Saturday we
mean to have a cycling trip — ^just Martha and Betty
Woodford and Mr. Ducie. I heard Ned inviting him
XXI MISS GILLIAN 235
at tea-time. And Miss Gillian is such a dear — she has
promised to spend the afternoon with Mr. Woodford.'
' I wish I could join you/ returned Luke Brett a
little wistfully ; * but cycling is a forbidden pleasure to
me, and on Saturday I am always busy with my sermon.
I suppose you will go to Deerhurst, and have luncheon
at the Three Crows — it is the very ideal of a village
inn.'
' Yes, and then we shall go on to Bovey Mill, and
get tea at a farmhouse, and return by moonlight.' But
as Sheila unfolded her little plan there was a regretful
note in her voice. * How pleasant it would have been,'
she thought, ' if Mr. Brett could have joined us ! '
Perhaps Luke Brett read the unspoken thought, for he
smiled.
' I have had my fair share of pleasant things,' he
said quietly, ' and I must not complain if I sometimes
have to be a looker-on at the game.'
But Sheila could make nothing of this enigmatical
speech. She only felt that an element of pleasure would
be lacking on the Saturday excursion. 'Anyhow, he
is coming with us to Chorley,' she said to herself ' I
do hope we shall have a fine day.'
* Now what on earth can Aunt Gill be doing ! '
exclaimed Luke in a puzzled tone as they came in sight
of the house. But they were soon to be enlightened.
Miss Gillian, who was in an unusually lively mood, had
challenged Betty to dance the minuet with her. And
the little minx, who was proud of her dancing, had
consented very willingly.
It was the prettiest and quaintest sight in the world
to see Miss Gillian execute her old-fashioned curtseys.
She swept the ground with billowy grace, and gave her
hand with infinite dignity and condescension to her
236 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
partner. Betty's bird-like motions and girlish lightness
were quite eclipsed by Miss Gillian with her stately
pirouette and rhythmic walk. Miss Gillian's face was
flushed, but she held her head high, and the diamonds
on her soft little fingers twinkled and shone in the
evening sunshine, and the lappets of her rare old point
floated in the breeze. * Bravo, Aunt Gill ! ' exclaimed
Luke, clapping his hands. Then Miss Gillian, with a
little toss of her head, executed her final curtsey.
• Ah, Betty mavoureen,' she said breathlessly, * you
can dance prettily, but you should just have seen my
darling Doreen. Many and many a time, Luke, have
we danced it on the bowling-green at Derrydown Lodge,
with my father and mother to see us, and the dear
dogs all sitting round and barking at us. And I am
seventy years old to-day, and you will be calling me a
vain old woman, Mr, Ducie. But, my dear, in some
ways a woman never gets old. Now, as we have finished
our dance, some one must be giving us a song.' But,
after all, it was Miss Gillian who commenced the
concert, and who sang ' Rich and rare were the gems
she wore ' in a voice that was very sweet and true.
It was almost dark when Miss Gillian's birthday party
broke up, and quite a village crowd had collected in the
churchyard to listen to the singing, Martha and Betty
both had good voices, and Mr. Ducie had a fine bass.
Even Luke Brett joined in the glees, though he could
not be persuaded to undertake a solo. During the
intervals they could hear the distant clapping of hands,
for Hodge has distinctly musical taste.
* The furringers won't beat parson,' observed one old
labourer. ' He has a terrible grand voice ; I can feel
it in my innards,* And more than one hearer would
have endorsed this.
XXI MISS GILLIAN 237
It was Martha Woodford who first made the move.
Her father was tired with his unusual exertions, she
said, and it was growing late. And then the little
cavalcade set out, Ned propelling the old man's chair,
Martha walking beside it, and Sheila bringing up
the rear with Betty hanging on her arm. Miss Gillian
and the vicar accompanied them to the end of Church
Row.
* Well, Aunt Gill, have you had a happy birthday ? '
asked Luke. Then Miss Gillian turned her bright face
to him.
' There's no one enjoys a birthday more than a
seventy-years-old child,' she said quaintly. 'You see,
my dear, when we come to that age we have had the
best and the worst of our life, and we don't seem to
fear the shadows as we used. When we are young we
cannot see the wood for the trees, and there are
awkward snags to trip us up ; but some of us are wise
enough as we grow older to look over the tree-tops.'
' I see what you mean, dear ' ; but Luke said under
his breath, ' So teach us to number our days, that we
may apply our hearts unto wisdom.'
' I have been thinking so much of your mother
to-day, Luke,' went on Miss Gillian in the same cheery
tone. * That is one of the blessings of getting old —
that we think more of the meetings than the partings.
We seem to have got quite safely over the Sea oi
Sorrow, and we are just anchoring our little boat in
some quiet harbour. It may be a bit dull at times ' —
and here there was a touch of wistfulness in the sweet
old voice — ' and one is impatient and longs for the
marching orders. But there, I am just the foolish Gill
that my darling Doreen used to call me.' And here
Miss Gillian brushed away a quiet tear or two.
238 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' You are a brave, heroic little soul, Aunt Gill.'
Luke spoke from his heart, and at this rare praise Miss
Gillian blushed like a girl.
' Oh, the boy's blarney,' she said, trying to laugh ;
' did any one hear the likes of that ? ' And then she
stroked his coat-sleeve in rather a wheedling, coaxing
fashion. ' Did you not think Sheila Lassiter looked
sweet this evening, Luke ? '
' She looked very nice.' And then rather hastily,
' And so did Miss Woodford. I hope you are not
fickle. Aunt Gill ; it is well to be off with the old love
before you are on with the new.' But Miss Gillian was
not to be put off so easily.
* Martha is a dear girl,' she said, * but to my think-
ing Sheila Lassiter is just about as sweet as she can
be. If I were a man I should fall in love with her.*
' Not you, Aunt Gill ' — for he loved to tease her.
' Yes, verily and indeed, dear boy ' — and Miss
Gillian spoke with unusual earnestness. ' And if I ever
had a niece ' — here there was a meaning grip on his
arm — ' I should like her to be like Miss Lassiter.'
* I thought you were such a stickler for beauty and
that sort of thing,' returned Luke. Of course he knew
what she meant ; she was telling him in this round-
about way that she wanted him to fall in love with
Sheila Lassiter. She had often made this sort of
suggestion before, but she had never been quite so
keen about it.
' But she is quite lovely, Luke,' she returned eagerly.
* I was only thinking this evening how plain poor dear
Martha looked beside her. Her eyes are beautiful and
so is her hair, and she has such a nice, frank expression.
My dearest boy, if I cnly knew you had such a wife to
take care of you when I am gone, I should be the
XXI MISS GILLIAN 239
happiest old woman in the world.' But Luke only
shook his head at this, and his face looked rather white
and stern in the moonlight. ' Do think about it, Luke,'
she whispered.
' It needs no thinking,' he returned quickly. ' No
doubt you are right ; Miss Lassiter is a sweet woman,
and he will be a happy man who wins her ; but ' —
very firmly — ' I shall not be that man, Aunt Gill.'
' Oh, my dear, why not ? '
' For an excellent reason, I assure you ; because I
never intend to have a wife. No, don't say any more.
Aunt Gill, the thing is impossible.' And Luke said
this with such an air of finality that Miss Gillian dared
not utter another word.
CHAPTER XXII
' BEGONE, DULL MELANCHOLY ! '
Give me insight into to-day, and you may have the antique and future
worlds. — Emerson.
Outdoor exercise is the best physic. — Napoleon.
Usually that which a man calls fate is a web of his own weaving from
threads of his own spinning. — Marden.
Sheila's holiday week drew gaily to its close. The
picnic tea at Chorley Grange had been a success, and
only the vicar's absence had marred the enjoyment of
the cycling trip to Bovey Mill. Sheila was surprised
to find how much she missed him. But the afternoon
in the Chorley woods had been simply delightful, and
even Ned owned that he had never enjoyed himself
more.
* We were all in such good form,' he remarked ;
* and I never saw his reverence in better spirits. She.
He was the life of the party.'
Sheila smiled assent ; but as she sat at her window
in the moonlight, inhaling the fragrance of the night-
blowing flowers and living again through the day's
pleasure, she told herself that that quiet evening walk
beside Chorley Lake with Luke Brett was the best
part of the day to her.
They had all been very merry over the picnic tea,
240
CHAP, XXII 'BEGONE, DULL MELANCHOLY!' 241
and the vicar had told some excellent stories ; but as
they strolled on in the soft, mellow evening light, with
the sunset casting ruddy gleams on the water, Mr.
Brett had relapsed into his usual grvaity. Some word
on Sheila's part led him to speak of his old home life,
and by and by he began talking about his mother.
' I do not think that anything could recompense a
man in later life for an unhappy childhood,' he had
said. ' Happiness is the prerogative of childhood. To
rob infancy of its rightful heritage is the basest tyranny
and cruelty ; it out-herods Herod.'
* Ah, you are right there,' Sheila had rejoined. * An
unhappy child is a monstrous anomaly,' she continued.
' Ah, I know what you are going to say, Miss
Lassiter, that even children are not exempt from suffer-
ing. I do not think I am more sensitive or thin-skinned
than my fellows, but to me there can be no sadder idea
than a hospital for incurable children — poor, innocent
little martyrs, victims of disease and sin.'
' Yes, it is very sad.'
' But all the same we must be thankful that there
are such pleasant shelters for our crippled little ones —
they are excellent institutions. But we will not think
of anything depressing this lovely evening. No one
could have had a happier boyhood than mine.' And
then, as though some overpowering impulse moved
him, Luke began to speak of his mother, first hesitat-
ingly, and then as though it were a joy to him to talk
of her.
Sheila was much touched. She understood clearly
that this reserved, self-contained man was paying her
a rare compliment ; but she had no idea that she was
the only woman, with the exception of his aunt, to
whom he had ever spoken of his mother.
R
242 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* I suppose most boys care for their mothers,' he
went on, * but I think I worshipped mine ; she was
part of my religion. I believe — indeed I know — that
she was very beautiful, and when I was a little lad I
used to think the Blessed Virgin must have been like
her. She was just the sweetest thing on earth to me,
and she always seemed so young — no one ever had so
young a mother.'
' And you lost her ? ' Sheila's tone was soft and
sympathetic.
' No. One never loses one's mother,' he returned
quietly. ' I do not know that I am fanciful or supersti-
tious, but I have an odd belief in my mother's nearness.
One cannot argue on such matters, but love teaches
us many things. I should not care to part with my
special creed, I am not so enamoured of loneliness.'
' Oh no, and I like to hear you say it,' returned
Sheila. ' There is too little faith in the world. People
are far too ready to bury their dead and to forget.'
* I could not forget if I tried,' he returned simply.
* That would be a poor return to make for all my
mother's goodness to me. Miss Lassiter, I think if
you had known each other you would have been great
friends. She had such a frank, childlike nature, and
when she cared for people she never could do enough
for them.'
A quick flush rose to Sheila's cheek, but some
unwonted shyness kept her silent. It was sweet to
her to hear him say this, she felt no other speech had
ever pleased her so well. Of course, if she had known
her, she would have loved her, that beautiful Doreen,
who was Miss Gillian's darling.
' Oh, she must have been lovely,' she half-whispered
when the silence became embarrassing ; and then Ned
xxii « BEGONE, DULL MELANCHOLY!' 243
and Martha had joined them, and there was no more
confidence.
' I wonder why he spoke to me about her,' she
thought, as the breeze fanned her hot face. * He said
we should have been friends ; he must think well of
me to say that. I wish I had not been so foolish and
tongue-tied, I was not half nice enough. If only Ned
and Martha had not joined us just then ' But she
little guessed, as she indulged in these blissful reveries,
that Luke Brett was sternly taking himself to task.
' I wonder what possessed me to speak of my
mother,' he thought, as he paced the churchyard path
that night. ' I suppose it was the sunset ; my darling
always loved the sunset so. And then Miss Lassiter
is so sympathetic ; I never knew any one so restful.'
He sighed, and Peter, paddling beside him, looked
anxiously up, as though trying to peer through the
darkness, and then whined in faithful response to his
master's mood.
Luke stooped down and picked him up.
' Tired, old fellow, and ready for bed ? But we have
enjoyed our day for all that. But we must be careful,
Peter, and not break bounds. It seems rather harm-
less, old boy, does it not ? to talk about one's mother
in the sunset ; but I doubt if it were wise.' And as
the little animal nestled against him, he carried him in.
' Well, Ned, our holiday week is over,' observed
Sheila on the morning they expected their guests.
She spoke with strenuous cheerfulness, but her eyes
looked anxious, for she saw at once that Ned was not
in his usual spirits, ' I suppose you will go down to
the station to meet them ? '
' Oh yes, I suppose so.'
' There is no need for us both to go, and I would
244 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
rather receive them here,' continued Sheila, and Ned
grunted something in response. And then, as break-
fast was finished, he betook himself to the garden, and
tried to soothe his perturbed feelings by a matutinal
pipe. Sheila looked after him wistfully.
' Poor Ned,' she said to herself, ' we neither of us
feel specially happy this morning, but how merry we
were last night.' For they had spent the evening at
the Old Cottage, and Ned had been in quite hilarious
spirits, and Sheila had called him to order more than
once. ' Really, Ned, you are behaving like a school-
boy,' she had said — but Betty had taken his part.
' You must not scold the Herr Professor, he is quite
the nicest man in the world, for he has cleaned my
bicycle as well as Martha's.' But Sheila, whose thoughts
were wandering, did not notice Ned's queer look as
Betty said this. For once in her life she was a little
dense. She never even noticed how unusually silent
Martha was that evening.
It was natural under the circumstances that she
should attribute Ned's unusual glumness to his re-
pugnance at the idea of the expected guests, and
Sheila was full of pity for him,
' He will feel better about it when they are once
safely housed,' she said to herself ' He will soon find
out that it won't make so much difference to him as
he thinks. He will be safe from all intrusion in his
study ; and when the children are in bed we shall get
nice quiet times together. I mean to do my best to
smooth over difficulties, and I know Ivor will help
me. He is so grateful to us both, poor boy ! and
But it is no use looking forward — we must take each
day as it comes.' And Sheila resolutely braced herself
for the morning's wcrrk.
XXII •BEGONE, DULL MELANCHOLY!' 245
When her housekeeping duties were over, she put
the finishing touches to the rooms prepared for the
coming guests. As she did so, she thought how
pleased Nell would be with them. They looked so
fresh and dainty with their snowy quilts and muslin
curtains ; and even the little back sitting-room that was
to be allotted to Nell and the children looked cosy
and comfortable.
Sheila felt quite satisfied with the result of her labours.
* It looks all very nice,' she said to herself, as she took
down her garden basket and went out to gather some
roses for Nell's toilet table. She was surprised to
find Ned still in the garden. He joined her at once.
' I suppose those flowers are for Nell ? ' he said,
after watching her silently for a moment. And Sheila
nodded as she cut another crimson rambler and placed
it carefully in her basket.
' What a lot of trouble you take about things,' he
continued, and his tone was somewhat apologetic.
' She, I am in a confoundedly bad humour this morning,
but you must not think that I am bothering about
their coming.'
Sheila was so surprised at this speech that she
snipped off a promising bud by mistake.
' What is bothering you, dear ? ' she asked ; but Ned
evaded the question.
* Oh, I am bilious or a bit hipped. I feel as though
a ten miles' walk would do me good ! '
' In this heat — oh, Ned, what nonsense ! ' And then
a little plaintively, ' I thought we were chums, and that
you always told me things ; you never used to put me
off like this.' Ned gave an uneasy laugh.
' There is nothing to tell,' he returned hastily ; but
Sheila knew that he was fibbing.
246 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* I don't pretend that I am looking forward to this
afternoon, but I daresay we shall shake down all right.
A nnan must be in the blues sometimes ; very likely I
have been smoking too much this hot weather.'
* Very likely I am a goose, and you are another,'
returned Sheila, with an air of fine disdain. ' What is
your favourite expression, Ned ? — " Tell that to the
marines." And Sheila threw a rose at him, which he
caught and put in his buttonhole. But when he looked
up he saw she was gazing at him anxiously.
' Ned, you are not a bit yourself this morning,' she
said in a distressed tone ; ' and last night you were as
fit as possible.'
' Last night I was a fool, and this morning I have
come to my senses '- — and Ned's tone was almost savage.
' No, She, I can't talk about it. One has to pay for
being an ass. Put all this nonsense out of your head,
and I'll take a walk and pull myself together and come
back in a better temper ' ; and Ned knocked out the
ashes from his pipe with much energy, and whistled to
Kaiser, who was pretending to take a nap, but who was
really watching ' the Orphan's' stealthy advances across
the tennis-lawn.
Sheila felt much perplexed as she returned to the
house. Ned had his moods like other people — he could
be irritable at times and say a sharp thing or two — but
as a rule his temperament was equable and cheerful ;
but this morning he seemed unusually depressed. It
was all very well trying to throw dust in her eyes, and
saying he was bilious or cross — Sheila was too clear-
sighted to believe that. Something was troubling him,
and she would never rest until she discovered what was
amiss, though she must wait for time and opportunity.
Ned's restlessness was infectious, and when Sheila
XXII 'BEGONE, DULL MELANCHOLY!' 247
had arranged her flowers, she thought she would run
over to the Old Cottage for a chat with the girls ; it
would do her good and help to pass the time.
She found Martha alone, making a new blouse for
Betty. As she rose to greet her friend. Sheila noticed
that she looked pale and tired, and there were dark
shadows under her eyes.
* Dear Martha, you are not well ! ' she exclaimed.
' Indeed I am, Sheila,' she returned hastily. * It was
such a hot night that I could not sleep, and that made
my head ache a little. Betty wanted me to rest, but I
was so anxious to finish this blouse. You know Betty
is going to Cottingdean next week to stay with the
Aliens and be introduced to Katie's y?rt«f/<?.' For Betty's
special chum Katie had just announced her engagement
to a young doctor who had bought a practice in
Cottingdean. Betty had been in the wildest state of
excitement ever since she had heard the news. * Charlie
liked him, he will be so pleased,' were her first words.
* Betty seems very delighted about the whole busi-
ness,' returned Sheila. ' I felt rather sorry for her at
first — I thought it would be hard for her to see Katie's
happiness.' For Sheila knew all about Betty's love-
affair, and how she and Charlie Allen fully understood
each other, though neither Mr. Woodford nor Mr. Allen
would hear of an engagement between the young people
until Charlie was in a position to think of marrying.
The Gold Coast was not a place for an English girl.
Charlie must find a good berth in a healthier place
before he could take out a wife. ' Of course they
understood each other,' Martha had said ; ' Charlie
knows she will wait for him, so he is not afraid.'
Betty had endorsed this on one occasion.
' I have belonged to Charlie ever since we were
248 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
children,' she had said with unusual seriousness ; ' he
always took care of me, and would not let the big
boys tease me ; and he used to give me presents, and
call me his little sweetheart. Oh, there is no one like
Charlie in the whole world ! ' And Betty looked so
winsome and pretty as she said this, that Sheila hardly
wondered at her lover's faithfulness. They were a
charming pair, she thought, both so young and full of
hope and energy.
' Betty is too unselfish to begrudge Katie her
happiness,' remarked Martha, when Sheila hinted at
Betty's possible regret. ' Of course she misses Charlie
dreadfully ; but they write to each other, you know, and
he is a capital correspondent. He likes Betty to be
with his people as much as possible, and as it is good
for her to have a change, I always encourage her to go.
Isn't this blouse pretty. Sheila ? I think the colour is
lovely, I got the silk at Whiteley's, — it was such a
bargain.'
' I wish I could work as you do, Martha,' observed
Sheila, as she looked at the exquisite stitches ; * needle-
work in your hands is quite a fine art. It seems to
me that you do everything so beautifully.'
* Oh, you are flattering me ' — but Martha looked
pleased ; work was a passion with her, and she was
certainly mistress of her craft.
' I was always so glad that I was a woman and not
a man,' she went on ; * it would trouble me dreadfully
to sit with my hands before me.'
' When I say that sort of thing to Ned, he declares
that he is full of pity for us because we do not smoke,
and have no idea of the bliss we miss.'
' Yes, I know ; he is very eloquent on that subject '
— but Martha spoke a little hurriedly. ' I fancy I saw
XXII 'BEGONE, DULL MELANCHOLY!' 249
him and Kaiser go up Sandy Lane a little while ago.
It is surely too hot for walking.'
'So I observed, but he seemed to think it would do
him good. He seems a little down this morning, and
yet how merry we all were last night ! Ned was in a
ridiculous mood, but then Betty teased him so. Now I
remember you were the only quiet one.'
' Oh, I am always quiet,' — and here Martha caught
her thread and broke it ; ' one can be quiet and happy
too. I was very happy, Sheila.'
* Were you, dear ? I think we all were. Somehow
we all seemed in touch. Do you know what I mean ?'
* Oh yes ' ; but Martha did not look up from her
work.
' The atmosphere of the Old Cottage is so restful
and pleasant,' continued Sheila, talking for the mere
pleasure of expressing her feelings. ' I was saying so
to Ned the other night, when we had been having
supper with you, and he quite agreed with me ; he
said he always felt good at the Cottage. You and
Betty ought to be proud of such a compliment'
* You must tell Betty that,' but Martha flushed up
as she spoke. Then she looked at the clock and
began folding up her work.
' It is luncheon time and I must fly,' exclaimed
Sheila. ' Ned has to go down to the station to meet
our guests ; we expect them up here about four.'
* Yes, I know,' with ready sympathy ; ' you will be
thankful when the bustle of the arrival is over.' And
then she added, with strong but repressed feelings,
' You are both so good about this, and I know how
hard it is for you * ; and she kissed Sheila with Unusual
tenderness.
They were both in the porch by this time, and
250 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xxii
were still standing hand-in-hand, when Miss Mowcher
began to bark, and Ned's tall figure came round the
corner.
' I must go in and see after father,' observed Martha
hurriedly ; * your brother is waiting for you. Sheila.'
And before Ned had time to raise his hat, she was
gone. Ned looked at his sister rather suspiciously as
she joined him.
' I thought I saw Miss Woodford in the porch.
She ? ' he said at once.
*Yes, dear, we had been having a nice little talk;
but she said her father wanted her, so she hurried
away.'
' Oh, I see,' but it was evident from Ned's manner
that he was not satisfied.
' Did she say anything about last night,' he asked
rather hesitatingly, as they walked up the garden
path.
' Last night — I hardly remember. Oh yes, I
remarked that she had been the only quiet one, and
she observed that one could be quiet and happy too,
and that she had been very happy. Indeed, I think we
all were, Ned.'
' Of course we were — we had a good time all round.'
Ned's face beamed as he spoke. Evidently his walk
had done him good, and the foul fiend melancholy had
been exorcised. Sheila marvelled at the change in
him, but she wisely held her peace. " There is a time
for speech and a time for silence," says the wise king.
If only people would lay this to heart !
CHAPTER XXIII
'HOW AM I TO LIVE UP TO IT?'
Each spirit weaves the robe it wears
From out Ufe's busy loom ;
And common tasks and daily cares
Make up the threads of doom.
Anon,
We often do more good by our sympathy than by our labours. —
Canon Farrar.
It was with somewhat complex feelings that Sheila
sat at work in the fir parlour that afternoon awaiting
the arrival of her guests, and the sound of carriage
wheels on the road leading from the village made her
heart beat more quickly. Ned, who was on the seat
beside the driver, signalled to her almost gaily.
' I have brought them all right,' he called out. And
then, as Ivor leant out of the window with a smile of
greeting. Sheila's eyes grew a little misty, and she
forgot everything but the joy of feeling his arms round
her again.
' How are you. She ? My word, isn't it jolly to see
your dear old face again ! You look uncommonly fit.
I think she has grown handsomer, Ned.' But his
brother was too busy handing out Nell and the
children to make any reply.
Nell, who looked a little shy and awkward, as
251
252 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
though she were not sure of her welcome, brightened
up as Sheila kissed her and spoke a kind word ot
greeting.
Sheila said afterwards to Ned that she would
hardly have known her. The neat blue serge and
sailor hat had quite transformed the draggled slovenly-
looking young woman they had seen that first never-
to-be-forgotten day. Nell had evidently taken great
pains with herself; her hair was carefully arranged,
and her complexion looked clearer and less pallid.
The children too looked well-groomed and tidy, and
Tom at once called attention to his sailor suit and
new boots.
' Tommy has fine new clothes, and so has Bunnie
and dada,' he announced solemnly. ' Look, Man, this
is Tommy's own pocket ' ; and he proudly produced
his handkerchief and a couple of pennies.
* That's your Uncle Ned, Tom,' exclaimed Ivor,
lifting him on to his knee ; ' you must not call him
" Man." ' But Tommy was not inclined to give up
the name.
' He is Tommy's Man,' he said obstinately ; ' don't
want any Uncle Neds ' ; and with childish caprice he
held out his arms to Ned. ' Take Tom for a nice ride,
Man'; and Ned at once hoisted him on to his shoulder.
Before the day was over, he and his nephew were the
best of friends, and, rather to Sheila's dismay. Tommy
seemed disposed to follow Ned about everywhere.
* Don't encourage him too much, dear, or you will
find him troublesome.' But Ned turned a deaf ear to
this prudent advice — Tom's preference for his society
was distinctly flattering.
' He isn't a bad little chap, only they have spoilt
him,' he said indulgently. ' Do you know, he reminds
xxiii 'HOW AM I TO LIVE UP TO IT?' 253
me of Peter ; they are both a bit bandy, and they have
got nice pathetic faces.'
' All the same, you had better not let him follow
you into your room,' observed Sheila sensibly ; ' if you
give him an inch, he will want an ell.' But, though
Ned evidently agreed with her, he was weak enough
to treat with the enemy.
One unlucky morning, later on. Tommy evaded his
mother's surveillance and climbed up the forbidden
stairs ; a minute later a hot little face peeped into the
study. ' Tommy's come to sit with you, Man ! ' he said
joyously. And though Ned was very busy at that
moment, he could not find it in his heart to damp him.
' You will have to be very quiet, old fellow, or out
you go,' he returned in Fee-fo-fum tone. ' I will
give you a pencil and some paper to draw pictures,
but you must not speak — not a single word, Tom, or
I shall carry you to your mother.'
' Won't speak, Man.' And actually Tommy kept
his word, for when Sheila looked in half- an -hour
later. Tommy was seated on the floor with a large
dictionary before him, which served as his table, and
Kaiser was stretched beside him. Ned never even
saw her, he was so absorbed in his work.
' It was such a pretty picture,' she told Nell ; ' and
the child seemed as good as gold.'
An hour later Ned felt a sudden weight upon his
foot, and found Tommy had fallen fast asleep, with
one arm clasping his uncle's leg ; he only murmured
drowsily as Ned lifted him up. ' Isn't it queer how
fond the little chap is of me ? ' he remarked to Sheila
when he narrated the incident ; but she saw at once
that he was pleased.
Tea was all ready for the travellers, and as soon
254 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
as the meal was over Sheila took Nell up to her new
quarters. Ivor, who was anxious to see his wife's
pleasure, followed them. Nell's ' Oh ' spoke volumes ;
she seemed almost afraid to cross the threshold.
' Is it really our room, Ivor ? ' she asked in a tone
of awe ; ' I never slept in such a big place in my life.'
* The other room across the passage, where the kids
are to sleep, is just as big,' he returned. * Come to
the window, Nell ; the view is just ripping.' But poor
Nell looked at her Goshen through a mist of tears.
* Oh, it is all so fresh and beautiful,' she sobbed ;
' and I don't know how I can live up to it' The
unspoken oppression that had weighed so heavily on
Nell ever since she crossed the threshold of The
Moorings had found vent at last in words. ' It is the
kindness and the thought that upsets me.'
Sheila put her arm round Nell's thin shoulders in
a protecting, sisterly way.
* Supposing you go down and talk to Ned, Ivor,'
she said quietly ; ' you might take the children on the
tennis-lawn for a little, and leave Nell to me ; I mean
to help her unpack and settle comfortably.'
But when Ivor had left them. Sheila put Nell in
the big easy-chair and sat down beside her. ' You are
just tired out, dear,' she said gently ; ' you have been
packing and getting the children ready, and you are
just overdone with the heat and excitement. I know
exactly how you feel, Nell, but in a day or two you
will be rested, and the strangeness will have worn off.'
' Oh, it is not only that,' returned Nell, gulping down
another sob ; ' I am used to feeling tired and worn out,
and my back always aches. I think I am a bit low,
because I am afraid you and your friends will be
ashamed of me, and then Ivor will be troubled. I was
xxm 'HOW AM I TO LIVE UP TO IT?' 255
only a poor working girl when he married me, and
though he was not in love with me — not as I was with
him, you know — he has grown to care for me, and no
husband could be kinder.'
* I am rejoiced to hear it, Nell.'
' I have been a drag upon him all these years,' went
on Nell mournfully, 'but I never remember him being
cross with me or the children ; his illness made him a
bit fractious, poor fellow, but one could not be surprised
at that. It used to break my heart to see him so
patient, and to know how homesick and sad he felt. I
used to hear him talk in his sleep sometimes about
Ned and She.'
* You have both had a hard time, Nell, but you must
try to forget it and be happy. There must be no sad
faces at The Moorings. We want you and Ivor to rest
and get strong, and then by and by he will be able to
work for you and the children ; but you must both
have a long holiday first'
Sheila's voice was very persuasive and soothing ;
she guessed intuitively how full Nell's heart was, and
how difficult she found it to express her gratitude in
words. Nell's pretty eyes were swollen with crying,
but their expression was very sweet and touching as
she looked up at Sheila.
* I know I must seem common to you,' she whispered,
* father being what he was and mother only a factory
girl ; but they did their best to give me some education
and to teach me what was right, and if I had only
tried to improve myself a little, I might have done
better ; but after I was married I had no chance. I
think I am a bit proud, Sheila ' — and Nell drooped her
head in a shamefaced fashion — ' for I hate the thought
that you and your brother should look down on me ;
2S6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
but I will try my best, and if you will only tell me
things, you will see your hints are not thrown away ' ;
and there v/as no mistaking Nell's earnestness.
* My dear girl ' — and it was evident that this appeal
surprised and touched Sheila — * of course I will help you.
But you must not say such things, for it pains me to
hear them. Ned and I only wish to remember that
you are Ivor's wife and the mother of his children, and
that you have done your duty and worked your
hardest all these years. You have nothing to fear
from us, Nell ; no one we call friend will look down on
you ' ; and Sheila's caressing hand touched Nell's hair
softly as though she were soothing a worn-out child.
The next minute Nell's arms were round her neck.
' Oh, I do love you so,' she said huskily. ' I never
met any one like you before ; you have just comforted
me and taken out the sting. Now I won't be troubling
you any longer ; I'll just unpack and put Tommy to
bed ; and Bunnie will be tired too, poor little maid, for
she has been on her feet since six.'
' I don't think Bunnie looks very tired,' returned
Sheila in an amused tone, as she drew Nell to the
window.
Ned had Tommy hoisted on his shoulder, and was
prancing across the tennis-lawn with Bunnie scampering
after him.
' Stop, stop, Mr. Horse, you go too fast,' they heard
her say.
But Tommy dug his little heels into Ned's chest,
' Go on, Man, never mind Bunnie ' ; and Tommy
shouted with glee.
' Bless their little hearts, they do seem happy,'
murmured Nell. ' They never saw a garden before in
their lives.' And then she and Sheila set to work filling
XXIII 'HOW AM I TO LIVE UP TO IT?' 257
the deep old-fashioned drawers with the new garments
that Sheila had purchased.
* I am glad I took your advice about the gray dress,'
observed Nell shyly. ' Ivor was ever so pleased when
I put it on for him to see ; he said the colour just
suited me, and that I had never looked better, and he
hated red and green.' But Nell kept the latter part of
his speech to herself.
* You just follow Sheila's advice and you will do the
right thing, Nell,' he had said. ' If you took pains with
yourself and did your hair more tidily, you would look
far better. You v/ere always a bit too smart for my
taste, and I hate a ragged fringe ' ; and though Nell was
rather wounded by this marital frankness, she was
too sweet-tempered to resent it.
Tommy was rather over-excited and fretful, and
would not allow Sheila to touch him ; so she contented
herself with Bunnie. As she was sponging the child's
face with warm water, Bunnie looked up at her aunt
with an odd, wistful little smile.
' I ain't such a very little girl, Aunt Sheila.'
' Are you not, dear ? '
* Mother never washes my face for me now,* continued
Bunnie confidentially ; ' she says I am a big girl, and
that she is much too tired. But I think it is nicer to be
little. Mother always dresses and undresses Tommy.
When I am very sleepy the buttons get all mixed, you
know, and sometimes the strings get into a knot, and
then mother says I am a careless little girl'
' You are quite sleepy now, are you not, Bunnie,
and you like Aunt Sheila to put you to bed ? '
Bunnie nodded her curly head.
* I like it dreadfully,' she whispered. ' Your hands
are so soft and lovely, and the tangles don't hurt when
S
258 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
you comb them. Oh, I am so comfortable/ murmured
the child drowsily, as she rested her heavy head on
the pillow.
* It must be supper-time. I think Tommy is asleep,'
observed Sheila. And Nell rose with a sigh of relief.
They found Ned and Ivor sitting out in front,
enjoying the evening coolness. But there was a white,
weary look on Ivor's face when they adjourned to the
lamp -lighted supper - room. Sheila looked at him
anxiously.
' You have let him talk too much, Ned,' she said a
little reproachfully ; which was somewhat hard on Ned,
who had done his best to entertain his brother.
Ivor laughed and protested that he was all right.
But he was evidently too exhausted to eat, and he was
glad when Sheila suggested that he should go to bed.
And Nell was equally glad to be dismissed.
* It is a lovely night. She, let us have a turn on
the links,' observed Ned, with a touch of eagerness in
his manner ; and Sheila took down her garden hat
at once.
* Ivor looks terribly delicate,' she observed. ' I
should like Dr. Moorhouse to see him and Tommy.'
And Ned muttered assent.
He listened a little unwillingly at first as Sheila
repeated the purport of her conversation with Nell,
but after a time he grew more interested.
* She is not a bad sort, and she looks quite decent
to-night,' he remarked ; ' I don't think we need mind
introducing her to the Woodfords.'
' Why, of course not, Ned. Martha and Betty will
be as nice as possible to her. I thought of asking
them to come to tea to-morrow. It is Betty's last
day, and we may as well get it over.'
XXIII 'HOW AM I TO LIVE UP TO IT?' 259
' That is not a bad idea of yours, Sheila, I suppose
Mr, Woodford will come too ? '
* Oh yes, I hope so. They cannot both leave him,
and I do not want Martha to remain behind.'
* All right, I'll go in about four and wheel him over,'
observed Ned in a contented tone. And then they sat
down on the bench by the roadside, and looked across
the dark shadowy moor, faintly lit by the pale
moonlight.
The sweet breath of a thousand wild-flowers, hidden
away in hedgerows and hollows, pervaded the evening
breeze, and the deep stillness was only broken by the
hoot of an owl and the rusty notes of the nightjar.
The sound of soft cropping of the herbage near them
was followed by the sudden flinging up of hoofs, as
two or three ponies left off browsing and scampered
over the moor, their neigh of dismay answered by a
distant companion.
There was a fresh salty fragrance in the air that
lifted Sheila's soft hair from her temples which was
wonderfully reviving and invigorating. She had felt
tired and jaded from the excitement of the day, but as
she sat there in the summer darkness, enveloped by the
mystery and silence of the coming night, a sense of
peace and well-being seemed to enfold her, and in
Longfellow's quaint words —
The cares that infest the day
Seemed to fold their tents Hke the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
Involuntarily she stretched out her hand to her
companion. But Ned was in a brown study, and did
not notice her light touch.
' I am not so tired now, Ned ; the air has done
26o AT THE MOORINGS chap.
me good, and I feel that I shall sleep.' Then he roused
himself with some degree of effort.
* It has been rather a trying day for both of us.
What a puzzle life is, She ; one can't fit in the pieces
somehow.'
' How do you mean, dear?' But he was evidently
unwilling to be questioned.
* Oh, one has to work out one's difficulty ; there is
no Ready Reckoner in the arithmetic of life — every one
must do their sum for themselves.' And then he
continued thoughtfully, * We seem to have come to a
fresh milestone to-day, and I have an odd sort of
fancy that I should like to peep round the next
corner.'
' I think I know what you mean, Ned.'
* We have done our bit of level ground,' he went
on, ' and now there is a hill or two to climb, and the
road is a bit rough, I am afraid. Well, we shall see.
But it is getting late, my dear, and I must not keep
you up.'
' But I would rather sit here and talk to you, Ned.'
But Ned was deaf to this appeal. He took Sheila
gently by the arm and piloted her across the dark
brae. As they passed the Old Cottage he paused for a
moment.
* I hope the old man is not unwell,' he said uneasily.
' There is a light in his room, and I am sure I see a
shadow moving across the blind.'
' It is probably Martha,' returned Sheila quietly ;
'she often goes in to see if her father is asleep.
There, I am right, you see — she has taken the candle
away.'
' It is far too late for her to be up,' he returned in
a low voice ; * she gives herself no rest.' And Sheila
XXIII 'HOW AM I TO LIVE UP TO IT?' 261
thought this solicitude for her friend's welfare was very
nice on Ned's part.
* She is such a good daughter,' she said quickly ;
' what a wife she would make, if only ' but here
Sheila checked herself.
' If only what ? ' asked Ned rather sharply. ' Why
don't you finish your sentence. She ? '
' I was only going to say, if she were not so plain ;
but I am afraid no nice man will fall in love with her.'
* Pshaw ! ' was all Ned's answer to this ; but his
manner was so impatient that Sheila fancied that her
remark had not pleased him. A moment later he
wished her good -night and went up to his study,
followed closely by his faithful satellite Kaiser.
CHAPTER XXIV
AN EVENING HOUR
The earth is every day overspread with the veil of night, for the same
reason that the cages of birds are darkened, namely, that we may the
more readily apprehend the higher harmonies of thought, in the hush and
quiet of darkness. — Richter.
A FEW days after the arrival of ' Tommy and Co.,' as
Ned phrased it, Sheila went down to the village to
have a prescription made up at the chemist's. On her
way she was overtaken by Mr. Brett. He had evi-
dently hurried a little, for he was somewhat breath-
less.
' If you do not mind waiting for a moment,' he
panted, ' I should like to walk with you, as we are
both bound for the same destination ' ; and as Sheila
smiled assent to this, he leant against the fence and
looked over the long meadow towards the church
tower.
Sheila stood beside him silently. Mr. Brett had
been away for some days, and had only returned late
the previous evening ; and the week of his absence
had seemed unusually long to Sheila. She was much
pleased at this unexpected meeting, but all the same
her first word was a reproof
262
CHAP. XXIV AN EVENING HOUR 263
' Mr. Brett, how can you be so unwise ? You know
you ought not to walk so fast in this heat'
' It was your fault,' he returned with a wilful look.
' If you had only walked more slowly, I should have
had no difficulty in overtaking you. But I shall be all
right in a minute. When will you follow Shakespeare's
advice ? —
To climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first.'
' I don't call this a hill,' returned Sheila, rather
surprised at this counter-attack ; ' and I did not know
that I was walking fast. Please don't talk till you are
quite rested ' ; for his breathlessness rather alarmed
her. But he brushed aside this remark.
* Peter deserves a scolding too,' he observed, looking
down at the little dachshund. ' I explained to him
that it was very hot, and that he had better stay in my
study ; but evidently solitude was not to his taste.
The result is that I shall have to carry him all the
way home.'
* Peter will never learn to be obedient if you spoil
him so,' returned Sheila. ' But he is a faithful little
creature,' she continued smilingly ; ' I believe, if he
had his choice, he would rather follow his master
through the burning fiery furnace than be left alone.'
Something in Sheila's words, lightly as they were
spoken, seemed to strike Luke rather forcibly.
' They teach us lessons, these dumb companions of
ours,' he observed thoughtfully. ' Peter's devotion to
his master rather shames me sometimes ; it is so
utterly selfless. I wonder which of us, Miss Lassiter,
would choose the burning fiery furnace ' ; and Luke's
dark face had a strangely vivid look on it.
Sheila made no response in words, but she evidently
264 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
understood him. He often said these kind of things
to her, as though he were thinking aloud ; and she
always treasured up these sayings and brooded over
them in quiet moments.
' He has such a beautiful mind,' she would say to
herself. ' He is not content with preaching to his
people ; he tries to live up to his own teaching. That
is why his sermons come home to one with such force.
He speaks of what he knows and feels. There is no
arrow drawn at a venture.'
The next minute Luke signified his readiness to
proceed.
' I want to hear all your news,' he said brightly.
* I seem to have been away for weeks instead of only
eight days. By this time I suppose your visitors are
feeling quite at home, and that you have all shaken
down comfortably together.'
' Oh yes, I think so.' But Sheila's tone was a little
dubious, for she was not wholly satisfied with Ned ;
he was still somewhat moody and silent. ' It has
seemed a long week to me too,' she continued.
Sheila said this quite naturally ; she had no fear
that her words would be misconstrued. Luke Brett
was the last man in the world to attribute any esoteric
meaning to her naive confession — no one was more
devoid of vanity than he. That Sheila Lassiter missed
him, that, unconsciously to herself, he was becoming
necessary to her, and that every day she depended
on him more for guidance — these facts were at
present hidden from his eyes ; and though he would
have been the first to own that a very real and deep
friendship was growing up between them, he was blind
to his own peril and hers. He was like a strong man
armed, tripped up by an unwary pitfall in the dark ;
XXIV AN EVENING HOUR 265
all his armour could not save him, for no coat of mail
had ever been fashioned that could repel the dart of that
wily and invincible adversary whom men love and dread.
Luke Brett took Sheila's speech quite simply ; he
never even thought of himself No doubt the week
had been a long and trying one. One or two questions
skilfully put soon elicited the information he desired.
Sheila had much to tell him. Dr. Moorhouse had
paid his visit, and on the whole his verdict had been
satisfactory.
* He says Ivor's lungs are quite sound,' she went on,
* but his debility is great ; his strength has been under-
mined by privation and anxiety — indeed Dr. Moorhouse
told Ned privately that it was a miracle he had pulled
through that illness. With rest and care he does not
doubt that Ivor will regain his normal condition, but
in his opinion he will not be fit to work for six months
or even longer. Poor Ned looked a little grave when
Dr. Moorhouse said this. We were both rather dis-
appointed, for we hoped that Ivor would be able to
take some light berth before the winter.'
* It would be safer to act on Dr. Moorhouse's advice,'
observed Mr. Brett, ' he is a sound man, and no alarmist;
in your brother's weak condition, influenza, or even a
chill, might be a serious thing. But I can under-
stand that this is a grave question for you and your
brother ; you would hardly wish your visitors to
remain at The Moorings during the winter.'
* I am afraid our wishes have little to do with it,'
returned Sheila, with a sigh. ' But there is time enough
to decide about that later on. We shall certainly keep
them for two or three months. Dr. Moorhouse says
no ail could be better for Tommy ; he thinks it quite
possible that he will outgrow his delicacy. He is to
266 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
spend his days in the garden or on the moor, but he is
not to walk much until his legs are stronger, Ned
says he means to rig up a little tent on the tennis-lawn,
and then they can be out in all weathers.'
' Not a bad idea, I should say.'
* We are going to get a second-hand perambulator,'
continued Sheila, ' and Ivor will take him out on the
links every morning ; it will be something for him to
do, and he can read his paper while the children play.
And Nell will go too sometimes. I am very anxious
that the house should be as quiet as possible in the
mornings, and then Ned will get on with his work.
Unfortunately Tommy has taken a fancy for his uncle's
society, and is always clamouring to go to him.'
Mr. Brett smiled. ' I daresay Lassiter appreciates
the compliment,' he remarked. And then, as they had
reached the chemist's. Sheila went in with her prescrip-
tion, while Luke crossed the road to the library. Here
she found him later on, rummaging among the books
for a special volume he wanted, and as soon as this was
found they went to the post-office, and then set their
faces towards home.
' I mean to make a formal call to-morrow,' observed
Luke, as he unfurled his sun umbrella, for the noonday
sun was blazing. ' If you will permit me, I will defer
my visit until the evening ; it will be cooler then.'
* You will find us in the garden,' returned Sheila, in
a hesitating voice. She was debating with herself
whether she could ask him to supper ; but a vivid
remembrance of Nell's shy gaucherie deterred her.
Nell was improving daily, but she was still very timid
with strangers. She had scarcely opened her mouth
all the time the Woodfords had been there, and when
Miss Gillian had paid her visit she had been equally
XXIV AN EVENING HOUR 267
silent. Ivor had taken her to task when Miss Gillian
had gone.
' You might have said something civil to the old
lady, Nell,' he remarked ; ' you heard her say her call
was on you and not on Sheila. I thought her rather
a jolly old bird myself, but there you sat, like a prim
little charity-girl, with your "No, Miss Gillian" or
" Certainly, Miss Gillian," till I longed to shake you.'
' Shan't shake my dear little mummy ' — and Tommy
scrambled into Nell's lap and glared at his father.
Ivor burst out laughing. ' Little pitchers have long
ears,' he observed. ' I did not know the jackanapes
was in the room. You are throttling your mother,
sonny. No one is going to shake her — it was only a
figure of speech, young man.'
'Why didn't you say "Yes, ma'am," and "No, ma'am,"
Nell, like a good little girl ' ; for Ivor was in a teasing
mood, and it pleased him to rouse Nell to weak,
impotent wrath. ' Don't you know it is bad form to
repeat a person's name with every sentence ? '
* There now, I have done the wrong thing as usual,'
returned Nell in a despairing tone. * And I wanted so
much to be nice to that pretty little old lady — for she
was just lovely. You might have helped me, Ivey,
instead of sitting opposite and staring me out of
countenance, when you know how it drives me silly.
Tommy is right to take his poor mother's part ' ;
and Nell was visibly hurt by this unkind banter. But
happily at that moment Sheila returned to throw oil
on the stormy waters.
* Miss Gillian says you have pretty eyes, Nell ; and
that she thinks you a nice, harmless little person,
though a bit shy. Those are her very words, dear.'
Then Nell flashed an indignant look at Ivor.
268 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* And the things he has been saying, Sheila — calling
me a little fool of a charity - girl ! Well, that's what
you meant,' as Ivor uttered a shocked protest — ' My
dear child, truth before everything.' But perhaps
Ivor's conscience accused him, for the next moment
he extended the olive branch.
' Give me a kiss, young woman. And, Tommy,
you rascal, if you dare threaten your revered parent
again, I will whack you ! ' and Ivor made a face at his
son, and walked off leaving Nell in the seventh heaven ;
for the loving and humble little soul was thankful for
the least favour from her lord and master.
* I do wish I could get over my silliness,' she said to
Sheila, 'for it vexes Ivor so to see me so awkward.
Miss Gillian was just sweet, and I was loving her all
the time. I wonder what she thought of Ivor.'
But Nell would hardly have been content with Miss
Gillian's speech.
* Ivor Lassiter is a good-looking man,' she observed
to her nephew, on the evening of his return, ' but he is
a poor feckless laddie for all that, and can't hold a
candle to his brother. And he looks to me as though
he were in the first stage of decline ; but it seems
that Dr. Moorhouse holds a different opinion.'
' What did you think of his wife, Aunt Gill ? *
' What could I think of a sickly, silent little body
who never opened her mouth, and looked scared if any
one made a remark to her ? But there is something
pathetic about her too, for she has had her troubles,
poor little woman.'
It was the remembrance of this little scene that
made Sheila hesitate to invite Luke. The supper-
party, with Nell tongue-tied and ill at ease, would
hardly be an enjoyable meal. It would be better for
XXIV AN EVENING HOUR 269
him to come while they were sitting out in front.
Nell would be up with the children for a time, and he
could make acquaintance with Ivor ; and so it was
arranged.
When Luke Brett and Peter made their appearance
at the appointed hour, they found Sheila and her
brothers sitting out on the gravel path enjoying the
evening air ; and as Luke shook hands with Ivor, he
endorsed Miss Gillian's opinion. Ivor Lassiter was
certainly a good-looking fellow, and, in spite of his
rough life, he had the unmistakable air of a gentleman.
He might be a feckless laddie, as Aunt Gill had said,
but he had a pleasant manner and could talk fluently
and intelligently.
He and Luke were soon deep on the subject of
Australian politics, when Nell's voice was heard from
the porch in the dusk. The vicar's figure was invisible,
and she had no idea that a stranger was present.
' I wish you would come here a moment, Ivey —
Tommy is so heavy. He is such a naughty boy ;
he says it is too hot to go to sleep, so I wrapped him
up in a shawl and brought him down, and he has
promised not to cry any more.'
' Let me take him, Mrs. Lassiter,' observed Luke in
his deep, pleasant tone. But Tommy only wailed afresh
at the strange voice, and poor Nell looked ready to
drop with confusion.
' I did not know you had a visitor. Sheila,' she said
tremulously, ' or I never would have brought Tommy
down ; but I'll carry him back and stop with him a
bit' But Tommy, fretful with heat and sleepiness,
struggled furiously.
' Tommy wants Man — will go to Man ' ; and then
Ned came promptly to the rescue. The next moment
270 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Tommy was comfortably settled on his uncle's knee,
and Nell gently pushed into a chair ; and before she
had time to get shy, she was telling Luke Tommy's
age and answering his questions about the children
quite simply and naturally. Perhaps the darkness
helped her, or there was something reassuring in the
vicar's tone. But that night Nell did her level best,
as Ivor said afterwards ; and even Sheila breathed
more freely.
Tommy behaved in quite a seraphic fashion when
he had got his way. He stroked Ned's face drowsily.
The touch of the hot little fingers gave Ned a curious
feeling. What if he should ever hold a child of his
own on his knee ? Ned's face burnt in the darkness,
and he took off his spectacles to wipe them. His
hands trembled a little as he did so.
Tommy was scon fast asleep wrapped up in the
old shawl, with his little cheek nestled against Ned's
shoulder. But Ned would not allow Nell to touch
him.
* He is all right,' he said hastily. * He is as light
as a feather, and he will sleep far better like this. The
air is a bit thundery to-night, and though the attics are
large, they are hot.'
' But I am afraid of troubling you, Mr. Edward.'
Nell could not be induced to call Ned by his Christian
name. She would not have taken such a liberty for
worlds.
* He is a good fellow,' she said to Ivor, ' but I can't
feel as at home with him as I do with Sheila. He is
so big, and then he has a way of looking at you
through his glasses that makes me feel shy. Yes, I
know he is your brother,' as Ivor remarked rather
drily on the fact, ' and I am not likely to forget it,
XXIV AN EVENING HOUR 271
when he is so kind to us ; but I have not got used to
him, you see, that is why I call him Mr. Edward.'
Ned, who was always gentle with the poor little
partridge of a woman, as he sometimes called Nell,
took pains to assure her that Tommy was no burden
at all ; but after this he grew so silent that Sheila
thought he was asleep too, until she saw that his eyes
were wide open, and then she wondered a little.
It was hardly like Ned to drop out of the con-
versation and leave Ivor to entertain his guest.
But Luke Brett hardly seemed to notice it. Ivor was
telling him some Bush stories. Luke was so well
amused that he forgot the lateness of the hour, and
only the play of sheet-lightning on the distant horizon
recalled him to the consciousness that he was paying
an unusually long visit.
* Here I am keeping you all up. Why did you not
send me away an hour ago, Miss Lassiter ? ' he said in
mock distress.
' Ivor, old fellow, just catch hold of Jackanapes,'
exclaimed Ned. * I will walk back with you, Brett, if
you will wait a moment. I have not stretched my
legs to-day, and it is too hot to go in and sleep. I
believe there is a storm coming.'
' No, I think not, it has broken in another direction,'
returned Luke. And then Sheila walked with them
to the gate.
She rather hoped that Ned would have asked her
to come too. She would have liked the stroll back
with him, and the electricity in the air made her rest-
less. But for once Ned forgot his chum.
' Pack them all off to bed, She,' he said hurriedly,
as he wished her good-night ; ' and just leave the door
on the latch — very likely I shall take a longer walk.'
272 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xxiv
And he whistled to Kaiser, who obeyed, crazy with
deHght.
Sheila leant on the gate in the darkness until the
sound of their footsteps and voices died away. That
night she had only played the part of listener. She
could not remember that Luke Brett had spoken more
than a sentence or two to her — he had been absorbed
in Ivor's conversation, with a kindly word addressed at
intervals to Nell — and yet how full of enjoyment those
two hours had been to Sheila. The very sound of the
deep, vibrating voice seemed like music in her ears.
* He is so kind,' she said to herself, as she went in ;
' I know he means to take an interest in Ivor for our
sakes. He was drawing him out all the time. Even
Nell was at her ease with him. There is something
magnetic in his quiet influence. He has such a way
with him, he puts people at their ease. I had no idea
that Ivor could talk like that.' But as Sheila closed
the door and turned down the hall light, she wondered
vaguely why Ned had been so silent.
CHAPTER XXV
'I WILL DO MY BEST, NED'
The most I love when I the least express it :
Deep waters noiseless are ; and this we know,
That chiding streams betray small depth below ; —
So when Love speechless is, she doth express
A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.
Herrick.
Sheila was surprised to find how much she missed
Betty. Her sunshiny face, her little wise airs and
flitting, birdlike motions, even her restlessness, had
been always en evidence. Not a day passed without
their meeting either at The Moorings or the Old
Cottage. Sheila, who had become very fond of the
child, was not sorry to hear that Betty's visit to
Cottingdean was to be limited to three weeks.
Martha explained the matter in her quiet way.
Dr. Mortimer's people, who lived at Keswick, were
anxious to see the girl he was to marry, and Katie had
been invited to Crow's Foot to make acquaintance with
her future relatives.
* Betty writes that Alick,as she calls him — how I wish
the child would not call young men by their Christian
names' — and Martha looked slightly perturbed —
'but I suppose she means Dr. Mortimer^cannot get
away later, so Katie has been obliged to curtail her
273 T
274 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
visit. But she is to go to them again in November
and stay longer, so she does not mind ; and of course
father and I will be pleased to have her back.'
This was good news. And when Betty returned
Sheila was so unusually demonstrative in her welcome
that the little girl quite coloured with pleasure.
* I have enjoyed myself awfully,' she remarked —
Betty always enjoyed everything awfully, she never
took her pleasures diluted — * but it is nice to be back.'
' We have all wanted you,' returned Sheila, ' and
Martha has missed you. I am sure of that, though
she never would own it. But we did our best to cheer
her up.'
* Marty told me in her letters how good you were
to her, and how attentive the Herr Professor was to
dear old dad.'
* Mr. Woodford always so enjoys a talk with Ned.'
' Oh yes.' And here Betty flashed an odd little
look at Sheila. * Martha is not looking well ; she has
been having one or two bad headaches. I expect the
heat has tried her. I don't think she minds my going
away ; she always says that she is never dull, and that
she and dad are such good company. By the by,
Sheila, I came upon your younger brother just now,
and I scarcely knew him, he looks so much better.'
' Dr. Moorhouse says he is gaining flesh,' returned
Sheila in a tone of satisfaction ; ' we are quite proud
of the improvement in him and Tommy. If you met
in the lane just now, Nell must have been with
him.'
' Yes, and she looked ever so much better too,'
went on Betty, who always took a bright view of
things, ' Really, Sheila, she has rather a nice face,
though I thought her so plain at first. She has such a
XXV 'I WILL DO MY BEST, NED' 275
sweet smile. And Tommy is a darling. But what an
odd little thing Bunnie is.'
* Oh, she is a dear child when you get used to her,'
replied Sheila ; * but of course she is not pretty. Ned
teases her dreadfully, and calls her " Little Redpoll " or
" Carrots," which hurts her feelings. She came to me
full of her grievance one day. " I do think Uncle Ned
an unkind man," she said ; " he laughs at me because
I have red hair, and it is wicked of him, because God
made it." Of course I had to explain that he was
only in fun, but she would not be convinced. " Fun
ought to be kind," she said, shaking her curly head in
such an old-womanish way, " and I shan't love him if
he talks like that." But Ned is just incorrigible, he
will not leave off teasing her ; and she is always on
her dignity with him.'
' Herr Professor is working very hard, is he not ? '
asked Betty. ' You know he came across to the
Cottage while I was unpacking last evening. I found
him in the verandah with dad and Martha when I
came down. I thought he looked awfully tired.'
Sheila had thought so too ; she had been struck
by his weary, jaded look when he had joined them at
the supper table.
* I asked him if he had begun his new book, but he
did not seem to like my asking the question,' went on
Betty. ' I thought authors liked talking about their
work ; but he was quite short with me ; he did not
exactly tell me to hold my tongue, but he certainly
meant it. And Martha changed the subject at once.'
' I wonder what put him out,' ejaculated Sheila ;
* you and Ned are such chums, Betty.'
' Well, he was not a bit like himself,' returned the
girl frankly. ' I had it out with Martha afterwards.
276 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
but she did not seem able to explain things ; she only
said that literary people sometimes got tired and
irritable over their work, and that perhaps things had
not gone smoothly that day, for she had noticed that
he seemed a little down and out of sorts. Poor old
Herr Professor, I never meant to bother him,' finished
Betty in an apologetic tone.
Sheila remained silent. She could have thrown a
light on the subject. Ned was a little sore on the
question of the new book that was to be commenced
that autumn. The arrival of Ivor and his family had
obliged him to postpone his work indefinitely. ' I
could not go up to town now and read at the British
Museum,' he had said to her. ' I mean to wait until
we see our way clearer. It is not so much the expense.
I believe I could manage the three months very cheaply,
and the Circle pays me well, but I don't mean to leave
you with all this on your shoulders — " Tommy and
Co.," I mean.'
' Ned, this is absurd,' returned Sheila. ' It is down-
right wicked of you to be wasting your time like this.
Well, not wasting it exactly,' as he looked indignant at
this, ' but just writing pot-boiler and magazine articles.
As for not leaving me, why, my dear man, how can
you talk such nonsense ! As though a strong young
woman of my mature age cannot take care of a family
without your help ! Did any one ever hear such
nonsense? No, Ned, that won't hold water. There is
some counter-attraction, some '
* Pshaw ! ' muttered Ned, and he got up so hastily
that he kicked over the waste-paper basket and scattered
its contents on the carpet, which elicited another
growl. Was it the effect of his awkwardness that made
Ned so red ?
XXV 'I WILL DO MY BEST, NED' 277
' The attractions of " Tommy and Co." are too strong,'
went on Sheila in a teasing tone, as she picked up the
debris. And Ned's face had cleared at once. What
was it he had feared she would say?
' Never mind picking up all that rubbish. She.
I want you to listen to me a moment. There are
reasons why I would rather wait before I begin any
fresh work, and I have plenty on hand at present, I
have promised the editor another series of articles.
They pay awfully well, and keep my hand in. We
must just wait to see how Ivor and the children go on.
If they settle down comfortably, and I feel you can
safely be left with them, I might run up to town in
November, but it is useless making plans so long before-
hand. At present I feel my place is here.' And Ned
spoke in such a masterful tone that Sheila felt that any
further argument would be useless.
But she was not quite convinced. ' I am afraid he
does not trust Ivor, or he would not be so unwilling to
go,' she said to herself. ' Ned's want of confidence
rather hurts one, and yet it is only natural. Ned feels
that he must assure himself that Ivor has really im-
proved and that he can rely on him — and perhaps he is
right. Ned is not the man to shirk his responsibilities.
Of course they are a heavy expense to us, but I am
managing as well as I can. He can live quite cheaply
in those rooms in Heathcote Street, and I do so want
him to settle to his new book and be happy. It spoils
my pleasure to see him like this.' For once in her life
Sheila was unusually dense ; she had formulated an
idea, and it had taken root in her mind.
She thought that Ned's gravity and unusual depres-
sion were partly owing to thwarted plans and partly to
his distaste for the visitors quartered on him, but that
278 ^ AT THE MOORINGS chap.
his kindness of heart and sense of duty made him put a
force on himself
' He will never tell them to go as long as he thinks it
right to keep them,' she thought, ' but he cannot pretend
to enjoy Nell's society. The poor girl gets on his
nerves, I can see that, and he does so hate her calling
him Mr. Edward. But it is no use my telling her so,'
and Sheila sighed as though she were oppressed.
' Tommy and Co.' had been at The Moorings a month
now, and, to judge from outward appearances, they
seemed a happy family party.
If Ivor were thoroughly content and satisfied with
his daily environment, and pleasantly exhilarated by a
sense of returning health, Nell was still more blissful.
Never in her life had she been so fed and clothed, so
richly provided with creature comforts, so absolutely
free from care.
Every one was so kind to her and the children. No
one asked her to do things she disliked. Sheila was
just sweet to her from morning to night ; and even Mr.
Edward did nice little things for her, though he did not
talk to her as much as to other people. * I cannot help
feeling that I bore him,' she said rather sadly to Ivor.
'Sheila is such a darling, she never makes me feel that
with her.'
Sheila would have felt more satisfied with herself if
she had heard Nell's little speech. At night she often
took herself to task for impatience. With all her sweet
temper, Nell tried her sorely at times. Her lack of refine-
ment, her slow, drawling voice, her constant questions,
and untidy, thriftless ways chafed Sheila incessantly.
' I am ashamed of being so impatient,' she would
say to herself, ' when the poor thing is trying so hard to
improve. Did she not say this very evening, when I
XXV 'I WILL DO MY BEST, NED' 279
was teaching Bunnie how to put her clothes away tidily,
" You are a fortunate little girl, Bunnie, to have a kind
aunt to teach you. I had no one to look after me and
tell me things"? It is not that she is stupid, but she
has been badly brought up. She is never offended
when I give her hints, but I cannot be telling her things
all day long, and somehow she always does something
gauche and stupid when Mr. Brett is here. He certainly
never sees her at her best.' Perhaps this was the secret
grievance. Sheila's nerves were always on edge when
Luke Brett paid his long evening visits.
Others were not so blind as Sheila ; but no one
tried to open her eyes. Luke Brett once dropped a
hint half tentatively, to see if she understood him, but
he did not follow it up. ' People must dree their own
weird, and work out their own salvation, even in the
things of this life,' he would say. * It is no use taking
the reins for another person ; one might set their little
world on fire like Phaeton, and do no good in the
end.' And perhaps he was right. Under the cover of
neighbourly kindness and sympathy there is often
unwarrantable interference and the forcing of secret
locks. Sacred places are invaded by well-meaning
folk anxious to redress grievances and to put things to
rights in their own way. To a certain class of men
a board with * No Thoroughfare ' instantly suggests that
no short cut could be so desirable ; that ' trespassers
v/ill be prosecuted ' is only a figure of speech, and adds
the spice of determination to their self-will.
One morning, about a week after Betty's return.
Sheila was struck by Ned's air of dejection. He had
slept badly and seemed much out of sorts ; he was
rather curt in his answers to Ivor, and seemed too
much occupied with his correspondence to join in the
28o AT THE MOORINGS chap.
general conversation ; and when Tom waddled into the
room and tried to climb up on his knee, he put him
down gently.
' Not this morning, old fellow. Dad will give you
the top of his egg.' And then he gathered up his
papers hastily and went off to his study.
' Ned is off his feed this morning,' observed Ivor in
a tone of concern. ' He has been looking seedy for
days. He sits up too late, She ; it was one o'clock
when I heard him come in last night.'
' Oh, Ivor, impossible ! ' exclaimed Sheila. ' Ned
never stays at the Old Cottage after ten — nothing
would induce him to do so. That was why Kaiser
was so restless last night. I heard him going up and
down stairs as though he were on the watch. I could
hear his tail thump against every step.'
' It was after one,' returned Ivor ; ' I struck a light
and looked at my watch. Ned must have been taking
his walks abroad for three mortal hours, so no wonder
he looks a bit out of sorts.'
Sheila felt vaguely uneasy. She would willingly
have hurried through breakfast, but Ivor was in one of
his dawdling moods. She made an excuse at last, that
Eppie would be waiting for her. She got through her
housekeeping duties as quickly as possible, and then
made her way to the study.
It was a lovely day, and Ivor had arranged that he
and Nell and the children should go to a little shady
hollow on the moor, with work and books, and the
house would be quiet until luncheon. * We shall have
it to ourselves,' she thought as she tapped lightly at
her brother's door and then turned the handle.
Ned was sitting in the easy-chair by the window,
but his pipe lay untouched beside him. Something in
XXV M WILL DO MY BEST, NED' 281
his expression filled her with a sudden foreboding — it
was the set, pained look of a strong man in trouble.
* Oh, Ned, my dear brother, what is it ? '
' I am afraid I can't talk to you this morning, She,'
he returned wearily. ' I am — I mean — that I ought to
be busy.' But Sheila took no notice of this ; she sat
down beside him and looked straight into his eyes.
* Dear Ned, you cannot hide it from me, something
is troubling you.'
' Perhaps so, but all the same I cannot talk about
it.' Ned's lip was a little stiff, as though speech were
difficult. ' When a fellow has had no sleep and has
walked himself footsore, he is not inclined for conversa-
tion. If you left me I might get a nap. Sheila.'
' You shall have a nap presently,' she returned
gently ; ' they are all going out soon, and then the
house will be quiet. Ivor is quite concerned about
you, he thinks you are ill.'
' No, I am not ill.'
' He says you did not come in until one in the
morning — he struck a light and looked at his watch —
it seemed to make him anxious. It is no wonder you
are footsore, Ned.'
' Was it so late ? ' he returned heavily. ' I must
have covered a good many miles then, for I left the
Old Cottage' — here his voice changed — 'exactly at
ten. I got up at once and bade them good-night when
the grandfather's clock in the hall struck the hour.'
' Them ? I thought Mr. Woodford goes upstairs
earlier than that. But I forgot Betty.'
* If you insist on accuracy,' observed Ned irritably,
' Miss Bettina went upstairs with her father. I meant
that I bade Miss Woodford good-night when it struck
ten. Will that satisfy you ? ' But Ned's eyes dropped
282 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
before Sheila's clear look. The light had come to her
at last — Ned's face, and still more his manner, had told
her the truth.
' Oh, Ned, dear, dear Ned, I never thought of this !
I never imagined it for a moment ! ' Sheila's hands
were on his shoulders, and her eyes were full of tears.
' Is it really true that you and Martha care for each
other ? '
' It is most certainly true ' — but there was no
exultation in Ned's voice.
' And I never knew it or guessed it ! ' exclaimed
Sheila. * Oh, how blind and dense I have been ! My
dearest friend too — the one of all others I would love
to have for a sister ! Ned, I think it is just splendid
of you not to care for outward beauty and appearance.
I am proud of you for making such a choice.' But
Ned put up his hand with a gesture of pain, and at
that moment they heard Ivor's voice under the window ;
he was calling to Nell to hurry up.
' Wait a moment until they are gone,' he whispered,
' and then I will explain things ' ; and Sheila nodded
as though she understood. Her whole soul was
strangely thrilled with an excitement that bordered on
pain, and which yet held some ingredient of sweetness.
At that moment she was far too agitated to analyse
her own feelings. Surprise at her own slowness of
vision was her dominant idea.
' What could have made me so blind ? ' she was
asking herself as the perambulator grated on the rough
gravel. ' I have been too much occupied with Ivor
and the children to notice Ned as closely as usual.'
But never once did she say to herself, ' I was thinking
too much of Luke Brett.'
As the footsteps and voices passed into the lane,
XXV *I WILL DO MY BEST, NED' 283
and a strange stillness pervaded the old house, Ned
roused himself.
' Why do you praise me for making such a choice ? '
he asked in a tone she had never heard from him before,
it was so full of repressed passion. ' It is I who am
not worthy of her. Ah, you do not know her, Sheila,
though you speak of her as your dearest friend ; not
as I do — not as I do,' his voice sinking into a whisper.
Sheila felt a quick throb of pain. Was it jealousy ?
Could it be her chum, her house-mate, her dear old
philosophic Ned who was speaking in that tone of
another woman ? Sheila could not have uttered a
word at that moment, until she had crushed down the
unworthy feeling.
' Have you cared for her long ? ' she asked timidly
at last.
' Long? How do I know? Upon my soul. Sheila,
I could not tell you. From the first I felt drawn to
her — it rested me somehow to talk to her — but I
never dreamed it would come to this. I was content
to drift through the summer days — to be near her and
serve her in little ways. I never discovered what it
meant until Ivor came to us, and then the whole thing
became so involved in difficulties that I was almost in
despair. How was I to marry with such a millstone
round my neck. " Tommy and Co." were precious
heavy, I can tell you, She ' ; and Ned's laugh was
singularly unmirthful.
* My dear old fellow, and you have been bearing all
this burden alone ? '
' I have been kicking against it, you mean. The
worst of this sort of thing is that it grows, and gives a
man no peace. It has come to this, that I cannot live
without her. Oh, you may look at me. She. Of
284 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
course it is a sort of madness — a man in my state of
mind is not in a normal condition. It seems to me
that there is only one thing I want, and that is to make
Martha Woodford my wife.'
' But surely, dear, you can tell her so.' Sheila was
distinctly puzzled ; difficulties there might be, but they
could be overcome with time and patience. If a man
loved a woman, it was clearly his duty to tell her so.
Sheila was quite clear on that point. Let them under-
stand each other and nothing else much mattered.
Sheila's creed was perfectly simple.
' Yes, I could tell her so ; but it has done no good.
Listen, Sheila. Last night we were left alone — we are
not often alone, you know — and I asked her to marry
me. I told her that I would wait for her any time.'
' Well, dear ? '
' And she refused me.'
' Oh no, impossible ! '
' Oh, she cares for me right enough — I made her
own that. But she persists that she will never marry ;
that her father is her first duty, and that Betty might
leave them at any time. She cried so bitterly and
begged me to say no more, that I had to leave her.
Sheila ' — in a tone almost of despair, and Ned turned
his tired face to her — ' what is to be done ? How am
I to marry with all these helpless creatures depending
on me ? That is what Martha says. She says if she
cared for me ever so, she would never consent to be a
drag on me.'
' Dear Ned, what can I say ? '
* What can you say ? ' Ned's voice was irritable
with pain. ' You must help us. You must go to her
and talk things over with her. Tell her that my heart
is set on this ; that I can work, and that I am making
XXV I WILL DO MY BEST, NED ' 285
my name. Mr. Woodford has a little annuity ; he
would not be utterly dependent on me — and he is very
frail. But perhaps you had better not say that. Tell
her that I will wait any reasonable time, but there must
be a definite engagement You are her friend, Sheila,
she will be guided by you.' And Ned looked at her
so beseechingly that Sheila's reluctance melted away.
' I will do my best, Ned,' she said gently. And
then they talked over things more calmly.
CHAPTER XXVI
•why do you call him "he"?'
..ii'
There are sweet surprises awaiting many a humble soul fighting against
great odds in the battle of a seemingly commonplace life. — Anon.
The morning passed away so quickly that Sheila was
startled to hear the children's voices as the returning
party made their way up the lane. They had talked all
these hours, and it was actually luncheon time ; no
wonder Sheila looked and felt a little weary.
' Have I helped you, Ned ? ' she asked rather wist-
fully, as she rose from her seat.
* You always help me,' he said gratefully. * One
can always depend on you, She ; whatever the rest of
the world may do, you never disappoint me.' Then
Sheila smiled happily.
All these hours she had not thought of herself, only
of him. That Ned should have his heart's desire, that
the woman he loved should be his wife, this was the
one thing for which she craved. That Martha was
robbing her of her house-mate, that she and Ned would
never be all in all to each other again — these thoughts
had not yet come to her.
' What does it matter what becomes of me,' she
said to herself, ' if only my dear old Ned is happy ? I
am strong, I can work ; Ned need not fear that I shall
286
CHAP. XXVI 'WHY DO YOU CALL HLM "HE"?' 287
be a burden on him. I will give up my place gladly
to Martha when the right time comes.'
But when Sheila hinted at this, Ned turned upon
her quite fiercely ; indeed it must be owned that he did
not at all measure his words.
* If you are going to talk such rot as that, She,' he
said angrily, ' we had better drop the discussion. Do
you suppose that my wife will turn my only sister out
of doors — that I should allow you to live under any
roof but mine ? '
Sheila bit her lip. Ned was sometimes so im-
possible ! The dear fellow was so dense — how was
she to explain, without hurting him, that under those
circumstances she would greatly prefer to be in-
dependent ?
' In my opinion, a wife and husband are better
alone,' was all she ventured to say ; and though Ned
did not contradict this, he reiterated his remark in a
still more forcible manner : ' that as long as he had a
roof and a crust of bread, they should be shared with
his sister.'
Sheila held her peace, but she was not convinced.
Her will was as strong as Ned's. When Martha became
mistress at The Moorings, it would no longer be her
home. ' Ned must be crazy,' she said to herself ; ' does
he suppose that I should let him work for me? I
would rather go and live with Ivor and Nell, and put
up with all her shiftless ways, than stay here.' But
her heart sank a little at the thought. 'Oh, the
changes and chances of this mortal life ! ' she sighed.
Ned's face had lost its harassed expression ; his
sister's affectionate sympathy had cheered him, and he
seemed disposed to take a more sanguine view of his
difficulties.
288 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* After all, I have a house and between six and seven
hundred a year, and I am getting on with my literary
work,' he had said almost cheerfully. ' Ivor cannot
expect me to maintain his family.'
* Of course not.'
' We must wait a little until he gets a berth, and
perhaps even then I may have to help him a bit. I
could spare him a hundred a year, She.'
' Perhaps so.' Sheila was a little guarded in her
answers. It was no use being over-sanguine. In all
probability " Tommy and Co." would be a heavy drag
on them for years to come ; poor Ivor was only a
feckless laddie, and Nell would always be helpless.
And then there was Mr. Woodford a confirmed invalid,
and Betty, who would not be married to her faithful
Charlie for years, and who could not be trusted to
look after the old man.
If Ned married Martha, he would have responsi-
bilities enough. Sheila was too shy to hint that in
course of time he might have children of his own.
' Ned is an old bachelor, he does not realise what it all
means,' she said to herself ; ' he is only thinking of
Martha. By and by his eyes will be open, and then
he will be more reasonable.' But Sheila loved him all
the more for his boyish impetuosity.
To strike when the iron is hot is a wise axiom, and
Sheila resolved to go to the Old Cottage that very
afternoon. She remembered that Betty and her father
were going to have tea at the vicarage, and that she
would certainly find Martha alone.
Sheila made arrangements for every one's comfort
before she left. Ned was persuaded to betake himself
to a hammock in the fir plantation, and Ivor followed
his example ; and Neli carried the children off to the
XXVI «WHY DO YOU CALL HIM "HE"?' 289
tennis-lawn, promising to come back and make tea at
the proper time. Sheila would probably have hers at
the Old Cottage.
Sheila knew that she would find Martha working in
the verandah. As usual, Miss Mowcher gave her a
fussy welcome — she was a demonstrative little animal —
and then Martha came forward to greet her visitor.
It was with difficulty that Sheila suppressed an
exclamation when she saw her, she was so shocked
at her appearance. Martha was very pale, and her
eyelids were swollen, as though she had wept half the
night. She seemed to shrink a little from Sheila's
questioning glance.
' I have had a headache,' she said hurriedly, * but it
is better now. Have you come to have tea with me.
Sheila ? It is good of you to enliven my solitude.'
Martha spoke with effort, as though she were putting
a strong force on herself She was evidently nervous
and ill at ease.
' I have come to talk to you,' returned Sheila.
Perhaps her tone was somewhat significant, for a faint
colour stole into Martha's face as she took up her
work again. * How nice and quiet it is here ; we shall
have no one to interrupt us. I left Ned and Ivor
swinging in their hammocks. I think Ned has a
headache too, he has slept badly.'
' I am very sorry,' and Martha caught her thread so
quickly that it broke.
' I think he overwalked himself last night,' went on
Sheila ; * for he never came home until one o'clock in
the morning. Poor Kaiser was in a dreadful state,
and Ivor heard him come in. Did you ever hear of
such giddy ways, Martha, for a staid philosopher ? '
' He left here at ten.' Martha spoke calmly, but
U
290
AT THE MOORINGS chap.
her hand shook so that she could scarcely hold her
needle. Sheila quietly drew the work away.
* Why do you bother yourself over that,' she said
quickly. * I want your whole attention, dear. You
are not a bit yourself this afternoon ; do you think I
do not see that ? I am not quite as blind as a bat,
Martha. You are not really glad to see me ; in your
heart you would much rather be alone.'
' Sheila, what can make you say such things ? Am
I ever anything but glad to see you ? I daresay I am
stupid this afternoon, but I slept badly.'
' Ned slept badly too.' It was impossible to ignore
the significance of Sheila's tone, and poor Martha grew
crimson.
' I am sorry,' was all she could say ; but it was
evident that she could not meet Sheila's eyes.
' It was Ned who asked me to come. He was very
anxious that I should talk to you. Dear Martha,
won't you look at me ? You have made him so un-
happy — I have never seen him in such a state before.'
' Hush, Sheila, for pity's sake ' — and Martha hid her
face in her hands. She was trembling all over, but
Sheila was merciless.
* Why should I hush when I have so much to say,
and Ned begged me so hard to come ? We are friends,
Martha, and should surely understand each other. Ned
is the dearest thing on earth to me. We have stood
shoulder to shoulder through many a rough day ; we
are more than brother and sister, we are trusty
comrades. When I was a girl I used to call him my
mate.'
' Yes, I know, he told me so.'
' It was more than that he told you last night.
Martha, be frank with me, why did you refuse him ?
XXVI 'WHY DO YOU CALL HIM «HE"?' 291
He loves you so dearly, and he has never loved any
woman before.' But how could Martha answer when
her voice was choked with sobs ?
'You have nearly broken his heart,' she continued,
after a minute's interval. But her voice was soft with
pity ; her womanly instinct told her that Martha had
almost broken hers. ' Dear, I know that you care for
him — these tears are eloquent enough — and that you
did not mean to be cruel. You are so gentle that you
would not hurt any living creature if you could help it ;
you must have good reason for your refusal.'
' Thank you for saying that. Sheila ' ; and Martha
dried her eyes and tried to regain her self-control. ' It
was hard, terribly hard, to say " No " to him. But in my
heart I prayed to God to give me strength to say it'
Sheila looked at her in mute reverence. She could
pray at such a moment, with her lover's passionate
pleading in her ears ! In her place could she have
done likewise ? Sheila felt a sudden sting of shame, as
though some inward voice were accusing her.
* Was it absolutely necessary to refuse him, if you
really loved him ? ' she asked, after an interval of silence.
The poor girl looked at her reproachfully. She
was certainly plainer than ever at that moment, with
her flushed face and reddened eyelids, but the loveli-
ness of sincerity and truth shone in her eyes. ' If —
oh. Sheila, do you doubt it ? ' Martha's voice trembled
as she spoke.
* Dear Martha, I did not mean to hurt you.'
' No, of course not ; and how are you to understand ?
It is all my foolishness. But indeed I have no wish to
hide things from you. If you only knew what I felt
when he told me that he loved me. I, who never
expected that any man would ever look at me a second
292 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
time ; I, who imagined that I was set apart from such
things.'
' Dear, you have always thought too little of
yourself
* I think not, Sheila. Could I look in the glass
and think that any man would not be repelled by my
homely features? But when he said it, and I saw his
face, it was as though heaven opened, and I felt so
happy, it was just the sweetest moment of my life. It
was then that he drew from me the avowal that his
love was returned.'
' I am glad you told him that.'
* I think now that it was a mistake ; but he was so
insistent, and I was not quite mistress of myself But
the next moment the happy dream was over. It was
then that I told him that I must not marry ; that my
father and Betty were sacred charges ; that it would be
impossible for me to leave them.'
' I can imagine Ned's answer to this — Ned is a
Quixotic sort of person.'
' But can you conceive anything more rash or reck-
lessly generous ? ' and there was a sudden gleam of
tender amusement in Martha's sad eyes. ' Your
brother actually suggested that we should all migrate
to The Moorings.'
' Now — at once ? ' Sheila looked rather taken
aback at this.
' Oh no, there was method in his madness. Of
course, he added when his brother had a home of his
own. Oh, Sheila, of course you look surprised. It
was just the most impossible idea. Do you think I
do not know how heavily he is handicapped, and how
hard he works ? '
Sheila's answer was a little irrelevant.
XXVI 'WHY DO YOU CALL HIM "HE"?' 293
' Why do you call him " he," Martha ? He can surely
be " Ned " between us.'
Martha's shielding hand prevented Sheila from
seeing her face.
' I could never call him that,' she said in an
embarrassed tone.
' Well, Edward, then.'
' No, I could not do it He is Mr. Lassiter to me.
But I like him to call me Martha; there can be no
harm in that. We are dear friends ; I pray heaven
we always shall be.'
' I say " Amen " to that with all my heart. But now,
my dear girl, putting feelings aside, I am by no means
sure that you were right to refuse my poor old Ned.
Let us think it out, as he is fond of saying, and get to
the bottom of our difficulties. I don't deny there are
difficulties, but I absolutely refuse to spell the word
impossibility.'
' There I do not agree with you.' But Sheila
hurried on.
' I am not saying that Ned, at the present moment,
is quite in a position to marry. To be sure, he has a
house and a nice little income, but Ivor and his family
will have to be kept for a time. Indeed, they are
likely to be a heavy expense for the next year or two.'
' Even your brother admitted that, Sheila.'
' Of course he could not deny it. And under these
circumstances you must both be prepared for a long
engagement' Martha looked at her blankly.
' But I refused him, you know that'
* Oh yes, I know it well ; but, all the same, you
ought not to have done it But of course Ned will
not take such an answer. He is very persistent when
he has set his heart on a thing. I should not be the
294 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
least surprised if he goes over the ground again when he
next sees you. I am his ambassador, remember that'
' Sheila, how can you ! You are two against one,
and it is not fair. But I will not be coerced ; I must
do what I think is right for him. Do you suppose,'
here her voice dropped and softened, ' that I would
not love to belong to him ? If I knew that I were to
be engaged to him for twenty years, I should be so
thankful and content. Could I love him and not feel
this ? But it would not be good for him.'
* I think you would hardly wait as long as that ! '
' Oh, I was putting it strongly ; but even you can-
not deny that there would be years of waiting. Listen
to me a moment. I have been thinking about it all
night, and every hour it seemed more hopeless. Your
brother has an income, you say. I know all about
that ; it is just sufficient to keep you all in comfort.'
' You may leave me out of the category, Martha.'
' What, are you going to be married ? ' in quite an
eager tone. Then it was Sheila's turn to blush.
' No, no. What do you mean ? What absurd
notion have you got in your head ? I only meant that
I am a working woman, and that I shall never be a
burden on Ned.'
' I think it is you who are talking nonsense. Sheila.
I wonder what your brother would say if he heard you.
But let me finish, please, or Jane will be in with the
tea. I know that just now he is thinking of settling
to some new work, he has spoken about it more than
once, and I remember that he said that he would have
to give up his remunerative work for the next year
or two.'
' Oh, he told you that, did he ? '
* Yes, he made it quite plain to me. He must be
XXVI 'WHY DO YOU CALL HIM "HE"?' 295
free to do his work. There must be no talk of any
engagement between us. My father is broken in health
and spirits, and I am absolutely necessary to him, and
my little Betty is not likely to marry yet.'
Sheila was silent a moment. In spite of her very
real sympathy with the lovers, her common-sense told
her that under existing circumstances it would be most
unwise for Ned to assume further responsibilities.
Perhaps Martha was right in insisting that there
should be no engagement for the present. Ned was
not the man to content himself with his lover's
privileges. He would be urgent for an early marriage,
and override all Martha's scruples and conscientious
objections. The atmosphere of The Moorings would
be disturbed and agitated by ceaseless plans. ' We
should all be as unrestful as possible,' she said to
herself, * and Martha would grow thin with worry.
* I see what you mean,' she observed presently.
'You think that things ought to be left as they are
for the present, and perhaps from your point of view
you are right.'
' I am quite sure that I am right. Sheila.'
' Perhaps so, but all the same what are we to do
with Ned ? '
' How do you mean, dear ? '
* Ned is rather an awkward customer, and there is
no use making up a pleasing little fiction about him.'
* I wish you would explain yourself. Sheila.'
* Well, it is just this. When you refused Ned last
night, I daresay you said to him that you hoped to
remain dear friends and all that sort of thing.'
' Why, yes, I think I did say something of the kind ;
but he would not listen. Indeed, I meant it. Sheila.'
' No doubt you meant it ; but, my dear girl, you
296 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xxvi
have not lived with Ned all these years or you would
not propose anything so preposterous. Do you
suppose that Ned will bear his life, living at The
Moorings with you at his very gate ? Martha ' — and
Sheila's voice became very sad — ' if you refuse to be
engaged to him, I know well that Ned will be driven
from his home. He will have no heart for his work
here. He will leave us all and go to Heathcote Street,
to those dull, poky little rooms, and work night and
day, and take no care of himself.'
' Oh no. Sheila, impossible ! '
' I am telling you the truth. I know him so well,
and this is what he will do, Martha. I want to do
what is best for you both. You are right, but we
have to reckon with him. Let me go back and tell
him that I agree with you ; that, for the present,
things must be left as they are ; but that, in six
months, if he wishes to reopen the subject, you will
not refuse to listen to him. In six months' time we
may see things more clearly, and this will not bind you
to any definite answer.'
' Are you sure of that ? *
'Yes, I am quite certain of it. Dear Martha, you
know that you can trust me. I am on Ned's side — in
a sense I am his accredited ambassador — but in my
inmost heart I am on your side too. Quick, give
me an answer, for I hear the jingle of tea-cups.'
' If you really think it will be right,' returned
Martha dubiously. ' Yes,' she continued hastily, as
Jane approached, ' tell him that I will not refuse to
listen if he speaks to me again in six months, even —
even if I have to give the same answer ' ; but there
was an unmistakable look of relief on Martha's face
as she said this.
CHAPTER XXVII
HERR professor's PLANS
For him who aspires, and for him who loves, life may lead through
the thorns, but it never stops in the desert. — Anon.
Fulfil the perfection of long-suffering ; be thou patient. — Teaching of
Buddha.
Sheila did not remain long after this, Martha needed
rest, and was anxious to efface all traces of her emotion
before her father and Betty returned, and they might
be expected back at any moment. Sheila drank her
tea hastily, and then took her leave.
* I have had about enough of it,' she said to herself
as she walked across the lane, for there was a dull
throbbing at her temples. * I do hope Ned will be
reasonable. He has a little of the bulldog in his
nature — he never lets go.'
Ned was on the look-out for her. He was leaning
on the gate, with his straw hat tilted over his eyes,
watching for her. Directly he saw her, he unlatched
the gate, and taking her arm, turned her in the direction
of the links.
' Oh, Ned,' she objected, ' I am so tired, and it is
so hot out here.'
* It will be quite cool and fresh on the links. Why,
it is half-past five — you have been such an age. Sheila ' ;
297
298 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and Ned's voice was rather reproachful. ' It is no use
trying for a quiet corner in the gardens ; the kids are
all over the place — they are playing hide-and-seek with
Ivor.'
* Did you have a good nap, Ned ? '
' Oh, fairish ! ' Which was shabby of Ned, for he
had slept soundly for at least an hour and a half.
' Well, She,' in a distinctly injured tone, * how long are
you going to keep me on thorns ? ' And then Sheila,
with a few prudent reservations, repeated the substance
of her conversation with Martha,
She was rather disappointed by the way Ned re-
ceived it. It must be confessed that he was somewhat
unreasonable ; he was so argumentative and wrathful
that Sheila more than once put up her hand to her
head. ' Enough is as good as a feast,' she said to
herself wearily ; * Ned is surfeiting me.'
' Six months ! ' he repeated for the seventh or eighth
time, ' and I am not to speak to her before that ! And
yet you declare that she cares for me ! '
' Most certainly she cares for you. It will make
you vainer and more masterful to say it, but I do
believe, Ned, that Martha loves you with her whole
heart'
• Pshaw ! ' rather roughly. * I confess I can't see the
proof of your words. Would she refuse to engage
herself to me, and put me off in this ridiculous manner,
if she really cared for me ? '
' Speaking as a woman, and knowing Martha's intense
sense of duty, I should say she would, Ned — that she
would be capable of any amount of self-sacrifice.'
Then he said 'Pshaw!' again and 'Feminine rubbish!'
under his breath, but his manner softened a little.
' Martha would do what she thought right now
XXVII HERR PROFESSOR'S PLANS 299
and always,' continued Sheila boldly, ' and I love and
honour her for it.' But this was a little too much for
Ned.
* There you go, She ; I believe you encouraged her
in her morbid ideas instead of taking my part. I was
wrong to employ a go-between, I ought to have gone
myself. There was the opportunity, and I never took
it. I was a fool not to do my own business. She got
the better of me last night, but this afternoon I would
have made her listen to me.'
' You would have done no good, Ned,' returned
Sheila. ' I talked for an hour, until I was hoarse,
before I could win even this concession, Martha has
a strong will, she is very firm. If she were a weaker
woman, Ned, and not so good and conscientious, you
would h^Lve more chance with her.'
Her words seemed to strike Ned, and his wrath
died away. Sheila was so patient with him, and she
looked so tired.
* You are sure that you really did your best. She ? '
'Yes, Ned.'
' And I am not to speak to her on the subject for
six months ? '
Sheila nodded. Then a moment later she said
quickly —
* Martha does not promise to give you a different
answer even then.'
' I daresay not ' — here a grim smile came to Ned's
face. * Well, She, I must not bother you any more.
I am forry I was impatient just now. Of course you
did your best. Why, m.y dear, do you suppose that
I am such a mean beggar that I don't realise that ?
It is only that a man sees things sometimes from a
different standpoint.'
300 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' Yes, dear, I know that,' and Sheila passed her hand
caressingly over his coat-sleeve ; ' and Martha knows
it too.'
' You must leave me to deal with Martha,' he
returned hastily. ' But you did your best, my dear, and I
thank you for it. Well, I accept the conditions, though
in my heart I protest against them. Let me see,
this is the 7th of September ; I will write to Mrs.
Williams and engage those rooms in Heathcote Street
for the beginning of October.'
' Three weeks hence — O Ned ! ' and her hand
tightened round his wrist. Of course she knew it, she
had told Martha so — Ned would be driven from his
home.
* You will not mind my going. She ? ' and Ned
looked at her imploringly. ' I could not stay here like
this. How could I work ? It would drive me mad.
Every day we must meet — here, at the Old Cottage,
in the lane, everywhere — she could not avoid me. If
I look at her she will shrink into herself; when we
talk we shall be like strangers. I could not face the
situation. Let me go, Sheila. I daresay I am a
coward, but it will be far better for us all.'
* Dear Ned, of course you shall go.' Sheila's voice
was quite steady, and she did not hesitate for a
moment.
' You said yourself some weeks ago that you could
be left with Ivor. You spoke then as though you
wanted me to go — as though you thought I was
wasting my time.'
' Yes, I remember, Ned. But tell me one thing —
and now her eyes were wistful — ' shall you stay away
the whole winter ? '
' Yes, I think so. At least ' — as he saw her wince —
XXVII HERR PROFESSOR'S PLANS 301
' I cannot tell, we need not bother our heads about
that. Of course I shall run down now and then to
have a look at you, and see how you all get on with-
out me.'
* That will be nice ' ; but something in Sheila's
voice made Ned look at her rather keenly. His
conscience was not quite easy, for after a few minutes
he said in a worried manner —
* What a muddle it all is ! But for " Tommy and
Co.," I could have taken you with me. You would
have liked that, She ? '
' I always like to be with you, dear,' she answered
gently. But why did Ned's words seem to give her a
sudden stab ? Why was the idea of leaving The
Moorings for a few months such an unwelcome sugges-
tion ? But Sheila would not face the question ; she
covered it up hastily, and turned her attention to the
point they were discussing.
' You will promise to take care of yourself, Ned ;
you will not work too hard ? '
* Oh, as to that, I will make no promises,' he returned
carelessly. ' Under some circumstances work is a man's
salvation ; anything is better than mooning about in
an objectless fashion. Do you know, She,' kicking a
pebble restlessly as he spoke, ' I can scarcely believe I
am the same man, the same Edward Lassiter who lived
in Brook Street, the would-be philosopher and contented
old bachelor. I have not grown younger in looks,
have I, and yet in a sense I s'eem to have renewed
my youth ? '
She looked at him a moment without speaking.
Yes, he was changed ; she could not deny that the thin
intellectual face had grown thinner and sharper ; but
there was a new energy in his manner, and an added
302 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
brightness in his eyes ; in spite of his very real despond-
ency, the knowledge that his affection was returned
by the woman he loved was sweetening the pain of
parting. Sheila evidently felt the truth of her words,
when she said presently —
' I don't think you are to be pitied, Ned. I believe
things will come right after a time, if you will only be
patient. Of course it is not pleasant to wait ; but you
must try and make the best of it' And Ned assented to
this ; and by and by, to Sheila's great relief, he proposed
that they should go in.
Sheila felt both weary and depressed, — it had been a
trying day. During supper she made a heroic effort
to be cheerful for Ned's sake, but Nell's want of tact
spoilt everything.
' You are eating nothing. Sheila,' she said with fussy
affection, ' and I am sure you have a bad head. Why
don't you give her a glass of wine, Mr. Edward, it will
do her more good than lemonade?' And thus adjured,
Ned would have filled his sister's glass, but she pre-
vented him.
' I could not touch it, Ned. No, I really mean it.
I have asked Eppie to make me a strong cup of coffee.
Yes,' as Ned looked at her anxiously, ' Nell is right
and my head does ache a little. If you and Ivor do
not mind, I will go out in the garden while you finish
supper.'
How thankful Sheila was for that brief solitude ! How
soft and healing was the September breeze as it fanned
her heated temples ! She was too tired to think ; it was
rest just to lean back in her chair and be silent. Some
wood-pigeons were cooing in the distance, the bleating
of sheep sounded from a meadow near, there were
children's voices coming up Sandy Lane. A dog
XXVII HERR PROFESSOR'S PLANS 303
barked, a pettish little bark from Miss Mowcher
answered it ; then a tall black figure came between
her and the gate. Sheila put down her coffee-cup
with a hand that shook slightly ; she had not expected
Luke Brett that evening. Even as he came towards
her, she could hear her brothers' footsteps in the hall ;
they were already coming out of the dining-room.
As Luke paused beside her, it was still light enough to
see her face.
' You are not well ? ' with an air of grave concern.
* My head ached, and I could not eat my supper, so
I came out here. Is it not a lovely evening, Mr.
Brett ? I believe September is my favourite month.'
* You think it is the " good wine " of the year,' he
answered smilingly, * left last to mellow. Ah, here
come your brothers, and I have no time to ask what is
troubling you. It is a worry headache — do you think
I cannot see that ? ' And before Sheila could make
any reply, he was shaking hands with Ned and Ivor, and
Ned was giving orders to Ruth to bring out another
cup of coffee ; and then they all settled themselves as
usual, and Peter, who was on the friendliest terms with
Sheila, squatted contentedly on her dress.
Sheila was thankful to be spared any reply to
Luke's speech ; she knew how impossible it would be
to hoodwink him. He knew, without a word from her,
that she was depressed and weary ; and perhaps his
clear insight told him that it would be kinder to leave
her alone, so he made no attempt to draw her into the
conversation. But, as the September dusk grew deeper,
and the firs behind them looked like an inky blot,
and the lights shone out from the windows of the Old
Cottage, Luke Brett noticed two things.
First, he saw Ned draw his chair a little nearer to
304 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
his sister, and that, as he laid down his pipe, his hand
seemed to feel for hers ; and the next moment, as Ruth
lighted the hall lamp, he saw something else : he saw
Sheila put Ned's hand to her lips ; but quickly, secretly,
as though she were almost ashamed of the action, and
hold it tightly to her breast. But in a few more minutes
he rose.
' I must make my visit a short one to-night,' he said
easily, ' for I have some letters to write before I sleep.'
And then, as usual, Ned announced his intention of
taking a prowl.
* I shall not be late, She,' he said as he bade his
sister good-night ; * don't you trouble your head about
me.*
' He will soon know all about it,' thought Sheila as
she went to her room. ' Ned has no intention of saying
anything, but before he knows what he is about he will
be telling him everything.' And Sheila was right.
Ned was in that nervous, restless condition that it
was a relief to talk. A quiet question or two from
the vicar soon elicited the fact that he was going up to
town. Mr. Brett easily guessed the cause, and before
long he was in possession of the truth.
Oddly enough, Luke's first words almost coincided
with Sheila's.
' I honour you for your choice, Lassiter, In my
opinion. Miss Woodford is one of the best women I
know. Her devotion to her father and sister is quite
perfect.' Ned was silent, but inwardly he was glowing
with satisfaction ; Luke Brett's good opinion was worth
having.
' And you think I am doing right ? ' he asked after
a moment's silence.
* Yes, under the circumstances most men would do
xxvii HERR PROFESSOR'S PLANS 305
the same. But I confess' — here his manner changed a
little — ' that I am sorry for your sister.'
Ned nodded and puffed away at his pipe, for they
were in the vicar's study by this time.
' She will make the best of it,' he observed presently ;
' she knows that it cannot be helped. Of course I shall
run down for a week-end now and then.' He broke off
here, and added a moment later, ' I think it will make
things easier for Miss Woodford. The whole thing is
so confoundedly awkward.'
* Well, perhaps you are right. There is one thing I
want to say, Lassiter, but it is for yourself only, mind.
From something Dr. Moorhouse told me, I believe Mr.
Woodford is in a far more critical condition than his
daughters know. It is quite true that he may live for
years, but, on the other hand, there might be some
sudden seizure, — it is not a good life ; I think that was
the expression.'
' I am quite sure that Miss Woodford has no idea
of this.'
' I daresay not ; she has quite enough anxiety as it
is. Of course you know that Mr. Woodford's friends
and advisers invested a certain sum in an annuity which
will die with him, and that practically his daughters will
be left penniless ? '
' That does not matter, does it ? Miss Bettina is to
marry young Allen, you know.'
' Yes, but not until he has a decent income. I only
mention all this for your guidance. It will make no
difference to you, but it will help to convince you
that Miss Woodford is wise in her decision, — it is im-
possible for her to leave her father. I will go further
and say, that it would be hardly right for her to do so.
It is a waiting game, Lassiter.'
X
3o6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' It is not pleasant waiting for dead men's shoes,'
replied Ned gloomily. But Luke soon made him take a
more cheerful view of the case. His last words as he
took leave of him were as follows :
' Don't look too far ahead ; stick to your work and
keep a good heart. After all, I don't feel inclined to
waste any sympathy on you ; you have the satisfaction
of knowing that your affection is returned — that one
day, please God, the woman you love will be your wife.
You will not have to serve your seven years like Jacob,
I am quite sure of that'
* I hope not.'
* No, you may be certain of that ; but still you
may have to be patient for a long time. But all the
same, I think you are to be envied. Good-night, and
pleasant dreams to you.' But Luke Brett sighed
as he closed the door and went back to his solitary
study.
Ned repeated part of this conversation to Sheila
the next day. She was glad that Ned had opened
his heart to so wise a counsellor, and she was also
relieved that Luke Brett was in possession of the
facts.
' Shall you tell Martha that you are going away?' she
asked presently. Then Ned's face clouded a little.
' I think you had better tell her,' he said, after a
moment's consideration. * But there is no hurry, I am
not going yet ' ; and Sheila was willing enough to defer
the unwelcome communication.
Ned did not wholly cease his visits to the Old
Cottage — -to do so would have raised Mr. Woodford's
suspicions — but he confessed to Sheila that they were
more pain than pleasure. When it was possible, Martha
always absented herself on these occasions ; or if she
xxvii HERR PROFESSOR'S PLANS 307
were compelled to remain, her evident nervousness and
constraint made him afraid to address her. But for
Betty, Ned would have found his position intolerable.
Perhaps Betty's bright eyes had found out the truth,
for she threw herself gallantly into the breach. When the
silence threatened to be irksome, when Herr Professor's
brow grew puckered with suppressed irritability, Betty
chattered on, in her blithe, childish way, of anything
and everything under the sun ; and both Ned and
Martha thanked her in their hearts.
A fortnight passed before Sheila found an oppor-
tunity of speaking to Martha about Ned's departure.
She would not have said anything then but for a
blundering speech of Nell's.
Martha had come across one afternoon. Sheila had
a shrewd suspicion that she had seen Ned go up Sandy
Lane in the direction of the village, and thought her-
self safe ; in reality he had only gone as far as the
pillar-box, and returned almost directly. He looked so
surprised and pleased at seeing Martha sitting in the
fir parlour with his sister and Nell that the poor girl
grew crimson with nervousness, and Sheila said quickly,
* Martha came to sit with us a little because she thought
Nell and I were alone.' Sheila said this to put Martha
more at her ease, but the speech proved an unfortu-
nate one.
' We shall always be alone,' observed Nell in a dis-
contented tone, 'when Mr. Edward goes to London.
We shall miss him dreadfully, shan't we, Sheila ? Ivor
is quite low about it'
Martha turned very pale. ' You are going away ? '
she said in a low voice, and she looked straight at
Ned. ' This is rather sudden, is it not ? '
' I have that work to do,' he returned evasively. * I
3o8 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xxvii
cannot get on with it here ; I have taken rooms near
the British Museum for a few months.' Ned did not
meet her eyes as he spoke. * Sheila,' he continued
hastily, ' I must just go in and write another note ; let
me know when tea is ready ' — and then he left them.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE IVY PERGOLA
Better to feel a love within
Than be lovely to the sight !
Better a homely tenderness
Than beauty's wild delight !
MacDonald.
As Ned turned away Martha lowered her sunshade,
but not before Sheila saw that her lips were trembling
like a child on the verge of crying. That look of help-
less pain touched her ; the next moment she put her
hand on her arm.
' I want you to come with me, Martha dear,' she
said cheerfully. ' I must show you the new fernery
that we are making in that waste bit of ground near
the coach-house ; nothing but hardy ferns seem to
grow there.' Then Martha rose at once and followed
her silently. Nell looked after them wistfully, but she
did not attempt to join them.
' They think I don't see,' she said to herself, * but I
am not quite so dense and stupid as that. Well, she is
a nice creature, but whatever Mr. Edward can see in
her to make himself so miserable passes my compre-
hension. I was not much to look at myself when Ivor
and I took up with each other — and he has more than
309
3IO AT THE MOORINGS chap.
once told me so — but there, I was a beauty compared
to Miss Woodford.'
The low, ivy-covered pergola leading to the kitchen
garden was a safe retreat from prying eyes, and though
the study window overlooked it, the clearest vision could
not have penetrated the dense foliage. Here Sheila
stopped.
' Martha dearest, I meant to have told you,' she said
gently ; ' I had no idea Nell would blurt it out like
that. Ned said there was no hurry ; and indeed there
was no good in worrying you beforehand, so I put it
off. He is not going until the middle of next week.'
'You were right, Sheila,' returned Martha sadly,
and a tear rolled down her cheek ; ' you said that he
would be driven away from his home. It is my doing,
and I cannot help myself, and — and I cannot bear it.
I am bringing unhappiness to you and him, but it is
not my fault'
' My dear, do you think I do not know that ? You
must not be morbid about it, Martha. I do not deny
that Ned is very much worried just now, but your
burden is quite as heavy as his. Ned will have his
work to occupy his thoughts — after a time he will settle
down and get interested ; indeed, it is better for him
to go away for a little.'
' But you will be so dull without him, Sheila.'
' I shall miss him, of course. Ned is my chum, and
we have never been separated since he left Oxford. But
I have Ivor, and I don't mean to fret about it. Come,
Martha, you must not look like that — you must be
brave,'
' If only he is not angry with me,' she whispered ;
' but he will not look at me to-day or speak to me.
Sheila ' — putting her hand to her breast — ' if you only
XXVIII THE IVY PERGOLA 311
knew the pain I have here. It is not his going away —
in some respects that will be a relief — but to know
that I am wounding him when I love him so, it is
this that is so unbearable.'
How Sheila would have answered this pathetic speech
she never knew ; for at that moment, to her extreme
surprise, Ned's tall figure blocked up the entrance to
the pergola, and with the instinctive feeling that they
would arrive at a more comfortable understanding if
they were left alone, she fled down the grass walk
and took refuge in the garden-room, where the children
were having their tea under Eppie's supervision. Bunnie
looked at her in surprise.
* Have you been running, auntie ? ' putting down
her slice of bread and jam ; ' you do look so hot, and
you breathe like Kaiser does when he wants a drink of
water.'
* Kaiser is dreadful thirsty,' observed Tommy
solemnly ; * he drinks and drinks until his pan is dry,
and then he wags his tail for more. Thank God for
my good tea ; and I want to come into your lap,
auntie, and hear the story of the three little bears.'
Meanwhile Ned was blocking up the entrance to the
pergola, like a gigantic Fee-fo-fum ; while Martha,
deserted so basely by her friend, stood there unable to
speak or move — ' like a poor little pink-eyed rabbit
in a boa-constrictor's cage,' Ned told her long afterwards.
* Holloa, why is Sheila running away like that ? '
he asked ; and as his eyes became more used to the
dim light in that dusky retreat, his manner changed.
'Why have you been crying, Martha?' in quite a
peremptory voice.
* I have not,' she stammered, completely taken
aback by this direct question. She had no intention
312 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
of evading the truth, but she was quite unconscious
that a tear had been shed.
' Why, there are tears in your eyes now ' — for he
had detected the wet lashes. And then, before Martha
could draw back, he put his hand under her chin and
turned her face to the light. * Is it because I am going
away ? ' and then he kissed her.
Ned told himself afterwards that he had never been
more surprised at himself. * It is the unexpected that
happens. Who would have thought that a shy fellow
like me would have done such an audacious thing?
I never thought of kissing her that day she refused me,
and yet she was shedding oceans of tears then.'
Audacious or not, the fact remained ; for while
Sheila was relating the story of the three little bears
to a sticky but appreciative audience, Martha was
hiding her hot face on Ned's shoulder, and en-
treating his forgiveness for the pain she was causing
him.
* Then you are not crying because I am going
away ? ' he persisted, for he was determined to get to
the bottom of this. He was very well satisfied with the
situation ; though the pergola was so low that a festoon
of ivy wreathed his straw hat, and the damp musty
smell of ancient foliage pervaded his nostrils, ever
afterwards he regarded that old ivy pergola as a bower
of bliss ; for where a man first kisses the woman he
loves, that place is holy ground.
As Ned put his question, Martha stirred a little,
but a strong arm held her tightly. ' Tell me, dear,' he
said in her ear.
' No, oh no ' — in a low voice — * but I was afraid
you were angry with me. I told Sheila that I could
not bear that.'
XXVIII THE IVY PERGOLA 313
' I am not sure that I was not angry ' — for Ned's
love of truth was somewhat aggressive.
* Oh, you must not be,' in a piteous voice. * If I
am hurting you, I am hurting myself too.'
' If I could be certain of that,' rather doubtfully.
' Look here, Martha, there is no good covering up a
sore place, unless a proper remedy is applied ; to tell
you the truth, your refusal to engage yourself to me
did hurt me more than a little.'
' And yet you knew my reasons. Oh, Edward, how
can you be so cruel ? ' Martha had used his name
unconsciously ; she had no idea what that low
* Thank you ' meant.
' No, I was not cruel, you must not call me that,'
Ned's tone was still masterful ; * but a man likes to
see the reason of a thing. Our opinions clashed, we
looked at things from different points of view, that was
all. If you had consented to be guided by me '
But here Martha succeeded in freeing herself, and her
voice was no longer tremulous.
* Oh no, I dared not, it would not have been right.
You must not tempt me ; I must stop with father, and
you — you have your work.'
' Yes, I know ; but I want my wife, Martha.' Then,
as the colour rushed into the girl's face at that low,
fond tone, and she raised her eyes to his, Martha
looked almost beautiful. She could not speak, but that
pained, loving expression went to his heart. 'Why
are you hurting me so when you love me ? ' it seemed
to say, and it checked the man's impetuosity in a
moment.
' Dear, I will say no more ; you shall be free to do
what you think right, and I will bide my time.'
' And you are no longer angry with me ? '
314 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' No,' without a moment's hesitation, ' there shall
be no such feeling between us. Whatever happens,
I know you belong to me, and that in heart we shall
never be divided ; I can trust you, my dear.'
' Thank you — thank you for telling me this,'
' Does it make you happier ? ' with rather a melan-
choly smile ; ' I am glad of that. My poor child, if
you knew how I long to take your burdens on my
shoulders ! But it must not be just yet.'
* No, not yet'
' If you want me, if you change your mind, you
have only to say " Come," and I will be with you at
any time.'
* Oh, you are so good,' she murmured.
* You will not misunderstand me if I say that I
shall not ask you to write to me. Sheila will tell me
everything ; we shall be in constant correspondence —
all you do will be known to me.'
' And you will come down sometimes ? '
* Yes, for a few hours, or perhaps a night or two ;
but,' with a quick look at her, ' I am not sure, perhaps it
will be better not — better not.' He frowned, hesitated,
and then went on hurriedly, ' Well, we will leave all
that now, Martha ; we have said all that need be said,
and Sheila will be expecting us.' And then he
motioned her to precede him down the green arcade.
Sheila and Nell had finished their tea, but Ruth
had her orders, and a fresh brew was prepared. Neil
made some excuse to leave them, but the trio were
very silent. But Martha was no longer unhappy, the
unbearable ache had gone. Ned no longer misunder-
stood her, and he was not angry ; and at the
recollection of his tenderness, a sense of exquisite
happiness seem to flood her being. What was a few
XXVIII THE IVY PERGOLA 315
months' parting in comparison with the heart -joy of
knowing herself to be so beloved ; she, Martha
Woodford, with her plain, homely features and un-
attractive shyness. Ned was not specially humble, but
he on his side would have marvelled if he had known
how this girl venerated and well-nigh worshipped
him.
Martha took her leave as soon as she had drunk her
tea, and Ned walked with her to the gate. On his
•return he said just a word or two to Sheila. ' It is
all right. She ; Martha and I understand each other.'
' Oh, I am so glad, Ned.'
' You were a brick to leave us together ' ; and then
Ned smiled in rather an inscrutable manner. ' It gave
us an opportunity of clearing up things a bit'; and then
he betook himself to his study.
Ned was tolerably cheerful during the next few
days, but he did not see Martha again until the evening
before his departure for town, when he went to the Old
Cottage to say good-bye.
Mr. Woodford seemed more low and despondent
than usual, and Betty confided to him that she was
sure her father would miss him dreadfully. * You see
you have spoilt him, Herr Professor,' she said reproach-
fully ; ' you were here nearly every evening, and he has
got so used to you ; invalids are rather exacting, you
know.'
* Oh, you must get Brett to look in oftener,' he
returned hastily, but there was a trifle of uneasiness in
his manner. He thought the old man looked more
fragile and shrunken ; the heat of August had tried
him, and he had not regained his lost strength. Ned
remembered the vicar's speech, and his leave-taking
was almost affectionate.
3i6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Very few words had passed between him and Martha.
The girl sat apart at her work, and Ned rarely addressed
her ; even when Betty had slipped out of the room on
some pretext or other, he did not take advantage of the
opportunity.
' Well, I must go,' he said at last, and then he shook
hands with the invalid. Martha laid aside her work
and rose as he came towards her. ' Good-bye ' was all
she had breath to say.
'Good-bye — -God bless you!' he said hurriedly.
His back was towards Mr. Woodford — the old man's
sight was somewhat feeble — Ned ventured to kiss the
trembling hands one after another. ' Take care of your-
self,' was all he said, but Martha knew how to finish
the sentence.
Ned was rather sorry to find Luke Brett sitting
with Sheila on his return. He was in no mood for
conversation ; but Luke soon discovered this for himself
and did not remain long.
* Don't trouble to walk back with me, Lassiter,' he
said pleasantly ; * your sister will want you this evening.'
But Ned would not listen to this ; he must have his
prowl, he said, or he would not sleep. Perhaps Luke's
society refreshed him, for after a time his taciturnity
relaxed, and the two men were talking with their usual
animation.
Sheila was persistently cheerful to the last. She
helped Ned with his packing, drove with him to the
station, and ignored his little speeches of sympathy.
' I do hope you won't be dull. She.'
' Why, of course not, Ned ; I shall be far too busy.
" Tommy and Co. " are rather a large order, you know,
and I expect all my spare time will be taken up with
letters to Heathcote Street.'
XXVIII THE IVY PERGOLA 317
' You will tell me everything ; you will not keep
anything from me ? ' rather anxiously.
' My dear man, do I look like a designing and
secretive female ? Am I not the very incarnation of
truth and frankness ? ' Then, as the train came in
sight, her manner changed. ' You shall know every-
thing — everything, Ned.' Did Sheila guess what an
impossible promise she was making ? But she was
r-eally thinking of Martha.
' Keep a good heart, dear, and take care of yourself,
that is all I ask of you ' ; and then they pressed each
other's hands.
Sheila had been very brave, but her heart sank a
little as she drove back to The Moorings. How empty
the house would be without Ned ; how dull and un-
interesting the meals without Herr Professor's mono-
logues and good-natured chaff; how she would miss
the familiar scent of tobacco when she passed the
study door ! Ned had begged Sheila to use the room
whenever she liked, but he hinted that 'Tommy and Co.'
were to be excluded. ' Brett may come whenever he
likes,' he had said, ' but I can't have Ivor lounging in
and out ' ; and Sheila had promised, with many a yea
and nay, to guard Ned's cherished sanctum. * I shall
dust all your books and papers myself,' she had assured
him, * and no Philistine, either big or little, shall cross
the threshold ' ; and Ned knew that she would keep her
word.
Ivor was at the gate watching for her ; he and Nell
were both very kind and attentive.
* That funny little lady Miss Lorimer has been
here. Sheila,' observed Nell. ' She gave me a message
for you. She wants you to have tea with her to-
morrow. I was to tell you that she would take no
3i8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
refusal, and that if you did not turn up by four, she
should send the vicar to fetch you. She was as droll
as possible about it, but I think she really wants you.'
' Then I must go,' returned Sheila smiling. ' I will
ask Betty to come over for an hour or two, she does
so love to play with the children.'
' Dear Miss Gillian,' she said to herself, as she went
upstairs, ' it is just like her kind heart. She knows
how dull I shall be missing my poor old Ned, and she
wants to cheer me up.' And then, as the study door
was open, she went in for a moment. The paper that
Ned had been reading lay on the floor, as usual. She
picked it up and folded it neatly. Then she went
through the room, putting things straight, restoring
books to the shelves, after an orderly feminine fashion.
* One day Martha will do this,' she thought, ' and then
she will find out how untidy he is ' — this last remark
elicited by the fact that Ned's old slippers and a boot-
jack were reposing snugly in his waste-paper basket
It was a melancholy evening, but Miss Gillian's
invitation was the one streak of sunshine. Sheila
would not have owned to herself for worlds how the
pleasant prospect lightened her despondency ; self-
deception is under some circumstances a blessing.
Betty was always ready to accept an invitation to
The Moorings. From the first she and Ivor had been
good friends, and she was very kind to Nell. She
taught her to play croquet, and was very patient with
her awkwardness and blunders ; and she would not
allow Ivor to find fault with her. Nell, whose ball rarely
passed through a hoop, and who was at the mercy of
every adversary, toiled on with much enjoyment, and a
sort of dogged perseverance that appealed to Betty's
feelings.
XXVIII THE IVY PERGOLA 319
' I have enjoyed it awfully,' Nell would protest ;
' only I am that tired that I could drop with fatigue.
If I could only play like you and Ivor.'
' Oh, you are only a beginner,' Betty would say
cheerfully. She was beginning to like Nell. She was
a little slow and dense, but so gentle and willing, so
grateful for a kind word, so devoted to her husband
and children.
Sheila spent a happy afternoon with her friend in
the pleasant vicarage garden. Luke joined them at
tea, and stayed on chatting with them until it was
time for her to return home, and then he at once
suggested that he and Peter should accompany her.
This had become a usual habit with him, and Sheila
took it as a matter of course. It was just a proof of
their agreeable intimacy that Sheila never made any
demur to this. Now and then she would wonder
whether Luke Brett found her society so congenial
that he was unwilling to relinquish it ; but her innate
modesty forbade her following out the thought. It was
sufficient for her to know that he was no longer
reserved with her ; that he would speak freely to her
of all that interested him, as though he were sure of
her sympathy ; and the knowledge that this was so
was very sweet to Sheila.
CHAPTER XXIX
NED MAKES NEW FRIENDS
Work is the best birthright which man still retains. It is the strongest
of moral tonics, the most vigorous of mental medicines. — Anon.
May God make us patient to live ! Not that we should not have
aspirations ; but till the flying comes, let us brood contentedly upon our
nests. — Anon.
As the vicarage gate closed behind them, Mr. Brett
said quietly, ' So Aunt Gill has done you good. I am
glad of that' But he might have added truthfully that
it was not Miss Gillian who had suggested Sheila's
visit ; she had only acted on her nephew's hint.
* Though why I trouble to do it,' she said to herself,
with a little petulant fling of her cap-strings, ' when
he never gets forrarder, the tiresome fellow, passes
my comprehension. But there, Luke was always an
enigma ' ; and Miss Gillian shrugged her shapely
shoulders.
It is the one who looks on who is the best judge of
the game, and this shrewd little person had long ago
made up her mind that Luke was by no means in-
different to Sheila Lassiter.
' It is not what he says,' she observed to herself,
' for he seldom mentions her name ; but it is the way
he looks at her sometimes, as though she somehow
320
CHAP. XXIX NED MAKES NEW FRIENDS 321
rested and satisfied him. Oh, my lad, you can't
deceive me ' ; and here Miss Gillian's heart heaved a
little under the lace fichu ; for when a woman has
once clearly read the lovelight in a man's eyes, she is
quick to discern it, though the glow is not for her.
When Luke made his little remark, Sheila gave
him one of her bright frank smiles.
* Dear Miss Gillian, hers is such a sunshiny nature.
But you have done me good too — you always do.'
* That is good hearing,' he returned heartily ; * but
of course we both knew how you would miss your
brother. But you were right to let him go ; the
change will do him a world of good.'
' Do you think so ? ' rather doubtfully. ' Ned does
so love the country ; and Heathcote Street is so
dull.'
* Oh, he will be too busy to heed that. In my
opinion, Miss Lassiter, your brother is a man of un-
doubted intellect, and the world will find it out some
day. But he has never had a chance to distinguish
himself ; he wants to rub up against other folk and
pick their brains. The world of books is all very well,
but we want the school of life too. I have been able
to give him one or two introductions that are likely to
be of service to him.'
' Oh yes, I know,' returned Sheila gratefully. * Ned
was so pleased ; he says Professor Lockhart is a name
to conjure with.'
' He is one of the leaders of thought for this
generation, and he is also a capital fellow,' observed
Luke. * He keeps open house for his friends on
Thursday evenings, and his wife is charming. They are
great friends of mine ; if I want to spend a few days
in town, I always stay with the Lockharts.'
Y
322
AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* Do they ever come to Uplands ? '
' Yes, generally once a year ; but this summer Mrs.
Lockhart lost her mother, and they went to Scotland
instead. Dora Lockhart — I have known her from a
child — is devoted to my aunt.'
' Oh, I am so glad that Ned is to make the
acquaintance of such pleasant people.'
* Lockhart is an influential man,' went on Luke,
'and he knows a good many distinguished people — 1
mean distinguished in science or literature. At No. 1 2
Queensborough Terrace brain-picking can be carried
on with considerable profit.'
Sheila was conscious of a perceptible lightening of
heart. Mr. Brett was presenting things under a new
aspect. Hitherto she had thought of Ned going into a
dingy exile to live the life of a bookworm, and to
oscillate between the British Museum and his lodgings
in Heathcote Street ; his hours of work only diversified
by solitary prowls under gas-lamps, when he would
traverse miles of pavement, thinking of his lady-love
and feeling homesick and miserable.
But Luke Brett's thoughtfulness had changed all
this. The introduction to Professor Lockhart would be
the open sesame to a brilliant circle of master minds.
For the first time in his life Ned would know the
pleasure of intercourse with men who had thought
deeply. If Mr. Brett were right, Ned was not to be
pitied.
She roused from this pleasant reverie as he again
broke the silence.
' He will get on all right after a time,' he was
saying ; ' Lassiter has plenty of pluck and go in him.
Now there is a word I have to say before you go in,'
for they had reached Sandy Lane by this time, — * I
XXIX NED MAKES NEW FRIENDS 323
want you to promise that if you are in any difficulty,
or in need of any advice or help in your brother's
absence, you will not forget your friends at the vicarage.
I shall esteem it a privilege as well as a pleasure to
help you in any way.'
' Thank you very much,' she returned in a low
voice.
* Then you promise ? ' with a quick glance at her.
' Yes, if you are sure that I shall not trouble you.
You see,' she continued frankly, ' Ivor is younger, and
I have never been able to ask him things, and I cannot
begin now.'
'That is what I meant. Well, I shall hold you to
your compact. If any little difficulty occur, you will
send for me. Now I will wish you good evening ' ;
and then he shook hands and left her.
Sheila felt strangely comforted ; the heavy weight of
depression seemed lifted. That very evening she wrote
a bright letter to Ned, the first of her ' cheerful series '
as she called them. Earlier in the day she had paid a
visit to the Old Cottage and had found Martha looking
better and more like herself. Sheila guessed that,
sorely as she missed Ned, his absence had removed a
certain strain. Though she was a little heavy-eyed
and subdued, she talked with some attempt at cheerful-
ness ; but as Mr. Woodford and Betty were both in the
room, there could be no confidential conversation
between them.
The days passed on, and then the weeks, and though
Sheila could never reconcile herself to Ned's absence,
and she secretly missed him every hour of the day,
she was not in the least unhappy. After the first
week or so Ned's letters gave her nothing but satisfac-
tion. She used to read portions to Martha, thereby
324 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
earning her endless gratitude. Martha used to look
wistfully at the closely-written pages. If only he would
have written a line to her now and then, for her to
treasure and gloat over ! But she had to content
herself with a brief message.
Ned had fought bravely with home -sickness and
restlessness, and had settled to work in earnest. He
was reading hard and taking notes.
By and by his letters became more interesting. His
visits to the Lockharts were mentioned, and descriptions
of the interesting people he met there now were sent
for Sheila's delectation.
Ned was evidently anxious that his faithful chum
and house-mate should share his pleasure. ' I wish you
knew the Lockharts, She,' he wrote once ; ' but I dare-
say you will one day, for they generally spend a week
or two at the vicarage in the summer. Mrs. Lockhart
is a charming little person, and so kind and friendly. I
went with them to a concert at St. James's Hall one
evening, and I am to go to the Albert Hall with them
next week. People are awfully friendly, and I have
generally some invitation on hand ; but I limit myself
to an occasional concert or theatre and the Thursday
socials at Queensborough Terrace.
' " All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,"
and what is good for Jack is good for Ned. I hope
you see the logic of that, my dear. I think I work
all the better for mixing with my fellow -creatures.
My word, She, when I think of that dingy house in
Brook Street, and that old dress-coat of mine, and how
you nearly wept over it, I am inclined to think we
have moved on a bit' And then with a few affection-
ate words the letter ended ; but the postscript was the
best part to Martha.
XXIX NED MAKES NEW FRIENDS 325
' Your letter was too short, She ; you wrote in a
hurry. You must tell me more about the Old Cottage
and my dear one.'
' He writes happily, does he not ? ' observed Sheila,
as she replaced the letter in the envelope. * What a
blessing it is to me that Ned is such a good corre-
spondent. This letter is more interesting than usual —
perhaps you would like to read it for yourself ; you can
give it me back to-morrow.' Perhaps Sheila had detected
Martha's longing glance ; but not even she guessed how
often the girl re-read that postscript — * You must tell
me more about the Old Cottage and my dear one.'
Martha walked in a blissful dream all the rest of
the day.
As far as Ned was concerned, Sheila was fully
satisfied, and she was quite ready to endorse Luke
Brett's opinion, that this prolonged stay in town would
be of the greatest benefit to him. And with her usual
unselfishness she rejoiced in his evident absorption in
work, and the pleasure he derived from the society of
his new friends.
Not for worlds would she have reminded him of his
promise to run down for a week-end ; and though she
wondered a little when the closing days of November
came and Ned made no sign, she never dropped a hint
of her own longing to see him, except once to Mr. Brett.
' Ned has been away two months now,' she said
once when he had overtaken her in the village, and
they had walked on to the vicarage together ; ' I
fancied he would have run down to see us before now,
but I expect he is too busy.'
' It is not always easy to break off work,' returned
Luke, ' and probably he is afraid of unsettling himself.'
And Sheila felt he was right.
326 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' But he will come at Christmas,' she continued
cheerfully, ' I must try and be patient until then.'
* I think you are always patient,' observed Luke,
and one of his rare vivid smiles lit up his dark face ;
and then he turned in at the schools and Sheila went
on her way.
Ned knew from Sheila's letters that all was going
on well at The Moorings. Ivor was gaining strength
daily, and Tommy was growing quite robust, and Nell
was a different creature. Sheila told Ned that Ivor
was beginning to feel the need of employment, and
that he talked of looking out for a berth as soon as
possible. ' He has made acquaintance with a young
man in the village,' she wrote. ' I think you know the
name — Robert Crowe — he is a house-agent and land-
surveyor, and does rather a good business. He is not
a gentleman, of course, but he is an honest man, and
Mrs. Crowe is really a nice little woman. I meet her
at the district meetings at the vicarage. Ivor has
taken rather a fancy to them both. I don't know
how he came across them, but Robert Crowe has
suggested that he should come into the office for a
few months and get a notion of the business. Ivor
is going to write to you himself about it, for he says
he is ashamed of living on you in this fashion, and it
is about time to turn his hand to something. Let us
know your opinion, Ned, as soon as possible.'
Ned's answer came by return post.
' You had better consult Brett,' he wrote ; ' he is a
good all-round man, and he knows Crowe better than
I do. But, as far as I can judge, it is not a bad plan.
In my opinion, any occupation will be better than
idleness for Ivor, and if Dr. Moorhouse thinks he is
strong enough for work, he might try in another month
XXIX NED MAKES NEW FRIENDS 327
or so ; but of course the doctor must decide this. All
knowledge is useful, and though house-agency and land-
surveying are not in my line, I daresay Ivor may turn
them to account. Anyhow, it won't be waste of time.
You see, my dear Sheila, that Ivor has led such a
wandering, desultory life that it will not be easy to
find a good berth for him. An accountant in a
colonial store is not so much to boast about ; so, if
.Dr. Moorhouse and the vicar agree, I should advise
him to try it. He will get a better thing later on if
a respectable firm like Crowe and Son will speak
for him.'
Ned's opinion clinched the matter, and as Dr.
Moorhouse thought Ivor's health considerably im-
proved, and Luke Brett told Sheila that though
Robert Crowe was a rough diamond, he was certainly
an honest man and much respected in the place, it
was decided that Ivor should start work at the be-
ginning of the new year. There could be no talk
of any salary. Ivor had to learn the business. As
Ned had said, anything was better than idleness, and
Ivor was already showing signs that renewed health
was bringing restlessness. He was manly enough to
feel his dependence on his brother both irksome and
galling, and Luke Brett very wisely fostered this
feeling.
* Busy people have no time to be dull,' Sheila had
remarked once in a letter to Ned, in answer to a
somewhat anxious inquiry after her mental welfare ;
' and I am simply occupied from morning to night
My household duties, "Tommy and Co.," and latterly my
district, give me constant employment. I miss my
little helper, Betty. The Aliens have got hold of her
again, and we do not expect her back much before
328 AT THE MOORINGS chap
Christmas. Of course I see Martha every day, but my
visits are short ones. It is impossible for her to leave
her father. He is certainly more feeble, and I am
quite sure that you will find a change in him. Martha
never speaks to me 'about it, but I can see that she is
anxious. I hinted yesterday that Betty ought not to
stay away so long ; but you know how unselfish
Martha is, she only said that she was glad that the
child was enjoying herself, and that she was not at all
tired. But it is no use speaking to her, Martha never
will think of herself
It was Sheila's habit to go over to the Old Cottage
in the gloaming, and sit for an hour with the invalid.
Mr. Woodford always brightened up when he saw her.
He liked her to read to him any interesting descriptions
out of Ned's letters. It was evident that the old man
still missed him.
Ivor accompanied her sometimes. He would will-
ingly have played chess with him, but Mr. Woodford was
too weak for his favourite amusement, and even Ivor's
talk wearied him. He still loved Martha to read to
him, though his attention often wandered, and at times
he would become drowsy and doze, Sheila seldom saw
Martha alone ; even if Martha followed her out into the
hall for a few parting words, her father's voice would
recall her for some imaginary want or other. He
was too gentle to be querulous, but his demands on
his daughter's time and patience grew more constant
each day.
Sheila did not dare tell Ned how thin and pale
Martha looked — it would only have worried and
unsettled him — though she faithfully carried out her
promise of telling him all that passed at the Cottage.
Christmas must soon come, and then Betty would
XXIX NED MAKES NEW FRIENDS 329
return. And Ned would spend a week at The
Moorings — seven whole days and nights — and then he
would see things for himself.
How Sheila looked forward to Christmas ! Her
preparations made her busier than ever, and Ivor
found a good deal of amusement in helping her.
There was to be a Christmas tree for the children, and
Martha's skilful fingers were employed in dressing
dolls and working tasteful little gifts for the elder
members of the family. The embroidered tobacco
pouch for Ned's use gave Martha hours of secret
pleasure, and so did the satin mouchoir-case for Sheila.
Ivor found plenty of scope for his energies in
helping Sheila and Nell adorn the hall and dining-
room with holly and evergreens. The ' Welcome ' over
Ned's study was quite a work of art designed by Ivor.
Nor were his labours confined to The Moorings.
Mr. Brett, who was short of workers, had begged
both him and Sheila to assist in the church decorations,
and neither of them had liked to refuse.
Ned had arranged to come down by an evening
train on Christmas Eve, and the greater part of the day
they were hard at work in the church. Sheila had
snatched a hasty tea at the vicarage, and had returned
to her task of finishing the pulpit, when the vicar
interposed.
' Do vou know how late it is ? ' he asked. ' It is
nearly six, and you are expecting your brother in
another hour. You can leave that for me to finish.
I daresay Lassiter will stay and help me. You won't
mind walking home by yourself?'
' I — oh, of course not. What an idea ! Oh, must I
really go ? ' looking rather regretfully at her work.
* There is only just that festoon to put up, and — — '
330 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* It shall be done,' he returned quietly ; ' you need
not fear that either your brother or I will spoil your
beautiful work. I know exactly where the festoon is
to go.'
* But you are so tired, Mr. Brett,' — for Luke looked
paler than usual, and a little pinched, as though the
cold tried him — ' and you have worked so hard.'
' Not harder than you have. Come, I am waiting to
take your place. Lassiter is just finishing his tea, and
then he will join me. ' You will be here at the early
service ? '
' Oh yes, we shall all be there. Isn't it wonderful,
Mr. Brett, to think that Ivor will be with us this year ? '
Then he stretched out his hand to her with a smile of
quiet sympathy.
' May it be a happy and blessed Christmas to you
and yours ! ' he said in a low voice ; and he walked with
her to the church door.
' It is very dark,' he observed uneasily. * After all,
I think your brother had better go with you.' But
Sheila only laughed at this.
* What does it matter ? ' she said brightly ; * I know
every step of the way ; I shall be home in ten minutes.'
But he stood in the lighted doorway watching her until
the gray cloak disappeared in the distance.
As Sheila passed through the lich-gate the dark-
ness seemed to swallow her up.
* I ought to have brought my lantern,' she said to
herself ; * I shall have to be careful I do not stumble
into a ditch. It will be lighter when I get to the
main road.' But the next moment she recoiled some-
what startled, as something tall and black seemed to
rise out of the ground before her.
' Is it you, She ? I hope I am not addressing a
XXIX NED MAKES NEW FRIENDS 331
stranger, but in this pitchy darkness * But
Sheila's hand was on his arm.
' Ned, oh Ned ! ' was all she could say. But it was
quite enough for Ned ; he gave a satisfied grunt and
tucked her hand under his arm, and they walked on
happily together.
CHAPTER XXX
THE CHRISTMAS MESSAGE
He leadeth me !
I shall not take one needless step through all,
In wind, or heat, or cold ;
And all day long He sees the peaceful end
Through trials manifold ;
Up the fair hillside, like a sweet surprise,
Waiteth the quiet Fold.
Mary K. A. Store r.
Now, explain yourself, Ned. What does this mean ?
Why have you arrived an hour before your time ?
Have you been to The Moorings .'' Has Nell sent
you on ? ' Sheila put her questions a little breathlessly
as they trudged on in the dark and cold. It was
music in her ears to hear Ned's dry little laugh in
reply.
' I found I could take an earlier train, so I thought
I v/ould steal a march on you. No, I have not been
home. There was no fly at the station — they were all
engaged — so I left my portmanteau to be sent on, and
walked up, and just as I was crossing the Church
Green I came upon Miss Betty. She was going to
the vicarage, and she told me that you were in the
church with Brett'
' Oh, I wish you had come in, Ned, and then I
,332
CHAP. XXX THE CHRISTMAS MESSAGE 333
could have seen you.' And again Ned laughed — there
was something so fervent in Sheila's tone.
' We shall soon be home,' he returned placidly. * It
is a bit cloudy to-night, but the stationmaster thinks
we shall have frost before morning. The air is certainly
keener.'
' You have come for a whole week, Ned ? '
' Well, yes, I think so. I have been working hard,
and have earned a holiday.'
And then, as the lights of the Old Cottage came in
view, Ned became a little silent. But as they crossed
the lane he said rather abruptly —
* I knew Martha was not in the church.'
' No, she could not leave Mr. Woodford,' returned
Sheila ; ' he is very feeble and ailing, though he still
comes downstairs for the greater part of the day. She
has not been to see us for weeks ; he is always so
low and restless in her absence.'
Ned made no response to this, and then the door
was opened and they found themselves in the warm
lighted hall, with Nell smiling at them from the
threshold of the drawing-room.
' Oh, I am so glad to see you, Mr. Edward,' she
said.
And then Tommy rushed at him with a delighted
shout. Bunnie greeted him more soberly. The lights,
the greenery, and the bright welcoming faces almost
dazed Ned coming out of the darkness.
* My word, you all look festive to-night,' he observed.
And then Eppie came out of her kitchen to greet the
master.
* Eh, but it has been a watery Sabbath without you,
Mr. Edward,' she said, as he shook hands with her.
' The place hasn't been like itself, has it. Miss Sheila ? '
334 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
And then relapsing into the old mother- tongue — ' Losh
preserve us a', I'se warrant the master has grown.
Hoots aye, but it's michty to see him so weel and
bonnie.'
Sheila followed him upstairs. Ned looked a
little touched as he saw the ' Welcome ' over the
door of his sanctum. A bright fire was burning
in the study, and the easy- chair looked delight-
fully inviting, with the little table and reading-lamp
beside it.
' It is jolly to be home again, She.' And then
Sheila put her arms quietly round his neck and kissed
him.
' Dear old Ned, if you knew how happy I am to
see your face again ! ' Then she knelt down on the
rug and made a pretence of touching up the fire.
Ned sat down in his easy-chair and stretched his
hands comfortably to the blaze. He was quite aware
that there were tears in Sheila's eyes. As he watched
her thoughtfully, he was telling himself that she had
grown younger and prettier in his absence.
' There is nothing like home,' he observed presently.
' At first I missed you and The Moorings and everything
awfully, but I would not give in. I just stuck to my
work like grim death, and after a time I felt more
cheerful. I don't repent these three months, She.'
' I daresay not'
* No indeed. Queensborough Terrace is a new world
for me. I have reason to be grateful to Brett for his
introduction. I am getting quite intimate with the
Lockharts. I often have supper with them on Sundays.
It is my only chance of seeing them alone, for there are
always lots of people there on Thursdays. On the
whole, I may say that I am having a good time, She ;
XXX THE CHRISTMAS MESSAGE 335
and if only you do not miss me too much, I shall be
quite content to go back for another three months, or
even longer.'
' Dear Ned, I shall be quite satisfied if you are only
well and happy,'
' Oh, as to that, happiness is a relative term ' —
and here he moved restlessly. ' I cannot pretend to
be satisfied with my existence under present conditions,
hut I am quite sure that I am happier in London.
But all the same, I mean to enjoy my holiday,' And
after this they had one of their old talks,
' Our first Christmas at The Moorings,' thought
Sheila, as she woke the next morning.
And then as the quartette sallied out into the
winter's darkness, Ivor carrying a lantern to guide
them, another glimmering light shone across Sleepy
Hollow, as the two sisters came out of the gate of the
Old Cottage.
' Do not walk so fast, Bee,' whispered Martha
in an agitated voice ; * I would much rather follow
them,*
But Ned, who was on the watch, saw the gleam of
the lantern in Betty's hand, and deliberately waited for
them.
' It is quite early. She,' he observed ; ' but the others
can go on.' And then in the Christmas darkness, with
the stars still shining overhead, Martha's trembling hand
was taken and kept.
There was no spoken word of greeting, Betty had
moved to Sheila's side, and the little cavalcade went
on silently. It was only at the lich-gate that Ned
relinquished his hold. How comforting that firm strong
clasp had been to Martha, Then, as they entered the
church, Ned drew back for them to precede him.
336 AT THE MOORINGS chap..
But, whether by intent or accident, he was kneeling
beside her when they partook of the Christmas feast ;
and as they left the church in the faint gray dawn
Ned was waiting for her in the porch, and again they
found themselves alone.
Martha looked up at him a little shyly,
* I have not wished you a happy Christmas,' she said
gently.
* Let me wish it you too.' And then he added
rather abruptly, ' Martha, you look very tired. Is it
wise of you to come out in the cold ? '
* Oh, I am so used to it,' she returned ; ' Betty and
I are never afraid of any weather ; and I could not have
absented myself from the Christmas service ; and it was
so nice to be with you all.' But she whispered the
last words.
' Thank you, dear.' But Ned said nothing more.
It pained him to see how weary and worn the girl
looked. Sheila was right, and she was certainly
thinner. Close confinement, and very often wakeful
nights, with the constant strain of anxiety, was telling
upon her.
Ned's kind look and silent sympathy opened
Martha's lips.
* My father is worse,' she said sadly. 'Dr. Moorhouse
says there is no immediate danger, but he cannot deny
that there is cause for anxiety ; he suffers so much
with his head, and then he is so restless ; and there are
times when he gets a little confused.'
' It is too much for you ' — in a sympathising tone.
' All this anxiety is wearing you out'
' Oh no, I am very strong. But it breaks my heart
to see him so unhappy. He is always saying that his
life is a failure, and that he has so little to leave us.
XXX THE CHRISTMAS MESSAGE 337
He cannot bear the thought that Betty and I will have
to work.'
* Oh, I think I can comfort him there,' But Martha
hurried on as though she had not heard this. Oh, the
relief of pouring her troubles into those beloved ears !
* Now and then, when he is very weak, he has an
idea that my mother and the boys are in the room.
Betty is always so upset when she hears him talking
to them ; but Dr. Moorhouse says it is only brain
exhaustion, and that we must not take any notice.
Often, when I go to him in the night, he calls me by
my mother's name. " Barbara, why have you got out
of your warm bed ? " he will say sometimes.
' My dear, if I could only save you this — if you had
a nurse ' But she shook her head.
' Oh no, there is no need. Jane is so good and
helpful ; and he gives so little trouble. I love to do
things for him, and so does Betty.'
* Well, we shall see how he goes on. I will come
round after luncheon, but I shall not be able to stay ;
the children are to have their Christmas-tree as soon
as it gets dark, and then we are to dine at six that
Tommy may see the plum-pudding on fire. He has
talked of nothing else for days.'
'Yes, I know ; and Betty has been specially invited
for the afternoon. I will tell father that you are
coming — he will be so pleased.' And then, as Betty
was waiting for her, Martha hurried away.
Ned was greatly shocked at the change in his old
friend's appearance. He looked shrunken to half his
size, and even his voice was weak ; but he cheered up
at the sight of his favourite. After a little talk, Martha
was called away and the old man waxed confidential.
' What that girl is to me, Lassiter,' he said in a
z
338 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
broken voice, ' only God knows. She is the best and
dearest of daughters.'
' I can well believe it'
* She has been a blessing to us ever since she was
born. And I am wearing her out. Oh, she will never
own it, but all the same it is the truth. When I
wake in the night she is always beside me, and some-
times I think it is her mother. Lassiter, it breaks my
heart to think my girls will have to work after I am
gone. But there will be next to nothing. By and by
my little Betty will marry, but not for a long time.
But my poor Martha '
* My dear old friend, I can set your mind at rest
there,' and Ned's face was flushed and earnest. ' Martha
will be my care. There is no reason why I should not
tell you. We love each other, and one day I hope to
make her my wife.'
' Good heavens, is this really true ? ' Mr. Woodford
spoke with unusual agitation. 'You love my Martha?'
' Have I surprised you, sir .-* '
' Yes, it is a great surprise. To be sure, once or
twice I thought the child was not happy, and I wondered
if she missed you. But I never could be certain that
it was not my fancy. My dear fellow, if this be really
true, you are taking a heavy burden off a sick man,
and I shall no longer fear to die.' But with a sudden
change of tone, ' You will not take her from me until
— until ' but his voice dropped into silence as
Martha entered the room.
But Ned's * No, no ; you may trust me,' was
sufficient answer.
Martha looked at them both a little anxiously.
' Father dear, you have been talking too much,' she
said tenderly, and laying her cheek against the gray
XXX THE CHRISTMAS MESSAGE 339
head. 'You must let Mr. Lassiter go now, for they
are lighting up the tree, and Sheila wants him.'
' Yes, he shall go ; but wait one moment, both of
you. Martha, why have you not told me ? It would
have made me so happy, darling, to know that this
dear fellow will care for you when I am gone.'
* Oh, Edward, what have you done ? ' Martha's voice
was a little reproachful, but Ned merely smiled at her.
* Why should you grudge him the comfort of knowing
that some one is ready and willing to work for you ?
Martha, you must not always have your own way, it
is not good for you. Mr. Woodford is on my side.'
And then he took her hand and kissed it. But Martha
had no answer ready.
When Ned had left the room she hid her glowing
face on her father's knee, while the feeble hand
smoothed her hair.
* Martha, my dear child, God is very good to me ;
he has taken away the bitterness of death. I shall
not be afraid of leaving my children now. He is a
good man — Brett has said so more than once. You
will be safe in his hands.'
' Yes, yes ; but do not talk any more, dear father,'
pressing him in her arms. ' I want you to live as long
as you can. I cannot part with you even for him.'
Then the old man smiled a little sadly.
The parting must come soon, he knew that ; but
at least he could thank God that death had lost its
sting, that the thorns had been removed from his
dying pillow. He would never see another Christmas,
he was sure of that. But in that other world Barbara
and the boys and his little Rosie would be waiting for
him, so how could he grieve to go ?
* Barbara used to say that even there she would not
340 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
be happy without me,' he murmured. And then with
a trembling hand he pulled out his handkerchief and
dried Martha's eyes as though she were a child.
' Do not cry, my dear. I shall not go until the
Master calls me, and you will have the love of a good
man to comfort you.'
But as Martha sat there in the firelight, with her
head stili resting against his knee, as he dozed in the
gloaming, her thoughts wandered from Ned to the dear
old days of long ago. She was back at the Grange
again. She could smell the roses on the terrace, and
see the white fantail pigeons strutting across the lawn.
There was the hall and the gallery, and the striped
tiger -skin before the empty fireplace ; and in the
great window-seat in the drawing-room, a fair-haired
woman bending over an embroidery frame. Then
came childish footsteps and eager voices. How dis-
tinctly she could see the three faces — Drummond and
Willie and her pet Rosie. Well might the bereaved
parents have inscribed those touching words on the
headstone that marked the grave of their darlings :
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.
It was all so vivid and sweet, that Martha could
never be sure if she were asleep or waking. Probably
the warmth and stillness lulled her into a half-waking
doze, for it seemed to her as though her mother
was beside her ; she could feel her hand on her
shoulder.
* He is a good man, Martha. You will be his
blessing as you have been ours. Come, Reginald.'
The dream was so vivid, the voice so distinct, that
Martha woke with a little shiver. Reginald — that
XXX THE CHRISTMAS MESSAGE 341
was her father's name, how strange to hear it again !
What a sweet Christmas dream ! How dark it was !
The fire had burnt low, and her father was still sleeping.
She touched the smouldering log, and a sudden flame
illuminated the room ; and at that moment the door
opened, and Betty, laden with parcels, stood on the
threshold, flushed and radiant. But Martha's low
' Hush ' silenced her.
' Do not wake him, Bee ; he is sleeping so soundly.'
And Martha, cramped and still a little confused from
her dreams, rose somewhat stiffly to her feet. But
the next moment there was a terrified exclamation.
' Betty — for heaven's sake — bring a light — he has
fainted — father has fainted ! '
The floor was strewn with Christmas gifts, and
Betty, startled and alarmed, carried in the lamp with
shaking hands, followed by the old servant. They
found Martha on her knees chafing the cold hands.
' Bring brandy, quick ! Take away that pillow, Jane.'
But the woman shook her head as she obeyed.
' It is no use. Miss Martha, my dear,' she said, as the
girl tried one remedy after another. ' The master, bless
him, will never open his eyes in this world again. He
is in a better place, my lamb, where the weary are at
rest.'
The old servant was right. In the stillness of the
Christmas gloaming the call had come to Reginald
Woodford, and the angel of death had whispered his
message of peace into a sleeping man's ear. But for
a long time Martha refused to believe it.
* Send for Dr. Moorhouse ; ask some one to go.'
And Betty, white and shaking, ran across to The
Moorings.
When Ruth admitted her, the poor little thing
342 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
brushed past her, and almost stumbled into the dining-
room, where they were all gathered round the festive
board. The lights seemed to dance before Betty's
eyes ; she felt sick and giddy.
' Oh, come — my father ! ' was all she could say ;
and then Sheila and Ned were beside her.
' You poor child, what is it ? ' Sheila's comforting
arm was round her. ' Has Martha sent for us ? '
Then Betty tried hard to swallow the lump in her
throat'
' Yes, he has fainted ; but Jane says he is dead, and
Martha wants Dr. Moorhouse, please.'
' I will go.' Ned's voice, strong and helpful, broke
in here. ' Go across with her, Sheila ; I will be with
you directly. Ivor, try to help them.' And the next
minute Ned's long legs were striding through the
darkness, while Sheila and Betty hurried across to the
Cottage.
Martha was still in the same position ; she was
holding the lifeless hands to her breast. * I think they
are a little warmer,' she said, with a pitiful smile,
as Sheila stood beside her. The poor girl was still
dazed from her long sleep ; she seemed incapable of
realising what had happened.
She took no heed when Sheila begged her to rise,
when she gently told her that there was nothing more
to be done.
* Has some one gone for Dr. Moorhouse ? ' was all
she asked.
* Yes, dear, Ned has gone ; they will soon be here.'
' I knew he would go — he is so kind — he is
always so ready to help.' And then she fondled the
hands, and laid her cheek against them. * You like
him so much, father, do you not ? '
XXX THE CHRISTMAS MESSAGE 343
' Oh, Sheila, I cannot bear it,' cried Betty ; ' it is
so dreadful to hear her. Oh, Marty, do wake up, and
be yourself. Darling father cannot hear you — he has
left us and gone to mother.' And then the poor child
became hysterical, and burst into sobs and tears.
CHAPTER XXXI
* SUCH A PEACEFUL DEATH '
' The loved and lost ! ' Why do we call them lost ?
Because we miss them from our onward road ?
God's unseen angel o'er our pathway crossed,
Looked on us all, and loving them the most.
Straightway relieved them from life's wear)' load.
Anon.
The time seemed long to Sheila before the rush of
cold air and the sound of footsteps announced the
doctor's arrival. At the sight of the kind familiar face
Martha grew more calm and collected. She moved
aside of her own accord, and let him take her place.
' I know you will do what you can for him,' she
said in a voice that made Ned's heart ache. As he put
his arm round her, she looked up in his face with a
flickering smile.
' You were so good to bring him. It has been
such a long faint, and I was so frightened. But Dr.
Moorhouse is so clever. I must do what I can to help
him.' But Ned, who had just seen the doctor lay
down the limp hand, held her fast.
' You can do nothing, my dearest' And then Dr.
Moorhouse, who had given a few hasty directions to
Jane, came up to them.
' My dear child,' he said kindly, ' God has taken
344
CHAP. XXXI 'SUCH A PEACEFUL DEATH' 345
your poor father in his sleep. It is heart failure, but
he has not suffered. Now, we are going to carry him
to his room, but I want you to stay down here with
Miss Lassiter.' And then, as they bore the lifeless
remains from the room, Martha's dormant faculties
slowly awoke.
* He is dead — he died in his sleep — Dr. Moorhouse
said so.' She spoke like a child who had just mastered
a difficult lesson.
* Such a peaceful death, dear,' whispered Sheila.
* No pain, no consciousness, no fear, — he just slept
away like a worn-out child.' For she as well as Ned
had been awed by the solemn sweetness of the dead
man's smile.
' Yes, I know, and she came for him. Do you hear
me, Bee ? * addressing her weeping sister. ' Darling
mother was with the angel. Do you know what she
said ? " Come, Reginald," and then they took him.'
* Oh, Sheila, has the shock turned her brain ? ' and
Betty looked scared to death. ' I never, never heard
her talk like this before.'
* No, dear, she is only dazed. You must remember
what nights she has had lately — only snatches of sleep ;
and it was all so sudden, you see.' But though Sheila
said this, she felt vaguely uncomfortable. But Martha
only smiled a little strangely. She was too weary to
reason with them, and indeed, even when she grew
calmer and more capable of reflection, she could never
make up her mind whether it had been a dream or a
waking vision.
' Voices are seldom distinct in dreams,' she said
long afterwards to Ned. ' I shall always feel that my
mother was near us that night'
Ned did not try to combat this idea. He was very
346 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
gentle with her, and kept his thoughts to himself.
' Perhaps it may have been so, dearest,' was all he said
to her.
' After all, " there are more things in heaven and
earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in our philosophy," '
he remarked later on to Luke Brett, when they were
talking on this subject. * I have never been disposed to
believe in such things myself Martha was overwrought;
in my opinion, it was only a singularly vivid dream.'
' One cannot tell,' returned Luke thoughtfully.
* The spiritual world may be nearer than we imagine ;
only our senses are so gross and clogged with earthli-
ness. " Their old men shall dream dreams, and their
young men shall see visions." And perhaps to the pure
in heart, the children of the kingdom, heavenly presences
may become visible. I have myself dreamed '
But here, to Ned's regret, Luke paused, and the
firm lips closed. No, such things were too sacred —
he would not speak of them.
A little later Sheila slipped away to intercept Dr.
Moorhouse. He promised to send Martha a composing-
draught, and begged that she should go to her room
at once. Sheila found that Jane had thoughtfully
lighted fires in both the girls' rooms. She discovered
afterwards that this was always their Christmas treat.
The little rooms looked very snug and warm. Sheila
found Ned in the sitting-room when she returned. He
was kneeling beside Martha's chair, so that she could
rest her heavy head against his shoulder. Betty was
on the rug at her sister's feet. No one was speaking.
Martha consented to do as Dr. Moorhouse wished ;
but she stipulated that she should see her father
first.
'Dear Martha, not to-night,' pleaded Ned. But
XXXI 'SUCH A PEACEFUL DEATH' 347
she persisted, and they were obliged to let her have
her way.
* I must say good-night to him,' she whispered ; * I
always do, you know.' And then she and Sheila went
upstairs. Betty followed them, but she shrank from
entering the chamber of death.
Martha was very quiet, and did not give way. ' I
should have liked to say my prayers here,' she said,
-'only it is so cold, and I am too tired.' Then she
stooped and kissed the chill forehead — it felt like
marble. 'Good -night, my darling,' she whispered.
And as Sheila helped her to undress, she said in a
dreamy tone — * Oh, how much he and mother will
have to say to each other ! ' And it was evident that
her thoughts were brooding with solemn joy on that
reunion in paradise.
Martha would have refused the composing-draught,
but Sheila persuaded her to take it.
* I do not need it ; I shall sleep soundly without it'
And indeed she was so worn out that she was asleep
before Sheila left the room.
Sheila stayed with Betty a little, and then left her
in Jane's charge and went downstairs. To her surprise
Ned was still waiting for her.
' I sent Ivor home an hour ago,' he observed. ' It
is very late — half-past eleven — and you look so tired,
She ; but one can hardly wonder at that. I think I
was half asleep myself
* I am sorry I have been so long, but Betty wanted
me to stay with her. She was too nervous to be left,
but Jane means to sleep in her room. Martha is
resting so sweetly.' And then, as Ned opened the
door. Sheila saw it was snowing, and that the ground
was already white.
348 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Eppie had, as usual, cared for their comfort. The
fire burnt brightly in Ned's study, the coffee-pot was
on the fender, and a tray of food on the little round
table ; for they had left their dinner half-eaten.
Ned put Sheila in the easy-chair and waited on her ;
then he poured out some coffee for himself.
' Our first Christmas at The Moorings has been a
strange one. She,' he said, with a sigh.
' Yes, but we have had our Christmas feast together,'
she returned in a low voice. How far away it seemed,
that dark morning walk and the lighted church. How
little they had guessed that with the Angels of the
Nativity should be the dark-robed Angel of Death ! In
one home the children shouting with joy at the sight of
the festive tree ; in the other a new-born soul, set free
from its worn-out body, was carried, sleeping, through
the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Neither the brother nor the sister was in the mood
for conversation. They both felt the loss of their friend
acutely ; the gentle old man had endeared himself to
each of them. And Ned was disposed to reproach
himself for his neglect.
' If I had not been so afraid of giving myself pain,
I should have run up to see him all these months,' he
said afterwards to Sheila. But she would not allow
him to blame himself
' It would not have been wise to break off your
work. I do not think you were selfish, Ned ; Martha
would be quite shocked at such an idea entering your
head.' And this comforted him a little.
During the next few days Sheila almost lived at
the Old Cottage, and Ned was a constant visitor.
Martha seemed to depend wholly on them. For some
days she was too ill to take any active part. The
XXXI 'SUCH A PEACEFUL DEATH' 349
sudden shock, after weeks of constant fatigue and
anxiety, almost prostrated her, and Dr. Moorhouse
was afraid of a serious breakdown. But the tender
care of her friends, and her own patient acquiescence
in her sorrow, helped her greatly. And, in spite of her
feebleness, she was able to be present at the funeral.
Ned had pleaded and remonstrated in vain. It
was the one point in which she opposed him.
' * Edward, I must go, and you must take me,' was
all she said. ' Indeed I can do it. I am stronger
to-day ; Dr. Moorhouse said so.'
Ned had to give way at last. ' It was utter mad-
ness,' he told Sheila ; * the idea of any one in her
weak state being exposed to this weather.' For now
the snow lay thick on the ground, and a piercing north
wind swept Uplands.
' Most of the service will be in the church,' returned
Sheila. 'And perhaps at the last moment we can
persuade Martha not to follow to the churchyard.
I fear we must not cross her, Ned.' But Sheila
sighed in rather an oppressed manner as she spoke.
She was secretly anxious about Luke Brett. The
cold tried him, and he looked far from well ; and she
knew that Miss Gillian had begged him in vain to let
Mr. Ducie take the service.
' He is as mad as a March hare,' observed Miss
Gillian angrily. ' He will just be laid up with con-
gestion or pleurisy — or Heaven knows what. And
he declares that he means to take the early celebration
too. I tell him that it is just flying in the face of
Providence. But there, my dear, you might as well
try to rriove a mountain.'
But Miss Gillian's voice was not clear, and her
hands moved a little tremulously. The boy's obstinacy
350 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and wrong-headness, as she called it, tried her sorely.
To the last, Luke would be a boy to her.
' It is very curious, Sheila, my love,' she went on,
* how people manage to inflict their own martyrdom on
other folk. Good people, even the best of them, are
selfish. They can't quite get rid of the old Adam.
Luke thinks he is posing as a correct parish priest ;
if you were to tell him he is digging his own grave, he
would only answer, with a dry laugh, that it was all in
the day's work. But he never thinks of my feelings ;
I am to be martyred as well as he ' ; and Miss Gillian
twinkled away a bright tear or two.
* And I too,' Sheila whispered to herself — * and I
too.' But she tried to silence the inward voice by
saying aloud, ' When one member suffers, all the
members suffer with it.' But Miss Gillian evidently
thought this a little vague, for she only shrugged her
shoulders.
How Sheila prayed for a fine day ! But as she and
Ned hurried through the darkness in the early morning,
the air was so keen and piercing that Sheila felt half
frozen.
She tried not to think how hoarse Luke's voice was,
and to abstract herself from earthly anxieties, but she
could not throw off a feeling of depression.
' We shall have another fall of snow,' observed Ned,
with a glance at the heavy leaden sky, as they came
out of the church. * My word. She, it is cold ! You
had better take my arm, my dear, for the path is a
bit slippery.'
Martha went through the funeral service better
than they expected. She shook her head when Ned,
in a low voice, begged her to remain in the warm
church.
XXXI 'SUCH A PEACEFUL DEATH' 351
* No, I cannot leave him,' was her reply ; and then
she held out her hand to Betty.
Betty was the more visibly affected of the two ;
she could hardly restrain her sobs as they followed the
coffin. But though Martha trembled with cold and
weakness, she was quite calm. They were together,
all her loved ones, and only Betty and she were left.
' I shall go to them when my day's work is finished,'
thought Martha.
Before the service was ended, the white flakes were
falling fast. They fell on Luke's bare head. Once or
twice he coughed, and Sheila thought she saw him put
his hand to his side. How thankful she was when the
little knot of mourners dispersed.
The Woodfords had few relations. Mr. Woodford's
only remaining brother lived in New Zealand ; two
distant cousins and the old family lawyer were the sole
representatives.
* We have another cousin, Rebecca Borton,' Martha
had informed Sheila. ' After Uncle Andrew, Cousin
Becky is really our nearest relative. She was dear
father's first cousin, and they were brought up together,
and in her way she is rather nice.'
' Oh, Marty, how can you say so ! ' exclaimed Betty,
when she heard this. ' I always thought her such a
fussy, tiresome little old maid ! '
' She is a little peculiar, certainly,' returned Martha ;
' but she has a good heart, Bee, and dear father always
liked and respected her. He said she had had a hard
life, and had shown so much pluck.'
' Cousin Becky has written so kindly to us,' Martha
told Sheila the next day ; * even Betty thinks it a nice
letter. She is coming to see us soon, but she has had
influenza and cannot be with us on Thursday, much
352 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
as she wishes to do so. She seems to feel father's death
very much.'
* Perhaps she could stay with you a little,' suggested
Sheila ; but Martha hesitated.
* We must have her for a few days by and by.
She is not at all strong, and she thinks the journey a
long one. She lives at Clapham, in a pretty old house
facing the common ; it is her own house, but she has a
very small income. I rather like Cousin Becky, only
she fidgets Bee. But we must have her, I suppose ' ;
and Martha sighed wearily.
Ned had a long talk with the lawyer after the
funeral. He looked very grave as he peeped in at
the little fireside circle in the drawing-room at The
Moorings and nodded to them. Sheila, who guessed
that he wanted to talk to her, put Tommy off her lap
and followed him upstairs.
' Well, Ned ? '
' Oh, it is just as I feared,' he returned, as he opened
his tobacco-pouch. ' I must have my pipe. She, for I
have to think things out, and they are in a bit of a
snarl. The annuity ceases, of course, and they will
only have about three or four hundred apiece. Mr.
Stapleton suggests that they should give up the Cottage
at Easter. He says Martha must rest and get strong
before she can make her plans — there is no necessity
to do things in a hurry. He is right there.'
' I hope he told Martha this ? '
' Yes, and she seemed relieved to hear him say it.
She is very weak. Stapleton did not say much to
her, for he saw that she could not bear it ; she said
thinking of business made her so giddy. He has
promised to write and make things clear to her ; and
then he had to go off and catch his train.'
XXXI 'SUCH A PEACEFUL DEATH' , 353
'Why, that was hours ago. Have you been with
Martha and Betty all this time ? '
' Oh dear, no. Martha went up to her room directly
he left ; and as I wanted to see Brett, I jumped into
Stapleton's fly and he dropped me at the vicarage.'
' Did you have your talk, Ned ? ' a little anxiously.
* Well, no. Brett is not well, and had to go to bed
directly he got home ; and Miss Gillian sent for Dr.
Moorhouse.'
* I knew it ! ' exclaimed Sheila. ' I was sure he
would take a chill ; he has looked so ill all the week.
What a state Miss Gillian will be in.'
' Well, she seemed a bit bothered, so I had some
dinner with her, and tried to cheer her up, poor little
body. Dr. Moorhouse says it is influenza, but there is
a touch of pleurisy too. He is to have his fire kept in
all night. I offered to sit up with him, but Brett only
laughed at me. It seems that their old Emma is a
first-class nurse, and she is going to look after him.
Miss Gillian wanted to lie down on the couch in his
room, but Brett wouldn't hear of it. He looks pretty
bad, She.'
But Sheila, who looked somewhat pale, made no
answer. Ned would have been astonished if he had
read her thoughts. But she crushed them down re-
solutely ; her next question was asked quite calmly.
* You will go early to inquire, Ned ? '
* Why, yes, of course.'
* I shall see Miss Gillian myself later. Why did
not Dr. Moorhouse propose the parish nurse ? Mrs.
Morse is such a nice creature, and I know Mr. Brett
likes her. Emma is a capable person, but she is not
strong.'
' Oh, there will be plenty of time to arrange all
2 A
354 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xxxi
that,* returned Ned easily. ' Dr. Moorhouse will settle
things. I told them both that I was rather a handy
person in a sickroom — you will endorse that, won't you,
She ? — but Brett declared that I did not look the
character, and that old Emma would be good enough
for the likes of him.'
* Do you mean he was able to joke ? ' asked Sheila
rather abruptly.
* Oh, a man can always do that,' returned Ned. But
he entered into no more particulars. Sheila was look-
ing uncommonly tired, he thought, and it was no use
piling up the agony. Luke's temperature had been
very high and he had looked flushed and feverish.
' I will look in on him directly after breakfast,' he
said. And then, as he had evidently finished with the
subject, Sheila made her fatigue an excuse for leaving
him and going to bed ; but it was morning before she
closed her eyes.
That night the flimsy veil was torn from Sheila's
eyes, and for the first time she realised what Luke
Brett was to her. ' My God, has it come to this ! ' she
whispered in her agony — ' has it actually come to this
— that if he die the whole world will be blank to me ! '
And then she lay trembling and ashamed in the dark-
ness, till sleep took pity on her sadness, and the evil
hour passed away.
CHAPTER XXXII
• THERE MUST BE SOME ONE ELSE '
For him who aspires, and for him who loves, life may lead through
the thorns, but it never stops in the desert. — Anon.
Great efforts from great motives is the best definition of a happy
life. — Channing.
The evil hour of despondency and mental distress was
over, and Sheila rose the next morning in the wintry
darkness to take up the day's burden with her usual
courage. Sheila's nature was too sane and healthy-
minded to be vanquished weakly in a single battle, or
to sit down tamely at the foot of the hill of trouble,
without using all her efforts to climb out of the low
valley. She had too much pride and spirit to play
the coward, or to turn her back on the enemy. The
very simplicity and straightforwardness which were her
chief characteristics helped her to attain a right focus.
After all, was she so much to blame ? What was the
use of being morbid and increasing her unhappiness ?
Sheila did not deny that she was unhappy, but she
saw things under a truer aspect that morning. It was
her misfortune that she had grown to love this man,
but she would not accuse herself of any sin. She had
been blind, that was all. Their intimate and delightful
friendship, her veneration for Luke Brett's opinion,
355
356 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
her trustful dependence on his support and sympathy,
had all helped to deceive her. She had wandered in
pleasant places with the heedlessness of a child picking
flowers, and before she knew, she was on the verge of
a precipice.
' There is no sin in it,' she whispered, ' but it hurts
— it must always hurt ' ; for a dull sense of anguish
at the bottom of her heart told her that she would
never be nearer to him. ' Even if he cares for me, as
I sometimes think he does,' she said to herself, ' I am
not sure that he will ever tell me so. With all his
goodness, I do not understand him ; he is a sealed
mystery to me. Sometimes I think that there must be
some one else whom he has loved and lost, and that for
her dear sake he cannot bring himself to marry. Miss
Gillian is always a little mysterious about him ; if she
knows his secret, she will not tell it.'
Sheila would not have been human if she could
have entertained the thought of a possible rival
with any degree of equanimity. Not yet had she
attained to such heights of unselfishness as to desire
Luke's happiness at the expense of her own — such
sublime self-abnegation is not to be gained in a day.
On the contrary. Sheila was disposed to envy even
a dead woman in her supposititious grave, for her
abiding sweet life in Luke Brett's memory. Would
she not herself be willing to give up years of life just
to hear ' I love you. Sheila ' from those grave firm lips !
' It must always hurt,' she had said to herself,
and she was right ; for to any woman, even the best
and purest, unreturned love must be a thorny crown.
' It is no use to deny that it is a heavy trouble,'
Sheila went on in that sad introspection, ' and that
inwardly I shall never be the old Sheila again. But
XXXII 'THERE MUST BE SOME ONE ELSE' 357
in time, and if nothing occurs to take him from me,
I shall hope to grow content and peaceful. And,
after all, I have his friendship, and surely that is worth
any other man's love.' And when she had arrived at
this conviction. Sheila took up her Prayer Book as
usual.
It struck her as strangely significant that it opened
of its own accord at Psalm xlvi., ' God is our hope
and strength : a very present help in trouble.' * A very
present help in trouble,' she whispered ; * that will do
for to-day.' And she closed the book.
If Ned noticed Sheila's pale face and heavy eyes,
he made no remark. But as soon as breakfast was
over he put on his ulster and set out for the vicarage.
Sheila saw him as she passed through the hall.
' I shall not go to Martha until you come back,'
she said quietly. * Please give my love to Miss Gillian,
and tell her that I shall be round presently.'
Ned was soon back. His report was fairly favour-
able ; if the invalid was no better, he was certainly no
worse. Dr. Moorhouse had paid an early visit, and
had told them that there was no need for uneasiness.
' Did you see him, Ned ? '
' Well, no. He had just dropped asleep after the
doctor's visit, and as he had had a restless night and
his cough had been troublesome, Miss Gillian did not
wish him to be disturbed. Mrs. Morse is to sit up
with him to-night, and Emma will remain with him
until she comes. His temperature is still high, and
he is very feverish — but of course the influenza must
run its course.'
' I am glad Mrs. Morse is to have the night nursing,'
returned Sheila, ' she is so experienced and careful.'
And then she went over to the Old Cottage to tell
358 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
the sisters the unwelcome news. They were both
much shocked.
' I thought Mr. Brett had a cold yesterday — his voice
was so hoarse,' observed Betty ; ' and I remember he
coughed in the churchyard.'
' If he only would have let Mr. Ducie read the
service,' sighed Martha ; ' Betty and I would have
understood. It is grievous to think that he is suffering
because he was too kind to disappoint us.'
* Of course it was not wise, but it is no use thinking
of that now ' ; for Sheila felt unwilling to dwell on this
subject.
Then after a little while she left them and went on
to the vicarage.
Miss Gillian had a worried look, but she greeted
her favourite affectionately.
* I hope you consider me a true prophet,' she said at
once. ' I could scarcely attend to the service properly
yesterday, I was so anxious. I knew how it would be
when he came in flushed and coughing. I did not
waste my time in scolding him ; I just sent over for
the doctor, and he ordered him to bed at once. But
there, I don't believe that I have had much more sleep
than Emma had, for I was up and down a dozen
times in the night, just to listen at his door.'
' Dear Miss Gillian, you ought to have taken more care
of yourself. It was such a bitter night, and that long
passage is so draughty, — you will lay yourself up too.'
* Then you will have to come and nurse me, for
Emma can't manage the pair of us. But how was I to
rest in my warm bed, when my dear boy was so ill ?
You don't look very fit yourself, Sheila ' ; and Miss
Gillian looked at her with affectionate concern.
Sheila coloured a little painfully. * It was almost too
XXXII 'THERE MUST BE SOME ONE ELSE' 359
cold to sleep,' she returned hurriedly. Even Ned had
complained, and she had been obliged to give him an
extra blanket.
' Ned says I am to have a fire in my room to-night,
so I mean to give him one too. Nell and Ivor say
they do not mind the cold.'
* Your brother Ivor is to begin work, I hear.'
' Yes, on Monday. Ned seems to think the occupa-
tion will be good for him. He will have his luncheon
'with the Crowes ; they live just by, you know. Mr.
Crowe kindly proposed it, as Ivor is not strong. You
see he is on friendly terms with them.'
' That is rather awkward for you,' observed Miss
Gillian, who was a small aristocrat in her way.
'It is a little difficult, perhaps,' returned Sheila frankly;
' but Ned has made Ivor understand that we must not
be drawn into the intimacy. It would be so much better
if he and Nell could have a house of their own.'
'Yes, that would be the best plan. It never does
for visitors to stay too long.'
And then, as Miss Gillian was busy, Sheila took her
leave. But as she plodded heavily through the snow,
the white landscape, lying under the low gray skies,
failed to attract her attention. It was like a winding-
sheet, she said to herself, as she shivered and drew
her fur-lined cloak more closely around her.
That evening Ned and Kaiser paid another visit to
the vicarage, but again he had not seen Luke. Dr.
Moorhouse had given orders that he was to be kept as
quiet as possible, as talking only made him cough.
' They can't induce Peter to leave the room,' con-
tinued Ned, 'except to take his meals, and then he
scurries back and whines at the door until he is
admitted. Miss Gillian says he lies as close to his
36o AT THE MOORINGS chap.
master's feet as possible, never moving, and only
wagging his tail at the sound of his voice. She never
in her life saw an animal so devoted. What, are you
going to bed already ? ' in a surprised voice, as Sheila
bade him good-night. ' I thought we should have a
regular palaver.'
' Not to-night, I am too sleepy,' returned Sheila ; ' we
will leave it until to-morrow ' ; and though Ned was
disappointed, he said no more.
Sheila certainly looked fagged and weary. All the
week she had been helping those poor girls, and spending
hours at the Cottage. ' Good old She, what should we
all do without her ? ' he went on. ' I only know one
man who is good enough for her' — and then Ned
frowned over his pipe.
' I wonder if he ever means to marry,' he said to
himself, in a puzzled tone. ' Somehow I fancy he has
pledged himself to a life of celibacy, though he has
never told me so. On the contrary, I heard him say
once that a married vicar was more useful in a country
parish, if he only has the right sort of wife. My word,
would not Sheila make an ideal parson's wife ? ' But
Ned would not pursue the thought. What was the use of
building castles in the air ? He would read a little and
then turn in.
Sheila was aware that Ned wanted to consult her
about many things, but she knew their best and quietest
time for talk was when the others had retired to their
rooms.
Ivor never followed his brother into the study unless
he were specially invited. If he wished to smoke, he
betook himself to the little back room where Nell sat.
At such times she would keep him company.
' I am not sleepy to-night,' observed Sheila, as she
XXXII 'THERE MUST BE SOME ONE ELSE' 361
drew her chair close to the fire. It was bitterly cold ;
but Ned had paid an evening visit to the vicarage and
brought back a comforting report. The invalid's tem-
perature was lower and he coughed less, and Dr. Moor-
house was quite satisfied with his patient's progress.
' We shall have him all right again in a week or
two,' continued Ned with delightful optimism. ' It is
a beastly night, She ; there is a sort of thaw, and I
have had to wade through slush and snow ; but it
will freeze again before morning. Miss Gillian brewed
me a jorum of mulled claret before she would let me
go — sugar and spice and all that's nice, you know.
Miss Gillian is always so kind and hospitable.'
' Well, Ned, now for the palaver.'
' Ah, just so,' and Ned's face grew grave in a moment.
' My fortnight will be up on Wednesday, and this is
Saturday, remember.'
' You will not go to your day, surely ? ' in some sur-
prise.
* No, I think I shall take another week. Martha is
a shade better, but I hardly feel that I can leave her
just now. And then there is Brett'
' Yes, I see.'
* I suppose it will be best for me to go back for a
few months. Martha must have time to pull herself
together a bit before we make our plans.' And Sheila
assented to this.
' They will have the Cottage until Easter, that will
give them three months to think over things. By the
by, Ned, I never told you Martha has had such a kind
letter from Miss Borton — their Cousin Becky, you know.
She wants to come to them the week after next for a
couple of days. Next week Mrs. Allen is coming for
a night.'
362 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* Yes, I know ; Martha is rather dreading it. She
is very fond of Mrs. Allen, but she says even an old
friend is an infliction just now, but that the Aliens are
so kind that they dare not refuse.'
* I expect she will want Betty to go to them ;
they have half adopted her already, and Katie never
seems happy without her. Of course it is impossible
for her to leave Martha alone unless ' here Sheila
hesitated. She was fully aware of the thought that
lay deep in Ned's mind, though he could not bring
himself to utter it. But Sheila's look and manner gave
him courage.
' She, tell me truly, do you think Martha could be
induced to marry me at Easter ? ' Ned put the question
desperately, he was evidently in earnest. Sheila recoiled
for a moment.
' Oh, that is too soon,' she returned in rather a dis-
tressed tone. ' I am sure Martha will think so. You
must give her longer than that'
' Yes, under ordinary circumstances. But, Sheila,
just look at it reasonably and dispassionately. Would
it not save trouble and expense for Martha to come
here when the Old Cottage is given up ? '
* But there is no room, Ned, while Ivor and Nell
are with us.'
* Why, no, of course not,' rather impatiently. * But
surely by Easter Ivor could set up diggings of his own.
Of course I shall have to maintain them until he gets
into regular work ; but with care and economy we
might manage for a year or two.'
' Let me think,' returned Sheila, pushing back her
hair from her forehead. She had grown very pale, but
she tried to hide her secret perturbation. ' You will be
earning nothing for the next two years, Ned.'
XXXII 'THERE MUST BE SOME ONE ELSE' 363
' Not if I write my book. There may be an article
now and then for the Circle^ just to keep my hand in,
but we could not count on that. There are still two
or three hundred pounds available for any emergency.
I could allow Ivor a hundred and fifty a year, or even
a little more. They might take one of those new
cottages on the Ilford Road. It would not cost much
to furnish it. Of course the road is not made, but the
houses look decent. They only ask thirty pounds a
year for the small ones.'
' Well, it is not a bad idea, Ned.'
' I knew you would say so,' brightening perceptibly.
* But that is not my only idea. She. There's the Old
Cottage furniture ; they will be obliged to dispose of
that, and it is worth very little. A valuation could
be made — Crowe will help us there — and I could buy
what was required for Ivor. There are certain things
that Martha wishes to keep, and they could be sent
here at any time.'
' I did not know you were such a good business
man, Ned,' with a faint smile. ' You seem to have
thought of everything. Are you sure that Martha
will allow you to buy the furniture ? '
' Why not me as well as any other purchaser ? I
am likely to give a better price, and it would be far
better than selling by auction. Martha is very sensible,
she will soon see this for herself The question is. Do
you think, if we settle " Tommy and Co." in the Ilford
Road, that they will be able to manage on the sum I
name, or shall I make it a hundred and eighty ? '
' I think a hundred and eighty will be better. Nell
is not a very clever manager, and we have rather spoilt
them at The Moorings.'
' I shall make Ivor clearly understand that the
364 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
allowance is only for a time/ went on Ned, a little
sternly, * and that I shall expect him to maintain his
own family in the future, I shall wish my wife and
sister to live in comfort. At least there is one thing
on which you will agree with me, that Martha will be
content with a very little.'
' Yes, dear, you are right there. But you have
forgotten poor Betty. And then there is Jane.' Then
Ned's face fell a little.
' I forgot poor old Jane,' he muttered. ' She and
Eppie would never get on together, I am afraid. Jane
is a little difficult, though she is a faithful old soul. As
for Betty ' — here he cleared up again — * Betty is like a
kitten, she will certainly fall on her feet. Mark my
words. She, we shall not have to house her at The
Moorings.'
' Perhaps you are right, Ned. Well, on the who!e,
I think you are not unreasonable. But if you will take
my advice, you will not scare Martha by proposing so
early a date ; you are more likely to gain her consent
if you name June or July.'
Now Ned was not willing to agree to this postpone-
ment of his happiness, and he argued the matter a
little hotly from a masculine point of view. But Sheila
held firmly to her opinion. Martha would be shocked
at the idea of a hurried marriage ; she was far too
unhappy and broken down at the present moment even
to discuss it.
' Dr. Moorhouse is most anxious for her to have
change of scene, and ' — with difficulty suppressing a
smile — ' you would hardly call the other side of Sandy
Lane change of scene.' This was rather a poser for
Ned, and for the moment he made no reply. ' I wish
you would tell me one thing,' went on Sheila, ' are
XXXII 'THERE MUST BE SOME ONE ELSE' 365
you and Martha engaged ? Of course you understand
each other, but I mean a regular, definite engagement.'
' Upon my word, I don't know, She ' — and Ned's
face wore a puzzled expression. ' I have said nothing
to her that I can remember, but of course we are all
right. Martha knows how pleased her father was
about it, and that settles it, in my opinion.' And then
Ned laughed a little consciously, for he knew that he
took his lover's privileges pretty freely, and that Martha
was far too sad and weak to resist. In his heart he
knew well the comfort and support he was to her, and
the silent gratitude of her eyes was sufficiently eloquent.
Could he only have known how in her prayers she
called him * her dearest blessing ' !
They talked late that night, and the upshot of the
conversation was that Ned should not return to town
for another ten days or so.
He would wait until Mrs. Allen's visit was over, and
then he would open his heart to Martha and take
counsel with her.
' I shall tell her that I cannot wait longer than July,'
were Ned's concluding words. ' The wedding shall be
as quiet as she likes. I will not even ask her to put
off her mourning ; though black doesn't suit her, and
makes her look older — but what do such trifles matter.
If we can only shunt " Tommy and Co.," the rest is easy
enough ' ; and Ned straightened himself and took off his
spectacles and laid them aside. ' My good child,' he
said blandly, ' do you know it is nearly half-past one,
and you have got black rings round your eyes with
much thinking and want of sleep ? Our palaver is over,
so good-night and fair dreams to you.' And then he
turned out the lamp and prepared to follow her.
CHAPTER XXXIII
^WE HAVE HAD A GOOD OLD TIME'
Your gentleness shall force
More than your force move us to gentleness.
Shakespeare.
Life runs not smoothly at all seasons, even with the happiest ; but after
a long course the rocks subside, the views widen, and it flows on more
equably at the end. — Lauder.
Sheila proved herself a true prophet ; for when Ned
had his promised talk with Martha, and hinted plainly
at his wish for an early marriage, the girl looked at
him with such sad entreaty in her eyes that he hardly
found courage to go on.
' You know, dear one,' he said gently, ' that your
father would wish me to take care of you ; the thought
made him so happy.'
' Yes, I know,' was the whispered reply.
* Sheila and I have arranged things,' he went on
hurriedly, for fear he should be stopped. ' The Moor-
ings will be quite ready for its mistress by Easter.
Ivor will have a little house of his own by then, and I
shall have finished my London work, and shall be able
to go on with my book here, with an occasional run up
to town to verify facts. You tell me yourself,' he went
on, ' that Betty's home until her marriage is to be with
the Aliens, and that she is to go to them at Easter ;
366
CHAP, xxxiii 'WE HAVE HAD A GOOD OLD TIME' 367
but when the Cottage is given up there will be no place
for you.'
' I thought Betty told you that Cousin Becky wants
me to go to her,' returned Martha quietly. * But I
suppose she forgot to mention it. Oh, I had the
sweetest, kindest letter from her. She is not at
all well off, and lives in such a tiny old-fashioned
little house, and yet she wanted me to live with her.
I-sn't it generous, Edward — actually to offer me a
home ? '
' I hope you told her that you had a home of your
own in prospect,' returned Ned drily.
* No, I kept that until I saw her. She is coming
down next week. But of course under any circum-
stances I could not have accepted such an offer. Dear
Cousin Becky, it was so sweet of her. But how could
she think that I could consent to such a thing ? '
* I should think not ' — in a jealous tone. Then
Martha's soft little hand stole into his.
' I could go to her for a few months when I leave
the Cottage. Oh, Edward, don't look at me so reproach-
fully. It is not that I do not care to be with you, but
I am thinking of you as well as myself. It would be
so much better to wait a little. I know Sheila thinks
so. I want to be strong and well before I come to
you. If you knew how tired I feel ' ; and then she
broke down and cried a little, like a child who was
too weary for its fresh task.
This brought Ned to his senses, and he soothed and
petted her in quite a fatherly way until she had
recovered her calmness, and then they very soon
arrived at an understanding. Miss Borton was to be
informed of the engagement directly she arrived at the
Cottage, and Martha was to arrange to go to her the
368 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
week after Easter, and to remain until the wedding,
which was to be definitely settled for July.
It was better for many reasons that it should take
place quietly in town. It could be in the early morning,
as Martha wished, and no one but Sheila and Betty
and Ivor need be present. Miss Borton's tiny establish-
ment could provide a modest breakfast, and then they
could go to Cromer or Ilfracombe for two or three weeks.
Ned waxed radiant as they made their simple arrange-
ments, and a sweet expression of happiness stole into
Martha's sad eyes.
' I know I shall feel as though dear father and
mother will be there too, seeing it all and blessing us.'
Then Ned smiled as he kissed the earnest face.
How like a child she was in her simplicity and
trust ! He felt as though he worshipped her for her
sweetness and goodness. She had given him trouble
for a time, and he had found it difficult to silence all
her scruples. ' Are you sure that I shall not be a
burden to you ? ' had been her anxious question, and
even when he had satisfied her fully on this point, she
had asked him if Sheila really wished it.
* With all her heart,' had been his answer. But
though this was certainly true as far as he knew it, Ned
was in blissful ignorance of Sheila's intention to cut her-
self loose from her beloved Moorings. Sheila, who knew
the kindness and unselfishness of her brother's nature,
would keep her own counsel until her plans were made.
She had not even told him that she intended to give
up her room and move into the large attic when Ivor
and Nell vacated it. What was the use of troubling
him with these little feminine details ? Sheila knew
better than that. Until she could see her way more
clearly, and had evolved some definite scheme for the
XXXIII 'WE HAVE HAD A GOOD OLD TIiME' 369
future, it was no use worrying Ned. Sheila would
have a hard contest before her ; there would be a wordy
warfare and much clashing of wills before she could
carry her point victoriously.
' He will not understand for a long time why I
consider it necessary to leave him and Martha together,'
she thought sorrowfully. ' He will think it unkind of
his old chum to desert him ; but all the same, I feel I
am right ' ; and here Sheila sighed, for she knew in her
inner consciousness that it would be safer and better
for her to be away from Uplands, even though it meant
to her the plucking out of the right eye or the cutting
off of the right hand.
Ned was too much wrapped up in his own blissful
anticipations to notice any trace of effort or concealed
sadness in his sister's affectionate congratulations. She
did her part manfully, and then went over to the Cottage
to assure Martha of her sympathy.
* You have made him so happy, dear,' she said as
she kissed her. Then a lovely flush came to Martha's
pale cheek.
' He was so good and patient,' she whispered, ' and
I tried him so. Perhaps it is because I am so weak
and tired, but I seemed afraid of my own happiness. It
did not seem right to be happy so soon, and I could
not help crying from sheer nervousness ; and then he
was so dear and comforting, and somehow I felt father
had left me in his care, and then all seemed right.
Sheila,' with a loving look, ' are you sure that you are
glad about this?'
' Glad that my dear old Ned is to be happy at last,
and that I am to have a sweet sister of my own —
why, what a question, Martha ? '
' You will not let it make any difference ? ' hesitating
2 B
370 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
a little over her words. ' Indeed I have no wish to
take your place ' But what more Martha would
have said was silenced by a soft hand laid over her
lips.
' No, my dear, I will not let you say it — it is just
waste of breath. It is Ned's home, not mine, and Ned's
wife must be its mistress. There shall be no rivalry
between us, Martha; we shall be dear sisters and friends,
and we shall love Ned too well to quarrel over him.'
And Martha dared say no more.
Ned's fortnight was prolonged to a month ; he
seemed unable to tear himself away, and he seized on
every excuse for remaining an additional week or so.
Mr. Brett was recovering slowly, and Ned's daily
visit to the vicarage was a great pleasure to the invalid.
Then there was Miss Borton's promised visit to the Old
Cottage, and he gravely announced to Sheila that he
thought it his duty to remain and be introduced to
Martha's relative. Sheila suppressed a smile at the
subtlety of this reasoning.
' You could call on her in town,' she observed. But
Ned did not seem to see the force of this remark, and
Sheila was too well pleased to have him a little longer
to make any objection.
They had found a small house in the Ilford Road
that would do nicely for Ivor. It was only just finished,
and the papers were not hung. Both Ivor and Nell
were charmed with it. Nell had cried a little at the
idea of leaving The Moorings. To the poor girl it had
been a perfect paradise of peace and plenty and freedom
from care.
' I can't bear the thought of leaving you, Sheila,' she
sobbed ; ' for *you have been such a good, dear sister
to me. I am so afraid that I shan't manage properly,
XXXIII 'WE HAVE HAD A GOOD OLD TIME' 371
and that Ivor will feel the difference.' But Nell soon
cheered up at the prospect of having a little home of
their own.
It was to be a very simple menage^ adapted to
their small income. The two little sitting-rooms were
divided by folding-doors, and there was a tiny garden,
just large enough for the children to play in.
Martha was quite willing that some of the furniture of
the Old Cottage should go to the house in the Ilford
Road. At first she was distressed at the idea of selling
it to Ned ; but he soon convinced her that it would be
for his convenience and profit, and that, as the valuation
was low, there would be comparatively little outlay on
his part.
Miss Gillian, who took an immense interest in her
friends' affairs, consulted her nephew and then made
a most useful suggestion. Martha and Betty were to
come to the vicarage while their goods and chattels
were removed from the Old Cottage. They would be
on the spot to overlook things and to help Sheila in
her work of making Sydney Cottage habitable. Nell
had chosen that name for her new abode.
* I shall not treat you as visitors,' she observed in a
brisk voice ; * we shall be too busy to stand on ceremony
with each other. There will be a sort of " general post "
being played between The Moorings, the Old Cottage,
and Sydney Cottage, and we shall be just like a hive
of bees ' ; and then Martha had gratefully accepted the
kind offer.
Sheila went over to the Cottage to be introduced to
Miss Borton. Cousin Becky was not a very prepossess-
ing person. She was the typical old maid — a pale, thin,
precise little person, with a good deal of mannerism.
But Sheila soon found out that she had a kind heart,
372 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and that, like most unmarried women, she took great
interest in a love-affair.
Mr. Edward Lassiter was pronounced to be an
extremely gentlemanly and clever person. ' In fact,
there is something distinguished in his appearance, my
dear,' with a gentle wave of a mittened hand. Cousin
Becky had very pretty hands, and it was one of her
harmless peculiarities always to wear mittens — woollen
in winter and silk in summer. ' I never feel dressed
properly with bare hand.s,' she would observe when
Betty teased her on this point.
' Herr Professor is a dear ! ' exclaimed Betty in her
vivacious way ; ' I mean to be exceedingly proud of my
brother-in-law, Cousin Becky, though of course he is not
as nice as my Charlie ' ; for Betty considered herself
properly engaged now — at least Mr. Allen had with-
drawn his proviso, although there was to be no talk of
marriage for years to come.
'You will just take Katie's place and be our dear
little daughter,' Mrs. Allen had said to her in her
motherly way, ' and we will take care of you in the
home nest until our Charlie can keep a wife.' And
though Betty was grieved at the idea of parting with
her sister, she was speedily consoled by the delightful
prospect of paying long visits to The Moorings.
Cousin Becky was a little shocked at Betty's out-
spoken speech. In her opinion, it was not quite
maidenly to speak of ' my Charlie ' in that tone of ap-
propriating fondness. There was so little modest reti-
cence among the girls of the present day, she thought.
'As I do not know Charles Allen,' she returned
primly, * I cannot make comparisons, Bettina, even if it
were wise to do so.' For it was another of Cousin
Becky's peculiarities never to abbreviate names ; indeed,
XXXIII 'WE HAVE HAD A GOOD OLD TIME' 373
she would have greatly preferred her own baptismal name
of Rebecca, only custom had been too strong for her.
Betty turned restive under this rebuke.
' Oh, what a frumpish little person Cousin Becky is ! '
she exclaimed to Sheila. ' To think of my poor dear
Marty being condemned to stay with her in that poky
little house for more than two months ! How I should
hate it. Charles Allen, indeed ! and he has been called
^Charlie ever since he was born.'
' Miss Borton is a little old-fashioned in her ideas,'
returned Sheila, smiling, ' but she is very harmless and
amusing, and Martha seems quite fond of her.' But
Betty refused to be complaisant.
' If Fate condemned me to be an old maid,' she
observed, with a toss of her small head, ' I would take
Miss Gillian for my model. She is just lovely. Sheila ;
so broad and breezy in her notions ; no antiquated,
mediaeval ideas.' And perhaps in her secret heart Sheila
agreed with her. Certainly Cousin Becky was a trifle
out of date.
It was a satisfaction to Ned and Sheila to see how
steadily Ivor applied himself to his new work. It was
evident to both of them that idleness had grown irk-
some to him and that his occupation suited him. Nell
told them that he never came home in the evening with-
out going down the Ilford Road to look at the cottage.
The idea of having a home of his own seemed to give
him a feeling of self-respect. He took a great pride in
planning little improvements, and as he was a good
carpenter, he had plenty of employment for leisure hours.
As it was necessary to provide a small stock of house-
hold linen for the young couple, Ned arranged that
Sheila should accompany him when he returned to town,
and spend two or three nights in Heathcote Street.
374 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* The change will do you good, She, and I shall be
able to introduce you to the Lockharts.' And as Sheila
saw that he really wished it, she made no objection ;
and indeed the thought of having him to herself for
two or three whole days was too tempting a proposition
to be refused.
Ned was evidently reluctant to leave home again ;
he tried hard to reconcile himself to his banishment.
Sheila was secretly amused to hear him announce his
intention of coming down regularly for the week-end
every fortnight.
* Of course I shall be too glad to have you,' she
returned, ' but will it not unsettle you too much ? ' But
Ned stoutly combated this notion.
He would take the first train on Monday ; that
would enable him to be in Heathcote Street before ten.
' You see I have to look after Martha now ' — in rather a
conscious tone, for the ambitious author was merged
in the lover. There was no denying that Herr Professor
was very deeply in love, and that Martha was dearer
to him than even literary fame.
Ned paid his parting visit to the vicarage on the
afternoon before his departure. He brought Sheila the
good news that Luke was able to come downstairs.
' He does not look up to much yet, for he has had
rather a sharp attack ; but when it gets warmer Moor-
house wants him to go to St. Leonards.'
' I suppose Miss Gillian will go with him, Ned ? '
' Well, no. He has an old college friend living there,
the Rev. Stephen Hawtrey — he is the vicar of St.
James's — and Brett will stay with him. It is a very
comfortable bachelor establishment, and the house-
keeper is an old friend of his.'
' That seems a nice arrangement,' returned Sheila,
XXXIII 'WE HAVE HAD A GOOD OLD TIME' 375
but she said no more. She was wondering inwardly
how long it would be before she saw Luke Brett again.
To her these weeks had seemed interminable. She
had paid frequent visits to the vicarage, and more than
once she had taken a few flowers for the sickroom. * I
know Mr. Brett is so fond of flowers,' she had said to
Miss Gillian ; and each time he had sent her a cheery
little message of thanks.
' Luke never will have your flowers thrown away if
he can help it,' Miss Gillian had remarked once. ' He
makes me put them on the little table where he keeps
his books, because he likes to look at them. He declares
no one arranges flowers as you do ' ; and Sheila went
home that day feeling as though she had received some
rare gift.
There was no doubt that the little change to town
did Sheila a world of good. Ned — who found her
society extremely pleasant — urged her to remain a
week ; but Sheila could not be persuaded to prolong her
visit beyond the three days. But they contrived to get
a good deal of enjoyment into that short time. When
their marketing was finished, Ned took her to the Tate
Gallery and the Wallace Collection. On Thursday
evening they went to the Lockharts', and Ned had the
satisfaction of introducing her to some of his new friends.
A concert at St. James's Hall and the theatre made up
the other evenings.
'It is a good thing I am going home to-morrow,'
observed Sheila, as they sat over the fire that last even-
ing. The sitting-room at 9 Heathcote Street was a
dingy little apartment, but by no means comfortless
— though every available space was filled with Ned's
books and papers, and Sheila's first task had been to
evoke order out of chaos. ' You have done no work
376 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xxxin
since I have been here, so you will be glad to get rid
of me.'
' Nothing of the sort,' he returned with energy. ' We
have had a good old time. She, and I only wish ' —
checking a sigh — ' that I were going back with you.
Well,' cheering up, ' you will see me walk in on
Saturday week, so it won't be a long separation. Now,
as it is pretty late, I won't keep you up, for you have
had a tiring day ' ; and as Sheila could not deny this,
she was thankful to be dismissed.
' Yes, they had had a good old time,' she thought,
re-echoing her brother's words, as she laid her weary
head on the pillow. * Ned had been so dear and kind,
so thoughtful for her comfort. They had had one or two
of their old confidential talks as they had sat over their
cosy meals, or as they had walked through the crowded
streets. She had been so happy, so contented to be
alone with him. And yet — and yet ' Sheila wetted
her pillow v/ith tears.
CHAPTER XXXIV
BETWEEN THE LIGHTS
We live truly, exactly in proportion as we go out of ourselves and enter
into the fulness of the experience of those whom we serve, and by whom
in turn we are served. — Westcott.
The heart has reasons that reason does not understand. — Bishop
Jacques Bossuet.
Ned had begged his sister to call at the vicarage as
soon as possible after her return, and to send him news
of the invalid ; so Sheila made up her mind to go
the following afternoon.
It was a bleak, sunless day, and the wind had
veered to the east. Nell had declared shiveringly that
nothing would tempt her to leave the fireside ; but
Sheila, who had wrapped herself warmly, protested
that exercise would be good for her. ' Perhaps I shall
have tea with Miss Gillian,' she observed, 'so you had
better not wait for me.' But for once she had reckoned
without her host. To her surprise Miss Gillian was
out, and was not expected back until late. She had
driven over to Heslop vicarage to see a sick friend.
This was so unexpected that Sheila stood hesitating
a moment before she inquired after the vicar. He
was much better, the maid told her, and gained strength
every day. And then Peter pattered down the hall to
377
378 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
greet her, and as Sheila caressed him the study bell
rang and the girl asked her to wait a moment.
* My master may wish to send a message,' she said,
' or perhaps he would like to see you.' Then Sheila
felt herself colour with embarrassment as she stooped
over the dachshund. After all, it would be only civil
and friendly to wait, she thought to herself. The next
minute the maid returned.
* The master would be glad to see you, ma'am,' she
said ; and Sheila followed her at once. She had had
a faint hope that perhaps Miss Gillian would suggest
a visit to the invalid, but she was hardly prepared
for seeing him alone ; but she tried to repress her
nervousness.
She knew the study well. It was a beautiful room,
with a large bay window overlooking the garden. A
small side window commanded a view of the church
and churchyard. Luke Brett was sitting in an easy-
chair drawn close to the fire, but he rose when he saw
her and held out his hand with a smile.
' I heard your voice,' he said quietly. ' Anne was
telling you that my aunt was out, but I hope you did
not intend to go away without seeing me.'
' I did not know ; I could not be sure that you
would care to see a visitor,' stammered Sheila. Perhaps
he saw how his question embarrassed her, for he dropped
her hand and looked round for a chair.
* Let me fetch it myself,' she pleaded ; ' and please
sit down, Mr. Brett, for you do not look fit to stand.'
' I am afraid you are right,' he returned reluctantly,
* but I am sorry to be so inhospitable. Anne ought
to have given you a chair. Isn't it strange, Miss
Lassiter, how influenza pulls one down ? I am as
weak and good-for-nothing as though I had been
XXXIV BETWEEN THE LIGHTS 379
through a long illness, and yet Moorhouse rubs his
hands triumphantly when he sees me, and assures me
that I am a credit to my nurses.'
Luke Brett was trying to put her at her ease, for
his keen perception told him that his appearance was
a shock to her, and that she had not expected to see
him like this.
There could be little doubt to her now that he had
Jaeen seriously ill, though Ned had always pooh-poohed
the notion of danger. Yet Luke Brett knew himself
that he had had a by no means distant glimpse into
the Dark Valley.
' It has been a sharp attack,' he said, answering her
thought, * and I look rather a gaunt specimen at
present. " A scarecrow priest," as Lassiter called me.'
But Sheila could only summon up a faint smile in reply.
It was not only that Luke Brett looked hollow-eyed
and attenuated ; that his spare form seemed shrunken,
and that he stooped with weakness ; but there was
something ethereal in his expression. Sheila felt a
strange sinking of heart as she looked at him.
' Ned never told me,' she returned in a pained voice ;
* but I can see now for myself how ill you have been.
But you are better now — you grow stronger every
day ? ' There was something almost imploring in
Sheila's tone.
* Oh yes, I am " making haste slowly," as the good
old Saint has it. But Rome was not built in a day, and
it takes time to get over a sharp attack of influenza
and pleurisy.' Luke tried to speak in his usual
manner, but Sheila's gentle sympathy and her evident
distress touched him too closely, and there was a
sudden shadow of pain in his eyes. But it passed in a
moment, and he turned to her with a smile.
38o AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' Do you know what a godsend you are to me this
afternoon ? ' he asked. ' I was just wishing that your
brother were within reach, that we could have one of
our talks. I was feeling indisposed for my own company
and not in the mood for reading ; and then the sound
of your voice reached me, and I could not resist the
temptation of sending for you.'
' I am so glad you did.'
' Yes, and now you are here, you must promise not
to hurry away. Why should you not stay and have tea
with me ? Come, Miss Lassiter, it will be a real charity ;
and there is so much I want to ask you, and I have not
seen you for five weeks.' Luke's voice was dangerously
persuasive.
' If you are sure that I shall not tire you, and that
Miss Gillian will approve.' Sheila was not certain that
she was doing the right thing, but how could she
refuse when her heart was yearning to comfort him ?
They were friends, dear friends, and always would
be, and there could be no possible harm for her to
stay if he wanted her ; there was no need to be prudish
or over-scrupulous.
* I can answer for Aunt Gill,' he returned cheerfully ;
' she was lamenting my solitary afternoon, and hoping
that some kind neighbour might drop in. You had
better take off your cloak, for the room is warm.'
Then Sheila, with fingers that trembled a little, laid
aside her wraps.
* There now, we can be comfortable, and you can
open your budget. Draw your chair a little closer to
the fire ; and if you would be good enough to touch that
log, we shall have light enough to see each other's faces.
Don't you love the gloaming, Miss Lassiter, when the fire
burns brightly and one's thoughts are not too heavy ?
XXXIV BETWEEN THE LIGHTS 381
* Well,' as Sheila reseated herself, ' and so your
brother's affairs are all happily settled, and he and Miss
Woodford are to be really married in July ? *
* Ned thought it better not to wait any longer,' she
returned. ' Martha has no home, you know. Of course
Miss Borton would have been glad to keep her for a
few months, but Ned said the life would try her. Miss
Borton is one of those excellent persons that one loves
best at a distance.'
* I know what you mean.*
' She would be very good and kind to Martha,' went
on Sheila, ' but her views of life and men are extremely
limited and one-sided. Her only enthusiasms are for
total abstinence and missions to the Jews. To knit
little woollen jugs and fill them with pence is a positive
joy to her. She is extremely evangelical ; and a work
meeting at the vicarage or a temperance lecture are her
only forms of dissipation.'
Mr. Brett smiled. ' I have met women of Miss
Borton's type — good creatures in their way, but a little
trying to the masculine mind. I think Lassiter is right,
and that Miss Woodford will be far happier at The
Moorings. Oh, by the by, I meant to ask you '
But Sheila hurried on as though she had not heard
this ; she knew well the question he meant to put,
and was anxious to avoid it.
' Ned has told you, of course, about the house in the
Ilford Road that he has taken for Ivor ? ' And then, as
Luke expressed a wish to hear all she could tell him,
she launched out on a full description of Sydney
Cottage.
' It really seems as though it will turn out well,'
returned Luke thoughtfully, ' and they have certainly
been long enough at The Moorings. But I hope it will
382 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
not be long before your brother gets some paying work.
It is a heavy pull on Lassiter's purse, especially as he
will have a wife as well as a sister.'
' Martha is a good manager,' she returned quickly,
' and Ned has a little put by for a rainy day. We feel
far more hopeful about Ivor too. It is not only that
his health has so wonderfully improved during these
few months, but that he seems to settle down so well to
his work. Did you ever hear that Robert Crowe has a
cousin in Wolverhampton who is in rather prosperous
circumstances ? ' And as Mr. Brett shook his head, she
went on : * He is a land-agent and surveyor in rather a
large way, and the firm is a sound one. When Ivor
has learnt his business, and is worth his salt, Mr. Crowe
is going to speak to his cousin about him. Very
possibly they could find him some work. At present it
is better for him to be near us ; but as time goes on
we both agree that it would be wiser for him not to
settle down at Uplands.'
' Lassiter was saying something of the kind to me
on his last visit,' observed the vicar, ' and I told him
that he was perfectly right. It would be for the
benefit of you all if later on the " Tommy and Co."
menage, as he calls it, is transferred to a different and
more distant locality. I know you are a peace-loving
family. Miss Lassiter, but human nature is human
nature, and Sydney Cottage is a little too near The
Moorings.'
' Of course I know you are right ' — a little sadly.
* Poor Nell is wonderfully improved, but I am afraid
Ned and Martha would always find her trying. She
has so little tact, poor girl ; and though she is so
anxious to please, she generally contrives to say the
wrong thing. Ned declares that she gets on his nerves.
XXXIV BETWEEN THE LIGHTS 383
It is a wonder to both of us how Ivor puts up with her
— he is seldom impatient with her,'
* You see, he is used to her, and she is the mother
of his children, and doubtless she has been a good
wife to him. It is a blessing that we are not all
thin-skinned, Miss Lassiter. Well, things seem moving
pretty smoothly in their different grooves, and at present
we have not come to any rut or snag to trip us up
— let us hope the course will be clear to the end. And
for yourself — and here Luke's eyes looked at her a
little searchingly — ' I trust your brother's marriage will
make no difference to you.'
' How do you mean ? ' she faltered. ' Of course there
cannot be two mistresses at The Moorings. I must
give up my place to Martha.'
* Will that trouble you ? ' There was a touch of
concealed anxiety in Luke Brett's voice.
* Not in the way you mean,' returned Sheila ; ' I
hope I am not so selfish. You must not think that I
grudge Ned and Martha their happiness — it is far too
beautiful.'
' I could never think you selfish.' Luke's tone was
strangely abrupt. He seemed as though he would say
more, but on second thoughts checked himself.
' No, I am not bad enough for that,' in a low voice ;
* but you see Ned and I have been house-mates so long,
and it will take time to get used to the new order of
things.' And then as she spoke a sudden overwhelming
desire to seek Luke Brett's help and sympathy came
over her. The talk seemed to be doing him good. He
had lost his expression of intense weariness, and each
moment he looked more like himself She knew that
she could rely upon him — that he would be as safe and
secret as the grave. She could trust him absolutely,
384 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and yet some vague, undefined feeling made her hesitate.
But to those keen eyes the trouble in her face was as
clear as daylight.
' Of course you will remain at The Moorings ? ' he
asked with an abruptness that almost took Sheila's
breath away.
' Yes, I think so — at least for the present. After
that I must make my plans.' But the next question
was so gently put, in such a tone of full understanding
and sympathy, that a slight mist gathered in the gray
eyes.
' Do you mind telling me all about it ? It would be
truly kind and friendly on your part, and I shall be so
interested — you are sure of that, are you not ? '
' Yes, oh yes ; you are always so good and
patient.'
' The goodness and patience are on your side, I
think, but I certainly want to help you. I hope you
are not going to tell me that The Moorings is not to
be your home.'
' How can it be ? ' she answered sorrowfully. ' Do
you think that I could live there happily in idleness,
when I know all the heavy responsibilities that are
on Ned's shoulders — when he is keeping Ivor and his
family as well as a wife — do you think my heart or my
conscience could be satisfied with such a life ? '
* If I know your brother, as I certainly do, he will
assuredly refuse to part with you.' Then Sheila smiled
very sadly, and her face was very pale.
' At first he will be angry and hurt with me, but in
time he will come round — he always does. Mr, Brett,
please do not tell me I am wrong. There are some
things that a woman must decide for herself.'
' And this is one of them, you would tell me ? '
XXXIV BETWEEN THE LIGHTS 385
' Yes, I think so. If I could bring myself to ask
any one's advice, I would ask yours, but my mind is
made up. Ned and Martha will be all-sufficient to
each other — they will not need me. For my own
peace of mind, for my own happiness, I must find
some work to do, and it cannot be found at Uplands.'
' But what can you do ? Have you any plans ? '
' Not at present ; I must take time to consider. I
am accustomed to teaching, but I do not wish to be a
daily governess again. A post of housekeeper in some
widower's family where there are children to mother
and teach, or in some household where the mother is
an invalid, or perhaps better than all, some useful posi-
tion in the parish o^ an overworked clergyman, to do
district work or superintend schools- — I have thought
of all these things.'
* Miss Lassiter, it is no use saying I am sorry — I
hardly need to tell you that. Neither dare I take the
responsibility of saying you are wrong — I have far too
much reliance on your good sense.'
* Oh, thank you for saying that ! '
* But all the same, it is no light trouble to me. But
there are two things I want you to promise me. Will
you take plenty of time before you mature your plans —
do nothing, take nothing in a hurry? And before you
decide anything, will you consult your friends at the
vicarage ? You do not know my Aunt Gillian ; she
has one of the clearest heads and the soundest hearts
that I know.'
' I think I can promise you that,' returned Sheila,
touched at this kindly consideration.
* You must not stand alone,' he continued gravely,
*and I know that you will not consult your brother.
But you have given me your promise, and I can trust
2C
386 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
you. Oh, here comes Anne with the tea, and we shall
both be better for the cup that cheers but does not
inebriate. No,' as Sheila glanced at him inquiringly,
* our talk has not tired me ; on the contrary, I feel
more my own man. But, if you will, we will put by
all troublesome topics awhile.' And Sheila willingly
assented to this.
The firelight was so bright that the small shaded
reading-lamp beside Mr. Brett's chair sufficiently
illuminated the room. As Sheila took her place at
the little tea-table she was conscious of a new sensation.
She had often before made tea for the vicar, and yet
this evening it seemed different. She was alone with
him in his own sanctum, and as she waited on him it
seemed to her as though some fresh bond of sympathy
united them.
Luke accepted her services quite naturally. He
talked in a pleasant, desultory fashion of the prizes he
meant to give for the best cottage gardens, and how
he meant to have a prize competition in the schools
for the best and most tasteful arrangement of wild-
flowers.
' It was you who gave me the idea,' he went on.
' I used to lie and look at your flowers, and think how
beautifully they were grouped and arranged. They
were the one spot of brightness on a very dark day,
and they brought me a sweet message.' Luke spoke
with deep feeling.
' I think there ought always to be flowers in a sick-
room,' returned Sheila quietly. ' But it is growing late,
and I fear I must go.'
* Then I will not keep you. Do you know how
much good you have done me ? I was feeling a little
down and east-windy, and my thoughts were leaden
XXXIV BETWEEN THE LIGHTS 387
like the skies. But to-night I shall think more of your
difficulties than my own. You will come again soon,
and then we will finish our talk ? *
* Oh yes, I hope so.'
* It must be soon,' he repeated as he took her hand.
' I daresay they told you that I am to be sent away.
Dr. Moorhouse insisted on it, so I am afraid I must
give in.'
, ' But you will not go yet ? '
* No, not until the weather is milder and I get my
marching orders. We shall have plenty of time for
that talk.' And then with a smile and a low ' God
bless you ! ' he let her go. But that smile, so grave
and inscrutable, and yet so strangely sweet, haunted
Sheila as she walked back in the darkness.
CHAPTER XXXV
TOLD IN THE GLOAMING
The shadow of human life is traced upon a golden ground of immortal
hope. — George S. Hillard.
Sheila was quite sure that Miss Gillian would come
to The Moorings the next day, and she was not the
least surprised when she saw a quaint little figure in
a red cloak and a Victorian bonnet coming up the
garden path quite early in the morning.
* So you were the " angel unawares," ' observed Miss
Gillian abruptly, as Sheila took her into the warm
dining-room. * There I was, glumping and glowering
all the way to Heslop because there would be no one
to give Luke his tea and cheer him up a bit, and he
so sick and tired of his own company, poor laddie.
And there I found him as brisk as possible.
* " I have had a visitor. Aunt Gill," he said in quite
a cheerful voice. " Miss Lassiter has been talking to
me the greater part of the afternoon ; and she made
tea for me too — quite as well or even better than
Dame Trot," — for that's the name Luke calls me some-
times, when he is in an irreverent mood.
' "And very pretty behaviour too," was my reply, " and
what one might expect of a good Christian young woman
like Sheila Lassiter, who knows her duty and does it."
•"I say 'Amen' to that, Aunt Gill." And there
388
CHAP. XXXV TOLD IN THE GLOAMING 389
was Luke rubbing his hands quite pleased.' And after
this long and slightly complicated speech, Miss Gillian
planted herself in front of the fire and prepared for
conversation.
Miss Gillian's society was always delightful to
Sheila, and a warm attachment had grown up between
them, — very few days passed without their meeting.
Before her visit ended, Miss Gillian had fixed another
afternoon for Sheila to come to the vicarage. ' We
will have tea in the study,' she went on, ' and you can
keep Luke company for a bit, while I go round to the
schools to give out the books.'
' Could I not do it for you ? ' asked Sheila, turning
resolutely away from this tempting prospect ; but Miss
Gillian would not hear of this.
' I shall not be more than three-quarters of an
hour, and you can talk to Luke until I come back.
He seemed rather pleased with my little plan. So I
will have some of your favourite scones baked, and
we will have a real cosy time.' And then Miss Gillian
gave her a hearty kiss and bustled away like a
veritable Dame Trot, leaving a glow of pleasurable
anticipation in Sheila's heart. What those visits to
the vicarage meant to her only Sheila herself knew.
Outwardly she seemed as usual, Ivor and Nell
found her as cheerful and considerate as ever, and
Bunnie and Tommy hailed her as their favourite play-
fellow. Her visits to the Old Cottage were the chief
events in the day to Martha and Betty ; she was never
weary of discussing their little plans, and suggesting
all sorts of arrangements for their comfort. And yet
not one guessed at the hidden sadness beneath that
quiet exterior — the pain, the unrest, the secret trouble
that often kept her wakeful at nights.
390 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* I must make the most of these visits before I
leave Uplands,' she said to herself as she walked
quickly towards the vicarage. It was a bright sun-
shiny afternoon, and there was a promise of spring
in the air. The borders in the vicarage garden were
full of snowdrops, and a blackbird in the acacia was
calling to his mate in quite a jubilant tone. Spring,
with its glorious hopes and surprises, its budding
leaves and blossoming hedgerows, the deep hidden
treasures that brown Mother Earth carries in her
bosom and brings to light — that time of youth and
joy, of mating birds and diligent nest-builders, would
soon be stealing upon them ; but to Sheila it brought
this year no special message of sweetness.
' Next spring I shall not be at The Moorings,' that
was what she was telling herself as she stood in the
porch. 'In what corner of this wide world shall I find
rest for the sole of my foot when I have left the
dear home nest ? ' And this thought was so saddening "
that Sheila's face was unusually grave as Anne ushered
her into the study.
Mr. Brett was at his writing-table. In the clear
afternoon light the delicacy of his appearance was
still more apparent, and Sheila was painfully struck
by his wasted look. But his smile was very bright.
* I am glad you have come early,' he said in a
cheery voice, ' for you can talk to Aunt Gill while
I finish these letters, and then I shall be free.'
* Come away to the fire, Sheila,' interposed Miss
Gillian ; ' there's a snug corner for you, and we will
have our chat. No, you won't interrupt him. Luke
will take no heed to us, and there are a hundred
questions I want to ask you.'
It was evident that Luke Brett had not yet
XXXV TOLD IN THE GLOAMING 391
enlightened Miss Gillian on the subject of Sheila's
plans — he would probably take his own time and
opportunity for that — for she chatted mostly about
Martha's affairs, and about certain pet protiges of
hers in the parish who were giving her trouble. Tim
Rodney had broken out again, and was always
tippling at the Green Man, and that nice little wife
of his was in sad trouble. Jack Smithers had made
up his mind to go to sea, though his poor mother was
breaking her heart about it. He ought to be horse-
whipped, the cold-hearted, ungrateful gossoon,' con-
tinued Miss Gillian, with a worried expression on her
fine old face ; * and Jack the very apple of his mother's
eye, and she a poor sickly body, with all those children
to feed and clothe ! '
'Jack would be off her hands,' returned Sheila
rather absently. From her corner she could see the
dark, clearly-cut profile silhouetted against the wintry
light. Now and then Luke's hand rested idly on the
paper, and his eyes were fixed dreamily on the strip
of sky over the churchyard elms. No, he was not
heeding them ; his thoughts were far away. Once she
heard him sigh, and then he straightened himself, and
his pen was at work again. Luke Brett had corre-
spondence in every quarter of the world. He never
lost touch with any of the men or lads who left his
parish to seek their fortunes abroad. ' Vicar never
forgets a chap,' as one of them observed ; ' sure as
Christmas comes round, there's a letter and news of
all the home folk, to hearten a fellow when he is a
bit down on his luck.'
Miss Gillian chatted on in her bright, brisk fashion ;
and then the dusk crept on, and Anne brought in
the tea-tray, and Luke laid down his busy pen.
392 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
' Do not light the lamp, Aunt Gill,' he observed
as he took possession of his easy-chair. * We ha^e a
glorious fire this evening, and I know Miss Lassiter
loves the gloaming as much as I do.' And though
Miss Gillian pretended to grumble, and protested that
she should pour the hot water into the milk-jug by
mistake, she was quite willing to enjoy the blind man's
holiday ; and the pleasant hour passed quickly away,
until it was time for her to go to the schools to
give out the books of the lending-library.
Sheila murmured something about going home, but
Miss Gillian would not hear of this.
' You will just stop and amuse Luke until I come
back,' she said peremptorily. ' He has done enough
writing for the day, and talking v/ill be better for
him.' And then Miss Gillian stirred the fire so
briskly that Sheila was driven away from her snug
corner, and had to seek refuge in a more sheltered
seat that Luke Brett placed beside him.
* Aunt Gill's intentions were good, but this fire is
simply roasting,' he observed, as he handed her a
screen. * Well, Miss Lassiter, I have got my marching
orders. Moorhouse wants me to go down to St.
Leonards next week. I have just written to Hawtrey
to tell him so.'
' Shall you be away long ? ' Sheila put the question
very quietly.
* For a month at least ; and as Moorhouse has for-
bidden work for six weeks or more, I may as well pay
Hawtrey a long visit. We are old chums, and think
alike on most subjects. He has one of the clearest
heads I know, and a fund of good -nature that is
perfectly inexhaustible. With your permission, I
intend to tackle him on this business of yours.'
XXXV TOLD IN THE GLOAMING 393
Sheila coloured ; she looked a little surprised.
* Mr. Hawtrey has never seen me,' she returned in
a low voice.
' No, but your brother has met him, and they took
to each other at once. Stephen Hawtrey is a splendid
fellow, Miss Lassiter, and he is acquainted with a good
many influential people. I know of no one who would
be more likely to give us valuable advice. You have
HO objection, I hope, to my consulting him.'
' Not if you think it well to do so,' replied Sheila
quickly.
' Thank you. I am sure it will be the best thing
to do. I have not taken Aunt Gill into confidence
yet — there has been no time. Besides, I have a lurk-
ing hope that you may still change your mind, and
that you may be induced to stay at The Moorings. I
am afraid I am selfish, Miss Lassiter, for I — that is,
we — do not want to lose you.'
* You are very kind,' — Sheila's voice was not quite
steady, the hand that held the screen shook a little, —
' but my mind is fully made up. It is my duty, and
I must go.'
' My dear friend, there is such a thing as a mistaken
duty ; self-sacrifice can sometimes be carried too far.'
' Not in this case,' returned Sheila hurriedly. ' Mr.
Brett, I know you want to help me, and this is why
you are speaking in this way. But if you knew all
my reasons, you would think I was right to go.'
' Cannot you tell me what they are ? '
' No, no,' in a frightened tone, ' certainly not. But,
all the same, you can trust me. I am not morbid,
and I have no wish to make myself or any one else
uncomfortable. It is not easy for me to go.'
' Do you think I do not know that ? ' Luke's tone
394 AT THE MOORINGS chap
was a little peculiar. One of the logs had fallen on
the hearth, and a fierce flame had shot up, terrifying
Peter out of his little wits, and by the sudden illumina-
tion he had caught sight of an agitated face and eyes
full of wistful pain. Then the flame died down again ;
but that moment's revelation was enough. Luke Brett
leant back in his chair as though he were conscious of
sudden weariness, and for a few minutes there was
perfect silence in the study. When he spoke again, it
was in a different voice. * Very well, we may consider
the matter settled, and I will have a talk with Hawtrey.
And now shall we change the subject, for I see it
worries you ? There is something I have often thought
I would tell you, because we are friends, you and I —
something about myself, an old trouble. That is, if
you care to listen ? '
* Most certainly I care.*
* And I have an odd desire to tell you ; and the
impulse to speak is stronger than ever this afternoon.
Perhaps it is because I see so plainly that you are
unhappy.' Luke Brett's voice was so full of quiet
sympathy that Sheila's eyes filled with sudden tears.
But she must not think of herself. He has hinted at
some old trouble. Was he going to speak to her of
that other woman for whose sake he lived unwedded ?
His next words made her start.
' You are, of course, aware that I am not a strong
man, and that in many ways I have to be careful. I
think I told you once that my weak health was caused
by a severe accident in my Oxford days. Up to that
date I was in splendid condition, and had more than
my fair share of health.'
* An accident ! Oh yes, I remember.'
' Let me tell you about it ; we shall have plenty
XXXV TOLD IN THE GLOAMING 395
of time, for Aunt Gill will not be back yet. In my
undergraduate days I was a great athlete. I was
devoted to boating, and had the good luck to row in
the Eights. I was never in better form than I was that
June day. Hard as nails from my training, and look-
ing forward to the long vacation and a walking tour
that Hawtrey and I had planned to take in the Austrian
Tyrol — for we were chums even then.
' * I had very nearly finished my Oxford course, and
fully hoped to be ordained that year. Hawtrey and
I had both worked at times at the Oxford Mission,
and had got in touch with the vicar of St. Philip's,
Haggerston. That day the choirmen and boys and
the organist of St. Philip's were coming down to Oxford
for their annual treat, and Hawtrey and I intended to
give them a good time ; and after doing the round of
the colleges, it was unanimously decided to go on the
river, though one or two of the lads preferred loafing
about on the banks. It was a lovely evening, and
men and boys were in the highest spirits. There were
two boats — Hawtrey steered one, and I the other — and I
remember how sweet the boys' voices sounded as they
sang one glee after another.
' Two or three of the men knew how to handle their
oars, but others of the rough Haggerston lads were
raw recruits. They were full of monkey tricks, and I
had to speak rather sharply to them, for, as we were
nearing the weir, an upset would be awkward, especially
as very few of the lads could swim. I was just thinking
we had had about enough of it and had better turn
back, as the boys were getting out of hand and seemed
bent on mischief, when I saw a small pleasure steamer
bearing down on us, and at once altered our course.
For the last quarter of an hour we had been closely
396 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
followed by a boat full of rough-looking, hulking lads.
Hawtrey, who had gone ahead of us, told me afterwards
that they were certainly intoxicated, and that they had
very nearly run him down. But I had no means of
endorsing this ; I was just steering for the bank, to
avoid being run down by the steamer, when there was
a sudden shock, the nose of the other boat was in our
side, and the next moment we were all capsized and in
the water together.'
' Good heavens ! '
' It is not a pleasant retrospect, I assure you. We
were on the edge of the weir, Hawtrey was some
distance off, and it was some minutes before the
steamer perceived our plight.'
' And the boys could not swim ? '
' Not more than two of them. But happily the bank
was near, and I was in splendid training ; I brought in
four of them, and Hawtrey and the steamer did the rest.
Thank God, not one of them was drowned. But it
was Peterson, the senior choirman, who did for me.
' Poor fellow, he had sunk twice, and I had to tow
him ashore like a log. We were both of us nearly
over the weir. I was pretty well used up by then, for
he was a big man and excessively heavy. " Drawn out
of deep waters " — upon my word, Miss Lassiter, I do
not know how we were either of us saved — it was a
miracle. If help had not come, I could not have
got him up the bank. But, God be thanked, two
navvies hauled us in. They soon brought Peterson
round, but when Hawtrey saw me first he thought I
was dead.'
If her life had depended upon it. Sheila could not
have spoken at that moment. The hand that held the
screen trembled so exceedingly that she was obliged
XXXV TOLD IN THE GLOAMING 397
to lay it down on her lap. But Luke's eyes were fixed
on the fire, and after a minute's silence he went on in
the same calm, level voice :
' I had a long illness after that, and my mother and
Aunt Gillian nursed me. Hawtrey had his walking
tour without me, and my ordination was deferred for
eighteen months.'
* And it nearly killed you } ' — in a choked voice.
Then Luke looked at her with a smile that was
strangely sweet.
* Yes, nearly, but not quite. I think sometimes
I was spared for my mother's sake. Poor Peterson
too had a wife and family. We have been the best of
friends, he and I, ever since. Miss Lassiter, I have
never been the same man since that day.'
' You mean ' and then Sheila stopped as though
she could not say another word.
* I mean, that my life will probably be a short one.
I have consulted more than one specialist, and they
tell me frankly that there is nothing to be done.
I have overstrained the machinery, and at any moment
it may refuse to work. It is heart disease of the
worst kind, and any fatigue, any sudden emotion,
may terminate my life.'
Again a dead silence — so intense that Peter stirred
restlessly on the rug. If only Luke had seen her face
— but his eyes were again fixed on the fire.
'You must not be too sorry for me,' he went on
quietly, as though he understood her lack of speech.
• It will be a merciful death, and I shall not suffer ;
and I have long made up my mind to this. Until the
call comes, I must do my half-day's work.'
* Mr. Brett ' — Sheila's voice was a little hoarse, and
she drevy her breath heavily — * I want to speak — I
398 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xxxv
must speak — but you — have given me a shock — I did
not expect this.'
He would have spoken, but she went on in a sort
of breathless rush :
'If you took more care — if you rested — if you
worked less — would not — would not ' But he
finished the sentence for her.
* I might live a few more months or years — that
is what you mean ? Yes, probably ; but would it be
life or mere vegetable existence? And remember
I am vowed to service. While I live, I work ; and if
God wills, I would die in harness.'
* Then it is hopeless ? ' Luke winced as he heard
her tone, and then again he braced himself.
' No, not hopeless, but full of hope. My dear friend,
surely you believe in the continuity of life? What
does it matter if our work is done here or there —
so that, like Him, we are about our Father's business ?
Only it will be better dona there.' He paused, and
then walked towards the fireplace, while she sat
watching him in dumb misery.
' You know now why I have never married,' he said
presently, as he touched the now smouldering logs so
lightly that they did not blaze — ' why I do not think
it right to marry ; for how could I bring such certain
trouble into a woman's life ? ' He paused. ' Hark, is
not that the front -door bell ? It must be Aunt
Gillian. Miss Lassiter, just one word. She knows
nothing of this. I have never told her because I
wished to spare her pain. Will you remember this ? '
' Then why have you told me ? ' was on Sheila's lips,
but it was never uttered, for at that moment Miss
Gillian entered the room.
CHAPTER XXXVI
*YOU MUST NOT LOSE YOUR CROWN'
Teach me that harder lesson — how to live,
To serve Thee in the darkest paths of hfe ;
Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigour give,
And make me more than conqueror in the strife.
Anon.
If there be no enemy, no fight ; if no fight, no victory ; if no victory,
no crown. — Savonarola.
To Sheila the next few minutes were utterly chaotic
and confused.
She saw Miss Gillian stand with uplifted hands on
the threshold.
* Upon my word, good people,' she exclaimed in a
tone of decided disapproval, ' if this is your notion of
comfort, I can't say I hold with it ! Here is darkness
visible, and the fire a rubbish heap, and I afraid to
move for fear of treading on Peter's tail.'
' Peter is all right, Aunt Gill,' returned Luke
quickly ; * and I let the fire die down because Miss
Lassiter found the room so hot. But,' again manipu-
lating the poker, ' I can easily throw a light on the
subject.'
' Better let me do it, Luke,' observed Miss Gillian,
groping her way cautiously towards him. ' Sure, it is
399
400
AT THE MOORINGS chap.
myself that has the lucky hand with a fire.' But
Sheila intercepted her.
' Let me go first,' she said, and her voice was still
a little breathless. *You have been so long. Miss
Gillian, and it is getting late, and Ivor will be home.
Indeed, indeed, you must not keep me.'
' I shall see you again before I go,' observed Luke
quietly. If the room were so hot, it must have seemed
strange to him that Sheila's hand was so cold. As
Sheila closed the door behind her, she could hear Miss
Gillian still wrangling with Luke in her droll way over
the fire.
What would they both think of her for hurrying
away in this unmannerly fashion ? But another minute
in that room would have suffocated her. The choking
sensation in her throat alarmed her. She stood for a -
moment in the porch to recover herself. By and by
the crisp cool air refreshed her, and she drew her breath
more easily. She was alone in the soothing darkness,
with only the glimmer of starlight overhead. No, she
would not hurry. What did it matter if for once she
kept them waiting — if for once she thought more of
herself than them ? This day was not like other days.
Had she not just heard Luke Brett pronounce his own
death-warrant : ' I mean, that my life will probably be
a short one.' Those had been his very words, but the
awful finality of his tone had left no room for doubt.
And then again, with the dull passivity of a settled
purpose : ' You know now why I have never married —
why I do not think it right to marry ; for how could I
bring such certain trouble into a woman's life ? '
Then why had he told her? Why had he given
her this strong proof of his friendship and trust ? Why
had he, so strong and self-reliant, craved so for her
XXXVI 'YOU MUST NOT LOSE YOUR CROWN' 401
sympathy that he had laid this awful burden upon her ?
— when he knew — when he must know, the pain he was
causing her. Was it possible that for once human
weakness had overcome his stern resolution ? And yet
— and yet Sheila felt sorely perplexed.
If Miss Gillian had only remained away a few more
minutes, that she could have put that question to him
and received his answer ! But would he have answered
her?
' Then why have you told me ? ' Yes, surely that
would have wrung the truth from him ; for with the
clear-sightedness of love Sheila felt that some esoteric
meaning lay behind his words.
She knew him so well. All these years he had
carried his burden so bravely that no one had guessed
how heavily it had pressed on him. And it was no
mere yearning for a woman's tenderness and pity that
had prompted him to tell that story. How simply he
had related it, in how few words, and yet five human
beings had owed their lives to him. How heroic had
been that last effort, when with failing strength he had
brought poor Peterson to land.
' O Luke, my hero,' she whispered in the darkness,
and her eyes were so dim with tears that she could
hardly grope her way.
That some strange bond of sympathy united them
had long been evident to Sheila. But in her humility
she failed to grasp the whole truth. Not even to herself
did she dare whisper that her affection was returned
and that Luke Brett loved her. That he cared for her,
that he trusted her so absolutely as to repose this
confidence in her — this indeed was a proud pre-
rogative, which might surely content her.
* I must be patient,' she said to herself ; ' perhaps
2 D
402 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
one day he may tell me his reasons.' And then, as the
lights of The Moorings shone through the leafless
trees, she resolutely crushed back the anguish that
was overwhelming her. ' I must not think yet ; the
day's work is not over, and I cannot be alone.'
But with all Sheila's brave efforts to appear like
herself, she saw Nell look at her curiously.
* Yoa are so pale. Sheila, and your eyes are so
bright. Are you sure you are well ? '
' Oh yes, quite sure,' returned Sheila hastily. ' I
am only a little tired. Well, Ivor, how are they
getting on at Sydney Cottage ? ' And then both Ivor
and Nell were launched on their favourite topic.
When supper was over, Sheila took up some knit-
ting and Nell followed her example, and Ivor read
items of interest from the paper. To an outsider it
seemed quite a pleasant domestic picture that little
fireside circle ; but it was doubtful how much Sheila
heard of the reading. Her hands moved mechanically.
It was Nell who kept her blue eyes so intently on
Ivor's face, who annotated every paragraph with
childish interjections of surprise and appreciation.
Well, the evening was over at last. Nell had been
routed up reluctantly from her warm corner, and had
consented to betake herself to bed, and Ivor had
gone off to the deserted kitchen for his nightly pipe,
and Sheila was free to seek repose.
But there was little rest for her that night. All
through those long dark hours she lay en an uneasy
pillow, living through that strange talk in the gloaming,
and trying to take up the burden of the future. * My
God, how am I to bear it ! ' she whispered once.
' How am I to live without him ! ' And she told herself
despairingly that it was her death-warrant as well as
XXXVI 'YOU MUST NOT LOSE YOUR CROWN' 403
his — the death-warrant of her life's happiness, of the
sweet secret hopes for which there had been no
sure foundation, of all that calm content which had
been hers since she and Ned had begun their life at
The Moorings.
Sheila felt no secret envy of Ned's and Martha's
happiness, she loved them both too well for that, but
a deep sadness and terror of the future seized her.
So little would have contented her. Just to know that
Luke Brett was near, that at any time she might see
him and hear his voice, that his advice and sympathy
were always ready for her, that they should still be
working side by side in God's world — yes, this — this
would be happiness enough.
But what if he should leave her ? What if one day
they should come to her with pale, frightened faces,
and tell her that the vicar was dead ? How was she
to carry her life's burden then ?
* O Luke, my Luke, if I could only die instead of
you ! ' she moaned. ' If the all-merciful Father v/ould
accept my sacrifice ! But I am not worthy of such a
privilege.' * No man may deliver his brother : nor
make agreement unto God for him,' said the Psalmist
of old, and those words are profoundly true. For in
one sense each soul must carry its own burden and
life cross, and even the purest and most self-sacrificing
love cannot pay the ransom or make the exchange ;
for poor suffering humanity has but one Redeemer —
' the Man of Sorrows, and acquainted with grief.'
It was Sheila's hour of weakness, and for a time
she suffered intensely. The shock had been as terrible
as it was unexpected ; but she was far too healthy-
minded and reasonable a woman to collapse utterly,
her self-respect and sense of duty would prevent that.
404 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
If happiness were not for her — if it were ordained
that she must walk in the dim underways of sorrow
and under gray, moonless skies — was it not the Divine
will ? and should she refuse to take up her cross
because it was so heavy ? For what can be heavier to
a woman than the cross of denied love ?
What was it Luke Brett had said ? * I am vowed
to service ' ; and again, in those deep, vibrant tones
that always thrilled her : ' Until the call comes, I must
do my half-day's work.' There was no flinching from
the cross there.
' O Luke, do not leave me yet — until I am stronger
to bear it ! ' was the secret cry of her heart. It was
the admission of her woman's weakness ; but happily
Sheila knew where to seek for strength, and after the
storm and the stress of the conflict were over, and she
was utterly spent and weary, came the refreshing balm
of sleep.
It was in that darkest hour before dawn when she
slept, and then a strange dream came to her. She
thought she was walking through a desolate country,
with wide spaces round her, and only arid rocks and
dry watercourses, and a stony road that seemed to
hurt her feet.
' This must be the land of Negation,' she said to
herself; but she must have spoken aloud, for a voice
answered her, and a gray-cloaked figure was at her
side.
' You are right,' it returned gravely ; ' but you must
not linger, for you have far to go.'
' But I am tired,' she pleaded, beginning to weep ;
' and I do not like this place : it is a waterless land,
and silent and dreary, and the sun does not shine, and
the solitude oppresses me.'
XXXVI 'YOU MUST NOT LOSE YOUR CROWN' 405
* There is no need for you to say that,' replied the
voice ; * you are not alone. There are others on
the path before and behind you ; the brave hearts
are in front, but there are feeble and timid ones
behind.'
' I will wait for them — I am not brave.' But with
a solemn gesture the cloaked figure drew her on.
* Courage, sister,' continued the voice, and somehow
the tones seemed familiar to her : * even in the wilder-
ness of Negation there is hope. Plant your feet
firmly and follow the beaten track ; it is a winding
road, and very narrow at times, but it leads to a fair
haven of peace.'
* But I shall never reach it. I am not old, and I
have a long life before me. Kind stranger, v/hoever
you are, let me sit awhile by the wayside and weep.'
But it seemed to her in this strange vision as though a
shadowy hand held her up.
' Not so, dear heart, you must not lose your crown.
Take up the burden you have dropped and journey on.
Behind those gray hills the sun is shining, and when
you gain the summit you will look down on the
wondrous valley where tired pilgrims rest among the
lilies and roses.'
' And then ? '
'And then,' repeated the voice still more solemnly,
* there was evening and there was morning one day,
for there is no night there.' And then the cloak dropped
from the stranger's face, and she saw it was Luke Brett ;
but the next moment she woke.
Sheila's brow was damp with moisture, and her
heart was beating quickly. What was this dream ?
* Not so, dear heart, you must not lose your crown.'
And he had brought her this message. In that strange
4o6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
borderland between waking and sleep she had met
him again.
* I must not lose my crown.' How often through
the days and weeks that followed Sheila said those
words to herself, until they became a sort of charm or
amulet to be worn next her heart ' He brought me
the message,' she would repeat again and again, ' and
I must never forget it.'
Luke Brett had told her that he would see her
again before he left for St. Leonards. Sheila, however,
had no intention of going to the vicarage unless he
sent for her. But on Sunday evening, as she and Ivor
were just leaving the church, the verger told her that
Miss Lorimer wished to speak to her.
' Very well,' she returned. * You had better go on,
Ivor, and tell Nell not to wait supper for me, in case I
am detained ' ; for she had an instinctive feeling that
Luke Brett had sent her a message.
She paced up and down under the elms until the
church was empty. But it was some time before Miss
Gillian joined her. ' And sorry I am to keep you
waiting. Sheila,' she exclaimed ; 'but Mr. Ducie and I
had some business to settle. He is coming in to
supper directly. And what have you done with your
brother ? Luke wants you both to come in.'
* Ivor was obliged to go home, Miss Gillian. Tommy
and Bunnie are to sit up to supper to-night for a great
treat, and it would not do to keep such small folk
waiting, so I begged him to begin without me.'
* That's all right, then I can carry you off, my dear '
— and Miss Gillian took her arm. ' Isn't that Mr.
Ducie locking the vestry door ? We will just wait for
him and go in together.'
The Sunday suppers at the vicarage were always
XXXVI 'YOU MUST NOT LOSE YOUR CROWN' 407
sociable meals. The curate was always there, and
often the churchwardens and organist or one or two of
the choirmen, and a plentiful board was always spread.
Miss Gillian delighted in a large-hearted hospitality,
and her Sunday suppers were very popular in Uplands.
This evening Sheila and Mr. Ducie were the only
visitors.
Luke Brett came out of his study as they entered
the house. He looked better, and his face had lost
its worn look. He greeted Sheila with his usual
cordiality. * I am so glad you were able to come,' he
said to her. ' I find I shall have to go on Tuesday,
and I should have been sorry to leave without bidding
you good-bye ' ; and Sheila made some monosyllabic
reply. She could not feel at her ease with him ; the
recollection of their talk and her strange dream seemed
to oppress her. But Luke Brett did not appear to notice
her silence.
During supper-time he was unusually talkative, and
he and Mr. Ducie argued on the subject of some book
they were both reading. They would both have in-
cluded Sheila in the discussion, but she confessed
frankly that she had not yet read a page. ' I found it
rather dry,' she owned honestly ; * only Ned in his last
letter declared that both Martha and 1 must read it.
Martha is half through it, I believe.'
' You will not find it dry after the first chapter or
two. Miss Lassiter,' observed Mr. Ducie. ' It is the
finest thing I have read for a long time.' And then the
discussion waxed warm, and Sheila listened with down-
cast eyes, until Miss Gillian with an impatient move-
ment rose from the table.
' They will be talking Christian socialism until
midnight if we don't stop them. Sheila,' she said, with
4o8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
her favourite little shrug. ' You shall come with me
into the drawing-room, and we will talk of something
more diverting.'
' But I must go, Miss Gillian. Are you aware that
it is half-past nine ? '
* I'll escort you. Miss Lassiter,' exclaimed Mr. Ducie,
for he and Sheila were good friends. But before she
could answer and decline this offer Mr. Brett struck in.
' Thanks, my dear fellow ; I was just going to ask
you to see Miss Lassiter home. Now, Aunt Gill,
will you spare your visitor to me ? I shall not de-
tain you a moment ' — as Sheila changed colour and
hesitated. * Will you come with me into the study,
please ? ' And then without a word Sheila followed
him.
The lamp was lighted and the room looked warm
and comfortable. But Luke did not ask her to sit
down ; he remained standing by the table.
* I shall not see you for some time,' he said, in the
quiet tone which Sheila knew often concealed deep
feeling, ' and our conversation that night was broken
off rather abruptly. It has struck me since that you
must have thought me selfish.'
' I — oh no, Mr. Brett'
' It was the pained look on your face that made me
think so, and you told me, if you remember, that I
had given you a shock. The words, or perhaps your
manner in saying them, gave me the impression.'
Sheila grew rather pale, but she spoke in a guarded
manner. ' I cannot deny that it was a shock, but
most certainly I did not think you selfish. On the
contrary ' — trying to control her voice — ' I understood
that you were giving me a proof of real friendship ;
you knew well that I should respect your confidence.'
XXXVI 'YOU MUST NOT LOSE YOUR CROWN' 409
' Assuredly I knew that, and as far as I am con-
cerned I do not repent my frankness. If I had other
reasons ' — he paused, and went on rather abruptly —
* I have come to the conclusion that they are best
unspoken. You can trust me ? ' But he looked at her
a little wistfully, as though some doubt harassed him,
* I can, and I do trust you implicitly,' she returned,
with some emotion. ' I would have told you that
evening if I could — how grieved — how sorry ' but
she could not go on. Then a peculiarly sweet smile
came to Luke's face as he took her hand,
' Let that be unspoken too. Do I not know with-
out words how your kind heart would feel for me ?
But, my dear friend, if you want to show your
sympathy, if you want really to help me, let me feel
that I have not made you sad. For to-night — forgive
me if I say it — I missed the old brightness.'
Sheila's lip trembled a little. He was so dear to
her — so perilously dear. Then she struggled for self-
command.
' You must give me time to get over it. How
could I help being sorry — for all our sakes — and you
have done so much for me.'
' Have I ? I am glad of that. But I trust I shall
be spared to do much more for you and all my people.
There, God bless you ! I will take every care of myself.
And there is one thing, here and there too, that we
can do — we can pray for each other.' And then, with
another strong pressure, he released her hand.
What were the words that haunted Sheila as she
walked down the dark road beside Mr. Ducie ? ' Not
so, dear heart, you must not lose your crown. Take
up the burden you have dropped and journey on.'
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE TWO CONSPIRATORS
In life troubles will come which seem as if they would never pass
away. The night and the storm look as if they would last for ever,
but the calm and the morning cannot be stayed ; the storm in its very
nature is heavenly. The effort of nature, as that of the human heart,
ever is to return to its repose, for God is peace. — George MacDonald.
Perhaps it was as well that an unexpected domestic
incident occupied Sheila during the next week or two.
Tommy took a severe chill, and for some days they
were somewhat anxious about him, the little fellow
was so delicate. Sheila devoted herself wholly to
him. She slept in his room and did most of the day's
nursing. Nell was willing to take her share, but she
had little strength, and was sadly incompetent ; and
Tommy, who was a tyrant in his baby way, refused to
take his food or medicine from any one but Sheila.
Ned made his nephew's illness an excuse for running
down for a week-end, but his time was spent chiefly at
the Old Cottage. He was not at all satisfied with
Sheila's looks.'
' Don't let that little rascal wear you out,' he
said rather seriously as he bade her good-bye. ' You
don't look quite fit. She. There is Martha longing to
help you, and you won't give her a chance ' — rather
reproachfully.
410
CHAP. XXXVII THE TWO CONSPIRATORS 411
* Dear Ned, I am really not so very tired, and
Tommy is so good with me. You know I love
nursing, and Martha has so much to do.' For in three
weeks' time the sisters were to leave the Old Cottage
and take up their quarters at the vicarage, while the
bulk of the furniture was transferred to Sydney Cottage.
* Well, remember good people are scarce, and we
can't spare you,' returned Ned affectionately, as he
took up his black bag. Martha had promised to walk
with him to the station, but more than once Ned
looked back to wave his hand to his sister.
Was it his fancy that Sheila did not look quite
happy ? Were those pale cheeks and dark lines under
her eyes solely the result of disturbed nights and a
wayward and autocratic Tommy. * She never spares
herself,' he 'thought, as he crossed Sandy Lane to the
Cottage, where his lady-love was waiting for him in the
porch ; ' but Martha and I will make her rest properly
by and by.' And during his journey to town Ned
indulged in rosy-coloured dreams of the future — of the
sweet home life that would be theirs, of honest toil
and good work done, and peaceful evenings with his
Martha beside him and Sheila's bright face opposite
to him. ' No one shall ever quote that proverb to us,
Martha,' he had said to her as they stood together in
the station, ' " two's company and three's none," for it
will not be true in our case.'
* Dear Edward, of course not. I could not love
Sheila better if she were my own sister, and it is sweet
to know that the same roof will cover us. We will make
her so happy.' For Martha too was blissfully ignorant
of Sheila's plans, and neither of them dreamt of the
mine that was being laid, and that Sheila would refuse
to live at The Moorings had never entered their heads.
412 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Sheila was well content to spend the greater part
of her days in Tommy's room. It was less irksome to
fight pitched battles with tin soldiers and to fire off
miniature cannons than to sit v.^ith Nell over their
needlework and to listen to her desultory and discursive
talk. Sometimes Betty or Martha took her place, and
then she would take long rapid walks over the golf-
links ; but she never once went in the direction of the
village or the vicarage. It was a relief to her to
know that Miss Gillian would be away for a fort-
night.
When Tommy was convalescent and needed her
less, she found ample occupation at the Old Cottage ;
and when Martha and Betty left their old home with
many tears and settled in at the vicarage for a long
visit under Miss Gillian's kindly wing, both she and
Nell were busy enough.
How thankful Sheila was for that work no one but
herself knew. She simply toiled from morning to night.
Ivor remonstrated with her in vain.
' My dear Sheila, there is no need to work so hard,'
he would say ; ' there are three weeks still before we
clear out of The Moorings.' But Sheila only laughed
at this remonstrance, and declared that she and Nell
were having a good time.
Under Sheila's skilful supervision Sydney Cottage
became not only habitable, but home-like and pretty,
and Nell's blue eyes shone with joy and pride as she
looked at the small cosy rooms, with their snow-white
curtains and pretty flower-baskets. Even the garden
had been redeemed from a wilderness by Ivor's exer-
tions, and the borders were full of plants from the
vicarage and The Moorings. Miss Gillian, with her
usual helpfulness, had found a little maid for them — a
XXXVII THE TWO CONSPIRATORS 413
bright, capable girl that she had had in training under
her own factotum Marshall.
* Emma is a good girl, though a bit clumsy,
Marshall says,' observed Miss Gillian confidentially to
Sheila. ' But her mother has brought her up well, and
she is as honest and steady as the day. And she is
fond of children too, having brothers and sisters of her
own.'
On the evening before * Tommy and Co.' were to
leave The Moorings, Ned paid them a surprise visit,
and he and Sheila walked over to the cottage. Later
on Ned was to go to the vicarage.
' Of course you know Brett has come back ? ' he
observed, as they passed the turning that led to the
vicarage.
. * Oh yes ; I have heard from him once or twice,'
returned Sheila quietly; * and Miss Gillian sent me
word by Betty. I am so sorry you have missed Betty,
Ned, but she was obliged to go to Cottingdean a little
earlier. I daresay Martha has told you that Miss
Borton will not be ready for her for another ten days.'
Ned nodded. * Yes, I know. I shall be at the
station to meet her. So Brett wrote to you, did he ? '
and Ned looked a trifle curious. ' I don't believe, from
his own account, that he is much better.'
* Miss Gillian is a little disappointed certainly, but
Dr. Moorhouse is away, so no one has heard his opinion.
Mr, Brett himself wrote very cheerfully.' And then
they reached the cottage, and Ned's attention was at
once distracted. And Sheila received no grudging praise
for the result of her labours in Ned's absence. The
mean -looking cottage had been transformed into a
veritable bower.
Sheila had been greatly surprised when she had
414 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
received Luke Brett's first letter. It was quite simple
and friendly, and told her just what she wanted to
know. He seemed to take it as a matter of course
that she should be interested in his doings. From
beginning to end there was not a line that she could
not have read to Ned.
' As your brother and my Aunt Gillian are absent,
I hope you will give me any Uplands news,' he finished.
And Sheila had found no difficulty, and a good deal of
pleasure, in complying with this request.
The second letter was more confidential. * I have
talked to Hawtrey,' he wrote, * and he is giving the
matter his full consideration. Something in his manner
tells me that he has already thought of some suitable
person, but he declares that he must keep dark until
he has felt his way a little. I think it would be wise
not to hurry him. Somehow Hawtrey always turns up
trumps. I have made him understand exactly what
is wanted, and you need not fear his making any
mistake. Of course I will let you know if anything
definite is evolved.' The rest of the letter was a
pleasant commentary on the news furnished by her.
Once again Luke wrote to tell her that his friend
was in correspondence with some person unknown, but
that he had not yet taken him into confidence. * I
think it will be better to let the matter stand over
until my return. I shall hope to be back next week.
The rest has certainly benefited me, and I am able
to extend my daily walks. In another ten days or so
I trust that I shall be fit to resume work.'
Ned was evidently anxious to be off to the vicarage,
but Sheila remained behind to put one or two finishing
touches to Nell's room. She had just completed her
task when she saw Luke Brett's tall figure at the gate.
XXXVII THE TWO CONSPIRATORS 415
Her sudden gladness at the sight seemed to blot
out the remembrance of the long blank month, with
its underlying sadness. He looked up and greeted her
with one of those sudden vivid smiles that seemed to
her like sunshine. Perhaps she was just a little slow
in her movements, for as she went downstairs he was
waiting for her in the little dark hall.
' Your brother told me you were here,' he said, as he
shook hands with her. * He was evidently in a great
hurry, so I would not detain him. He asked me to
come in and see the house.'
* Would you like to see it now ? ' she asked a little
shyly. And then she showed him all Ivor's clever
little contrivances.
' He is so very clever with his hands,' she said
proudly. * He would have made a capital engineer.
Ned is so different — I do not believe he could hammer
in a nail properly.'
* I think you have both done wonders with very
simple materials,' observed Luke ; ' that is where genius
comes in. Now shall we sit down, for I have much to
tell you.' And Sheila at once led the way to the
parlour.
The little passage had been too dark for her to see
his face plainly, and an unwonted feeling of constraint
had prevented her from questioning him about his
health. But now, as he seated himself by the window,
his appearance did not satisfy her. She was not sure
that he had gained flesh, and there was still a trace
of lassitude in his gait.
' Are you sure that you ought to have come back
so soon ? ' were her first words.
Luke smiled. * Do you call it soon ' — in a
reproachful voice. * It has been a long month to me.
4i6 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
I assure you. I was getting so restless and homesick
that Hawtrey advised me to go home.'
' You are better, of course,' she returned ; ' you are
bronzed from the air and sun, but you are not strong
yet — I can see that plainly.'
' Oh, Rome was not built in a day,' he replied
lightly, ' and I had a pretty bad bout. But we will
not waste precious time by talking of my unworthy
self. We have more interesting subjects to discuss.
' My friend Hawtrey has hit on something likely to
suit you. Miss Lassiter, though the situation will not be
tenable for some months.' Then, as a shade crossed
Sheila's face at these words, he continued anxiously,
* Surely a month or longer at The Moorings will not
matter ? '
' Perhaps I ought not to mind it,' she returned in a
troubled voice ; ' only when one has to do a painful
thing it is better to get it over. Putting it off only
makes it all the harder to go.'
Her lip trembled for a moment. That childlike
confession, made so frankly, was very pathetic and
touching to Luke.
' Will you let me tell you about it ? ' he went on
gently, ' In some ways the position is an ideal one.
An old college friend of Hawtrey's, the Rev. Stockton
Phillips, has a country living in Devonshire. He is a
wealthy man, an old bachelor and rather eccentric, a
very good scholar and an excellent clergyman, though
Hawtrey says he is a bit Utopian and unpractical.
The parish is large and straggling, and has been much
neglected, and dissent has got the upper hand ; and
though Mr. Phillips has a good curate, things are in a
sad state both in the village and at the rectory, and his
friends have recommended him to secure the services
XXXVII THE TWO CONSPIRATORS 417
of some capable, sensible lady, who shall act as house-
keeper at the rectory and also do parish work — get up
mothers' meetings and other charitable organisations
and help in visiting the sick. In fact, be the rector's
and curate's right hand.'
'Would the housekeeper have a sitting-room of her
own ? ' asked Sheila ; for she felt such a position must
have its drawbacks. Then Luke Brett looked some-
what amused.
' I quite understand your scruples. Miss Lassiter, and
as Mr. Phillips is by no means old, though his habits of
life are settled, I am not surprised that the arrange-
ment seems a little doubtful. But the fact is the rector
does not propose your residing under his roof; the bare
idea of a lady housekeeper living at the rectory would
frighten him out of his wits. There is a cottage
attached to the schools, where he proposes you should
live. Hawtrey says it is quite a decent little place, and
can be made both pretty and habitable for a lady. It
is almost at the rectory gates, and Mr. Phillips thinks
there can be no difficulty in supervising the household
and managing the accounts. He has been very much
troubled with servants lately ; they have cheated and
robbed him shamelessly, and have made his and his
old man-servant's life miserable. He has been ill lately
with worry and overwork, and has been ordered
abroad for some months, so the rectory is to be shut
up ; in fact, your services will not be required until the
middle or end of September.'
' It sounds rather attractive,' returned Sheila. * I like
the idea of the cottage — one would be more inde-
pendent.'
' You are not afraid of the loneliness ? Hawtrey tells
me that there are very few gentlefolk in the place,
2 E
4i8 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
and they may not trouble themselves to visit Mr.
Phillips's housekeeper. I am afraid you will find your-
self somewhat isolated.'
' I shall not mind that,' she replied quickly ; ' I shall
have plenty of work, and my poorer neighbours will
furnish me with sufficient interest. I am disposed to
try it, Mr. Brett.'
* I think myself you might do worse,' was his answer.
' Mr. Phillips is rich and is quite disposed to be liberal ;
you would live rent free, have a servant to wait on you,
and a good salary ; and as far as I can see, there are only
two objections — he will work you hard, and Coombe-
under- the- Hill is a far cry from The Moorings.' Was it
Sheila's fancy, or did Luke suppress a sigh as he spoke ?
' Hard work will not frighten me,' she returned, ' and
the long distance will perhaps be as well. If I were
nearer •' she checked herself and the colour rushed
into her face. If she were nearer, within a reasonable
distance, how would she be able to endure her exile ?
But she must not dwell on that.
' Will you let me know what steps I am to take ? '
she said, as she rose from her seat. ' Thank you so
much for the trouble you have taken ; I am so grateful
to you and Mr. Hawtrey.'
' And you will not consult your brother ? '
* Oh no, certainly not. By and by I shall tell him
and Martha ; but he is so happy, dear fellow, that I
could not bear to damp him. Why do you look at me
like that, Mr. Brett ? ' trying to smile ; * indeed it will
be best for them and me too.' But he shook his head
a little sadly.
' You are very brave,' was all he said, ' but I wish — I
wish it could be otherwise.'
And then they went out together into the sunshine ;
xxxvn THE TWO CONSPIRATORS 419
but the hearts of both were heavy with unspoken trouble,
for it seemed a bitter thing to Luke Brett that he
must Hve his life alone without this sweet woman beside
him ; and as for Sheila, it was as though her own hand
and her own will were closing the door of her paradise.
At the crossways they parted with a silent handshake.
There was no need for her to do anything at present
he had told her — by and by she could put herself into
communication with the rector of Coombe-under-the-
Hili — but as Sheila walked home in the spring sun-
shine she told herself that, as far as she herself was
concerned, the matter was already settled.
Ned remained at the vicarage until late in the
afternoon, and then he brought Martha back with him
to spend the evening at The Moorings.
As Nell thought it her duty to be in a lugubrious
mood, and to dissolve into tears if any one addressed
her, Ned's cheerfulness was a decided relief to the
family, and the evening passed off better than Sheila
expected.
Ned, who had never outgrown his boyish love of
surprises, had told no one but Martha that he intended
remaining the whole of the next day at Uplands, and
it was not until breakfast was half over the next
morning that Sheila was aware of his intention.
*Are you taking a later train, Ned?' she asked
innocently ; ' for I see your black bag is not in the
hall.' Then Ned, who was carving the ham at that
moment, laid down his knife and fork and looked her
calmly in the face.
*My good girl,' he remarked drily, 'it does not
require twenty-four hours to pack my bag, and that is
the period of time I intend to spend at The Moorings.'
' Oh, Ned, how delightful ! ' But Sheila said no more
420 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
at that moment ; only, as she rose to untie Tommy's bib,
her hand rested for a moment on Ned's shoulder with
a caressing gesture. She knew so well why he was
staying, that she might not feel too lonely that first
evening.
As soon as the early luncheon was over, Sheila
drove over to Sydney Cottage with Nell and the
children, and helped them to unpack and settle in,
while Ned took Martha and Kaiser for a walk. He
was to have tea at the vicarage and call for Sheila,
and they were to spend the evening quietly together.
* It is just like old times, Ned,' she observed as they
walked down Sandy Lane together. She had done a
hard day's work, and felt weary and satisfied. They
had left Nell standing at the little gate of Sydney
Cottage with Ivor beside her, both of them looking so
proud and happy. Nell had waved to them until they
were out of sight. ' Dear old fellow, it was so good
of you to stay with me this evening ! ' Then Ned gave
a low chuckling laugh.
' I thought you would be pleased. She ; and I have
seen so little of you lately. Martha did not mind ; she
quite understood when I told her that I meant to
devote the evening to you. We will have a fire up in
the study, for the evenings are still a bit chilly, and
have one of our old palavers ' ; and Ned kept his word.
The evening was a real refreshment to Sheila ; they
talked over the old days in Brook Street, and once
Ned alluded drolly to his poor old coat.
' Distance lends enchantment to the view, does it
not, She ? — somehow the retrospect is not half bad.'
But Ned was a little surprised by the sudden emotion
on Sheila's face.
' Dear Ned, it was such a happy time. What did it
xxxvii THE TWO CONSPIRATORS 421
matter, struggle and poverty and foolish little limitations,
when we had each other ? '
* But we shall have each other always,' he returned
smiling ; ' the new record will beat the old, She.'
' Will it, Ned ? ' but Sheila's voice had a note of
sadness in it. ' But anyhow I thank God for the old
life and the old days, that were full of work and were
yet so dear' — and as she spoke Sheila's eyes were full
of tears.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
SUNSHINE AND SHADOW
Oh thou, the patient one,
Who putteth faith in Him and none beside,
Bear yet thy load ; under the setting sun
The glad tents gleam ; thou shalt be satisfied.
Edwin Arnold, Pearls of the Faith.
The two months that elapsed before Edward Lassiter's
marriage were passed very quietly by Sheila. To all
outward appearance she seemed tranquil and content.
The solitude so feelingly lamented by Ned in his
letters was in reality most soothing and healing in its
effect on her. The absence of all domestic friction,
the knowledge that Ivor and his little household
were comfortably settled at a short distance from The
Moorings, and that Nell's hourly demands on time
and patience had no longer to be met with outward
patience and secret revolt, at once calmed and
braced her to new efforts. How she revelled in the
quiet house and garden and in those long solitary
walks over the moor ! Every three weeks Ned came
down to spend a quiet home Sunday with her, and
these were indeed golden days to Sheila, and dearly
she prized them. She saw Luke Brett constantly.
She met him frequently in the village on her way to
and from Sydney Cottage, or when she accepted Miss
422
CHAP. XXXVIII SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 423
Gillian's invitations to the vicarage. But he never
called at The Moorings, except for a moment, to leave
a book he had promised to lend her, or to bring her
some message. On such occasions he rarely came
farther than the gate ; but each time she saw him her
heart sank afresh, for it was evident to her that he had
not regained his old strength.
During these months Sheila quietly carried out her
plans. She gave up her old room and moved into the
large front attic. Ned had been much upset at first
when he found it out, but she soon brought him round
to her opinion ; and after a time he owned that perhaps
she was right.
' You were so fond of the room, She,' he said
regretfully.
' I mean to be just as fond of my new one,' she
returned brightly. * It is really as nice as possible,
now all my goods and chattels are arranged, and the
view is just lovely.'
Sheila still thought it wiser not to take Ned into
confidence about her future projects. She was in
correspondence with the rector of Coombe-under-the-
Hill, but on his side things were not finally settled — an
unexpected hitch had occurred — and even Luke Brett
agreed that it would be as well to defer her communica-
tions until after the home-coming.
It had been arranged that Sheila should spend
the last few days before the wedding with Ned in
Heathcote Street. Sheila much preferred this to
accepting the Lockharts' hospitable invitation. Luke
Brett, who had promised to perform the service, was to
be their guest for a night, and Ivor would accompany
him, and Betty would be with her sister.
Ned had very little time to give to his sister, but he
424 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
evidently liked to have her near him. And to Sheila
those last days passed far too rapidly. There was much
that she could do for him, and it was happiness to sit
silently at her work while Ned copied out voluminous
notes at his writing-table; for up to the eve of the
wedding-day he was hard at work, and then he and
Sheila packed up books and papers for her to take
back to The Moorings.
Never was there a quieter wedding, but to Sheila
it seemed simply perfect. The long drive in the early
morning, the cool freshness of the great green common,
the little group gathered in the sacred building, the
stillness, the tender solemnity of Luke Brett's voice as
it echoed through the empty nave, seemed to appeal
to her irresistibly. Never had Martha looked sweeter
than she did that day as she took her place beside her
lover. Her clear silvery tones never faltered as she
plighted her troth. As for Ned, Sheila dared not look
at him, but she knew that, in spite of his evident
nervousness, never was there a prouder and happier
bridegroom. Ned had waited long for his happiness,
but it had come at last to him, and now he had his
heart's desire.
Betty was the only one who shed a tear. Martha's
emotion lay far too deep for that, and when the
impulsive little creature clung to her in the vestry, it
was Martha who soothed and comforted her.
' Dear Bee, darling Bee, do not cry so,' she
whispered ; ' it will make Edward so uncomfortable.'
* I was thinking of father,' sobbed poor Betty ; * and,
Marty, I do so hate to say good-bye.' But Betty was
soon induced to dry her tears.
' Have you spoken to my wife. She ? ' were Ned's
first words as Sheila murmured her congratulations.
XXXVIII SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 425
Martha's pale cheeks mantled with blushes as she
heard him. It was good to see his look as Sheila
embraced her new sister. And then it was Ivor's and
Cousin Becky's turn.
Cousin Becky's tiny dining-room was full to over-
flowing that morning ; but she had done wonders, and
a tempting breakfast had been provided. It was only
a hurried meal, for the bridal pair were to leave by an
early train.
' I am not going to say good-bye. She,' were Ned's
parting words, as they all crowded into the little
garden to see them off ; ' in three weeks' time you
will be welcoming us at The Moorings.' And Sheila
smiled and waved her hand.
Sheila had plenty of work before her that day.
She had to go back to Heathcote Street with Ivor and
finish packing up her own and Ned's things, and take
them to Victoria, where Luke Brett would meet them,
and they would all go down to Uplands together.
Betty was to remain with Cousin Becky for another
night, and then to return to Cottingdean. The mail
had arrived, and a long letter from Charlie had some-
what revived her drooping spirits, and Sheila was able
to leave her more comfortably.
Sheila was resolutely keeping thought at bay.
That last dear look of Ned's had been almost too
much for her, but only Luke Brett noticed how her
lips had trembled as she turned away.
No, she must not give way. She had her work to
do. Ivor helped her manfully, and they arrived in
good time at Victoria, where they found Luke waiting
for them on the platform. A glance at Sheila's weary
face was sufficient for him.
' You have had a trying day,' he said to her as they
426 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
took their places, ' but your brother and I are going
to leave you in peace.' And then he opened his paper,
and Sheila thankfully nestled into her cosy corner and
closed her aching eyes. It was a relief to be quiet
and not expected to talk, and yet never for an instant
was she unconscious of Luke's presence.
Yes, he was right, the day had tried her greatly.
Until this moment she had not guessed how severe had
been the tension. But now a feeling of loneliness and
depression seemed to weigh her down. The lives of
most women have these crucial days, when they and
their dear ones come to the crossways of life and must
needs take different paths. The old order changeth
— there are new relationships, new adjustments of
circumstance — and it needs a brave heart and an
unselfish spirit to take up the scrip and staff again
and journey on.
Sheila wondered vaguely if it had been a trying
day to Luke Brett also, for it struck her once that he
looked strangely worn and jaded, and there was a set,
stern expression about the lips that she had never
noticed before. Perhaps Sheila's glance was magnetic,
for the next moment he raised his eyes from the paper.
* I fear you are not rested yet,' he said in a voice of
concern, 'but we shall be at Uplands in a few minutes.'
Then in a lower key, ' I do not like to think of your
being alone this evening.'
' Indeed it will be best for me,' she returned hastily,
but her eyes were full of tears. 'When one is tired
out and stupid, it is such a relief to know that one
need not make efforts. Hush,' as he was about to
speak, ' please do not say any more to me just now, or
Ivor will hear us, and I must — I must have this one
evening to myself.' And Luke evidently understood
XXXVIII SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 427
her, for during the drive home he did not once address
her, and only a long pressure of her hand told her of
his sympathy.
* Give my love to dear Miss Gillian, and tell her
that I will come and see her to-morrow,' were her
parting words to Luke, and he smiled and nodded.
This one evening, that was all Sheila asked — a
few quiet hours during which she could indulge in sad
retrospection, and shed a few bitter tears at the thought
that the dear old days were gone never to return, and
then she would take up her burden again.
Luke secretly wondered at her quiet cheerfulness the
next day, but he would have marvelled still more if he
could have read her thoughts.
* If one is unhappy oneself, one has no right to
trouble others,' she had told herself that morning, * and
I mean to be as cheerful as I can ' ; and Sheila certainly
kept her word.
The three weeks passed tranquilly away, and then
the evening arrived when Ned and Martha were
expected home. Sheila was at the gate as they drove
up from the village. Ned sprang from the carriage
almost before it stopped and gave her a mighty hug.
* Good old She, isn't it jolly to see you again ! '
he exclaimed delightedly. And then Martha's arms
were round her, and the next minute she was walking
between them and holding a hand of each, and which of
the three faces looked happiest it was impossible to say.
Martha gave her husband a shy sweet glance as
she crossed the threshold, and in an instant he was
beside her.
* Welcome home, my darling,' he whispered as he
kissed her.
* Isn't it a dear home ? ' she returned softly, as Ned
428 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
took her into the study and Sheila followed them.
' It is all so beautiful — better even than I remembered
it.' But as they both laughed at this, Martha gave
Sheila's hand a little squeeze. ' You have worked so
hard, and it all looks so sweet, and — and — I have
done nothing to deserve such happiness ' ; but Martha's
look was very lovely cs she said this.
Sheila's heart had a little song of thankfulness in it
as she left them and went downstairs. There was no
doubt of their happiness. How well Ned looked ; he
seemed to have grown years younger, and the r61e
of a married man suited him down to the ground.
It was really like one of their old evenings. After
supper they went out in the moonlight, first into the
garden and then up Sandy Lane, until they reached
their favourite seat on the links, and Ned smoked his
pipe in great contentment with wife and sister beside
him.
* I shall go and see Brett to-morrow morning while
you and Martha finish unpacking,' he observed, and
they had cheerfully assented to this.
' I told Nell that you and Martha would be glad to
see them later,' observed Sheila ; * so she and Ivor
will walk up after supper, just for a cup of coffee and
a chat, but they will not stay long ' ; and Ned seemed
to approve of this.
It was wonderful how soon the little household
settled down at The Moorings. Sheila's tact and
unselfishness and Martha's humility smoothed over all
difficulties. Eppie was the chief stumbling-block.
She could not be made to understand for a long time
that she must take her orders from the new mistress.
If Martha hesitated or seemed undecided over the
menUy Eppie would say cheerfully, ' Don't you fash
XXXVIII SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 429
yourself, ma'am ; we'll be asking Miss Sheila what Mr.
Edward would be after fancying for his dinner — she
knows all his likes and dislikes.' Eppie's manner
was not the least aggressive ; on the contrary, she
distinctly approved of Mrs. Edward as a well-inten-
tioned, harmless young woman, who must be tolerated
and humoured and made to know her position. ' I
don't hold with two mistresses,' Eppie was once heard
to say, ' but for the sake of peace I'm bound to put up
witfi it, and certainly Mrs. Edward is a pleasant-spoken
body, and it is easy to see that the master is just
wrapped up in her ' ; but Eppie's tone was a little
patronising.
' It seems to work well,' observed Luke Brett one
evening when he had been having supper at The
Moorings, and they were all in the garden together.
Ned and Martha were sauntering down the path towards
the ivy pergola, for in those early days of their
married life they were seldom apart, and he and
Sheila were left alone for a few minutes. ' The three-
fold cord seems a strong one,' he added thoughtfully.
* I try not to be in their way,' returned Sheila
quietly, ' and they are so good to me. Martha is the
dearest sister possible, and you are right, we are very
happy together ; but, all the same, I must go.'
' I was afraid you would say so,' he replied.
' Well, I will not argue the point; we know each other's
opinion — no one has a right to interfere with other
people's lives ' ; and then somewhat abruptly Luke
Brett changed the subject. Sheila was sorry, for
she felt that in some way he disapproved of her
plan, though he was reluctant to tell her so.
* He cannot judge,' Sheila said to herself later that
night; 'if he knew all — if he only guessed the truth, he
430
AT THE MOORINGS chap.
would tell me that I was right to go. But now he
thinks I am only sacrificing myself unnecessarily, his
manner showed me that. He would like me to remain
quietly at The Moorings.' And Sheila felt a fresh
pang as she thought how impossible it would be for
her to live her present life.
Towards the end of July Betty paid them a flying
visit, and the sisters were very happy together. The
evening after Betty had left them, Ned went down to
the vicarage for an hour. Martha had a headache and
had gone to bed early. The day had been unusually
sultry, and Sheila, who found the house oppressive, was
glad to enjoy the evening coolness as she paced the
garden paths or sat in her favourite seat overlooking
the gate and Sandy Lane.
A soft honey -sweet breeze was blowing off the
common. The milky-white nicotianas gleamed through
the dusk, and the stillness was only broken by the
harsh note of the nightjar, or the flutter of some
restless bird on the wing. It was late, but Sheila v/as
unwilling to go in until Ned returned. A report had
reached her that morning that the vicar was not well,
and she was anxious to know how he was. Ned
seldom stayed as long as this, and it was with a sense
of relief that she heard Kaiser's bark in the lane and
went to the gate to meet them.
Ned seemed surprised to see her.
' Were you waiting for me, She ? ' he asked. * Do
you know it is half-past eleven, and time for all good
little girls to be in bed ? '
' But you see I am not good,' she said, taking his
arm ; ' and it was far too hot to go indoors, and it
was so delicious out here. How is Mr. Brett, Ned ? '
' Oh, he is very down, poor fellow,' and Ned's
XXXVIII SUNSHINE AND SHADOW 431
tone was a little grave. ' I did not mean to have told
you to-night, for I knew it would worry you; but
Brett saw the specialist yesterday — he went up to
town, you know.'
'Yes, I know — well?' Sheila's tone was a little
sharp.
' It seems that he and Dr. Moorhouse agree in
every way. They say that Brett will have to be
extremely careful or he will be laid up again. He is
to winter abroad, they both insist on that. He must
find a locum tetiens to do his work, and have absolute
rest for at least six months. They wish him to leave
by the end of October.'
' Will he go ? ' Sheila brought out the words with a
sort of gasp.
' He must go,' returned Ned mournfully, * unless he
wishes to break down altogether. I had no idea until
this evening how bad things were, She ; it has given
me quite a shock. It is such hard lines, for he does so
hate giving up his work ; but he knows it must be
done. Somehow,' went on Ned rather sadiy, * one does
not like to think of him going away alone like that.'
* Then Miss Gillian will not go with him ? '
' No, certainly not ; he would not wish it. She is
getting old, you see, and she would be much better at
home. " If I had only myself to consider," he said to
me, " I would rather take the risk and remain — some-
how one would prefer to die in harness — but I have my
people to consider, so I must go." But if you had
seen his face, She.' But there was no answer to this.
There was a moment's troubled silence, then Sheila
said hurriedly that she was too tired to talk any more,
and then she wished him good-night. What was there
to say ? He was going away, and she must go too.
432 AT THE MOORINGS chap, xxxviii
To-morrow or the next day she would tell Ned and
Martha that she intended to leave them. It was no
use putting it off any longer. And then she lay open-
eyed in the darkness, and prayed for herself and Luke
Brett as only a woman's loving heart can pray.
' He will not lose his crown,' she said to herself, as
the faint dawn came stealing into her room ; ' and I
must not lose mine — I must not lose mine.'
CHAPTER XXXIX
A CRUCIAL HOUR
Let me know you mine,
Prove you mine, write my name upon your brow,
Hold you and have you, — and then die away.
If God will, with completion in my soul !
Browning.
* Dear Sheila, surely you are not going out this
afternoon ? Edward has just told me that he is certain
that a storm is brewing, the sky looks so heavy over
the links.'
Martha's reverence for her husband would not
permit of any familiar diminutive ; it was one of her
old-fashioned tender ways that were so perfect in
his eyes.
' A storm ? ' returned Sheila absently, as she glanced
out of the window. * I daresay there may be one
before night, but Johnson thinks it will not come yet.
Don't trouble, Martha, I shall not go far ; but I feel I
must have a walk. Come, Kaiser.' But it struck both
of them that the dog seemed reluctant to move.
Sheila called to him more than once before he rose
with a protesting shake and followed her to the gate.
It was the afternoon after Ned's visit to the vicarage.
The electricity of the atmosphere, the close, sultry
heat, and the long sleepless night had affected Sheila's
433 2F
434 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
nerves and made her unusually restless. She was in
that mood when one needs open spaces, wide horizons,
and above all, movement, and no fear of an impending
storm would have kept her indoors.
As she moved quickly down the bracken path, her
first conscious thought was a strange one. * I wonder
how one would bear trouble if one were helpless and
bedridden,' she said to herself. ' If one's limbs could
not move, there would be no getting away from one-
self then ; one would just have to lie and bear the
intolerable pain. How little one thinks of that ! ' And
there came to Sheila's memory, as she walked on, a
visit she had paid long ago to a newly-made widow,
who had for many years been bedridden with hip
disease, and a remark made by the poor creature had
long haunted her.
' If I could only get up for a bit, I could bear it
better. If I could stand at my wash-tub like Betty
Saunders, I should not feel so bad ; but to lie here
night and day like a log, and to miss him worse every
hour — well, it is cruel hard, that is what it is, Miss
Lassiter.' And Sheila felt that she was only speaking
the truth. ' Cruel hard ' indeed, and yet the long life
trial had ended in victory !
It was evident that Kaiser was not enjoying the
walk. Instead of gambolling before her and taking
long rushes over the moor, or indulging in visionary
hunts after rabbits, he walked on sedately beside his
mistress with drooping tail and a manner so distinctly
disapproving that at any other time Sheila would
have noticed it ; but for once she was too much
wrapped up in her sad musings to heed her four-footed
companion. She was thinking of her impending talk
with Ned, and wondering how she was to find courage
XXXIX A CRUCIAL HOUR 435
to open the subject. She had already walked some
distance, when a faint rumble of thunder roused her
in earnest. She had gone farther than she had in-
tended, and must at once retrace her steps or the
storm would overtake her. But as she paused for a
moment to observe the strange weird effect of the intense
green of the meadows and the brown tints of the
moor under the bank of heavy copper-coloured clouds,
she was surprised to hear a delighted bark of recog-
' nition from Kaiser, and as she turned round hastily
she saw Luke Brett coming towards her.
He was walking very slowly, and was carrying his
felt hat in his hand as though the heat oppressed him,
and his face was strangely pale.
Sheila was more shocked than pleased to see him —
that he should have walked all this distance on such
an afternoon — but he put up his hand to check her
remonstrance.
' I know I deserve a scolding,' he observed, trying
to smile, ' but I could not help myself Ducie was away
for the day, and I had to come over to the Lodge to
baptize a dying child.'
' But you might have driven.'
* I meant to do so, but there was no carnage in
just then, and I dared not wait. I left word that it
should be sent on after me, but it has never come.
Now we must not lose time or that cloud will break
and we shall be drenched. Just across that meadow
there is a cattle-shed where we can find shelter, if we
can only reach it in time.'
' Let us go then.' Sheila's tone was urgent, but
he shook his head.
' I must not walk faster. Already I am much
oppressed — a storm always upsets me. Will you go
436 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
on first, and I will follow ? ' But Sheila refused to do
this. Not for worlds would she have left him in his
present condition.
' No, we will keep together,' she returned quietly.
' Do not talk,' for she had noticed his breathlessness.
' Look what a little way we have to go. Oh, never
mind the rain,' as a big thunder-drop fell on her face,
and then another. ' Take my arm, it will help you ' ;
but even then he had to stand still more than once to
get his breath.
Those few minutes seemed an eternity to Sheila
before they had reached the shelter. In another
minute the floodgates of heaven were open and a
perfect torrent of rain seemed to blot out the land-
scape, and a crash of thunder brought Kaiser crouching
to their feet. But Sheila was too much absorbed to
notice anything. Luke Brett had seated himself on a
rubbish heap, and the look of suffering on his face
frightened her.
' You are ill,' she exclaimed — ' you are in pain ! ' But
he could not speak. He pointed feebly to his breast,
and she understood him. He had told her once that
he always carried a remedy for these attacks. The
next moment the little bottle was in her hand and she
was holding it to his lips. Then she knelt on the
rubbish heap beside him and drew his head to her
shoulder with almost a motherly gesture, and she never
once thought of herself at all.
' You will rest better so — do not try to speak or
move.' And so great was his need, that he obeyed
her like a child. He said afterwards that but for her
he must have died. Sheila had a little folding fan in
her pocket, a mere toy of a thing that Miss Gillian
had given her, but she found it useful now ; she only
XXXIX A CRUCIAL HOUR 437
stopped fanning him to wipe the moisture from his
brow as he leant heavily against her. Then the spasm
passed and the laboured breathing grew calmer ; by
and by he recovered sufficiently to speak.
' I am better now ; it has passed for this time. But
you ought not to be doing this for me, Sheila.' Did
he know that he was calling her by her name for the
first time ?
' I would do more than this/ she answered tenderly.
Then he turned feebly, and his lips touched the hand
nearest him.
* God bless you for your sweet compassion ! ' he
whispered, and then he gently freed himself ' Yes, it
has passed for this time. One day it will come again,
and the pain will be worse, and that will be the end.'
* Don't — I can't bear it ! ' Sheila never knew she
had breathed the words aloud, but he heard her. The
next moment he stretched out his hand to her.
* Sit down beside me ; the pain and oppression have
quite gone, and I can talk now. Sheila, I never meant
to tell you — I thought to have died with my secret
still unspoken — but circumstances have been too much
for me. Dear, I think I have loved you since the day
we first met. Will it trouble you to know this ? '
* It makes me very happy,' was the frank answer.
Then Luke lifted the hand he still held again to his
lips.
' I know you will tell me the truth, — you are the
truest woman I have ever met, as well as the dearest.
Sheila, I would rather die than hurt you in any way,
but I feel I am wrong in telling you of my love.'
' Wrong ! How do you mean, Luke ? Surely you
know that I care too ? ' But the pressure of her hand
was a sufficient answer.
438 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* Until to-day I never dared to think so, though I
knew how strong was the sympathy between us. But I
was trying to shut my eyes. Sheila, if you really love
me — and I feel you do — be merciful and do not tempt
me in my weakness. You are the dearest thing in life
to me — the one thing I covet — but I must not ask you
to be my wife.'
No answer, only a bowed, pale face as Sheila sat
silently beside him. It was as though he had put a
chalice of pure joy to her lips and then dashed it aside
before she had sipped the sweetness.
He looked at her, and then turned away with
almost a groan. Physical pain was gone, but how
keen was his mental agony ! A quarter of an hour
ago this loved woman had held him in her arms, his
fainting head had rested against her breast, and she
had ministered to him with a sweet unconsciousness
that had seemed to him divine. Now his manhood
and his strong nature were crying out for her with
an intensity that wrung his very heart. But he would
wrestle with this temptation.
' You know the reason,' he said presently. * I am
a doomed man, and my life will be a short one —
happiness is not for me. I must not marry — it would
be wrong, selfish to bring certain sorrow into any
woman's life. I think I told you this before ? '
' Yes.'
' It is a great temptation ' — he paused and then
hurried on — ' but I must not listen to it. I am going
away ; perhaps when I come back we may both have
got more used to the parting, — you may have less need
of me.'
Sheila made no answer to this. She had drawn
away her hand and her palms were crushing each
XXXIX A CRUCIAL HOUR 439
other fiercely. O God, that at such a moment a
woman should be compelled to be silent — that she was
so tied and bound by the trammels of conventionality
that she dare not utter the truth, and so work out her
deliverance ! He v/as going away alone, and leaving
her to consume her own soul with anxiety and sorrow.
' Dearest, why will you not speak to me ? ' he said
at last. But as she raised her head at this appeal
and looked at him, a sudden light seemed to break
on him.
' You do not agree with me — you think I am making
a mistake. Sheila, is it possible, do you mean that
you would come too ? '
' Most certainly I would come if you needed me.'
' You would consent to be my wife after all I have
told you. My dear one, are you sure that you have
fully understood me : life must always be so terribly
uncertain — I may live for years, I may, God only knows,
die to-morrow.'
* I have quite realised it, Luke ' — in a low trembling
voice. ' If I can only be with you and help and care
for you until — until the end, the rest of my life will
be more bearable. But to see you go away alone '
but she could not finish her sentence. The next
moment his arms were round her.
' Then it shall be so, my beloved,' he said solemnly
— ' until death us do part ' ; and then they kissed each
other.
There was little talk between them after that, for
Sheila's quick ears heard the sound of carriage wheels
on the road, and as the worst of the storm was over,
she ran down the meadow to signal to the driver to
stop. He had been all the way to the Lodge to find
440 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
the vicar, and was now returning to Uplands. Luke
was still feeble and walked with difficulty, but he
assured Sheila that a night's rest would set him right.
But she refused to leave him until he was safe in his
study and under Miss Gillian's care. Then she con-
sented to be driven home.
Martha was in the hall to welcome her.
* Dear Sheila, Edward and I have been so anxious ! '
she exclaimed. ' But you are not wet — surely I heard
carriage wheels in the lane ? '
' I drove home with Mr. Brett,' returned Sheila
hurriedly. She was pale, Martha thought, and her
eyes were strangely bright. ' He had to go to the
Lodge to baptize a dying child. Is Ned in the
study ? I want to speak to him.'
' Yes, dear, I have been with him all this time ; I
am afraid I have hindered him dreadfully,'
' Will you let me be alone with him for a little ? ' —
pleadingly — ' there is something I want to tell him ' ;
and as Martha assented, somewhat wondering at her
manner, Sheila gave her a hasty kiss and went
upstairs.
* Oh, there you are, She, safe and sound ! ' exclaimed
Ned cheerfully. ' Martha has been in such a state about
you, and I was a bit anxious myself. Holloa, my
good girl, what on earth is the matter with you ? ' for at
the sound of Ned's cheery voice Sheila had suddenly
and unexpectedly broken down into a perfect passion of
tears that it was impossible for her to control.
Ned looked frightened. He thought she was hys-
terical, and would have summoned Martha and Eppie ;
but Sheila, who guessed his intention, held him fast.
' Oh, Ned, please wait,' she gasped. ' I am not ill,
but something has happened and I must tell you.' And
XXXIX A CRUCIAL HOUR 441
then she choked back her sobs and tried to speak
coherently.
* I did not mean to be so foolish, but I have gone
through so much — so much. Ned, my dear brother, you
must not tell me I am wrong, for I have made up my
mind. Luke and I love each other, and I am going to
marry him. I cannot let him go away alone — I must
be near him and comfort him, for I know how he
needs me, and — and — we belong to each other now.'
* Good heavens. She ! ' Ned's face wore a troubled
expression ; he had never imagined such a thing could
happen. Then he stroked the brown head that was
resting against his arm with fingers that were not
quite steady.
* Dear,' he said tenderly, ' are you sure that you are
wise in this ? You have to consider yourself as well
as him — you know, She, that you may not have
him long.'
' Yes, I know,' — Sheila's voice was clear again, and
there was a calm steadfast look in her swollen eyes that
went to her brother's heart, — ' but perhaps God will be
good to us, and spare him to me a little — and I shall
be near him when it comes. Ned, dear old Ned, you
have never misunderstood me yet, and you never will,
for your own heart will sympathise with me too truly.
I shall be happier marrying Luke, if I knew that he
could not live more than a month or two, for I should
have the right to mourn him all my life.'
Ned's answer to this was a silent one, but Sheila
knew she was understood.
CHAPTER XL
EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY
Shalt thou not teach me in that calmer home
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this —
The wisdom which is love — till I become
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ?
William Cullen Bryant.
Villa Chataigne, Mentone,
January i, 1902.
It was Luke who first gave me the idea of keeping
a diary. One morning at breakfast I remiarked to him
that we had been married exactly two months, and he
said half-jestingly, ' Is it really so long as that ! How
time flies when one is happy ! If one could only keep
the record of such golden days ! ' He smiled at me as
he said this, but I think he was in earnest. What
those two months have been to us ! But I cannot
write about that even here — there are some things too
sacred for pen and ink. Luke's expression ' golden
days ' describes them exactly. Just now I was trying
to recall the words of the aged Faust when he reaches
the pinnacle of his life's work — * Oh stay, the moment is
so fair ! ' when a sudden fragrance in the room made me
turn round, and there was Luke with a bouquet of
Neapolitan violets in his hand.
* A happy new year,' he said, laying them on the
442
CHAP. XL EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY 443
table beside me — * sweets to the sweet ! ' And then he
stooped over me and read what I had written, and I
knew by the pressure of his hand on my shoulder that
he was pleased. ' You must have a motto for the
new year, dearest,' he said, and then I yielded him my
place. This is what Luke wrote : ' As thy days, so
shall thy strength be' (Deut. xxxiii. 25); and then he
added a few words of Phillips Brooks : ' Why cannot
we, slipping our hand in His each day, walk trustingly
over that day's appointed path, thorny or flowery,
crooked or straight, knowing that evening will bring
us sleep, peace, and home ! '
* Oh, Luke, that is beautiful ! ' and then I closed the
book and we went out together in the sunshine.
The Villa Montana, January 7.
We have been busy the last few days settling into
our new quarters, which we greatly prefer to our old
ones. The villa is a little higher up, and from our
windows we have a lovely view of the blue Mediterranean.
The owner of the villa is an artist, and the rooms are
very prettily decorated, as well as extremely com-
fortable — only the garden is neglected. There are
hedges of fuchsia, and the loveliest flowers are blooming
in the quaintly-shaped beds, but the paths are grass-
grown and weedy, and in a few years the place will be
a wilderness. But Luke and I love it. There is a
rose pergola, and a terrace with stone vases full of
scarlet geraniums, and a mutilated statue here and
there. Psyche has lost her arm, and Apollo looks like
a prize-fighter with his broken nose, and Niobe holds a
decapitated infant in her arms ; but the terrace itself is
charming. There is a little stone alcove where we sit
444 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
on sunny mornings. How Luke rejoices in the sun-
shine ; he calls it his ' sun bath,' and declares that it
has given him fresh life. He looks so bright and well,
and if he would only gain flesh — but we have both
agreed to leave that subject alone. ' Sufficient for the
day' — could there be any command more beneficent,
more merciful to human weakness than that !
Febrtiary 14.
Valentine's Day — but I never remembered it until
Luke brought me a bunch of lovely roses from the
market. I was writing my weekly letter to Ned —
always a long one — but when I asked Luke if he had
anything to add, he gave me a most impossible message.
* You can tell him, if you like, that I am making fresh dis-
coveries about my wife every day, and that she is even
better than I thought her, and that I am more in love
with her than ever.' ' Luke, how can you be so absurd ?
You may write that for yourself.' But of course he
would not dream of doing such a thing. So it shall go
down here. ' More in love with her than ever ! ' Oh,
my precious husband, what could I say on my side !
Sometimes Luke's goodness, his patience, and submis-
sion to his limitations seem to awe and sadden me —
but I will not dwell on that.
March i.
We have had rather a trying day, but it is over
now. Last Sunday Luke was asked to help the
English chaplain here and to take part in two services.
He actually preached in the morning ; and the result
was a sleepless night and a slight recurrence of pain.
There is a good doctor here, and I induced Luke to
consult him, but his opinion has depressed us both.
He told Luke that he had evidently overstrained
XL EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY 445
himself and overtaxed his strength for years, and that six
months' rest was not sufficient. ' Surely the specialist
you went to in town advised a longer time than that ? '
and Luke was obliged to own that he had. ' Dr.
Stanhope asked me if it were not possible to give up
my living,' he returned, ' as he did not consider me fit
for work ; but when I was unwilling to do this, he
strongly advised me to rest for two years. " It would
give you a chance — I cannot say more than this — but
preaching in your present condition is suicidal.' " I felt
very unhappy when Luke told me all this, but I
thought it better not to harass him with any more
advice — he knew my anxiety without my telling him.
It would be better for him to think it out quietly by
himself and seek counsel where he always sought it,
and later we could talk it over together. But oh, how
restless and miserable I felt ! I thought the afternoon
would never end. We were to have tea in the studio ;
it was our favourite sitting-room. I had been busying
myself arranging the flower vases, but all the time my
heart felt heavy as lead. What would he decide to do ?
The six months would be up in April, and I knew he
had only engaged the locum tenens until the middle of
May ; he was planning to go back to the vicarage at
the end of April ; Aunt Gillian was already making
preparations. Her letters were full of the new papers
and cretonne for the drawing-room and some of the
upstairs rooms. Mr. Wyatt, who objected to the smell
of paint, had taken a bedroom pro tern in the village.
A sudden pang of home-sickness came over me as I
sat down by the open window. I had so counted on
going to my own dear home with him, and such a
longing for Ned seized me that I could hardly keep
back the tears. But if it were for my darling's good !
446 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
Well, after all, what did it matter if we were only
together ? And then I heard Luke's step outside and
tried to compose myself. He looked just as usual as
he came towards me. He took my face in his hands
and kissed it two or three times.
* You have been ver>' good and patient, dearest,' he
said as he sat down beside me. ' My wife is a wise
woman, and that is why I admire her so. But I am
ready to talk now.'
' Really and truly, Luke ? '
' Yes, truly, love. You have had a long solitary
afternoon, and your dear eyes look hea\'y and tired ' —
and here he kissed them lightly. ' Well, I have written
to the Bishop and also to IMoorhouse, and I mean to
abide by their answer.'
' Dear Luke, I hardly understand.' How could I
unless I had seen those letters ?
* I will make it clear to you. I have told the
Bishop that I am unwilling to resign my living, but
that with his permission I will act on my doctor's
advice and take entire rest for another tv»-elvemonth.
Hush, not a word until you have heard me out. I will
keep on Wyatt — he is a splendid worker and the people
like him, and Aunt Gillian is full of his praises.
' Now for my programme. As Dr. Rawlings so
strongly advises six weeks in Switzerland, I propose
that we leave here early in May, and do not put in an
appearance at Uplands until the end of June.'
'We are to go home then. Oh, Luke, how delightful ! '
' Why, yes, of course. You foolish child ' — for there
were actually tears of joy in my eyes — ' do you suppose
I am going to keep you and Ned apart any longer ?
And then there is Aunt Gill crazy to see us both.
Besides, Wyatt must have his holiday.*
XL EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY 447
' But you will not work ? '
' No, I will promise you that. Perhaps I may ta^e
part in one service on Sunday, but I will be very
careful. I am afraid, love, that our visit will be a short
one — barely three months ' — here Luke sighed — * and
then I shall get my marching orders again. What
should you say to Algiers, Sheila — they rather recom-
mend that ? ' But my only answer was to clasp him
round the neck.
* Oh, Luke, you are so brave, and I have been so
faithless and heavy-hearted — thinking how hard it was
for you — and now you put me to shame. Why am I
not worthier of you, when you set me such an
example ? ' But he silenced me tenderly.
' You must not say such things. Sheila, for they are
not true. Self-will dies hard. I must have been an
unfaithful ser^-ant or my Master would not have refused
my work. But perhaps it is not right to say this ; it
may be that this is my appointed cross — that the fields
are white with harvest and that I may not take my
place amongst the reapers. Some men work, but with
others " their strength is to sit still " ' — and there was a
sad vibrating note in Luke's voice as he said this that
told me that the victory had not been an easy one.
March 15.
It is all settled, and we are to go back to dear
Uplands at the end of June. The Bishop has written
such a kind fatherly letter to Luke, and Dr. Moorhouse
is quite jubilant over the prolonged holiday. Every-
thing is so nicely arranged. Mr. Wyatt has promised
to stay on, only he stipulates for two months' holiday ;
and of course Mr. Ducie must have his. I tell Luke
that nothing could be better, as we shall be alone with
448 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
dear Aunt Gillian until the end of August Ned is so
pleased about it all ; he says he is glad that Luke has
made up his mind to follow the counsel of perfection.
Ned's letter was delightful. He tells me that Ivor is
working well and steadily, and is quite mastering the
details of his business. Robert Crowe is so well
satisfied that he has spoken to his cousin, and there
is every probability that Ivor will get a better berth
before long. Nell and the children were all well and
happy.
I think Ned will be glad to have me near him in
July. Aunt Gillian has given me a strong hint in her
last letter. She says Martha is looking extremely
delicate, but very happy. But I have kept this to
myself. I wonder if Luke guesses the reason why I
am so glad to be going home. ' Ned will be wanting
you by that time,' he said once, and he smiled a little
knowingly as he said it. Dear Martha and dear eld
Ned — somehow I could not help crying a little to think
how happy they must be. Now Luke wants me to go
out with him and I must not write any more.
March i8.
We had rather a sad talk last Sunday evening.
We were sitting out on the terrace enjoying the sea-
breezes. I had been reading to Luke — until he told
me that my voice was tired and bade me put down
the book — and then all at once he began talking of
the future.
' Have you ever thought what you will do, darling,
when I am no longer with you ? ' Luke often says this
sort of thing, and I try not to let him see how such
talk distresses me. He told me one day that it was a
relief to him to speak, and that he thought that I should
XL EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY 449
be glad afterwards that we had had courage to face
things together — and of course I know he is right. So
I tried to answer his question. I told him that I never
willingly thought of the future, and that it all looked
dark and hazy, but that once, when I was in church,
the idea came to me that, if no other duty presented
itself, I should like to work in connection with the
Haggerston Mission. * It was only an idea, Luke,' I
stammered.
' It was worthy of you, dearest. But I was going to
ask you to undertake some work for me. Will you do
it. Sheila ? '
' For you — need you ask, Luke ? '
' I was thinking of Aunt Gillian, love ; she is grow-
ing old, and she will miss me sorely ; since my mother
died I have been like a son to her. Dear wife, may I
leave her in your charge ? ' But I need not write down
my answer here.
Luke was full of gratitude, but I think he was a
little sorry about the Haggerston Mission.
* Aunt Gill would not be happy in London,' he
said regretfully. ' She has lived in the country all her
life, and she does so love her garden and poultry-yard.'
' We could stay at Uplands,' I returned ; ' there
are houses to be got there.' And then it came over
me suddenly that under those circumstances I could
never bear to leave it. The next minute I hid my
face on his shoulder. I think he understood that I
could bear no more, for he rested his cheek against my
hair, and for a long time there was silence between us.
March 24.
Luke had such an odd dream last night, but he did
not tell it me until this evening.
2 G
450 AT THE MOORINGS chap.
* It was not a grand one like yours, Sheila,' he
observed — for I had told him my strange dream soon
after our marriage — ' but it was very quaint and interest-
ing.' And then he repeated it.
' I thought I had made a long pilgrimage, and that
I had come to a lonely place, all rocks and defiles,
and that in front there was a dark archway, and a
great gate that was shut and barred, and beside it
there were two angels talking together, but neither of
them took any notice of me.'
' " If they only knew how simple it is," one was
saying ; " but it is the darkness that frightens them —
some of them shake with fear when they first see the
passage. But they little know how soon the light
comes — it is just a step ; and they are never alone — no,
not for a moment."
* " If we could only tell them that," replied the other,
" there would be a perfect rush for the gate ; but the
Master knows that it would not be well for them to
come until they are called. Sometimes, when they are
young and weak and terribly frightened, I try to whisper
to them that they need not fear. But they seldom
hear me, and they think they are alone in the darkness
— as though the Father would permit that ! " And
then they both laughed like a chime of silver bells.
' " They are coming now — unbar the gate, Azrael."
And then in deep melodious voices they both chanted:
" Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow
of death, I will fear no evil : for thou art with me ; thy
rod and thy staff comfort me." Then I seemed to
hear the tramp of a great army, and I awoke.'
' Oh, Luke, how beautiful ! '
' " If they only knew how simple it is," — Sheila, I
can hear that angel's voice now.'
XL EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY 451
March 29.
We have been sitting on the terrace again this
evening, and Luke has been talking about the continuity
of hfe.
* If we could only grasp that,' he said in a voice
that thrilled me, ' there would be no more broken hearts
and hopeless lives.'
* How do you mean, dearest ? '
* I mean that we should read the gospel of life
more truly — but now our eyes are holden and we do
not see — the grim adjuncts of death would be banished
from our memory, and the worn-out body would be to
us only like a cast-off garment that we need no longer.'
' Oh, if one could feel that ! '
' We must grasp the continuity of life more firmly.
Try to realise it, sweet wife, when I am no more beside
you. Here my work has not been well done — I
have been fettered with infirmity and human weak-
ness — but up there the servants of the King " shall
renew their strength ; they shall mount up with wings
like eagles." '
' I will try to remember, Luke.'
' What if the light be invisible, it will surely be
shining there ; and, darling, I may be nearer to you
than you think — but we may safely leave that.'
' But you will love me still, Luke ? ' Then a wonder-
ful smile came to his face.
* Continuity of life, continuity of love, that is my
creed. Now, dearest, the dews are falling and we
must go in.'
THE END
Printed ^y R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.
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A Horseman of
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is ahvays happening in Mr. Crockett's books — generally
something ingenious and une.xpected. Not many writers
can spin the web of a story better."
li-'ORLD. — " The story of the ' firebrand,' KoUo Blair,
a Scottish gentl'^man-advenlurer. and his two incongruous
associates, of the Abbot of Montblanch, the kidnapping of
the Queen, the outlawry of Ramon (iarcia, the outwitting
of Cabrera by Rollo, and the doings of the gipsies, is
decidedly good."
DA/LV TELEGRAP/T—" A full-blooded tale of
adventure."
Z».4/2:F ^VZ:;r.S-.— "Thesloryisagoodone. . . . Will
be read with intere.-t and pleasure."
GLOBE.— "Mr. Crockett is a born story-teller ; he has
the knack of spirited and sentimental narration. In ' The
Firebrand ' he runs to the length of 519 pages, and none of
his admirers would desire that ihey should be fewer."
SCOTSMAN.—" A stirring tale."
PILOT. — " The interest is never allowed to lag in 'The
Firebrand,' and our attention is enthralled from start to
finish by the march of events."
S. R. CROCKETT
Crown 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s.
THE DARK O'
THE MOON
Being
Certain further Histories
of the
Folk called "Raiders."
PRESS OPINIONS
SPECTATOR.— "Ur. Crock.-tt's admirers will find
plenty of his characteristic matter and manner to mystify
and amu.se them in ' 1 he Dark o' the Moon.' "
TIMES. — " A rousing story, with plenty of love and
fighting. . . . The story is told wiih unflagging spirit."
PALL MALL GAZETTE.— ■Y\\^ story is good
Crockett from fir.st to last, e.xactly what the author's many
admirers will expect."
WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.— " A xo\x%\w% book in
the novelist's earlier manner, full of stir and picturesque
movement. With a plot that is interesting and developed
with skill. ... It IS in every way satisfactory to find Mr.
Crockett on his native heath once more."
GLOBE. — "Should have a wide vogue and much ap-
preciation."
(Kt^A-XO.-" A stirring tale."
DAILY CHRONICLE.— " A romance, swift and
compact, and told with spirit."
OUTLOOK. — '-W^ are grateful to Mr. Crockett. We
have been caught by his story, and not rested till we have
read the last page-.''
WEEK'S SUKyEV.—"TUs^ exciting situations are
many and breathless, and the b mk is a tour deforce in its
largeness and sustained interest. "
DAILY MAIL.— "There is all the old beauty of
scenery, the lovableness of characters, at the delineation
whereof Mr. Crockett has no rival."
II
GERTRUDE ATHERTON
Crown 8vo.
Cloth extra. Price 3s. 6d.
THE
CONQUEROR
Being the True and
Romantic Story of
Alexander Hamilton
PRESS OPINIONS
ATHENjEUM. — "A remarkable success, though we
like best the early chapters, in which the novelist's imagin-
ation has the most unrestricted range." *
THE SPECTATOR.—" Brilliant and eloquent."
MORNING POST.— "Has an extraordinary interest
as a lovingpresentmentof a most extraordinary personage."
PALL I\IALL GAZETTE.— "■ One of the most fascin-
ating books that we have read."
QUEEN. — "The book is one of unusual power and
interest."
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—" In a series of brilliant
chapters, Mrs. Atherton enables us to see how, mixed with
the rare and original essence of Hamilton's ch?.racter, there
were ordinary human elements which, though they inter-
fered in some measure with his success, only made him the
more lovable. . . . His career forms so rounded and com-
plete a narrative, revealing throughout one prevailing
character, that it lends itself to the author's purposes of a
'dramatic biography' better, perhaps, than any other that
could be selected."
VANITY FAIR. — " It is a fine book."
DAILY CHRONICLE.— ''Thxs exceedingly clever
book."
GLASGOW HERALD.—" An entrancing book."
GERTRUDE ATHERTON
Crown 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s.
THE SPLENDID
IDLE FORTIES
With Illustrations
This volume of short stories forms a very complete
picture, or collection of pictures, of the social life of
California under the Spanish and Mexican rule, true to the
traditions and customs of those fine old days, when the
whole fabric of the life was, as it were, part and parcel of
what can only now be seen in some of the remoter parts of
old Mexico.
PRESS OPINIONS
ATHENMUM.—"YL^r tales are full of the romance
and colour and sparkle of that curious life — half old-world
Spanish, half topsy-turvy Oriental in its fatalism and
passionate amorism — which was to be found in California
before the Americans began to arrive. . . . The book is
full of weird fascination."
MORNING POST.— "There is a variety, inventive-
ness, and atmosphere about all the stories which make
them excellent reading."
GLOBE. — "Instinct with the vigour which we have so
long learned to associate with Mrs. Atherton's outcome."
VANITY FAIR.— " The pictures of Spanish character
are drawn with all Mrs. Atherton's great sympathy for the
rich and passionate kind of human nature."
DAILY GRAPHIC— "SV:i\iu.\\y, and, in some re-
spects, beautifully written." »
12
MAURICE HEWLETT
Crown 8vo,
Gilt top. Price 6s.
THE FOREST
LOVERS
A Romance
Crown 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s.
RICHARD
YEA-AND-NAY
Crown 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s.
[New Edition]
LITTLE
NOVELS OF
ITALY
PRESS OPINIONS
The Forest Lovers
SPECTATOR.— '"The Forest Lovers' is no mere
literary tour de force, but an uncommonly attractive
romance, the charm of which is greatly enhanced by the
author's excellent style."
DAILY TELEGRAPH.—" Ur. Maurice Hewlett's
'The Forest Lovers' stands out with conspicuous success.
. . . There are few books of this season which achieve
their aim so simply and whole-heartedly as Mr. Hewlett's
ingenious and enthralling romance."
ACADEMY'. — "(his is a remarkable book. . . . "The
Forest Lovers ' has been a fresh sensation. Mr. Hewlett
can write ! What a sense of colour, of contrast ; what
vigour, what rapid movement ! "
THE GUARDfAN. — " Quaint and delightful."
DAILY CHRONICLE. — " Here is a romance of the
glamorous mediaeval time, done just as such a thin;; should
be done. . . . It is a book to be read. Not to be read at a
sitting, but to be read slowly, when one is in the mood."
ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEIVS.— "It is not
easy to describe the charm of Mr. Hewlett's romance. . . .
' The Forest Lovers ' is a distinct acqiiisicion to the true
literature of romance."
Richard Yea-and-Nay
Mr. Fkederic Harrison' in TH E FORTNIGHTLY
REl'I ElV. — ''.Such historic imagination, such glowing
colour, such crashing speed, set forth in such pregnant
form carry me away spell-bound. . . . ' Richard Yea-and-
Nay ' is a fine and original romance."
DAILY TELEGRAPH. — " The story carries us along
as though throughout we were galloping on strong horses.
There is a rush and fervour a'.out it all which sweeps us off
our feet till the end is reached and the tale is done. It is
very clever, very spirited."
DAILY NEiVS. — "A memorable book, over-long,
over-charged with scenes of violence, yet so informed wit.h
the atmosphere of a tumultuous time, written with a pen so
vital and picturesque, that it is the reader's loss to skip a
page."
DAILY CHRONICLE.— "\Wg have to thank Mr.
Hewlett for a most beautiful and fascinating picture of a
glorious time. . . . We know of no other writer to-day
who could have done it."
Little Novels of Italy
DAILY CHRONICLE.— " AnA even such as fail to
understand, will very certainly enjoy — enjoy the sometimes
gay and sometimes biting humour, the deft delineation,
the fine quality of colour, the delicately-flavoured phrasing ;
all these anistic and literary gifts, in short, by virtue of
which Mr. Hewlett holds a higher place, and a place all by
himself in modern fiction."
DAILY TELEGRAPH.— " T\\f. most finished studies
which have appeared since some of the essays of Waller
Pater."
ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE.— "Th.^ several stories are
finely imagined and gallantly painted."
THE GLOBE.—-' We know of few short tales of the
last two or three decades so thoroughly interesting, and
delightful generally, as the first three of these ' Little
Novels.' "
13
JAMES LANE ALLEN
Fcap. 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s.
[223rcl Thousand]
THE CHOIR
INVISIBLE
Crown 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s.
THE
INCREASING
PURPOSE
Globe 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. each.
A Kentucky Cardinal
Aftermath Being Pan 11.
of "A Kentucky Cardinal."
Summer in Arcady
A Tale of Nature
Crown 8vo. Price 6s. each.
A Kentucky Cardinal
and Aftermath
In one vol. With Illustrations by
Hugh Thomson.
Flute and Violin
And other Kentucky
Tales and Romances
The Blue Grass Region
of Kentucky
And other Kentucky
Articles
PRESS OPINIONS
The Choir Invisible
ACADEMY. — "'A book to read and a book to keep
after reading. Mr. Allen's gifts are many — a style pellucid
and picturesque, a vivid and disciplined power of charac-
terisation, and an intimate knowledge of a striking epoch
and an alluring country. ' I'he Choir Invisible ' is a fine
achievement.''
PALL MALL GAZETTE. — ''Ut. Allen's power of
character drawing invests the old, old story with renewed
and absorbing interest. . . . The fascination of the story lies
in great part in Mr. Allen's graceful and vivid style."
DAI LV MAIL. — "Even if we set aside the other books
. . . and deal only with 'The Choir Invisible,' we can yet
say of Kentucky that she has reason to be proud of the
literary genius that has sprung into life within her
boundaries. . . . One of those very few books which help
one to live."
The Increasing Purpose
WESTMINSTER GAZETTE.— " Svich a book as
this is a rare event, and as refreshing as it is rare. This
book ... is a beautiful one — beautiful alike in thought,
tone and language."
LITERATURE.— ''We^ may safely assert that it will
achieve a large success, and achieve it on its merits."
DAILY CHRONICLE. — "^'e like this book. It
stands apart from the ordinary novel. It tells the story of
the growth of a soul. ... A great charm of the book is its
pictures of outdoor life on a Kentucky farm. . . . But the
greatest charm of all. perhaps, is Mr. Allen's clear-cut,
simple, and vigorous style."
SPECTATOR. — "Written with ail the delicacy and
distinction which have already won him so many ad-
mirers."
WORLD. — " Lays upon the reader a grip from which
there is no escape."
DAILY GRAPHIC— '"T\\G character of David, the
first figure in the book, is finely drawn. . . . The book is
well worth reading."
ACADEMY.— ""PuW ol racial warmth and freshest
human nature. . . . Life is intense, richly coloured, and
splendidly aspirant in these pages ; yet the eternal note of
sadness is brought in."
General
OUTLOOK.— ''YIk work has purity, delicacy, and
unfailing charm. He gives you matter for laughter, matter
for tears, and matter to think upon, with a very fine hand."
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—" Mr. Allen ha.s attained
to an enviable position ; it is his to interpret his native
country to the world, and it is not easy to imagine a better
interpreter. These four volumes are worthy of the author
of ' 'The Choir Invisible.' "
DAILY CHRONf CLE. — "There are few who can
approach his delicae e.\ecution in the painting of ideal
tenderness and fleeting moods."
14
WINSTON CHURCHILL
Crown 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s.
[290th Thousand]
THE CRISIS
Crown 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s,
[400th Thousand]
RICHARD
CARVEL
Crown 8vo.
Gilt top. Price 6s.
[59th Thousand]
THE
CELEBRITY
An Episode
PRESS OPINIONS
The Crisis
DAILY TELEGRAPH.— '■ 'The Crisis' is a story of
the American Civil War, a theme as inspiring to the Ameri-
can writer of genius as the P2nglish Civil War has proved to
some of our best romancers. But, so far as we are aware,
there has hitherto been no novel on that subject produced
in America to equal either the ' Woodstock ' of Sir Walter
Scott or Whyte- Melville's ' Holniby House.' That re-
proach is at length removed by Mr. Churchill, and 'The
Crisis' will bear comparison with either of these justly
famous books."
LI LhRATURE.—" K% well executed a novel as we
have come across for many a long day."
SPECTA TOR. — " An exceedingly spirited, interesting,
and right minded romance of the Civil War."
GUARDIAN.— '"■\h^ Crisis' is a remarkable book.
... It is a grand book.'
PALL MALL GAZETTE.— " A singularly fascinat-
ing and, in many respects, an important and valuable
book."
DAILY CHRONICLE.— "WeW as Mr. Churchill did
with some of his characters in ' Richard Carvel,' he hns
done still better in this story with some of their de-
scendants."
ST. /AMES'S GAZETTE.— "U is a sound book,
well put together and well written."
PILOT. — "A worthy pendant to his brilliant romance
' Richard Carvel.' "
ATHENMUM.—"h bright,
which holds the reader's interest."
vividly written boo'K,
Churchill.
DAILY NEWS.—"V^e congratulate Mr
'The Crisis ' is a warm, inspiriting book."
Richard Carvel
GUARDIAN. — "The book is one we can warmly re-
commend to readers who like to have their historical
memorjes freshened by fiction."
LITERATURE.— "n.!.?. a full and stirring plot. . . .
A piece of work creditable both to his industry and his
imagination."
THE SPEAKER.—" We have not read a better book
for many a day than ' Richard Carvel.' "
DAILY TELEGRAPH.— "Full o{ good things. The
narrative excels in incidents, interesting, vivid, and
picturesque. ..."
The Celebrity
A THENJEUM.—" Distinctly good reading, it is witty
and devoid of oflence to the most sensitive disposition. . . .
Can be rec jramended to old and young alike."
CHICAGO TRIBUNE.
novel."
NEIV YORK INDEPENDENT.
and entertaining from beginning to end
" An exceptionally pleasing
Fresh, dashing.
IS
UNIFORM EDITION OF THE
WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING
Extra Crown ?>7'o. Scarlet Cloth. Gilt Tops. 6s. each.
45th Thousand
•Just So Stories for Little
Children.
With Illustrations by the Author
Also 4to Edition. 6s.
65 th Thousand
Kim
Illustrated by J. L. Kipling
38th Thousand
Stalky & Co.
PALL MALL GAZETTE.— "U 'Stalky &
Co.' does not become as classic as the greatest
favourites among Mr. Kipling's previous vulumes of
stones, \vrite us down false prophets. He has
never written with more rapturously swinging zest,
or bubbled over with more rollicking fun."
62nd Thousand
The Dav's Work
MORNING P(9iT.— "The book is so varied,
so full of colour and life from end to end, that few
who read the first two or tliree stories will lay it
down till they have read the last."
53rd Thousand
Plain Tales from the Hills
SATURDAY REVIEW. — "}ir. Kipling
knows and appreciates the English in India, and
is aborn story-teller and a man of humour into the
bargain. ... It would be hard to find better read-
ing.'
44th Thousand
Life's Handi-cap
Being Stories of Mine Own People.
BLACK AND WHITE.— ' 'Life's Handicap'
contains much of the best work hitiierto accom-
plished by the author, and, taken as a whole, is a
complete advance upon its predecessors."
41st Thousand
Many Inventions
PALL MALL GAZETTE.—'' Thecompletest
hook that Mr. Kipling; has yet giren us in work-
manship, the weightiest and most humane in
breadth of view. ... It can only be regarded as
a fresh landmark in the progression of his
genius."
2Tst Thousand.
Wee Willie Winkie
and other Stories
25lh Thousand
Soldiers Three
and other Stories
GLOBE. — " Containing some of the best of his
highly vivid work."
67th Thousand
The Jungle Book
With Illustrations by J. L. KiPLiNG
and W. H. Drake.
PUNCH.— ''^ ^sop's Fables and dear old Brer
Fox and Co.,' observes the Baron sagely, 'may
h^e suggested to the fanciful genius of Rudyard
Kipling the delightful idea, carried out in the
most fascinating style, of ' The Jungle Book.'"
46th Thousand
The Second Jungle Book
With Illustrations by J. LocKWOOD
Kipling.
DAILY TELEGRAPH.— '"The: appearance
of ' The Second Junjjie Boot ' is a literary event
of which no one will mistake the importance. Un-
like most sequels, the various stories comprised in
the new volume are at ^east equal to their prede-
cessors."
30th Thousand
" Captains Courageous "
A Story of the Grand Banks. Illus-
trated by I. W. Taber.
A THENMUM.—" Never in English prose has
the sea in ail its myriad aspects, with all its sounds
and sights and odours, been reproduced with such
subtle skill as in these pages."
17th Thousand
From Sea to Sea
Letters of Travel. In Two Vols.
DAILY TELEGRAPH.— "'Yrom Sea to
Sea' is delightful reading throughout. 'Good
things' sparkle in its every page, and inimitable
descriptive matter abounds. ... A charming
book."
50th Thousand
The Light that Failed
Re-written and considerably enlarged.
^C^Z^^yi/I'. — " Whatever else be "true of Mr.
Kipling, it is the first truth about him that he has
power, real intrinsic power. . . . Mr. Kipling's
work has innumerable good qualities."
The Naulahka
A Story of West and East.
BY
RUDYARD KIPLING
AND
WOLCOTT BALESTIER
CLAY AND SONS LTD., BREAD ST. HILL, B.C., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
20.7.04.
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