^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^ 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/' 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. 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