A Country Gentleman

XI.

“ WHEN is Dick Cavendish coming ? ” said Mrs. Wilberforce to her husband. “ I wish he had n’t chosen to come now, of all times in the world, just when we can do nothing to amuse him ; for with the Warrenders in such deep mourning, and those other horrible people on the other side, and things in general getting worse and worse every day ” —

“He is not acquainted with the parish, and he does not know that things are getting worse and worse every day. It is a pity about the mourning; but do you think that is so deep that a game of croquet would be impossible ? Croquet is not a riotous game.”

“ Herbert ! ” cried Mrs. Wilberforce. She added, in a tone of indignant disapproval, “ If you feel equal to suggesting such a thing to girls whose father has not yet been six weeks in his grave, I don’t.”

The rector was reduced to silence. He was aware that the laws of decorum are in most cases better understood by ladies than by men, and also that the girls at the Warren would sooner die than do anything that was not according to the proper rule that regulated the conduct of persons in their present circumstances. He withdrew, accordingly, to his study, with rather an uneasy feeling about the visit of Dick Cavendish. The rector’s study was on the opposite side of the hall, at the end of a short passage, which was a special providence; for nothing that Mrs. Wilberforce could do would prevent him from smoking, and by this means the hall, at least, and the chief sitting-room were kept free of any suggestions of smoke. He said of himself that he was not such a great smoker : but there was no doubt that this was one of the crosses which his wife said everybody had to bear. That was her cross, her husband’s pipe, and she tried to put up with it like a Christian. This is one of the cases in which there is very often a conflict of evidence without anything that can be called perjury on either side: for Mrs. Wilberforce declared to her confidants (she would not have acknowledged it to the public for worlds) that her husband smoked morning, noon, and night; whereas he, when the question was put to him casually, asserted that he was not at all a great smoker, though he liked a pipe when he was working, and a cigar after dinner. “ When you are working ! Then what a diligent life you must lead, for I think you are always working,” the wife would remark. “ Most of my time, certainly, dear,” said the triumphant husband.

There are never very serious jars in a family where smoke takes so important a place. Mr. Wilberforce retired now, and took a pipe to help him to consider. The study was a commodious room, with a line of chairs against the further wall, where parish visitors generally sat, when the bumpkins had anything to say to the parson. A large writing-table, fitted with capacious drawers, stood in the middle of the room, of which one side was for parish business, the other magisterial : for the rector of Underwood was also a justice of the peace, and very active in that respect. He was a man who did not fail in his duty in any way. His sermons he kept in a handsome old carved-oak bureau against the wall, in which — for he had been a dozen years in Underwood, and had worked through all the fasts and feasts a great many times — he had made a careful classification, and knew where to put his hand on the Christmas sermons, and those for the saints’ days, and even for exceptional occasions, such as funerals, almost in the dark. There were two large windows, one of which opened upon the lawn, and the other, round the corner, in the other wall of the house, commanded a pretty view of the village, lying with its red roofs in the midst of a luxuriant greenness. Saint Mary under-wood was the true name of the parish, for it was situated in a part of the country very rich in trees.

Here he sat down with his friend’s letter, and thought. The Cavendishes had once held an important position in the county, and lived in one of the greatest “ places ” in the neighborhood. But they had met with a fate not unknown to the most important families, and had descended from their greatness to mediocrity, without, however, sacrificing everything, and indeed with so good a margin that, though they were no longer included among the most eminent gentry of England, they still held the place of a county family. They had shifted their headquarters to a much smaller house, but it was at the same time a very old property, and had been in the family longer than the greater one. The younger sons, however, had very little to look to, and Dick, who was considered clever, was going to the bar. He was a friend, more or less, of young Warrender’s, and had been at Oxford with him, where he was junior to Theo in the university, though his senior in years. For Dick had been a little erratic in his ways. He had not been so orderly and law-abiding as a young English gentleman generally is. He had gone away from home very young, and spent several years in wandering before he would address himself to serious life. He had been in Canada and in the backwoods, and though California was not known then as now, had spent a few months at the gold diggings, in the rude life and strife which English families, not yet acquainted with farming in Manitoba and ranches in the far West, heard of with horror: and where only those sons who were “ wild,” or otherwise unmanageable, had as yet begun to go. When he returned, and announced that he was going to Oxford, and after that to the bar, it was like the vision of the madman clothed and in his right mind to his parents. This their son which had been lost was found.

He came into a little fortune, left him by an uncle, when he returned ; and, contrary to the general habit of families in respect to younger sons, his parents were of opinion that if some “ nice girl” could be found for Dick it would be the best thing that could happen, — a thing which would lighten their own responsibilities, and probably confirm him in well-doing. But with all the newfashioned talk about education and work for women, which then had just begun, nice girls were not quite so sure as they used to be that to reclaim a prodigal, or consolidate a penitence, was their mission in life. Perhaps they are right; but the old idea was good for the race, if not for the individual woman, human sacrifices being a fundamental principle of natural religion, if not of any established creed. And it cannot be said that it was without some thought of finding there the appropriate victim that the prodigal had been invited to Underwood. He was not altogether a prodigal, nor would she be altogether a victim. People do not use such hard words. He was a young fellow who wanted steadying, for whom married life (when he had taken his degree), or even an engagement, might be expected to do much. And she was “ a nice girl,” whose influence might be of the greatest advantage to him. What need to say any more ?

But it was tiresome for the Wilberforces that, after having made up this innocent little scheme for throwing him into the society of the Warrender girls, Dick should choose, of all times in the world, to arrive at the rectory just after Mr. Warrender’s death, when the family were in mourning, and not “ equal to ” playing croquet, or any other reasonable amusement. It was hard, the rector thought. It was he indeed, rather than his wife, who had thrown himself into this project of match-making. The Warrender girls were the most wellregulated girls in the world, and also the most likely to keep their respective husbands straight; and Mr. Wilberforce thought it would be a very good thing for the girls themselves, who were so much out of the way of seeing eligible persons, or being sought. The rector felt that if Minnie Warrender once took the young man in hand he was safe. And they had already met at Oxford during Commemoration, and young Cavendish had remembered with pleasure their fresh faces and slightly, pleasantly, rustic and old-fashioned ways. He was very willing to come when he was told that the Wilberforces saw a great deal of Warrender’s nice sisters. “ Why, I am in love with them both ! Of course I shall come,” he had said, with his boyish levity: but with equal levity had put off from time to time, and at last had chosen the moment which was the least convenient, the most uncomfortable for all parties, — a moment when there could be nothing but croquet, or picnics, or other gentle pleasures which require feminine coöperation, to amuse the stranger, and when the feminine cooperation which had been hoped for was for the time altogether laid on the shelf and out of the question. Few things could be more trying than this state of affairs.

Notwithstanding which Dick Cavendish arrived, as had been arranged. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance. He was an ordinary brownhaired, blue-eyed young man, — not, perhaps, ordinary, for that combination is rather rare, — but there were some people who said that something in his eye betrayed what they called insincerity; and indeed there was generally about him an agreeableness, a ready self-adaptation to everybody’s way of thinking, a desire to recommend himself, which is always open to censure. Mrs. Wilberforce was one of those who shook their heads and declared him to be insincere. And as he went so far as to agree that the empire very possibly was dropping to pieces, and the education of the poor tending to their and our destruction, in order to please her, it is possible that she was not far wrong. As a matter of fact, however, his tactics were successful even with her ; and though she did not relinquish her deep-seated conviction, yet the young man succeeded in flattering and pleasing her, which was all that he wanted, and not that she should vouch for his sincerity. He was very sorry to hear that the Warrenders were in mourning. “ I saw the death in the papers,” he said, “ and thought for a moment that I had perhaps better write and put off coming ; for some people look their worst in mourning. But then I reflected that some others look their best; and that hearts are soft, and a little judicious consolation nicely administered ” —

Though it was not perhaps of a very high quality, the rector was delighted with his young friend’s wit.

“ It must be nicely administered,” he said, “but you will not find them inaccessible. They are the best girls in the world, too natural to make a fuss, as some girls do. He was a very insignificant, neutral-tinted kind of man. I cannot think why they should be supposed to be so inconsolable.”

“ Oh, Herbert! ” said his wife.

“ Yes, I know, my dear ; but Oh, Herbert, is no argument. Nobody is missed so much as we expect, not the very best. Life may have to make itself a new channel, but it flows always on. And when the man is quite insignificant, like poor Mr. Warrender ” —

“ Don’t blaspheme the dead, Herbert. It is dreadful to hear you speak on such subjects, you are so cynical; and when even a clergyman takes up such opinions, what can we expect of other people ? ” Mrs. Wilberforce said, with marked disapproval, as she left the gentlemen after dinner. She left them by the window going out to the lawn, which ran along all that side of the house. The drawing-room, too, opened upon it, and one window of the rector’s study; and the line of limes, very fine trees, which stood at a little distance, throwing a delightful shadow with their great silken mass of foliage over the velvety grass, made the lawn into a kind of great withdrawing-room, spacious and sweet. Mrs. Wilberforce had a little settlement at one end of this, with wicker-work chairs, a table for her work and one for tea, while her husband, at the other end, clinging to his own window, which provided a mode of escape in case any one should appear to whom his cigar might be offensive, smoked and made himself comfortable, now and then throwing a few words at her between the puffs. While thus indulging himself he was never allowed to approach more near.

“ I am afraid we have not very much amusement for you,” the rector said. “ There is nothing going on at this season : and the Warren, as my wife says, is shut up.”

“ Not so much shut up but that one may go to see Warrender ? ”

“ Oh, no.”

“ And in that case the ladies will be visible, too: for I entertained them, you know, in my rooms at Commem. They must at least ask me to tea. They owe me tea.”

“ Well, if you are content with that. My wife is dreadfully particular, you know. I dare say we may be able to manage a game, for all Mrs. Wilberforce says ; and if the worst comes to the worst, Dick, I suppose you can exist without the society of ladies for a few days.”

“ So long as I have Mrs. Wilberforce to fall back upon, and Flo. Flo is growing very pretty, perhaps you don’t know ? Parents are so dull to that sort of thing. But there is somebody else in the parish I have got to look after. What is their name ? I can’t recollect, but I know the name of the house. It is the Elms.”

“ The Elms, my dear fellow ! ” exclaimed the rector, with consternation. He turned pale with fright and horror, and, rising, went softly and closed the window, which his wife had left open. “For Heaven’s sake,” he said, “don’t speak so loud ; my wife might hear.”

“Why should n’t she hear?” asked Dick, undaunted. “ There’s nothing wrong, is there ? I don’t remember the people’s name ” —

“ No, most likely not; one name will do as well as another,” said the rector solemnly. “ Dick, I know that a young fellow like you looks at things in another light from a man of my cloth ; but there are things that can be done, and things that can’t, and it is simply impossible, you know, that you should visit at a place like that from my house.”

“ What do you mean by a place like that ? I know nothing about the place. It belongs to my uncle Cornwall, and there is something to be done to it, or they won’t stay.”

The Rector drew a long breath. “You relieve me very much,” he said. “ Is the Mr. Cornwall that bought the Elms your uncle Cornwall ? What luck for us! Then you must tell him, Dick, — there’s a good fellow, — to do nothing to it, but for the love of Heaven help us to get those people away.”

“ Who are the people? ” said the astonished Dick. It is uncertain whether Mr. Wilberforce managed to make any articulate reply, but he stammered forth some broken words, which, with the pauses that accompanied them, gave to his visitor an idea of the fact which had been for a month or two whispered, with bated breath, by the villagers and people about. Dick, who was stiil nominally of the faction of the reprobates, fell a-laughing when the news penetrated his mind. It was not that his sympathies were with vice as against virtue, as the rector was disposed to believe ; but the thought of the righteous and strait-laced uncle, who had sent him into what would have been to Mr. Cornwall the very jaws of hell, and of what might have happened had he himself, Dick, announced in Mrs. Wilberforce’s presence his commission to the Elms, was too comical to be resisted : and the peals of his laughter reached the lady on the lawn, and brought the children running to the dining-room window to see what had happened. Flo, of whom Dick had said that she was getting pretty, but who certainly was not shy, and had no fear of finding herself out of place, came pertly and tapped at the window, and, looking in with her little sunny face, demanded to know what was the fun, so that Dick burst forth again and again. The rector did not see the fun, for his part; he saw no fun at all. Even when Dick, almost weeping with the goodness of the joke, endeavored to explain how droll it was to think of his old uncle sending him to such a house, Mr. Wilberforce did not see it. “ My wife will ask me what you were laughing about, and how am I to tell her ? She will see no joke in it: and she will not believe that I was not laughing with you — at all that is most sacred, Fanny will say.” No one who had seen the excellent rector at that moment would have accused him of sharing in the laughter, for his face was as blankly serious as if he had been at a funeral: but he knew the view which Mrs. Wilberforce was apt to take.

And his fears came so far true that he did undergo a rigid cross-questioning as soon as the guest was out of the way. And although the rector was as discreet as possible, it yet became deeply impressed upon the mind of his wife that the fun had something to do with the Elms. That gentlemen did joke upon such subjects, which were not fit to be talked about, she was fully aware ; but that her own husband, a man privileged beyond most men, a clergyman of the Church of England, should do it was bitter indeed to her. “ I know what young men are,” she said ; “ they are all the same. I know there is nothing that amuses and attracts them so much as improper people. But, Herbert, you ! and when vice is at our very doors, to laugh ! Oh, don’t say another word to me on the subject! ” Mrs. Wilberforce cried.

XII.

The recollection of that unexplained and ill-timed merriment clouded over the household horizon in the morning ; but Dick was so cheerful and so much at his ease that things ameliorated imperceptibly. The heart of a woman, even when most disapproving, is softened by the man who takes the trouble to make himself agreeable to her children. She thought that there could not be so very much harm in him, after all, when she saw the little ones clustering about him, one on his knees and one on his shoulders. “ There is a sort of instinct in children,” she said afterwards, and most people would be in this respect of Mrs, Wilberforce’s opinion. About noon the rector took his guest to call at the Warren. Though this was not what an ordinary stranger would have been justified in doing, yet when you consider that Dick had known Theo at Oxford and had entertained the ladies at Commem : you will understand why the rector took this liberty. “ I suppose I may ask the girls and Theo to come over in the afternoon,” he said to his wife.

“ Oh, certainly, Herbert, you may ask them,” she replied; but with a feeling that if Minnie accepted it would be as if the pillars of the earth had been shaken ; though, in the circumstances, with a young man on her hands to be amused for all the lingering afternoon, Mrs. Wilberforce herself would have been very willing that they should come. Dick Cavendish was a pleasant companion for a morning walk. He admired the country in its fresh greenness, as they went along, though its beauty was not striking. He admired the red village, clustering under the warmth and fullness of the foliage, and pleased the rector, who naturally felt his own amour propre concerned in the impression made by his parish upon a new spectator. “ We must come to old England for this sort of thing,” said Dick, looking back upon the soft rural scene with the half-patronizing experience of a man qui en a vu bien d’autres. And the rector was pleased, especially as it was not all undiscriminating praise. When they got within the grounds of the Warren, criticism came in. “What does Warrender mean,” Dick said, “ by letting everything run up in this wild way ! The trees have no room to breathe.”

“You must recollect that Theo has just come into it. And the old gentleman was long feeble, and very conservative, — though not in politics, as I could have wished.”

“ Ah, I thought Warrender was a bit of a radical: but they say a man always becomes more or less a Tory when he comes into his property. I have no experience,” said Dick, with his lighthearted laugh. Had Mrs. Wilberforce heard him, she would have found in it that absence of respect for circumstances which she considered to be one of the signs of the times ; and it had a startling and jarring effect upon the individual who did hear it, who was disturbed by it in the stillness of his morning walk and thoughts. It broke the silence of the brooding air, and awakened impertinent echoes everywhere, Nature being always glad of the opportunity.

The young owner of the place was absorbed in a warm haze of visions, like his own trees in the hush of the noon. Any intrusion was disagreeable to him. Nevertheless, when he saw the rector he came forward with that consciousness of the necessity of looking pleased which is one of the vexations of a recluse. What did Wilberforce mean by bringing men here, where nobody wanted either them or him ? But when he saw who it was who accompanied the rector, Warrender’s face and the line of annoyance in his forehead softened a little ; for Dick was one of the men who are everywhere welcome. Warrender even smiled as he held out his hand.

“ You, Cavendish ! Who could have thought of seeing you here ! ”

“ I am afraid I am rather presuming: but I could not be so near without coming to see you.” Dick grew grave, as was incumbent in the circumstances, and though he had no doubt whatever of seeing the ladies added a sort of humble suggestion : “ I am afraid I can scarcely hope to pay my respects ? ”

“ You must come in and see my mother,” Warrender said.

The house looked its best when shade and coolness were a necessity of the season ; but the visitor who came with keen eyes, observing everything, not because he had any special object, but because he could not help it, took in in a moment the faded air of solid respectability, the shabbiness which does not mean poverty, the decent neglect as of a place whose inhabitants took no thought of such small matters, which was apparent everywhere. It was not neglect, in the ordinary meaning of the word, for all was carefully and nicely arranged, fresh flowers on the tables, and signs of living, but rather a composed and decorous content. The girls, as they were always called, were found, Chatty with her hands full of flowers and a number of china vases before her, standing at an old buffet in the hall, and Minnie just coming out of the dining-room, where she had been doing her morning needle-work, which was of a plain and homely description, not calculated to be seen by visitors. The old buffet in the hall was not like the mahogany catafalques in the other rooms, and the flowers were very fresh and the china of unappreciated antiquity. Perhaps these accessories helped to make the modest little picture of Charlotte arranging the flowers a pretty one ; and she was young and fresh and modest and unconscious ; her figure was pretty and light; her look, as she raised her head and blushed to see the little party of men, so guileless, frank, and good, that, though the others, who were used to her, thought nothing of her, to Dick it appeared that Chatty was a very pleasant thing to see against the dim background of the old respectable house.

“ It is Mr. Cavendish,” said Minnie. “ How curious ! It is true sometimes, no doubt, as everybody says, that talk of an angel and you hear its wings; but generally it is just the person whom one least thinks of who appears.”

“ That is very hard upon me,” said Dick. “ My mind has been so full of you for twenty-four hours that you ought to have thought a little upon me — if only on the theory of brain waves.”

“ I hope you don’t believe in anything of that sort. How should one think of people when there is nothing to put one in mind of them ? If we had been in Oxford, indeed — Come into the drawing-room; we shall find mamma there. And how is dear Mrs. Wilberforce ? ”

“ She wants you all,” said the rector, in a low voice aside, “ to come over this afternoon to tea.”

“ To tea, when you have company ! Oh, she could not — she never could expect such a thing ! ”

“ Do you call one of your brother’s friends company, — one? I should say it took three at least to constitute company. And I want Theo to come. Mind what I say — if you don’t amuse him, Theo will think of nothing but going to Markland. He goes to Markland more than I like already.”

“ Mr. Wilberforce, I am not one that believes in love being blind, and I know all Theo’s faults; but to think that he is courting amusement, — amusement, and papa only dead six weeks ! ”

” I did not say amusement,” said the rector crossly. “ I said to be amused, which is quite different; not to be left forever in the same state of mind, not to lie vacant ” —

“ You must have a very poor opinion of him and of all of us,” said Miss Warrender, leading the way into the drawing-room, where the others had gone before them. Chatty remained behind, being still busy with her flowers. The rector and Minnie were supposed to be talking parish talk, and to have lingered for that purpose. Chatty thought it sounded too animated to be all about the clothing club and the mothers’ meetings, but she supposed that some one must have gone wrong, which was generally the exciting element in parish talk. She was not herself excited by it, being greatly occupied how to make the big white Canterbury bells stand up as they ought in the midst of a large bouquet, in a noble white and blue Nankin vase, which was meant for the table in the hall.

Mrs, Warrender was very glad to see young Cavendish, She asked at once if they were going to take him to Hurst Hill and the old castle at Pierrepoint, and entered almost eagerly into a description of what should be done for a stranger. “For we have scarcely anything, except the country itself, to show,” she said. “ There is nothing that is exciting, not much society, and unfortunately, at this moment, the little that there was ” —

“ I know,” said Dick, “ it is my misfortune ; I was deeply sorry to hear” — He had never seen Mr. Warrender, and naturally could have no profound regret on the subject: but his eyes expressed so much tender sympathy that her heart was touched, and tears came to her eyes.

“ You are very kind to take a part in our sorrows,” she said. “ If all had been well with us, there would have been no one more pleased than he to make our country pleasant to you. He was always so much interested in Theo’s friends. But even as things are, if you do not find it too sad, we shall always be glad to see you. Not that we have anything to tempt you,” she added, with a smile.

“ Then, Mrs. Warrender,” said the rector, “ may I tell my wife that you are not going away ? ”

Mrs. Warrender cast a wistful look round her, — at her son, at the remorseless inclosure of those dull walls, which were like those of a prison. “ It appears not, for the present,” she said.

“ No,” said Minnie ; “ for where can we be so well as at home ? For my part, I don’t believe in change. What do you change ? Only the things about you. You can’t change yourself nor your circumstances.”

“ The skies, but not the soul,” said Dick.

“ That is just what I mean, Mr. Cavendish. I see you understand. Mamma thinks it would be more cheerful to go away. But we don’t really want to be cheerful. Why should we be cheerful? — at least for six months, or I should say a year. We can’t be supposed to be equal to anything, after our great loss, in less than a year.”

At this they were all silent, a little overawed; and then Mrs. Warrender returned to her original discourse upon Pierrepoint Castle and the dell at Hurst: “ They are both excellent places for picnics. You should take Mr. Cavendish there.”

“ That was all very well,” said the rector “ when we could be sure of you and the girls to go with us; but he must be content with the domestic croquet and the mild gratification of walks, in present circumstances. Has Theo come to any decision about the improvements ? I suppose you will not begin to cut down till the autumn ? ”

“ Everything is at a standstill, Mr. Wilberforce.”

“Well,” said Theo, almost angrily, turning to the rector, “ there is no hurry, I hope. One need not start, axe in hand, as if one had been waiting for that. There is time enough, in autumn or in spring, or when it happens to be convenient. I am in no haste, for my part.”

There was again a little pause, for there had been temper in Theo’s tones. And then it was that the rector distinguished himself by the most ill-timed question, — a question which startled even Chatty, who was coming in at the moment with a bowl full of roses, carried in both hands. Yet it was a very innocent-seeming question, and Cavendish was not aware of any significance in it till he saw the effect it produced. “ How,” said Mr. Wilberforce very distinctly, “is Lady Markland?” He was looking straight at Theo, but as the words came out of his mouth, struck too late by their inappropriateness, he turned and looked Mrs. Warrender in the face somewhat severely.

“ Oh! ” she said, as if some one had struck her ; and as for Warrender, he sprang to his feet, and walked across the room to one of the windows, where he stood pulling to pieces a vase-full of Chatty’s flowers. She put down her roses, and stood with her hands dropped and her mouth a little open, a picture of innocent consternation, which, however, was caused more by the effect upon the others than by any clear perception in herself. All this was in a moment, and then Mrs. Warrender replied sedately, “ The last time I saw her she was well enough in health. Sor— trouble,” she added, changing the word, “ does not always affect the health.”

“ And does she mean to stay there ? ” the rector said, feeling it necessary to follow up his first question. Mrs. Warrender hesitated, and began to reply that she did not know, that she believed nothing was settled, that — when Theodore suddenly turned and took the words out of his mother’s mouth : —

“ Why should n’t she stay? The position is just the same for her as for us. Death changes little except to the person immediately concerned. It is her home : why should n’t she stay ? ”

“ Really,” said the rector, “ you take it so seriously I — when you put the question to me, I — As a matter of fact,” he added, “ I did not mean anything, if I must tell the truth. I just said the first thing that occurred. And a change is always the thing that is first thought of after such a—after such a ” — The rector sought about for a word. He could not say calamity, or affliction, or any of the words that are usually employed. He said at last, with a sense of having got triumphantly over the difficulty — “ such a shock.”

“ I agree with the rector,” said Minnie. “ It would be far better that she should go away, for a change. The circumstances are quite different. For a lady to go and look after everything herself, when it ought not to be supposed possible that she could do anything — to see the lawyers, and give the orders, and act exactly as if nothing had happened — oh, it is too dreadful! It is quite different from us. And she does not even wear a widow’s cap! That would be reason enough for going away, if there was nothing else. She ought to go away for the first year, not to let anybody know that she has never worn a widow’s cap.”

“ Now that is a very clever reason,” said Dick Cavendish, who felt it was time for him to interfere, and lessen the serious nature of the discussion. “ Unaided, I should never have thought of that. Do at Rome as Rome does ; or if you don’t, go out of Rome, and don’t expose yourself. There is a whole system of social philosophy in it.”

“ Oh, I am not a philosopher,” cried Minnie, “ but I know what I think. I know what my opinion is.”

“ We are not here to criticise Lady Markland,” said her mother; and then she burst into an unpremeditated invitation, to break the spell. “ You will bring Mr. Cavendish to dine with us one evening ? ” she said. “ He and you will excuse the dullness of a sad house.”

The rector felt his breath taken from him, and thought of what his wife would say. “ If you are sure it will not be too much for you,” he replied.

Dick’s eyes and attention were fixed upon the girls. Minnie’s face expressed the utmost horror. She opened her mouth to speak ; her sharp eyes darted dagger thrusts at her mother ; it was evident that she was bursting with remonstrance and denunciation. Chatty, on the contrary, glanced at her mother, and then at the stranger, with a soft look of pleasure stealing over her face. It softened still more the rounded outline, the rose tints, which were those of a girl of seventeen rather than twenty-three, and which her black dress brought out with double force. Dick thought her quite pretty — nay, very pretty — as she stood there, her sleeves thrust a little back on her arms, her hands a little wet with the flowers, her face owning a half-guilty pleasure of which she was half ashamed. The others were involved in thoughts quite different: but innocent Chatty, relieved by the slightest lifting of the cloud, and glad that somebody should be coming to dinner, was to him the central interest of the group.

“ You put your foot in it, I think,” he said to the rector, as they walked back, “ but I could not quite make out how. Who is the unhappy woman, lost to all sense of shame, who wears no widow’s cap? ”

“ I meant no harm,” said the rector. “ It was quite natural that I should ask after Lady Markland. Of course it stands to reason that as he died here, and they were mixed up with the whole business, and she is not in my parish, they should know more of her than I.”

“And so old Warrender is mixed up with a beautiful widow,” said Dick. “ He does n’t seem the sort of fellow : but I suppose something of that sort comes to most men, one time or another,” he added, with a half laugh.

“ What, a widow ? ” said the rector, with a smile. “ Eh ? What are you saying ? What is that ? Well, as you ask, that is the Elms, Cavendish, where I suppose you no longer have any desire to go.”

“ Oh, that is the Elms, is it?” said Cavendish. His voice had not its usual cheerful sound. He stood still, with an interest which the rector thought quite uncalled for. The Elms was a red brick house, tall like the rectory, and of a similar date, the upper stories of which appeared over a high wall. The quick shutting of a door in this wall was the thing which had awakened the interest of Cavendish. A girl had come hurriedly, furtively out, and with the apparent intention of closing it noiselessly had let the door escape from her hand, and marked her departure by a clang which for a moment filled the air. She looked round her hastily, and with a face in which a very singular succession of emotions were painted perceived the gentlemen. The first whom she noticed was evidently the rector, to whom she gave a glance of terror : but then turned to Dick, with a look of amazement which seemed to take every other feeling away, — amazement and recognition. She stared at him for a moment as if paralyzed, and then, fluttering like a bird, in her light dress, under the high, dark line of the wall, hurried away.

“ Bless me,” said the rector, troubled, “ Lizzie Hampson ! How I recollect that was what the ladies were saying. Silly girl, she has gone, after all; but I must put a stop to it. How she stared at you, Dick, to be sure!”

“ Yes, she has got a sharp pair of eyes. I think she will know me again,” said Dick, with what seemed to the rector somewhat forced gayety. “ Rather a pretty little girl, all the same. What did you call her ? Is she one of your parishioners ? She looked mighty frightened of you.”

“ Lizzie Hampson,” said the rector. “ She is the granddaughter of the old woman at the shop. She is half a foreigner, I believe. I always thought — Bless me! Fanny will be very sorry, but very angry, too, I am afraid. I wish I had not seen it. I wish we had not come this way.”

“ Do you think you are obliged to tell? It was only by accident that we saw her,” said Cavendish. “ It would hurt nobody if you kept it to yourself.”

“I dare say the poor little thing meant no harm,” said the rector; “it is natural to want to make a little more money. I am entering into temptation, but I cannot help it. Do you think, after all, I might say nothing about seeing her ? We should not have seen her, you know, if we had come home the other way.”

“ Give her the benefit of the possibility,” said Dick, with a short laugh. But he seemed to be affected, too, which was wonderfully sympathetic and nice of him, with what troubled the rector so much. He scarcely talked at all for the rest of the way. And though he was perhaps as gay as ever at lunch, there came over him, from time to time, a curious abstraction, quite out of character with Dick Cavendish. In the afternoon, Warrender and Chatty came in, as they had been invited, to tea (not Minnie, which satisfied Mrs. Wilberforce’s sense of right), and a very quiet game of croquet, a sort of whisper of a game, under their breath, as it were, was played. And in this way the day passed. The visitor declared in the evening that he had enjoyed himself immensely. But he had a headache, and instead of coming in to prayers went out in the dark for a walk ; which was not at all the sort of thing which Mrs. Wilberforce liked her visitors to do.

XIII.

Dick Cavendish went out for a walk. It was a little chilly after the beautiful day; there was rain in the air, and neither moon nor stars, which in the country, where there are no means of artificial lighting, makes it unpleasant for walking. He went right into the big clump of laurels, and speared himself on the prickles of the old hawthorn before he emerged from the rectory gates. After that it was easier. Many of the cottage people were indeed going to bed, but by the light which remained in a window here and there he was able to preserve himself from accident as he strolled along. Two or three dogs, sworn enemies to innovation, scented him, and protested at their loudest against the novelty, not to say wickedness, of a passenger at this hour of the night. It was, perhaps, to them what Lizzie Hampson’s independence was to Mrs. Wilberforce, — a sign of the times. He made his way along, stumbling now and then, sending into the still air the odor of his cigar, towards the spot where the window of the little shop shone in the distance like a low, dim, somewhat smoky star, the rays of which shaped themselves slightly iridescent against the thick damp atmosphere of the night. Cavendish went up to this dull shining, stared in at the window for a moment through the bottles of sweets and barley sugar and boxes of mustard and biscuits. He did not know there was any special significance in the sight of Lizzie Hampson seated there within the counter, demurely sewing, and apparently unconscious of any spectators, but it was enough to have startled any of the neighbors who were aware of Lizzie’s ways. The old grandmother had gone to see her daughter in the village, who was ill; but in such cases it was Lizzie’s way to leave the door of the room in which she sat open, and to give a very contemptuous attention to the tinkle of the little bell attached to the shop door which announced a customer. Now, however, she sat in the shop, ready to supply anything that might be wanted. Dick strolled past quietly, and went a little way on beyond: but then he came back. He did not linger at the window, as one of Lizzie’s admirers might have done. He passed it twice; then, with a somewhat anxious gaze round him, went in. He asked for matches, with a glance at the open door of the room behind. Lizzie said nothing, but something in her look gave him as well as words could have done an assurance of safety. He had closed the door of the shop behind him. He now said quickly, “ Then I was not mistaken — it is you, Lizzie.”

There was not the slightest appearance in her of a rustic flirt waiting for a lover, still less of anything more objectionable. Her look was serious, full of resistance and even of defiance, as if the encounter was against her will, though it was necessary that it should be. “ Yes, sir,” she said, shortly, “ you were not mistaken, and it is me.”

“ And what are you doing here ? ”

“ Nothing that is n’t right,” said Lizzie. “ I ’m living with my grandmother, as any one will tell you, and working at my trade.”

“ Well — that is all right,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation.

“ I don’t suppose that you sought me out just for that, sir, — to give me your approbation,” the girl said, quickly.

“ For which you don’t care at all,” he replied, with a half-laugh.

“ No more than you care for what I’m doing, whether it’s good or bad.”

“ Well,” he said, “ I suppose so far as that goes we are about even, Lizzie: though I, for one, should be sorry to hear any harm of you. Do you ever hear anything — of your mistress — that was ? ”

She gave him a keen look. All the time her hands were busy with a little pile of match-boxes, the pretense which was to explain his presence had any one appeared. “ She is — living, if that is what you mean,” Lizzie said.

“ Living! Oh, yes, I suppose so,— at her age. Is she — where she was ? ”

Lizzie looked at him, again investigating his face keenly, and he at her. They were like two antagonists in a duel, each on his guard, each eagerly observant of every point at which he could obtain an advantage. At last, “ Where was that, sir ? ” she said. " I don’t know where you heard of her last.”

Dick made no answer. It was some moments before he spoke at all. Then, " Is she in England ? ” he asked.

“ I ’m not at liberty, sir, to say where she is.”

“ You know, of course. I can see that in your face. Is she — But perhaps you don’t intend to answer any question I put to you?”

“ I think not, sir,” said Lizzie, firmly. “ What would be the good ? She don’t want you, nor you ” —

“ Nor I her. It is true,” he said. His face became very grave, almost stern. “ I have little reason to wish to know. Still you must be aware that misery is the end of such a way of life.”

“ Oh, you need give yourself no trouble about that,” cried Lizzie, with something like scorn ; “ she is a deal better off and more thought upon than ever she would have been if ” —

“ Poor girl ! ” he said. These words and the tone in which they were spoken stopped the quick little angry speech that was on Lizzie’s lips. She wavered for a moment, then recovered herself.

“ If you please,” she said, “ to take your matches, sir. It ain’t general for gentlemen like you to come into granny’s shop: and we think a deal of little things here. It is not as if we were — on the other side.”

He laughed with a sort of fierce ridicule that offended the girl. “So — I might be supposed to be coming after you,” he said.

She flung the matches to him across the counter. “ There may be more difference here than there was there ; but a gentleman, if he is a gentleman, will be civil wherever he is.”

“ You are quite right,” said Dick, recovering himself, “ and I spoke like a fool. For all that you say, misery is the end of such a life; and if I could help it I should not like her to come to want.”

“ Oh ! ” cried Lizzie, with exasperation, stamping her foot. “ Want! You are more like to come to it than she is. I could show you in a moment — I could just let you see” — Here she paused, and faltered, and grew red, meeting his eyes. He did not ask any further question. He had grown pale as she grew red. Their looks exchanged a rapid communication, in which neither Lizzie’s reluctance to speak nor his hesitation in asking was of any avail. He put down the sixpence which he had in his hand upon the counter, and went out into the night in a dumb confusion of mind, as if he had received a blow.

Here! breathing the same air, seeing the same sights, within reach ! He went a little further on in the darkness, not knowing where, nor caring, in the bewilderment of the shock which had come upon him so unexpectedly ; and suddenly in the dark was aware of a range of lighted windows which seemed to hang high in the air, — the windows of the Elms appearing over the high garden wall. He went along towards the house mechanically, and only stopped when his shoulder rubbed against the bricks, near the spot where in the morning he had seen Lizzie come out. The lights moved about from window to window ; the house seemed full of movement and life; and within the wall of the garden there was a sound of conversation and laughter. Did he recognize the voices, or any one among them ? He did not say so even to himself, but turned round and hurried back, stumbling through the darkness which hid and blinded him. In the village he met a woman with a lantern, who he did not doubt was Lizzie’s grandmother, the village authority; no doubt a gossip, quite disposed to search into other people’s mysteries, quite unaware of the secret story which had connected itself with her own. She passed him in a little mist of light in the midst of the dark, raising her head instinctively as he passed with a sense of something unfamiliar, but of course not seeing who he was. Presently he found his way again amid the clumps of lilac, which had done blooming, and guided by the sweetness of the hawthorn against which he had spiked himself on his way out. Mrs. Wilberforce was going upstairs with her candle as he came in. She looked at him disapprovingly, and hoped, with something like irony, that he had enjoyed his walk. “Though you must have had to grope along in the dark, which does not seem much of a pleasure to me.”

“ The air is delightful,” said Dick with unnecessary fervor. “ I like a stroll in the dark : and the lights in the cottages are pretty to see.”

“ Dear me, I should have thought everybody was in bed ; but late hours are creeping in with other things,” said the rector’s wife as she went upstairs. The rector himself was standing at the door of his study, with an unlighted pipe in his hand. “ Come and have a smoke,” he said. For a moment it occurred to Cavendish, though rather as a temptation than as a relief, to tell the story which seemed to fill his mind like something palpable, leaving room for nothing else, to his simple-minded, rural friend, an older man than himself and a clergyman, and therefore likely to have received other confidences before now. But something sealed his lips. The atmosphere of the house, the narrow life with its thousand little occupations, in which there was an ideal yet prosaic innocence, an incapacity even to understand those elements of which tragedy is formed, made his own story almost to himself inconceivable. How could he tell it, — how reveal anything so alien to every possibility ! He might have told the good Wilberforce had he been in debt or in love, or asked his help for any light difficulty in which the parson might have played the part of mediator, whether with an angry father or an irritated creditor. Wilberforce would have made an excellent confidant in such cases, but not in this.

In debt or in love: — in love ! Dick Cavendish’s character was well known ; or so, at least, everybody thought. He was always in love, just as he was always in good spirits, — a fellow full of frolic and fun, only too light-hearted to take life with sufficient seriousness ; and life must be taken seriously if you are going to make anything of it. This had been said to him a great many times since he came home. There was no harm known of him, as there generally is of a young man who lets a few years drop in the heyday of life. He liked his fun, the servants said, which was their way of putting it; and his parents considered that he did not take life with sufficient seriousness ; the two verdicts were the same: but the people most interested in him had almost unanimously agreed in that theory, of which mention has been already made, about the “nice girl.” He was himself aware of the plan, and had got much amusement out of it. Whether it came to anything or not, it at least promised him a great deal of pleasure. Scores of nice girls had been invited to meet him, and all his relatives and friends had laid themselves out thus to make a reformed character of Dick. He liked them all, he declared ; they were delightful company, and he did not mind how many he was presented to ; for what can be nicer than a nice girl ? and to see how many of them there were in the world was exhilarating to a man fresh out of the backwoods. As he had never once approached the limits of the serious, or had occasion to ask himself what might be the end of any of the pleasant triflings into which his own temperament, seconding the plots of his friends, carried him lightly, all had gone quite well and easily, as Dick loved the things about him to go. But suddenly, just when an unexpected break had taken place in the pleasant surface of affairs, and dark remembrances, never forgotten, had got uppermost in his mind — on this night of all others, when those two words, “ in love,” floated into his consciousness, there rose up with them a sudden apparition, — the figure, light, yet not shadowy, of Chatty Warrender, holding the bowl of roses with both hands, and with that look of innocent surprise and pleasure in her face. Who can account for such appearances? She walked into his imagination at the mere passage of these words through his head, stepping across the threshold of his fancy with almost as strong a sensation of reality as if she had pushed open his door and come into the room in which he was to all appearance quite tranquilly taking off his boots and changing his coat to join the rector in the study below. He had seen a great many girls more beautiful, more clever, more striking in every way, than Chatty. He had not been aware, even, that he had himself distinguished her; yet there she was, with her look, which was not addressed to him, yet perhaps was more or less on account of him, — that look of unexpected pleasure. Was it on his account? No; only because in the midst of the dullness some one was asked to dinner. Bah ! he said to himself, and tossed the boot he had taken off upon the floor, — in that noisy way which young men have before they learn in marriage how to behave themselves, was the silent comment of Mrs. Wilberforce, who heard him, as she made her preparations for bed, next door.

Dick was not so jolly as usual, in the hour of smoke and converse which ensued. It was the rector’s favorite hour, the moment for expansion, for confidences, for assurances on his part, to his young friends, that life in the company of a nice woman, and with your children growing up round you, was in reality a far better thing than your clubs and theatres, although a momentary regret might occasionally cross the mind, and a strong desire for just so many reasonable neighbors as might form a whistparty. Dick was in the habit of making fun of the rector’s self-congratulations and regrets, but on this evening he scarcely made a single joke. Three or four times he relapsed into that silence, meditative or otherwise, which is permitted and even enjoyable in the midst of smoke, when two men are confidential without saying anything, and are the best of company without exchanging one idea. But in the midst of one of those pauses, he suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair, and said, “ I am afraid I must leave you to-morrow,” taking away the rector’s breath.

“ Leave us to-morrow ! Why in the name of wonder should you leave us tomorrow ? ” Mr. Wilberforce cried.

“ Well, the truth is,” said Dick, “ you see I have been away from home a considerable time: and my people are going abroad: and then I’ve been remiss, you know, in my home duties.”

“ But you knew all that, my dear fellow, yesterday as well as to-day.”

“ That’s true,” said Dick, with a laugh. “ The fact is, that ’s not all, Wilberforce. I have had letters.”

“ Letters! Has there been a delivery? Bless my soul,” said the rector, “ this is something quite new.”

“ Look here,” said Dick. “ I’ve been out, and I passed by the — the postoffice, and there I got news— Come, don’t look at me in that doubtful way. I have got news, and there is an end of it — which makes me think I had better clear out of this.”

“ If you want to make a mystery, Cavendish,” replied the rector, slowly knocking the ashes out of his pipe.

“ I don’t want to make any mystery,” cried Dick ; then he added, “ If I did, it would be, of course, because I could not help it. Sometimes a man is mixed up in a mystery which he can’t throw any light upon for — for other people’s sake.”

“Ah ! ” said Mr. Wilberforce. He refilled the pipe deliberately, and with a very grave face. Then, with a sudden flash of illumination, “ I make no doubt,” he cried, “ it’s something about those tenants of your uncle’s. He is urging you to go to the Elms.”

“ Well, since you have guessed, that is about it,” said Cavendish. “ I can’t carry out my commission, and as I’d rather not explain to him ” —

“ Why should n’t you explain to him ? I have quite been calculating that you would explain to him, and get him to take action, and free us of a set of people so much — so entirely,” cried the indignant rector, “ out of our way ! ”

“ Well, you see,” said Dick, “ it’s not such an easy thing to get people out of a house. I know enough about law to know that; and the old fellow would be in a terrible way if he knew. I don’t want to worry him, don’t you see; so the best thing I can do is to say I left very soon, and had not the time to call.”

“ Well, for one thing, I am rather glad to hear you say so,” said the rector ; “for I thought at first, by the way you introduced the subject, that your uncle himself, who has always borne such an excellent character, was somehow mixed up ” —

Cavendish replied by a peal of laughter so violent as almost to look hysterical. He laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. “ Poor old uncle,” he cried, — “ poor old fellow ! After a long and blameless life to be suspected, and that by a clergyman ! ”

“ Cavendish,” said the rector severely, “ you are too bad ; you make fun of things the most sacred. It is entirely your fault if I ever associated in my mind for a moment — However,” he added, “ there is one thing certain : you can’t go away till you have dined at the Warren, according to Mrs. Warrender’s invitation. In her circumstances one must be doubly particular: and as she made an effort for Theo’s sake, and yours as his friend” —

“ Oh, she made an effort! I did not think of that.”

“ If you are in such a hurry, Emily can find out in the morning whether tomorrow will suit them, and one day longer will not matter, surely. I can’t conceive why you should feel such an extreme delicacy about it.”

“ Oh, that’s my way,” said Dick lightly. “ I am extremely delicate about everything, though you don’t seem to have found it out.”

“ I wish you could be a little serious about something,” said the rector, with a sigh. “ Things are not all made to get a laugh out of, — though you seem to think so, Dick.”

“ It is as good a use as another,” said Dick. But as he went upstairs shortly after, the candle which he carried in his hand lighted up, in the midst of the darkness of the peaceful, sleeping house, a face which revealed anything rather than an inclination to get laughter out of everything. Nevertheless, he had pledged himself to stay for the dinner at the Warren which was to cost Mrs. Warrender an effort. It might cost him more than an effort, he said to himself.

M. O. W. Oliphant.