diff options
Diffstat (limited to '42462-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 42462-8.txt | 12088 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 12088 deletions
diff --git a/42462-8.txt b/42462-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f1da51b..0000000 --- a/42462-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12088 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Barbara Rebell, by Marie Belloc Lowndes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Barbara Rebell - -Author: Marie Belloc Lowndes - -Illustrator: Gilbert White - -Release Date: April 3, 2013 [EBook #42462] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARBARA REBELL *** - - - - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - [Illustration: BARBARA REBELL] - - - - - BARBARA REBELL - - - _By_ - MRS. BELLOC-LOWNDES - Author of "The Heart of Penelope" - - - Frontispiece by - GILBERT WHITE - - - _AUTHORIZED EDITION_ - - - NEW YORK - B. W. DODGE AND COMPANY - 1907 - - - - - PROLOGUE. - - "Have regard to thy name; for that shall continue with thee - above a thousand great treasures of gold." - ECCLESIASTICUS xl. 12. - - -Barbara Rebell's tenth birthday,--that is the ninth of June, 1870,--was -destined to be long remembered by her as a day of days; both as having -seen the first meeting with one who, though unknown till then, had -occupied a great place in her imagination, if only because the name of -this lady, her godmother, had been associated every night and morning -with that of her father and mother in her prayers, and as having -witnessed the greatest of her childish disappointments. - -Certain dates to most of us become in time retrospectively memorable, -and doubtless this sunny, fragrant June day would in any case have been -remembered by Barbara as the last of a long series of high days and -holidays spent by her in her French home during the first few years of -her life. Barbara Rebell left St. Germains two months after her tenth -birthday; but the town which has seen so few changes in its stately, -ordered beauty, since it afforded a magnificent hospitality to the last -Stuart King and Queen of England, always remained to her "home," in the -dear and intimate sense of the word, and that for many years after -everything save the actual roof and walls of the villa where Mr. and -Mrs. Rebell had lived such long, and on the whole such peaceful years, -had been destroyed--overwhelmed with locust-like destruction--by the -passage of an alien soldiery. - -But early in the June of 1870 there was nothing to show what July and -August were to bring to France, and the various incidents which so much -impressed the child's imagination, and made the day memorable, were -almost wholly connected with that solitary inner life which is yet so -curiously affected by material occurrences. - -Barbara's birthday began very differently from what she had thought it -would do. The little girl had pleasant recollections of the fashion in -which her last fête day, "la Sainte Barbe," had been celebrated. She -remembered vividly the white bouquets brought by the tradespeople, the -cakes and gifts offered by her little French friends, they who dwelt in -Legitimist seclusion in the old town--for St. Germains was at that time -a Royalist stronghold--far from the supposed malign influence of the -high forest trees, and broad, wind-swept Terrace, which had first -attracted Barbara's parents, and caused them to choose St. Germains as -their place of retreat. - -And so Barbara had looked forward very eagerly to her tenth birthday, -but by eleven o'clock what, so far, had it brought her? No bouquets, no -cakes, no trifling gifts of the kind she loved! As she sat out in her -little chair on the balcony of which the gilt balustrade was now -concealed by festoons of green leaves and white roses, and from which -opened the windows of her mother's drawing-room, the child's conscience -pricked her somewhat. Had not her parents early called her into their -room and presented her with a beautiful little gold watch--a gift, too, -brought specially from London by Mr. Daman, a Queen's Messenger, who was -one of her father's oldest friends, and one of the very few -English-speaking folk who ever sought out Mr. and Mrs. Rebell in their -seclusion? - -"You may wear it all to-day," her mother had said with some solemnity, -"but after to-night I will put it away until you are old enough to take -care of a watch." In time the little watch became a cherished -possession, a dear familiar friend, but on this first day of ownership -Barbara took small pleasure in her gift. - -The child had not liked to ask if any further birthday treat was in -contemplation. She stood in great awe of her quiet-mannered, preoccupied -father: and, while loving her gentle, kind mother with all her eager -passionate little heart, she did not at that time understand how -tenderly she herself was loved in return by the fragile, pensive looking -woman, who seemed to those about her absorbed rather in her husband than -in her daughter. - -And so, after having been dismissed rather curtly by her father, Barbara -had made her way disconsolately out to the balcony which was in a sense -her play-room, for there she spent many of her solitary hours. Sitting -in her own little wicker chair, with _The Fairchild Family_ lying on the -osier table by her side, and _Les Malheurs de Sophie_ on her lap, she -wondered rather wistfully what the day to which she had so much looked -forward was likely to bring forth. - -Dressed in a white India muslin frock, her long dark hair curled, as was -the fashion in those days, and tied neatly out of the way with a pale -blue ribbon, her unseeing eyes gazing at one of the most beautiful views -in the world, little Barbara Rebell, not for the first time, fell to -wondering why her life was so different from that of the English -children of whom she read in the books her mother had lately sent for -from the home of her own childhood. Even the Fairchilds were a family, -not a solitary little girl; each of the French children she knew had at -least one brother or sister apiece to bear them company, and all through -her thoughts--her disconnected, discontented birthday thoughts--there -ran a thread of uneasy wonder as to why she and her parents were living -here in France instead of in far away England. - -Barbara had of late become dimly aware that her mother made no effort to -enter into the eager, cheerful life about her; even after many years -spent entirely in France Mrs. Rebell still spoke French with a certain -difficulty, and she had tacitly refused to form any tie but one of -courteous acquaintance with the few French families with whom--entirely -for the sake of her child, but Barbara did not know that--she had -entered into social relation, using a Protestant banker as a connecting -link. - - * * * * * - -The summer before her tenth birthday Barbara had overheard some -fragments of a conversation held between two mothers of some of her -little French friends; and the few words, so carelessly uttered, had -roused a passion of emotion in the innocent eavesdropper: the feeling -which most predominated being the unreasoning, pathetic surprise felt by -a childish mind when brought suddenly across anything in the nature of a -masked attack. - -"Enfin qu'est que ce Monsieur Rebell a bien pu faire de si terrible? -Pour moi il a un air sinistre, cet homme-là!" - -"Peut-être a-t-il tué quelqu'un en duel! Il parait qu'en Angleterre on -est devenu féroce sur ce châpitre-là." - -"En tous cas, cette pauvre Madame Rebell est bien jolie, et bien à -plaindre!" - -The effect of these few carelessly uttered words had been to transform -the listener from a happy baby into a thoughtful, over-sensitive little -girl. Barbara had felt a wild revolt and indignation in the knowledge -that her parents were being thus discussed--that her father should be -described as "sinister," her mother pitied. Again and again she repeated -to herself the words that she had heard: their meaning had stamped -itself on her mind. Could her father have indeed killed a man in a duel? -To Barbara the thought was at once horrible and fascinating, and she -brooded over it, turning the idea this way and that: the constant -companionship of her mother--for Mrs. Rebell rarely left her alone with -their French servants--having unconsciously taught her a deep and almost -secretive reserve. - -Were her father guilty of what these French ladies suspected, then--or -so thought Barbara--his subdued, melancholy air was indeed natural, as -also his apparent dislike of meeting fellow countrymen and countrywomen, -for he and his wife always markedly avoided any English visitors to St. -Germains. Now and again Mr. Rebell would spend a long day in Paris, -returning laden with a large parcel of books, the latest English novels -for his wife, more serious volumes for his own perusal; but both Mrs. -Rebell and Barbara had learnt to dread these expeditions, for they -brought with them sad after-days of silent depression and restlessness -which left their effect on the wife long after the traveller himself had -regained his usual sombre quietude of manner. - -Barbara was secretly proud of the fact that her father was so extremely -unlike, both in manner and in appearance, the Frenchmen who now formed -his only acquaintances. This was perhaps owing in a measure to the -periodical visit of his London tailor, for Richard Rebell had retained -amid his misfortunes--and he was fond of telling himself that no living -man had been so unfortunate--the one-time dandy's fastidiousness about -his dress. The foreigners with whom he was unwillingly brought in -contact sometimes speculated as to the mysterious Englishman's probable -age; his hair was already grey, his pale, coldly impassive face had none -of the healthy tints of youth, yet he was still upright and vigorous, -and possessed to a singular degree what the French value above all -things, distinction of appearance. As a matter of fact Mr. Rebell was -only some twelve years older than his still girlish-looking wife; but -certain terrible events seemed to have had a petrifying effect both on -his mind and on his appearance, intensified by the fact that both he and -Mrs. Rebell tacitly chose to live as if in a world of half-lights and -neutral tints, rarely indeed alluding to the past, instinctively -avoiding any topic which could cause them emotion. - - * * * * * - -Every age,--it might be said with truth every decade,--has its ideal of -feminine beauty; and the man who had been the Richard Rebell of the -London 'fifties would instinctively have chosen and been chosen by the -loveliest girl in the brilliant world in which they both then moved and -had their being. Adela Oglander, the youngest child of a Hampshire -squire, had indeed been very lovely, satisfying in every point the ideal -of her day, of her race, and of her generation: slender and yet not over -tall: golden-haired and blue-eyed: with delicate regular features, and -rounded cheeks in which the colour soon came and went uncertainly when -Richard Rebell began to haunt the Mayfair ball-rooms where he knew he -would meet her and her placid, rather foolish mother. The girl's sunny -beauty and artless charm of manner had delighted the social arbiters of -the hour. She became, in the sense which was then possible, the fashion, -and her engagement to Richard Rebell, finally arranged at the royal -garden party which in those days took place each season in the old-world -gardens of Chiswick House, had been to themselves as well as to their -friends a happy, nine days' wonder. - -Richard Rebell had been long regarded as a bachelor of bachelors, a man -whose means did not permit of such a luxury as marriage to ill-dowered -beauty. But his friends reminded themselves that he was in a sense heir -to a fine property, now in the actual ownership of his cousin, a certain -Madame Sampiero, a beautiful childless woman separated from the Corsican -adventurer whom she had married in one of those moments of amazing, -destructive folly which occasionally overwhelm a certain type of clever -and high-spirited Englishwoman. Still, if there were some who shook -their heads over the imprudence of such a marriage as that of Richard -Rebell and Adela Oglander, all the world loves a lover, and every man -who had obtained the privilege of an introduction to Miss Oglander -envied Rebell his good fortune, for his betrothed was as good and as -blithesome as she was pretty. - -Later, when recalling that enchanted time, and the five happy years -which had followed, Mrs. Rebell told herself that there had then been -meted out to her full measure of life's happiness: she might, alas! have -added that since that time Providence had dealt out to her, as -completely, full measure of pain and suffering. For what was hidden from -the little circle of kindly French gossips at St. Germains had been -indeed a very tragic thing. - -After those first cloudless years of happy, nay triumphant, married -life, the popular, much-envied man-about-town, the proud husband of one -of the loveliest and most considered of younger London hostesses, had -gradually become aware that he was being looked at askance and shunned -by those great folk to whose liking he attached perhaps undue -importance. - -Then had followed a period of angry, incredulous amazement, till a -well-meaning friend found courage to tell him the truth. It had come to -be thought that he "sometimes" cheated at cards--more, it was whispered -that he had actually been caught red-handed in the house of a friend who -had spared him exposure in deference to what were then still the English -laws of hospitality. His chief accuser, the man to whom Rebell, once on -his track, again and again traced the fatal rumour, was, as so often -happens in such cases, himself quite unimportant till he became the man -of straw round whom raged one of the most painful and protracted libel -suits fought in nineteenth century England. - -At first public opinion, or rather the opinion of those whom Rebell -regarded as important, ranged itself on his side, and there were many -who considered that he had been ill-advised to take any notice of the -matter. But when it became known, and that in the pitiless, clear -publicity afforded by a court of law, that the plaintiff's private means -were very small, much smaller than had been suspected even by those who -thought themselves his intimates, that he was noted for his high play, -and, most damaging fact of all, that he had been instrumental in forming -a new and very select club of which the stated object was play, and -nothing but play, feeling veered sharply round. Richard Rebell -admitted--and among his backers it was pointed out that such an -admission made for innocence--that a not unimportant portion of his -income had for some time past consisted of his card winnings. That this -should be even said outraged those respectable folk who like to think -that gambling and ruin are synonymous terms. Yet, had they looked but a -little below the surface, where could they have found so striking a -confirmation of their view as in this very case? - -To cut the story short, the lawsuit ended in a virtual triumph for the -man whose malicious dislike and envy of the plaintiff had had to himself -so unexpected a result. Richard Rebell was awarded only nominal damages. -The old adage, "The greater the truth the greater the libel," was freely -quoted, and the one-time man of fashion and his wife disappeared with -dramatic suddenness from the world in which they had both been once so -welcome. Apart from every other reason, Mr. and Mrs. Rebell would have -been compelled, by their financial circumstances, to alter what had been -their way of life. All that remained to them after the heavy costs of -the lawsuit were paid was the income of Mrs. Rebell's marriage -settlement, and then it was that Richard Rebell's cousin, the Madame -Sampiero to whom reference has already been made, arranged to give her -cousin--who was, as she eagerly reminded him, her natural heir--an -allowance which practically trebled his small income. Thanks to her -generosity Mr. and Mrs. Rebell and their only child, born three years -after their marriage, had been able to live in considerable comfort and -state in the French town finally chosen by them as their home of exile, -where they had been fortunate in finding, close to the Forest and the -Terrace, a house which had belonged to one of the great Napoleon's -generals. The hero's descendants were in high favour at the Tuileries -and had no love for quiet St. Germains: they had accordingly been -overjoyed to find an English tenant for the stately villa which -contained many relics of their famous forbear, and of which the -furnishings, while pleasing the fine taste of Richard Rebell, seemed to -them hopelessly rococo and out of date. - -As time went on, Adela Rebell suffered more rather than less. She would -have preferred the humblest lodging in the quietest of English hamlets -to the charming villa which was still full of mementoes of the soldier -who had found a glorious death at Waterloo. Sometimes she would tell -herself that all might yet go well with her, and her beloved, her noble, -her ill-used Richard--for so she ever thought of him--were it not for -their child. The knowledge that Barbara would never enjoy the happy and -lightsome youth which had been her own portion was bitter indeed: the -conviction that her daughter must be cut off from all the pleasant -girlish joys and privileges of her English contemporaries brought deep -pain. - - * * * * * - -Let us now return to Barbara and to the birthday which was to prove -eventful. The little girl was still hesitating between her French and -her English storybook when the door of the drawing-room opened, and she -saw her mother's slight figure advancing languidly across the shining -floor to the deep chair where she always sat. A moment later Barbara's -father came into the room: he held a newspaper in his hand, and -instinctively the child knew that he was both annoyed and angered. - -"Adela," he said, in the formal and rather cold accent which both his -wife and child had come to associate with something painful or -unpleasant, "I should like you to read this,"--then he added: "Well, no, -I think I will ask you to listen, while I translate it," and slowly he -read, choosing his words with some care, anxious to render every shade -of meaning, the following sentences, composing one of the happily-named -"Echoes" printed on the front page of the _Figaro_, the then -newly-established, brilliant journal which had become the most widely -read paper in French society:-- - -"Her Majesty the Empress to-day received in private audience Madame -Sampiero, _née_ Rebell, one of the most sympathetic and distinguished of -English great ladies, and this in spite of the fact that the name of -Sampiero is full of glorious memories to those who know and care--and -what good Frenchman does not do so?--for the noble traditions of -Corsican history. Mylady Sampiero"--here Barbara's father suddenly -lowered the paper and, glancing at his wife, gave a queer sardonic -laugh--"was presented subsequently to his Majesty the Emperor by the -noted English statesman, Mylord Bosworth, who, it will be remembered, -was on terms of intimacy with our Sovereign when he, as Prince Louis -Napoleon, was living a life of exile in London. Indeed, it was Mylord -who first gratified the London world with the news that the prisoner of -Ham had escaped." - -There was a slight pause: Mr. Rebell laid the _Figaro_ down on a -gilt-rimmed table which stood close to his wife's chair. - -"Well?" he said, "what do you think of that? You'll see it dished up, -and who can wonder at it, in next week's _Vanity Fair_!" - -The child, sitting out on the balcony, saw her mother's pale face become -gradually suffused with colour, and she heard the almost whispered -words, "Yes, most unfortunate! But, my dear, how could poor Bar have -foreseen such a thing?" - -"Of course Bar did not foresee this, but equally of course Bosworth must -have supplied the _Figaro_ with the main facts--how else could this -absurdly worded note have been written?" He added slowly, "This is -obviously Bosworth's idea of a rebuff to the Embassy--Ah well! I didn't -mean to tell you, but I had it from Daman yesterday that Barbara, -immediately on her arrival in Paris, had been sent word that she must -not expect, this time, to be received at the Embassy." - -As he spoke Richard Rebell walked up and down the room with quick, -rather mincing steps: again he came and stood before his wife: "Our name -dragged in!" he exclaimed, "apropos of nothing!" a note of sharp chagrin -and disgust piercing in his quiet voice. "And this ridiculous, this -farcical reference to that adventurer, if indeed Sampiero is the man's -real name, of which I always had my doubts!" - -The colour faded from Mrs. Rebell's cheek; she put her hand with an -instinctive movement to her side: "Richard," she said, her voice -faltering, in spite of herself, "the letter I received to-day was from -Barbara Sampiero. She is staying, as you know, at Meurice's, -and--and--pray do not be angry, my love, but she proposes to come out -and see us here, to-day!" - -Her husband made no answer. He stood speechlessly looking down at her, -and when the silence became intolerable Mrs. Rebell again spoke, but in -a firmer, less apologetic tone. "And oh! Richard, I shall be so glad to -see her--I can never never forget how good she was to me years ago--how -nobly generous she has been to us all, since that time." - -Richard Rebell turned abruptly away. He walked to the open window, and -little Barbara, glancing up, noticed with surprise that her father -looked very hot, that even his forehead had reddened. Standing there, -staring out with unseeing eyes at the wonderful view unrolled below, he -closed and opened his right hand with a nervous gesture, as he at last -answered, "Of course, I also shall be glad to see her. Though, mind you, -Adela, I think that during all these long years she might have found -time to come before." Turning round, he added, "Surely you are not -afraid that I shall insult my kinswoman in what is, after all, my own -house?" and then, as his wife made no answer, he said with sudden -suspicion, "Of course, she is coming alone? She would not have dared to -propose anything else?" - -Mrs. Rebell rose from her chair. She came and stood by her husband, and -for the first time became aware of her little daughter's presence on the -balcony. She had, however, said too much to retreat, and perhaps she -felt that the child, sitting out there, would make her difficult task -easier. - -"No, Richard, unfortunately she does not propose to come alone. It seems -that Lord Bosworth has been given the use of one of the Imperial -carriages, and he proposes to drive her here, the whole way from Paris. -He is staying, it appears, at the Bristol." - -And then, turning away, she burst into sudden stormy tears, covering her -face with her hands, swaying from head to foot with suppressed sobs. - -Barbara watched the scene with bewildered surprise and terror. It is -good when a child's ideal of married life is founded on that of her own -father and mother. Richard Rebell was often impatient and irritable, but -the little girl had never seen the shadow of anything resembling a -dissension between her parents. What then did this mean, what did her -mother's tears portend? But already Mrs. Rebell was making a determined -effort to command herself. Her husband put his arm, not untenderly, -round her shoulder, and, with his face set in stern lines, led her back -to her seat. Then Barbara suddenly darted into the room, and flung -herself on her mother, putting her slender arms round that dear mother's -neck, and so making, all unconsciously, a welcome diversion. Mrs. Rebell -even laughed a little. "Dear child--my little Barbara--you didn't know -that grown-up people ever cried!" - -But Barbara was already retreating to the balcony, and she heard her -father say in a low voice, as if for the first time he realised that his -words might be overheard: "I am sure you do not seriously contemplate -our receiving Bar and--and Bosworth, together? The idea is monstrous! -Whatever has come and gone, however degraded I may have become among my -fellows, I still have the right to protect my wife from insult, and to -expect her to obey me in such a matter as this." - -But Mrs. Rebell clasped her hands together and looked up in the troubled -face of the man opposite her with a look at once appealing and -unsubmissive. "Richard!" she cried, "oh Richard! I always _do_ obey you. -When have you ever known me go against your wish, or even desire to do -so?" - -He shook his head impatiently, and she added urgently, "But in this one -matter--oh, my dear love--pray try and look at it from my point of view! -It is Barbara I wish to receive--Barbara who is of consequence to us. I -know well all you would say," the speaker gave a sudden imperceptible -look towards the open window, "but you would not put so cruel an affront -on that noble, generous creature! Ah, yes, Richard, she _is_ noble, she -_is_ generous." - -"Her generosity shall cease to-morrow--nay, to-day," he said grimly. - -"Do not say so!" she cried, starting up; and her little daughter, gazing -fascinated, thought she had never till to-day seen her mother look -really alive, alive as other women are. Mrs. Rebell had pushed her fair -hair off her forehead, and her cheeks were red, her blue eyes bright, -with excitement. - -"Ah no, Richard, I was not thinking of _that_--not of such generosity as -can be made to cease to-morrow or to-day; but of Barbara's long goodness -to us both, nay, if you like to put it so, of her goodness to me, who am -in no way related to her! Could any sister have been kinder than she has -been? Were any of my own sisters as kind? True, we did not choose to -avail ourselves of her hospitality." - -"I think that now, even you, Adela, must see that I was right in that -matter." Richard Rebell spoke rather drily. - -"I never questioned it," she said, sharply; "you know, Richard, I never -questioned your decision!" - -There was a pause. The memories of both husband and wife were busy with -the past, with an offer which had been made to them by Richard Rebell's -kinswoman, the offer of a home in England, and of a chance, or so the -wife had thought at the time, of ultimate rehabilitation for one whom -many even then thought completely innocent of the charge brought against -him. - -Adela Rebell was a woman of high honesty, and so, "That is not quite -true," she said reluctantly, "I _did_ question your decision in my -heart, and I see now that you were right. And yet perhaps, my dear, if -we had been there----?" - -Richard Rebell got up. He went and deliberately closed the window, -making a temporary prisoner of the little girl: then he came back, and -answered, very composedly, the meaning of the half-question which his -wife's shrinking delicacy had prevented her putting into words. "Our -being there, Adela, would not have made the slightest difference," he -gave her a peculiar, not unkindly look, "for as a matter of fact I was -then aware of what you apparently only began to suspect long after; and -I think that you will admit that the state of things would have made our -position at Chancton intolerable. We should very naturally have been -expected to shut our eyes--to pander----" - -"Yes--yes indeed!" his wife shrank back. "But you never told me this -before----Why did you not tell me at the time?" - -"My dear," he answered, very quietly, "that is not the sort of thing a -man cares to tell, even his wife, when the heroine of the tale is his -own cousin. And Barbara, as you have reminded me to-day, had behaved, -and was behaving, very generously to us both." - -"But if--if you felt like that, why----" - -Mrs. Rebell looked up imploringly; she knew what this conversation meant -in pain and retrospective anguish to them both. But again Richard Rebell -answered, very patiently, his wife's unspoken question, "Well, I admit -that I am perhaps illogical. But what happened two years ago, I mean the -birth of Barbara's child--has made a difference to my feeling. I don't -think"--he spoke questioningly as if to himself, "I hope to God I don't -feel as I do owing to any ignoble disappointment?" - -"No, no, indeed not!" There was an accent of eager protest in Adela -Rebell's voice: "Besides, she wrote and said--she has said again and -again--that it will make no difference." - -"In any case," he spoke rather coldly, "Barbara Sampiero is certain to -outlive me, and I do not think anything would make her unjust to our -girl. But to return to what I was saying, and then, if you do not mind, -Adela, we will not refer to the subject again----The birth of the child, -I say, has altered my feeling, much as it seems to have done, from what -I gather from Daman, that of the rest of the world." - -"I always so disliked Mr. Daman," his wife said irrelevantly. - -"No doubt, no doubt--I grant you that he's not a very nice fellow, but -he's always been fond of her, and after all he has always stuck to us. -There's no doubt as to what he says being the truth----" - -"But Richard--is not that very unfair?" Mrs. Rebell spoke with a fire -that surprised herself: "if, as you tell me now, you always knew the -truth concerning Bar and Lord Bosworth, should what happened two years -ago make such a difference?" - -"Till two years ago,"--he spoke as if he had not heard her -words,--"Barbara held her own completely; so much is quite clear, and -that, mind you, with all the world, even including the strait-laced folk -about Chancton. I suppose people were sorry for her--for them both, if -it comes to that----Besides, it was nobody's business but their own. -Now----" he hesitated: "Daman tells me that she's absolutely solitary, I -mean of course as regards the women." He added musingly, as if to -himself, "She's acted with extraordinary, with criminal folly over this -matter." - -"Then she is being treated as we should have been treated,--indeed as we -were, by most people, during the short time we stayed in England eight -years ago?" - -"I do not think," Mr. Rebell spoke very coldly, "that your comparison, -Adela, holds good. But now, to-day, the point is this: am I to be -compelled to receive, and indeed to countenance, Barbara Sampiero and -her lover? and further, am I to allow my wife to do so? Do you -suppose"--he spoke with a sudden fierceness,--"that either Barbara or -Bosworth would have ever thought of doing what you tell me they have -actually written and proposed doing, to-day, had our own circumstances -been different? Barbara may be--nay she is, as you very properly point -out--a noble and generous creature, but in this matter, my dear Adela, -she's behaving ungenerously; she's exacting a price, and a heavy price, -for her past kindness. But it is one which after to-day I shall take -care she shall not be in a position to exact. - -"Yes," he went on slowly, "we shall of course have to give up this -house," his eyes glanced with a certain affection round the room which -had always pleased his taste. "Our requirements," he concluded, "have -become very simple. We might travel, and show our child something of the -world." - -A light leapt into his wife's eyes; oh! what joy it would be to leave -St. Germains, to become for a while nomadic, but with a sigh she -returned to the present. "And to-day, what is to happen to-day, Richard? -There is no time to stop them--they will be here in two or three hours." - -Mr. Rebell remained silent for some moments, and then: "Not even to -please you," he said, "can I bring myself to receive them. But I admit -the force of what you said just now. Therefore, if you care to do so, -stay--stay and make what excuse for my absence seems good to you. -Bosworth will know the reason well enough, unless he's more lost to a -sense of decency than I take him to be. But Bar--poor dear Bar," a note -of unwilling tenderness crept into his cold voice, "will doubtless -believe you if you tell her, what indeed is true enough, that I have an -important engagement to-day with Daman, and that, if she cares to see -me, I will come and see her before she leaves Paris----" - -The speaker went to the window and opened it. He bent down and touched -Barbara's forehead with his dry lips. "I trust," he said in his thin -voice, "that you will have a pleasant birthday. I will bring you back a -box of chocolates from Marquis'," and then, without waiting to hear the -child's murmured thanks, he turned on his heel and was gone. Barbara did -not see her father again till the next morning. - - * * * * * - -It was early afternoon, and the fair-haired Englishwoman and her little -dark, eager-eyed daughter were sitting out on the rose-wreathed balcony -of the Villa d'Arcole. Mrs. Rebell was very silent. She was longing for, -and yet dreading, the coming meeting with one she had not seen since -they had parted, with tears, at Dover, eight long years before. Her -restlessness affected the child, the more so that Barbara knew that her -marraine, that is to say in English, her godmother, the source of many -beautiful gifts, was at last coming to see them, and in her short life -the rare coming of a visitor had always been an event. - -Below the balcony, across the tiny formal garden now bright with -flowers, the broad sanded roadway stretching between the Villa d'Arcole -and the high cool screen formed by the forest trees, was flecked with -gay groups of children and their be-ribboned nurses. St. Germains was -beginning to awake from its noonday torpor, and leisurely walkers, -elegant women whose crinolines produced a curious giant blossom-like -effect, elderly bourgeois dressed in rather fantastic summer garb, -officers in brilliant uniforms--for in those days Imperial France was a -land of brilliancy and of uniforms--were already making their way to the -Terrace, ever the centre of the town's life and gossip. - -Suddenly there came on Barbara's listening ears a sound of wheels, of -sharply ringing hoofs, of musical jingling of harness bells. Several of -the strollers below stayed their footsteps, and a moment later Mrs. -Rebell became aware that before the iron-wrought gilt gates of the villa -there had drawn up the prettiest and most fantastic of equipages, while -to the child's eager eyes it seemed as if Cinderella's fairy chariot -stood below! - -Had Richard Rebell been standing by his wife, he would doubtless have -seen something slightly absurd, and in any case undignified, in the -sight presented by the low, pale blue victoria, drawn by four white -horses ridden by postillions, two of whom now stood, impassive as -statues, each at one of the leaders' heads. But to Richard Rebell's -little daughter the pretty sight brought with it nothing but pure -delight; and for a few moments she was scarcely aware of the two figures -who sat back on the white leather cushions. And yet one of these -figures, that of the woman, was quite as worthy of attention as the -equipage which served to frame her peculiar and striking beauty, and so -evidently thought the small crowd which had quickly gathered to gaze at -what had been at once recognised as a carriage from the Imperial -stables. - -Dowered, perhaps to her own misfortune, with a keen dramatic instinct, -and a rather riotous love of colour, Barbara Sampiero had chosen to -dress, as it were, for the part. Her costume, a deep purple muslin gown, -flounced, as was the fashion that spring, from hem to waist, her -cross-over puffed bodice, and short-frilled sleeves, the broad Leghorn -hat draped with a scarf of old lace fastened down with amethyst bees, -and the pale blue parasol matching exactly in tint the colour of the -carriage in which she was sitting, recalled a splendid tropical flower. - -A certain type of feminine beauty has about it a luminous quality; such -was that of Barbara Sampiero, now in full and glowing perfection: some -of its radiance due to the fact that as yet Time--she was not far from -forty--had spared her any trace of his swift passage. The involuntary -homage of those about her proved that she was still as attractive as she -had been as a younger woman; her beauty had become to her an -all-important asset, and she guarded and tended it most jealously. - -Her companion was also, though in a very different way, well worthy of -attention. Before stepping out of the carriage he stood up for a -moment, and, as he looked about him with amused and leisurely -curiosity, the spectators at once recognised in him a typical -Englishman of the ruling class. Every detail of his dress, the very -cut of his grizzled hair and carefully trimmed whiskers, aroused the -envy of those Frenchmen among the crowd who judged themselves to be of -much his own age. He had not retained, as had done his contemporary -and one-time friend, Richard Rebell, the figure of his youth, but he -was still a fine, vigorous-looking man, with a bearing full of dignity -and ease. - -As his eyes quickly noted the unchanged aspect of the place where he -found himself, he reminded himself, with some quickening of his pulses, -that no Englishman living had a right to feel in closer touch with the -romance of this French town. In the great grim castle--so unlike the -usual smiling château--which rose to the right behind the Villa -d'Arcole, his own Stuart forbears had spent their dignified exile. More, -he himself had deliberately chosen to associate the most romantic and -enchanting episode of a life which had not been lacking in enchanting -and romantic episodes, with this same place, with St. Germains. He and -Madame Sampiero had good reason to gaze as they were both doing at that -famous hostelry, the Pavillon Henri IV., of which they could see, -embowered in trees, the picturesque buildings overhanging the -precipitous slopes. - -Julian Fitzjames Berwick, Lord Bosworth of Leicester, had always made it -his business to extract the utmost out of life. He had early promised -himself that, whoever else were debarred from looking over the hedge, he -would belong to the fortunate few who are privileged to walk through the -gate. So far he had been wonderfully successful in attaining the various -goals he had set himself to attain. This had been true even of his -public life, for he had known how to limit his ambitions to what was -easily possible, never taking undue risks, and ever keeping himself free -from any connection with forlorn hopes. This perhaps was why this -fortunate man was one of the very few statesmen in whom his fellow -countrymen felt a comfortable confidence. All parties were apt to -express regret when he was out of office, and though he was no longer in -any sense a young man, it was believed that he had a future or several -futures before him. - -Many of Lord Bosworth's contemporaries and friends would have shrunk -from taking part in such an expedition as that of to-day, but the -intelligent epicurean had so arranged every detail of this visit to -Richard Rebell and his wife, that it must bring, at any rate to himself, -more pleasure than annoyance. Still, he was not sorry to stand for a -moment enjoying the pretty, bright scene, the wonderful view, and his -own and his beautiful companion's sentimental memories, before going in -to face, as he fully believed he was about to do, the man who was at -once Barbara Sampiero's unfortunate kinsman and his own former intimate. - -Meanwhile Mrs. Rebell had made her way swiftly down the house: hurriedly -she herself opened the front door, waving back the French servant: then, -when she saw the little crowd gathered round the gate, she retreated -nervously, leaving her two guests to make their way alone up the -geranium-bordered path. But once they had passed through into the cool -dim hall, once the light and brightness were shut out, then with a cry -of welcome Adela Rebell put her arms round the other woman's neck, and -with a certain shy cordiality gave her hand to the man whose coming -to-day had caused Richard Rebell to be absent from this meeting, and -this although, Mrs. Rebell eagerly reminded herself, Lord Bosworth also -had been true and kind during that bitter time eight years ago. - -At last all four, for little Barbara was clinging to her mother's -skirts, made their way up the narrow turning staircase, and so into the -long, sparsely furnished drawing-room, full of grateful quiet and -coolness to the two who had just enjoyed a hot if a triumphal drive from -Paris. - -At once Madame Sampiero sat down and drew the child to her knee: "And -so," she said, in a deep melodious voice, "this is little Barbara -Rebell? my god-daughter and namesake! For do you know, my child, that I -also am a Barbara Rebell? One always keeps, it seems, a right to one's -name, and lately--yes really, Adela, I have sometimes thought of going -back to mine!" Then, with a quick change of voice, her eyes sweeping the -room and the broad balcony, "But where is Richard?" she asked. "Surely -you received my letter? You knew that I was coming, to-day?" - -But she accepted with great good humour Mrs. Rebell's faltered -explanation, perhaps secretly relieved that there need be no meeting -with the cousin who owed her so much, and who yet, she had reason to -believe, judged with rather pitiless severity the way she had chosen to -fashion her life. - -Meanwhile, Lord Bosworth and little Barbara had gone out on the balcony, -and there, with the tact for which he had long been famed, and which had -contributed not a little to his successes when Foreign Minister, he soon -made friends with the shy, reserved child. - -But Madame Sampiero took no advantage of the _tête-à-tête_ so -thoughtfully arranged by her friend; instead, but looking intently the -while into Adela Rebell's sensitive face, she dwelt wholly on the -immediate present; telling of her stay in Paris, the first for many -years; of her visit to St. Cloud--in a few satirical sentences she -described to her silent listener the interview with the Empress Eugénie -amid the almost theatrical splendour of the summer palace. But the gay -voice altered in quality as she asked the quick question, "I suppose -Richard reads the _Figaro_? Did he tell you of that reference to--to my -visit to St. Cloud?" As her companion bent her head, she added: "It has -annoyed us so very much! I am sorry that Richard saw it--I cannot -imagine how they became aware of my maiden name, or why they brought in -that reference to Corsica!" - -Mrs. Rebell, the kindest, least critical of women, yet felt a certain -doubt as to whether in this matter her cousin was speaking the truth, -but Madame Sampiero had already dismissed the subject with an impatient -sigh. She rose from her chair, and walked to and fro, examining with -apparent interest the fine pieces of First Empire furniture at that time -so completely out of fashion as to appear curiosities. Then she said -suddenly, "Surely we might go out of doors. May little Barbara take -Julian to the church where James II. is buried? He is anxious to see the -inscription the Queen has had placed there. Meanwhile you and I might -wait for them on the Terrace; I seem to have so much to tell you, and -you know we cannot stay much more than an hour," and, as she noted -remorsefully Mrs. Rebell's flush of keen disappointment, she added, "Did -I not tell you in my letter that Julian was anxious to see the little -place near here belonging to James Berwick, I mean the hunting lodge -bought years ago by Julian's brother? However, there may be no time for -that, as we are going on to St. Cloud, and also---- But I will ask you -about that later." - - * * * * * - -Once out of doors, leaning over the parapet of the Terrace, gazing down -on the wide plain below, and following abstractedly the ribbon-like -windings of the river, Madame Sampiero at last touched on more intimate -matters, on that which had been in both her own and her companion's -minds ever since Mrs. Rebell had drawn her, with such eager hands, into -the hall of the villa. - -"If Richard had been here," she said, "I could not have spoken to you of -my child--of my darling Julia. And though I'm sorry not to see him, I'm -glad to have this opportunity of telling you, Adela, that I regret -nothing, and that I do not feel that I have any reason to be ashamed." -As the other looked at her with deeply troubled eyes, she continued: "Of -course I know you think I have acted very wrongly. But in these matters -every woman must judge for her own self. After all, that man over -there,"--she waved her hand vaguely as if indicating some far distant -spot, and Mrs. Rebell, slight though was her sense of humour, felt a -flash of melancholy amusement as she realised that the place so -indicated meant the Corsican village where Napoleone Sampiero was -leading a most agreeable life on the income which he wrested only too -easily from his English wife,--"That man, I say, has no claim on me! If -there came any change in the French divorce laws he could easily be -brought to do what I wish----Oh Adela, if you only knew what a -difference my child has made to me,--and in every way!" - -For a few moments there was silence between them. Adela Rebell opened -her lips--but no words would come, and so at last, timidly and tenderly -she laid her hand on the other woman's, and Barbara again spoke. "I used -to feel--who would not have done so in my position?--how little real -part I played in Julian's life. The knowledge that Arabella and James -Berwick were to him almost like his own children was, I confess, painful -to me, but now that he knows what it is to have a child of his own--ah, -Adela, I wish you could see them together! Only to-day he said to me: 'I -love you, Barbara, but I adore our Julia!' I used to think he would -never care to spend much of the year in the country; but now, since the -child came, he seems quite content to stay for long weeks together at -Fletchings." - -"And I suppose," said Mrs. Rebell,--she did not know how to bring -herself to speak of little Julia--"I suppose that James and -Arabella--how well I remember them as small children--are a great deal -with him?" - -"Well, no," for the first time during the conversation Madame Sampiero -reddened deeply. "Arabella has been taken possession of by her mother's -people. They have not been quite kind about--about the whole matter--and -I think at first Julian felt it a good deal. But after all it would have -been rather awkward for him to have charge of a niece of eighteen. As to -James Berwick, of course he comes and goes, and I'm told he's -prodigiously clever. He doesn't grow better-looking as he grows older. -Sometimes I find it difficult to believe that the ugly little fellow is -Julian's nephew!" - -"And Jane Turke?" - -"Oh! I've left her and Alick McKirdy at Chancton, in charge of Julia, of -course." - -"Will you remember me to him--I mean to Doctor McKirdy,--you know I -always liked him in old days." - -"Yes, a very good fellow! Of course I'll tell him. He'll feel very -flattered, I'm sure, that you remember him." - -"And the Priory--I wish stones could feel! For then, Bar, I should ask -you to give my love to the Priory--I do so cherish that place! Sometimes -I dream that we, Richard and I, are there, as we used to be long -ago----" Mrs. Rebell's voice broke. - -Madame Sampiero put her hand through her companion's arm, and slowly -they began to pace up and down. "As I told you," she said, rather -suddenly, "we cannot stay long, for we are driving round by St. Cloud, -and--and, Adela, I have a great favour to ask of you"--there came an -eager, coaxing note into the low, full voice. "May I take little Barbara -too? I mean with us to St. Cloud? The Prince Imperial is giving a -children's party. Look, I have brought her a special invitation all to -herself!" and from her pocket--for those were the days of voluminous -pockets--the speaker drew a small card on which was written in gold -letters, "Le Prince Impérial a l'honneur d'inviter Mademoiselle Barbara -Rebell à gouter. St. Cloud, 9 Juin, 1870." "I told the Empress," she -added eagerly, "that I should like to bring my god-daughter and -namesake, and she made the boy--he is such a well-mannered little -fellow--write Barbara's name on the card." - -"Dear Bar, it was more than kind of you. But I fear--I know, that -Richard would not allow it!" - -"But Adela--if I take all the blame! Surely you would not wish the child -to miss such a delightful experience?" Madame Sampiero spoke in a -mortified tone, but Adela Rebell scarcely heard the words; to her the -proposal did not even admit of discussion. "I cannot allow what Richard -would certainly disapprove," she said; and then, with the eager wish of -softening her refusal, "You do not realise, Barbara, my poor Richard's -state of mind. We go nowhere, we know nobody; it was with the greatest -difficulty I persuaded him to allow the Protestant banker to bring me in -touch with a few people who have children of our child's own age. More -than once we have been offered introductions which would have brought us -in contact with the Tuileries and with St. Cloud, but Richard feels that -in the circumstances we cannot live too quietly. And on the whole," she -hastened to add, "I agree with him." - -Before another word could be uttered on either side, the two oddly -contrasted figures of Lord Bosworth and his small companion were seen -hastening towards them. The man and the child had already become good -friends, and, as they drew near to Madame Sampiero and Mrs. Rebell, -little Barbara, a charming figure in her white muslin frock, blue sash -and large frilled hat, ran forward with what was for her most unusual -eagerness and animation. - -"Oh mamma," she cried, "have you heard? The Prince Imperial has invited -me to his _gouter_, and my marraine and this gentleman are going to take -me to St. Cloud! There is a little seat in the carriage which can be let -down." Her voice wavered; perhaps she had already become aware of her -mother's look of utter dismay, "You know that Marthe Pollain went last -year, and the little Prince danced with her--I do wonder if he will -dance with me!" - -She stopped, a little out of breath, and Madame Sampiero turned with a -half-humorous, half-deprecating look at her cousin, "Come, Adela," she -said, "surely you would never have the heart to refuse those pleading -eyes?" - -But the words seemed to nerve Mrs. Rebell to instant decision. "No, -Barbara," she said, in a very low tone. "My poor little girl--I cannot -allow you to accept this invitation. It would make your father very very -angry." And then, as the child, submitting at once, to Bosworth's -admiring surprise, turned away, the tears running down her cheeks, the -mother added, even more really distressed than was the nervous, excited -little girl herself: "I am so very sorry, Barbara, but we will try to -think of something to do to-morrow which you will like almost as well." - -Madame Sampiero bent towards the child. "Never mind, little Barbara," -she said, her voice trembling a little, "only wait till you see me -again, I will bring you the sweetest of playfellows! And some day I will -myself persuade your father to let me take you to a real ball, at the -Tuileries!" Turning to Mrs. Rebell, she added: "Julian and I both agree -that in time, say in six or eight years, I should do very well to take -some small château near Paris, and spend there part of each year. Julia -will then be old enough to have masters, and I am sure, indeed we both -think,"--she turned to the impassive man now walking slowly by her -side,--"that I had better really try and make a half Frenchwoman of her, -and perhaps ultimately, who knows, settle her in France!" - -Mrs. Rebell suddenly laughed. "Oh Barbara," she said, "how fond you have -always been of making plans, of looking forward! Surely this is rather -premature?" - -Madame Sampiero smiled. "English people," she said, quickly, "don't give -half enough thought to the future. But, Adela, I was not only thinking -of my Julia, but also of your little Barbara. Richard cannot mean her -always to lead a cloistered life. In eight years she will be grown-up, -eager to see something of the world. Where could she make her début so -delightfully as at the Tuileries? Well, little Barbara"--and again she -bent over the child--"look forward to the time when I shall be quite -ready to play my _rôle_ of fairy godmother, and so introduce you to the -most beautiful, the most brilliant, the most delightful Court in the -world!" - -The group of walkers turned, and slowly they made their way back to the -Villa d'Arcole. Then, after long clinging leave-taking, Mrs. Rebell and -Barbara, both with bitter tears in their eyes, watched the fairy-like -equipage disappear down the sanded road leading to the Grande Place, and -so towards the broad highway which would bring it ultimately to St. -Cloud. - - * * * * * - -When the carriage was clear of the town, Bosworth, laying his large -powerful hand on that of his companion, as if to deaden the full meaning -of his words, said suddenly, "I suppose, Barbara, that you never had the -slightest doubt as to Richard Rebell's complete innocence?" - -"Never!" she said sharply. "Never the slightest doubt! In fact I would -far rather believe myself guilty of cheating at cards than I would -Richard. I think it was an infamous accusation! Why, surely you, Julian, -felt and feel the same?" She looked at him with real distress and anger -in her blue eyes. - -"Oh yes," he said slowly, "I certainly felt the same at the time. Still, -his present way of going on looks very odd. It doesn't seem to me that -of an innocent man. Why should he compel his wife to lead such a life as -that she evidently does lead at St. Germains?" - -"But how young she still looks," said Madame Sampiero eagerly. "I really -think she's as pretty as ever!" - -"H'm!" he said. "Rather faded--at least so I thought. And then,--another -notion of Richard's no doubt,--there seemed something wrong about her -dress." - -Barbara Sampiero laughed. "You are quite right," she said, "but how odd -that you should have noticed it! Richard won't allow her to wear a -crinoline! Isn't he absurd? But she hasn't changed a bit. She loves him -as much as ever--nay, more than ever, and that, Julian,"--again their -hands clasped,--"is, you must admit, very rare and touching after all -that has come and gone." - -But each of the speakers felt that this visit to St. Germains had been -vaguely disappointing, that it had not yielded all they had hoped it -would do. - -Barbara Sampiero made up her mind that before leaving Paris she would -come again, and come alone. She did not carry out her good resolution, -and many long years were to pass by before she and her god-daughter met -again. And to both, by the time of that second meeting, St. Germains had -become a place peopled with sad ghosts and poignant memories which both -strove rather to forget than to remember. - - - END OF THE PROLOGUE. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - "Mon pauvre coeur maladroit, mon coeur plein de révolte et - d'espérance...." - - "The past is death's, the future is thine own." - - SHELLEY. - - -Fifteen years had gone by since the eventful birthday and meeting at St. -Germains. - -As Barbara Rebell, still Barbara Rebell, though she had been a wife, a -most unhappy wife, for six years, stepped from the small dark vestibule -into the dimly-lighted hall of Chancton Priory, her foot slipped on the -floor; and she would have fallen had not a man's hand, small but -curiously bony and fleshless, grasped her right arm, while, at the same -moment, a deep voice from out the darkness exclaimed, "A good omen! So -stumbled the Conqueror!" - -The accent in which the odd words were uttered would have told a tale as -to the speaker's hard-bitten nationality to most English-speaking folk: -not so to the woman to whom they were addressed. Yet they smote on her -ear as though laden with welcome, for they recalled the voice of a -certain Andrew Johnstone, the Scotch Governor of the West Indian island -of Santa Maria, whose brotherly kindness and unobtrusive sympathy had -been more comfortable to her, in a moment of great humiliation and -distress, than his English wife's more openly expressed concern and more -eagerly offered friendship. - -And then, as the stranger advanced, hesitatingly, into the hall, she -found herself confronted by an odd, indeed an amazing figure, which yet -also brought a quick sense of being at last in a dear familiar place -offering both welcome and shelter. For she was at once aware that this -must be the notable Jane Turke, Madame Sampiero's housekeeper, one to -whom Barbara's own mother had often referred when telling her little -daughter of the delights of Chancton Priory--of the Sussex country house -to which, when dying, the thoughts of Richard Rebell's wife seemed ever -turning with sick longing and regret. - -Mrs. Turke wore a travesty of the conventional housekeeper's costume. -There, to be sure, were the black apron and lace cap and the bunch of -jingling keys, but the watered silk of which the gown was made was of -bright yellow, and across its wearer's ample bosom was spread an -elaborate parure of topazes set in filigree gold, a barbaric ornament -which, however, did not seem out of place on the remarkable-looking old -lady. Two earrings, evidently belonging to the same set, had been -mounted as pins, and gleamed on the black lace partly covering Mrs. -Turke's grey hair, which was cut in a straight fringe above the shrewd, -twinkling eyes, Roman nose, and firm, well-shaped mouth and chin. - -For a few moments the housekeeper held, as it were, the field to -herself: she curtsied twice, but there was nothing servile or menial -about the salutation, and each time the yellow gown swept the -stone-flagged floor she uttered the words, "Welcome, Ma'am, to -Chancton," running her eyes quickly the while over the slender stranger -whose coming might bring such amazing changes to the Priory. - -Then, as Mrs. Rebell, half smiling, put out her hand, the old -woman--for, in spite of her look of massive strength Mrs. Turke was by -now an old woman--said more naturally, "You don't remember Jane Turke, -Ma'am, but Jane Turke remembers you, when you was little Missy, and your -dear Mamma used to bring you here as a babby." - -Mrs. Turke's voice was quite amazingly unlike that which had uttered, -close to the door, the few words of what Barbara had felt to be a far -sincerer welcome. It was essentially a made-up, artificial voice,--one -to which only the old-fashioned but expressive word "genteel" could -possibly apply: an intelligent listener could not but feel certain that -Mrs. Turke would be bound to speak, if under stress of emotion, in quite -other accents. - -A muttered exclamation, a growl from that other presence who still stood -apart, hidden in the deep shadows cast by the music gallery which -stretched across the hall just above the head of the little group, -seemed to nerve the housekeeper to a fresh effort: "This gentleman, -Ma'am," she cried, waving a fat be-ringed hand towards the darkness, "is -Doctor McKirdy. He also knew your dear Mamma, and is very pleased to see -you once more at Chancton Priory." - -From behind Barbara Rebell lumbered forth into the light another strange -figure, a man this time, clad in evening dress. But he also seemed oddly -familiar, and Mrs. Rebell knew him for a certain Alexander McKirdy, of -whom, again, she had often heard from her mother. "I'll just thank ye," -he said harshly, "to let me utter my own welcome to this lady. My words, -no doubt, will be poor things, Mrs. Turke, compared to yours, but they -will have the advantage of being my own!" - -Alexander McKirdy was singularly ugly,--so much had to be conceded -to his enemies and critics, and at Chancton there were many who -felt themselves at enmity with him, and few who were capable of -realising either the Scotchman's intellectual ability or his entire -disinterestedness. Of fair height, he yet gave the impression of being -short and ungainly, owing to the huge size of his head and the -disproportionate breadth of his shoulders. His features were rough-hewn -and irregular, only redeemed by a delicate, well-shaped mouth, and -penetrating, not unkindly pale blue eyes. His hair, once bright red, now -sandy grey streaked with white, was always kept short, bristling round a -high intelligent forehead, and he was supposed to gratify Scotch economy -by cutting it himself. He was clean-shaven, and his dress was habitually -that of a man quite indifferent to his outward appearance; like most -ugly and eccentric-looking men, Doctor McKirdy appeared at his best on -the rare occasions when he was compelled to wear his ancient dress -clothes. - -Such was the man who now turned and cast a long searching look at -Barbara Rebell. "I shall know if you are welcome--welcome to me, that -is--better an hour hence than now, and better still to-morrow than -to-day"--but a twinkle in his small bright eyes softened the -ungraciousness of his words: "Now," he said, "be off, Mrs. Turke! You've -had your innings, and said your say, and now comes my turn." - -"You're never going to take Mrs. Rebell up to Madam now,--this very -minute?--before she has taken off her bonnet?--or seen her room?--or had -her dinner?" but the man whom she addressed with such fussy zeal made no -reply. Instead, he jerked his right shoulder, that as to which Barbara -wondered if it could be higher than the other, towards the shadows from -which he had himself emerged, and Mrs. Turke meekly turned away, her -yellow silk gown rustling, and her barbaric ornaments jingling, as she -passed through the swing door which shut off the hall, where they had -all three been standing, from the commons of the Priory. - -Doctor McKirdy lifted one of the high lamps, which seemed to make the -darkness of the hall more visible, in his strong, steady hands. Then he -turned abruptly to Mrs. Rebell. "Now," said he, "just a word with you, -in your private ear." - -Without waiting for an answer, he started walking down the hall, Barbara -following obediently, while yet finding time to gaze, half fearfully, as -she went, at the quivering grotesque shadows flung by herself and her -companion across the bare spaces of flagged floor, and over the -high-backed armchairs, the Chinese screen, and the Indian cabinets which -lined the walls on either side of the huge fire-place. - -At last they stopped before a closed door--one curiously ornate, and -heavy with gilding. Doctor McKirdy motioned to his companion to open it, -and as she did so they passed through into what was evidently the -rarely-used drawing-room of the Priory. - -Then, putting the lamp down on the top of a china cabinet, the Scotchman -turned and faced his companion, and with a certain surprise Mrs. Rebell -realised that he was much taller than herself, and that as he spoke she -had to look up into his face. - -"I should tell you," he said, with no preamble, "that it was I who wrote -you the letter bidding you come." - -Barbara shrank back: of course she had been aware,--painfully -aware,--that the letter which had indeed bidden her, not unkindly, to -leave the West Indian island where she had spent her wretched married -life, and make Chancton Priory her home, had not been written by her -godmother's own hand. The knowledge had troubled her, for it implied -that her letter of appeal, that to which this was an answer, had also -been read by alien eyes. - -"Yes," the doctor repeated, as though unwilling to spare her, "I wrote -it--of course at Madam's dictation: but it was my notion that when going -through London you should see Goodchild. He's an honest man,--that is, -honest as lawyers go! I thought may-be he might explain how matters are -here--Well, did you see him?" - -"Yes, I went there this morning. Mr. Goodchild told me that my godmother -was paralysed,--but that, of course, I knew already. Perhaps you have -forgotten that you yourself long ago wrote and told me of her illness? -Mr. Goodchild also explained to me that Madame Sampiero sees very few -people. He seemed to doubt"--Barbara's soft, steady voice suddenly -trembled--"whether she would consent to see me; but I do hope"--she -fixed her dark eyes on his face with a rather piteous expression--"I do -hope, Doctor McKirdy, that she will see me?" - -"Don't fash yourself! She _is_ going to see you,--that is, if I just -wish it!" - -He looked down at the delicate, sensitive face of the young woman -standing before him, with an intent, scrutinising gaze, allowed it to -travel slowly downwards till it seemed wholly to envelop her, and yet -Barbara felt no offence: she realised that this strange being only so -far examined her outward shape, inasmuch as he believed it would help -him to probe her character and nature. - -In very truth the doctor's mind was filled at the present moment with -the thought of one in every way differing from Mrs. Rebell. How would -this still young creature--Barbara's look of fragility and youth gave -him something of a shock--affect Madame Sampiero? That was the question -he had set himself to solve in the next few moments. - -"Are you one of those," he said suddenly, and rather hoarsely, "who -shrink from the sight of suffering?--who abhor distortion?--who only -sympathise with pain when they themselves are in the way to require -sympathy?" - -Barbara hesitated. His questions, flung at her with quick short words, -compelled true answers. - -"No," she said, looking at him with steady eyes, "I have not--I have -never had--the feelings you describe. I believe many people shrink from -seeing suffering, and that it is not to their discredit that they do so -shrink----" There was a defiant note in her voice, and quickly her -companion registered the challenge, but he knew that this was no time to -wage battle. - -Mrs. Rebell continued: "I have never felt any horror of the sick and -maimed, and I am not given to notice, with any repugnance, physical -deformity." Then she stopped, for the strong lined face of her companion -had become, as it were, convulsed with some deep feeling, to which she -had no clue. - -"Perhaps I will just tell you," he said, "why I believe Madame Sampiero -may see you, apart from the fact that she desires to do so. Mrs. Turke -was quite right," he went on with apparent irrelevancy, "I _did_ know -your mother. I had a sincere respect for her, and----" Again his -thoughts seemed to take an abrupt turn. "I suppose you realise that I am -Madame Sampiero's medical attendant,--I have no other standing in this -house,--oh no, none in the world!" - -Barbara divined the feeling which had prompted the last words to be -bitter, bitter. - -"I know," she said gently, "that you have been here a long time, and -that my mother"--a very charming smile lighted up her sad face--"fully -returned the feeling you seem to have had for her." - -But Doctor McKirdy hardly seemed to hear the words, for he hurried on, - -"One day, many years ago--I think before you were born--your mother and -I went for a walk. It was about this time of the year--that is the time -when keepers and vermin are busy. We were walking, I say, and I--young -fool!--was full of pride, for it was the first walk a lady had ever -deigned to take with me. I was uglier, yes, and I think even more -repulsive-looking than I am now!" he gave Barbara a quick glance from -under his shaggy eyebrows, but she made no sign of dissent, and he -smiled, wryly. - -"Well, as I say, I was pleased and proud, for I thought even more ill of -women than I think now; but Mrs. Richard,--that's what we call her here, -you know,--was so beautiful, such a contrast to myself: just a pretty -doll, I took her to be, and as thoughts are free, looking at her there -walking along, I was glad to know that I had all the sweets of her -company and none of the bitter!" - -And still Barbara Rebell, staring at him, astonished at his words, felt -no offence. - -"At last," he went on, "we reached the edge of the first down. I'll take -you there some day. And we heard suddenly a piteous squeal: it was a -puppy, a miserable little beastie, caught in a rabbit trap. You've never -seen such a thing? Ay, that's well, I hope you never will: since that -day you run no risk of doing so in Chancton Woods! 'Twas a sickening -sight, one of the doggie's paws nearly off, and I felt sick--wanted to -get away, to fetch someone along from the village. But Mrs. Richard--she -was the tenderest creature alive, remember--never flinched. Those were -not the days of gun ladies, but there, with me standing by, foolish, -helpless, she put an end to the poor beastie--she put it out of its -misery--with my knife too. Now that deserved the Humane Society's medal, -eh? I never go by there without thinking of it. It's a pity," he said, -in abrupt irrelevant conclusion, "that you're not more like her. I mean, -as regards the outer woman"--he added hastily--"you are dark, like your -father. Well now, I'll be calling Mrs. Turke, and she shall show you -your rooms. We thought you would like those Mrs. Richard used to have -when she came here. She preferred them to those below, to those grander -apartments on Madam's floor." - -"And when shall I see my godmother?" - -Doctor McKirdy looked at her consideringly: - -"Time enough when you've had a rest and a good supper. Never fear, she's -as eager to see you as you are to see her," then, as he watched her -walking back into the hall, he muttered under his breath, "There's -something of Mrs. Richard there after all!" - - * * * * * - -A few moments later Barbara was following the stout housekeeper up the -small winding stair which occupied, opposite the porch and vestibule, -one of the four corners of the great hall, for those who had designed -and built the newer portion of Chancton Priory had had no wish to -sacrifice any portion of the space at their disposal to the exigencies -of a grand staircase. - -Mrs. Turke, on the first landing, called a halt, and Barbara looked -about her with languid curiosity. To the right stretched a dark recess, -evidently the music gallery which overlooked the hall; to the left a -broad well-lighted corridor led, as Mrs. Rebell at once divined, if only -because of the sudden silence which had fallen on her companion, to the -apartments of the paralysed mistress of the Priory, to those of her -godmother, Madame Sampiero. - -Then Mrs. Turke, her loquacity stilled, laboured on up more narrow -winding stairs till they reached the third storey, and, groping her way -down many winding turnings, she finally ushered Mrs. Rebell with some -ceremony--for every incident connected with daily life was to Mrs. Turke -a matter of ritual--into a suite of low-ceilinged, plainly furnished -rooms, of which the windows opened on to the Tudor stone balcony which -was so distinctive and so beautiful a feature of the great house, as -seen from the spreading lawns below. - - * * * * * - -Till Barbara found herself left solitary--she had declared herself well -able, nay, desirous to unpack and dress alone--all that had taken place -during the last hour had seemed hardly real. - -It is said that the first feeling of those who, after being buffeted in -the storm, tossed to and fro by the waves, are finally cast up on dry -land, is not always one of relief. Barbara was no longer struggling in -deep water, but she still felt terribly bruised and sore, and the smart -of the injuries which had befallen her was still with her. Standing -there, in the peaceful rooms which had been those of her own mother, a -keen, almost a physical, longing for that same dear tender mother came -suddenly over her. - -Slowly she put on her one evening dress, a white gown which had been -hurriedly made during the hours which had elapsed between the arrival of -the Johnstones' invitation to Government House, and the leaving by her -of her husband's plantation. Then she looked at herself in the glass, -rather pitifully anxious to make a good impression on her godmother--on -this paralysed woman, who, if the London lawyer said truly, was yet -mentally so intensely and vividly alive. - -To give herself courage, Barbara tried to remember that her hostess was -not only of her own blood, but that she had been the one dear, intimate, -and loyal friend of her mother--the only human being whom Richard -Rebell's wife had refused to give up at his bidding, and even after -Madame Sampiero and her kinsman had broken off all epistolary -relationship. Why had they done so? Out of the past came the memory of -sharp bitter words uttered by Barbara's father concerning Madame -Sampiero and a certain Lord Bosworth. Then, more recently, when she was -perhaps about thirteen, had come news of a child's death--the child had -been called Julia--and Barbara's mother had wept long and bitterly, -though admitting, in answer to her young daughter's frightened -questions, that she had not known the little Julia. - -Mrs. Rebell wrapped a shawl, one of Grace Johnstone's many thoughtful -gifts, round her white gown, and so stepped through her window on to the -stone balcony. Standing there, looking down on the great dark spaces -below, she suddenly felt, for the first time, a deep sense of peace and -of protection from past sorrows and indignities. For the first time also -she felt that she had been justified in coming, and in leaving the man -who,--alas! that it should be so, he being kinsman as well as -husband,--had treated her so ill. - -During the long, solitary journey home--if, indeed, England was -home--there had been time for deep misgiving, for that quick examination -of conscience which, in a sensitive, over-wrought nature, leads to -self-accusation, to a fear of duty neglected. Barbara Rebell was but now -emerging from what had been, and that over years, the imprisonment of -both body and soul. Physically she had become free, but mentally she -still had often during the last five weeks felt herself to be a -bondswoman. During the voyage--aye, even during the two days spent by -her in London--she had seemed to suffer more sentiently than when -actually crushed under the heel of Pedro Rebell, the half-Spanish -planter whose name seemed the only English thing about him. Since she -had escaped from him, Barbara had felt increasingly the degradation of -her hasty marriage to one whose kinship to herself, distant though it -was, had seemed to her girlish inexperience an ample guarantee. That she -had once loved the man,--if, indeed, the romantic, high-strung fancy -which had swept over the newly-orphaned girl could be dignified by the -name of love,--served but to increase her feeling of shame. - -To-night, leaning over the stone balcony of Chancton Priory, Barbara -remembered an incident which had of late receded in her mind: once more -she seemed to feel the thrill of indignation and impotent anger which -had overwhelmed her when she had found out, a few weeks after her -wedding day, that the sum of money paid yearly by Madame Sampiero to -Richard Rebell's account, and untouched by him for some ten years before -his death, had been discovered and appropriated by her bridegroom, with, -if she remembered rightly, the scornful assent of Madame Sampiero. - -Again she turned hot, as though the episode had happened but yesterday -instead of six long years before; and she asked herself, with sudden -misgiving, how she had ever found the courage to petition her godmother -for the shelter of her roof. She could never have brought herself to do -so but for the kindly letter, accompanied by a gift of a hundred pounds, -which had reached her once a year ever since her ill-fated marriage. -These letters seemed to tell her that the old link which had bound her -mother and Barbara Sampiero so closely had not snapped with death, with -absence, or even, on the part of the writer of them, with physical -disablement. - -At last Barbara turned back into the room, and, taking up a candle, made -her way slowly and noiselessly down the old house. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - - "Et voilà que vieillie et qu'infirme avant l'heure - Ta main tremble à jamais qui n'a jamais tremblé, - Voilà qu'encore plus haute et que toujours meilleure - L'âme seule est debout dans ton être accablé...." - P. D. - - "Who ever rigged fair ships to lie in harbours?" - DONNE. - - -Mrs. Rebell was surprised to note the state and decorum with which the -meal to which she sat down in the dining-room was served. She looked -with some curiosity at the elderly impassive butler and the young -footman--where had they been at the moment of her arrival? - -Barbara had yet to learn that implicit obedience to the wills of Doctor -McKirdy and of Mrs. Turke was the rule of life in Chancton Priory, but -that even they, who when apart were formidable, and when united -irresistible, had to give way when any of their fancies controverted a -desire, however lightly expressed, of their mistress. - -Doctor McKirdy would long ago have abolished the office of butler, and -even more that of footman; it irked him that two human beings,--even -though one, that selected by himself, was a Scotchman,--should be eating -almost incessantly the bread of idleness. But Madame Sampiero had made -it clear that she wished the entertainment of her infrequent guests to -be carried on exactly as if she herself were still coming and going with -fleet, graceful steps about the house of which she had been for so many -years the proud and happy mistress. She liked to feel that she was still -dispensing hospitality in the stately dining-room, from the walls of -which looked down an odd collection of family portraits, belonging to -every period of English history and of English art; some, indeed the -majority, so little worthy from the artistic point of view, that they -had been considered unfit to take their places on the cedarwood panels -of the great reception rooms. - - * * * * * - -Barbara found the doctor waiting for her in the hall, walking -impatiently up and down, his big head thrust forward, his hands clasped -behind his back. He was in high good humour, well pleased with the new -inmate of the Priory, and impressed more than he knew by Barbara's -fragile beauty and air of high breeding. In theory no living man was -less amenable to the influence of feminine charm or of outward -appearance, but in actual day-to-day life Alexander McKirdy, doubtless -owing to the old law of opposites, had a keen feeling for physical -perfection, and all unconsciously he abhorred ugliness. - -As Mrs. Rebell came silently towards him from behind the Chinese screen -which concealed the door leading from the great hall to the dining-room, -he shot but at her a quick approving glance. Her white gown, made more -plainly than was the fashion of that hour, fell in austere folds about -her upright slender figure; the knowledge that she was about to see -Madame Sampiero had brought a flush to her pale cheeks and a light to -her dark eyes. Without a word the doctor turned and led the way up the -winding stair with which Barbara was already feeling a pleasant sense of -familiarity; an old staircase is the last of household strongholds which -surrenders to a stranger. - -When they reached the landing opposite the music gallery, the doctor -turned down the wide corridor, and Barbara, with a sudden feeling of -surprise, realised that this upper floor had become the real -centre,--the heart, as it were,--of Chancton Priory. The great hall, the -drawing-room in which she had received Doctor McKirdy's odd confidences, -even the dining-room where a huge fire blazed in her honour, had about -them a strangely unlived-in and deserted air; but up here were light and -brightness, indeed, even some of the modern prettinesses of life,--huge -pots of fragrant hothouse flowers, soft rugs under-foot. - -When opposite to the high door with which the corridor terminated, -Doctor McKirdy turned and looked for a moment at his companion; and, as -he did so, it seemed to Barbara that he was deliberately smoothing out -the deep lines carved by ever-present watchfulness and anxiety on the -rugged surface of his face. Then he knocked twice, sharp quick knocks, -signal-like in their precision; and, scarcely waiting for an answer, he -walked straight through, saying as he did so, "Just wait here a -moment--I will make you a sign when to come forward." - -And then, standing just within the door, and gazing with almost painful -eagerness before her, Mrs. Rebell saw as in a vision that which -recalled, and to a startling degree, a great Roman lying-in-state to -which she had been taken, as a very young girl, during a winter spent by -her with her parents in Italy. - -Between the door and the four curtainless windows, through one of which -now gleamed the young October moon, Barbara became aware that on a long -narrow couch, placed catafalque fashion, in the centre of the room, an -absolutely immobile figure lay stretched out. The light shed from -candles set in branching candlesticks about the room threw every detail -of the still figure, and especially of the head supported on high -pillows, into prominent relief. - -From the black satin cushion on which rested two upright slippered feet, -the gazer's fascinated eyes travelled up--past the purple velvet gown -arranged straightly and stiffly from waist to hem, past the cross-over -lace shawl which almost wholly concealed the velvet bodice, and so to -the still beautiful oval face, and the elaborately dressed, thickly -powdered hair. On the mittened hands, stiffly folded together, gleamed a -diamond and a ruby. There was present no distortion--the whole figure, -only looking unnaturally long, was simply set in trembling immobility. - -Madame Sampiero--the Barbara Rebell of another day--was still made up -for the part she chose to play to the restricted audience which -represented the great band of former adorers and friends, some of whom -would fain have been about her still had she been willing to admit them -to her presence in this, her time of humiliation. - -As the door had opened, her large, wide open deep blue eyes, still full -of the pride of life, and capable of expressing an extraordinary amount -of feeling, turned with a flash of inquiry to the left, and a touch of -real colour--a sign of how deeply she was moved--came into the -delicately moulded, slightly rouged cheeks. The maid who stood by,--a -gaunt Scotchwoman who, by dint of Doctor McKirdy's fierceness of manner, -and the foreknowledge of constantly increased wages, had been turned -into little more than a trained automaton,--retreated noiselessly -through a door giving access to a room beyond, leaving the doctor, his -patient, and Mrs. Rebell alone. - -Tears started to Barbara's eyes, but they were brought there, not so -much by the sight she saw before her, as by the sudden change which that -same sight seemed to produce in the elderly man who now stood by her. -Doctor McKirdy's whole manner had altered. He had become quite gentle, -and his face was even twisted into a wry smile as he put his small -strong hands over the trembling fingers of Madame Sampiero. - -"Well, here's Mrs. Barbara Rebell at last!" he said, "and I'm minded to -think that Chancton Priory will find her a decided acquisition!" - -Barbara was amazed, indescribably moved and touched, to see the light -which came over the stiff face, as the dark blue eyes met and became -fixed on her own. Words, nay, not words, but strange sounds -signifying--what did they signify?--came from the trembling lips. Mrs. -Rebell herself soon learned to interpret Madame Sampiero's muffled -utterances, but on this first occasion she thought Doctor McKirdy's -quick understanding and translating of her godmother's meaning almost -uncanny. - -"Madam trusts you enjoyed a good journey," he said; and then, after -apparently listening intently for a moment to the hoarse muttered -sounds, "Ay, I've told her that already,--Madam wants you to understand -that the rooms prepared for you were those preferred by Mrs. Richard." -He bent forward, and put his hand to his ear, for even he had difficulty -in understanding the now whispered mutterings, "Ay, ay, I will tell her, -never fear--Madam wishes you to understand that there are some letters -of your mother's,--she thinks you would like to see them and she will -give them to you to-morrow. And now if you please she will say -good-night." - -Following a sudden impulse, Mrs. Rebell bent down and kissed the -trembling mittened hands. "I do thank you," she said, almost inaudibly, -"very very gratefully for having allowed me to come here." - -The words seemed, to the woman who uttered them, poor and inadequate, -for her heart was very full, but Doctor McKirdy, glancing sharply at -their still listener, saw that Madame Sampiero was content, and that his -experiment--for so the old Scotchman regarded the coming of Barbara -Rebell to Chancton--was likely to be successful. - - * * * * * - -Had Mrs. Rebell, as child and girl, lived the ordinary life of a young -Englishwoman, she would have realised, from the first moment of her -arrival at Chancton Priory, how strange, how abnormal were the -conditions of existence there; but the quiet solitude brooding over the -great house suited her mood, and soothed her sore humiliation of spirit. - -As she moved about, that first morning, making acquaintance with each of -the stately deserted rooms lying to the right and left of the great -hall, and seeking to find likenesses to her father--ay, even to -herself--in the portraits of those dead and gone men and women whose -eyes seemed to follow her as she came and went among them, she felt a -deep voiceless regret in the knowledge that, but for so slight a chain -of accidents, here she might have come six years ago. - -In fancy she saw herself, as in that case she would have been by now, a -woman perhaps in years--for Barbara, brought up entirely on the -Continent, thought girlhood ended at twenty--but a joyous single-hearted -creature, her only past a not unhappy girlhood, and six long peaceful -years spent in this beautiful place, well spent too in tending the -stricken woman to whom she already felt so close a tie of inherited love -and duty. - -Ah! how much more vividly that which might have been came before her -when she heard the words with which Mrs. Turke greeted her--Mrs. Turke -resplendent in a black satin gown, much flounced and gathered, trimmed -with bright red bows, and set off by a coral necklace. - -"I do hope and trust, Miss Barbara"----and then she stopped, laughing -shrilly at herself, "What am I saying?--well to be sure!--I _am_ a silly -old woman, but it's Madam's fault,--she's said it to me and the doctor a -dozen times this fortnight, 'When Miss Barbara's come home so-and-so -will have to be done,'--And now that you are come home, Ma'am (don't you -be afraid that I'll be 'Missing' you again), I'll have the holland -covers taken off the furniture!" - -For they were standing in the first of the two great drawing-rooms, and -Mrs. Turke looked round her ruefully: "I did want to have it done -yesterday, but the doctor he said, 'Let them be.' Of course I know -there'll be company kept now, and a good thing too! If it wasn't for the -coming here so constant of my own young gentleman--of Mr. James Berwick, -I mean--we would be perished with dulness. 'The more the -merrier'--you'll hardly believe, Ma'am, that such was used to be the -motto of Chancton Priory. That was long ago, in the days of Madam's good -father, and of her lady mother. I can remember them merry times well -enough, for I was born here, dear only daughter to the butler and to -Lady Barbara's own woman--that's what they called ladies' maids in those -days. Folk were born, married, and died in the same service." - -"Then I suppose you have never left Chancton Priory?" Mrs. Rebell was -looking at the old woman with some curiosity. - -"Oh! Lord bless you _yes_, Ma'am! I've seen a deal of the world. There -was an interlude, a most romantic affair, Miss Barbara--there I go -again--well, Ma'am, I'll tell you all about it some day. It's quite as -interesting as any printed tale. In fact there's one story that reminds -me very much indeed of my own romantic affair,--no doubt you've read -it,--Mr. James Berwick, he knows it quite well,--that of the Primrose -family. Olivia her name was, and she was deceived just as I was,--but -there, I made the best of it, and it all came to pass most -providentially. Why, they would never have reared Mr. Berwick if it -hadn't been for me and my being able to suckle the dear lamb, and -_there_ would have been a misfortune for our dear country!" - -A half shuffling step coming across the hall checked, as if by magic, -Mrs. Turke's flow of reminiscence. She looked deprecatingly into -Barbara's face. "You won't be mentioning what I've been telling you to -the doctor, will you, Ma'am? He hates anything romantic, that he do, and -as for love and poetry,--well, he don't even know the meaning of those -expressions! I've often had to say that right out to his face!" - -"And then what does he say?" - -"It just depends on the mood he's in: sometimes--I'm sorry to say it of -him, that I am--he uses most coarse expressions,--quite rude ones! Only -yesterday, he said to me, 'If you will talk about spades, Mrs. Turke, -then talk about spades, don't call them silver spoons,'--as if I would -do such a silly thing! But there, he do lead such a horrid life, all -alone in that little house of his, it's small wonder he don't quite know -how to converse with a refined person. But he's wonderfully -educated--Madam's always thought a deal of him." - -As Doctor McKirdy opened the door Mrs. Turke slipped quickly past him, -and silently he watched her go, with no jibe ready. He was looking -straight at Mrs. Rebell, hesitating, even reddening dully, an odd -expression in his light eyes. - -Barbara's heart sank,--what was he going to tell her?--what painful -thing had he to say? Then he came close to her, and thrust a large open -envelope into her hand. "Madam bid me give you these," he said; "when -you are wanting anything, just send one or more along by post,--duly -registered, of course,"--and under her hand Barbara felt the crinkle of -bank notes. "She would like you to get your things, your clothes and a' -that, from Paris. Old Léonie, Madam's French maid,--I don't think you've -seen her yet,--will give you the addresses. Madam likes those about her -to look well. I'm the only one that has any licence that way--oh! and -something considerably more valuable she has also sent you," he fumbled -in his pocket and held out a small gilt key. "Madam desires you to take -her writing-table, here, for your own use. Inside you'll find the -letters she spoke of yesterday night--those written by Mrs. -Richard,--the other packets, you will please, she says, not disturb." - -He waited a moment, then walked across to the Louis XV. escritoire which -was so placed at right angles to one of the windows that it commanded -the whole wide view of woods, sea, and sky. "Now," he said, "be pleased -to place that envelope in there, and turn the key yourself." As Barbara -obeyed him, her hand fumbling with the lock, he added with a look of -relief, "After business, let's come to pleasure. Would you be feeling -inclined for a walk? Madam will be expecting you to tell her what you -think of the place. She's interested in every little thing about it." - -Doctor McKirdy hurried her through into the hall, and Barbara was -grateful indeed that he took no notice and seemed oblivious of the -tears--tears of oppressed, moved gratitude--which were trickling slowly -down her cheeks. "Don't go upstairs to your room,--no bonneting is -wanted here!" he said quickly, "just put this on." He brought her the -long white yachting cloak, yet another gift, this time disguised as a -loan, of Grace Johnstone, and after he had folded it round her with -kindly clumsy hands, and when she had drawn the white hood over her dark -hair,--"You look very well in that," he observed, in the tone in which -he might have spoken to a pretty child, "I'm minded to take you up to -Madam and let her see you so--and yet--no, we've not so long a time -before your dinner will be coming," and so they passed through the porch -into the open air. - - * * * * * - -Alexander McKirdy had come to have something of the pride of ownership -in Chancton Priory, and as he walked his companion quickly this way and -that,--making no attempt to suit his pace to hers,--he told her much -that she remembered afterwards, and which amused and interested her at -the time, of the people who had lived in the splendid old house. The -life-stories of some of Barbara's forbears had struck the Scotchman's -whimsical fancy, and he had burrowed much in the muniment room where -were kept many curious manuscripts, for the Rebells had ever been -cultivated beyond the usual degree of Sussex squiredom. - -When they had skirted the wide lawns, the doctor hurried her through a -small plantation of high elms to the stables. In this large quadrangular -building of red brick, wholly encompassed by trees, reigned a great air -of desolation: there were three horses stabled where there had once been -forty, and as they passed out from the courtyard where grass grew -between each stone, Barbara asked rather timidly, for her liking for the -doctor was still tempered by something very like fear, "Why are there no -flowers? I thought in England there were always flowers." - -Now Doctor McKirdy was unaccustomed to hear even the smallest word of -criticism of Chancton Priory. "What do ye want flowers for?" he growled -out, "grass and trees are much less perishable. Is not this prospect -more grand and more permanently pleasing than that which would be -produced by flowers? Besides, you've got the borders close to the -house." - -He had brought her to an opening in the high trees which formed a -rampart to the lawn in front of the Priory, and, with his lean arm -stretched out, he was pointing down a broad grass drive, now flecked -with long shafts of golden October sunlight. On one side of this grassy -way rose a holly hedge, and on the other, under the trees, was a drift -of beech leaves. - -Turning round, Barbara suddenly gave a cry of delight; set in an arch, -cut out of the dense wall of holly, was a small iron gate, and through -the aperture so made could be seen a rose garden, the ancient rosery of -Chancton Priory, now a tangle of exquisite colouring, a spot evidently -jealously guarded and hidden away even from those few to whom the -familiar beauties of the place were free. - -Doctor McKirdy followed her gaze with softened melancholy eyes. He had -not meant to bring Mrs. Rebell to this spot, but silently he opened the -little iron gate, and stood holding it back for her to pass through into -the narrow rose-bordered way. - -Surrounded by beech trees and high hedges, the rosery had evidently been -designed long before the days of scientific gardening, but in the -shadowed enclosure many of the summer roses were still blooming. And yet -a feeling of oppression came over Barbara as she walked slowly down the -mossy path: this lovely garden, whose very formality of arrangement was -an added grace, looked not so much neglected as abandoned, uncared for. - -As the two walked slowly on side by side, they came at last to a -fantastic fountain, set in the centre of the rosery, stone cupids -shaking slender jets of water from rose-laden cornucopias, and so to the -very end of the garden--that furthest from the Priory. It was bounded by -a high red brick wall, probably all that remained of some building older -than the rosery, for it had been cleverly utilised to serve as a -background and shelter to the earliest spring roses, and was now bare of -blossom, almost of leaves. In the centre of this wall, built into the -old brick surface, was an elaborate black and white marble tablet or -monument, on which was engraved the following inscription:-- - - "Hic, ubi ludebas vagula olim et blandula virgo, - Julia, defendunt membra foventque rosæ. - Laetius ah quid te tenuit, quid purius, orbis?-- - Nunc solum mater quod fueris meminit" - -"What is it? What is written there?" Barbara asked with some eagerness. -"How strange a thing to find in a rose garden!" - -She had turned to her companion, but for a while he made no answer. Then -at last, speaking with an even stronger burr than usual, Doctor McKirdy -translated, in a quiet emotionless voice, the inscription which had been -composed by Lord Bosworth, at the bidding of Madame Sampiero, to the -memory of their beloved child. - - "Here, where thou wert wont once to play, a little sweet - wandering maid, Julia, the roses protect and cherish thy limbs. - Ah, what happier or purer thing than thee did the world contain?" - -"Do ye wish to hear the rest?" he said, rather sharply, "'Twas put in -against my will and conscience, for 'tis false--false!" - -She bent her head, and he read on, - - "Now, only thy mother remembers that thou wast." - -Barbara looked up, questions trembling on her lips, but her eyes dropped -as they met his. "Madam would have her put here," he said; "Julia's -garden,--that's what we used to call it, and that is what it still is, -for here she lies,--coffinless." - -Again he pointed to the last line, "Madam ought not to have had that -added when there's not a man or woman about the place who's forgotten -the child! But beyond the walls,--ah! well, who knows what is remembered -beyond the walls?" - -"What do you mean?" asked Barbara in a low tone; out of the past she was -remembering a June day at St. Germains. What had she been promised?--ah, -yes! "the sweetest of playfellows." - -"Well, I was just meaning that Madam, when she made us put in those -words, was thinking may-be of some who do not belong to the Priory, who -live beyond the walls. I make no doubt that those folk have no time to -cast their minds back so far as to remember little Julia." - -He turned sharply round and walked as if in haste through the garden, -his head thrust forward, his hands clasped behind his back, in what -Barbara already knew to be his favourite attitude. - -Once outside the gate, Doctor McKirdy looked long, first towards the -Priory, then down the broad grass drive. "And now," he said briskly, -"let's get away to the downs,--there's more air out there than here!" - - * * * * * - -The road leading from the Priory gates to the open downs lay along a -western curve of country-side, and was over-arched by great elms. To the -west Mrs. Rebell caught glimpses of a wide plain verging towards the -sea, and in the clear autumn air every tree and bush flamed with glory -of gold and russet. - -As they walked along the white chalky ridged cart track, the doctor -looked kindly enough at the woman by his side. She was not beautiful as -had been her mother, and yet he saw that her features were very perfect, -and that health,--perfect recovery from what had evidently been a bad -illness,--might give her the bloom, the radiance, which were now -lacking. The old Scotchman also told himself with satisfaction that she -was intelligent--probably cultivated. With the one supreme exception of -Madame Sampiero, Doctor McKirdy had had very little to do with -intelligent women; but Barbara, from her way of listening to his stories -of Chancton Priory, from her questions and her answers, had proved--or -so thought the doctor--that she was one of the very few members of her -sex who take the trouble to think for themselves. - -"I suppose Mr. Sampiero is dead?" - -Never was man more unpleasantly roused from an agreeable train of -thought. - -"He was dead last time we heard of him, but that happened once before, -and then he came to life again--and most inopportunely." - -There was a pause, and Doctor McKirdy added, in a tone which from him -was new to Barbara, "I wonder if you are one to take offence, even if -the offensive thing be said for your own exclusive benefit?" He did not -wait for her reply, "I think you should just be informed that the -man--that individual to whom you referred--is never to be mentioned. -Here at Chancton he is forgotten, completely obliterated--wiped out." He -made a fierce gesture as though his strong hands were destroying, -crushing the life out of, some vile thing. - -"Since I came here, thirty years ago, no one has dared to speak of him -to me, and the only time that Madam had to communicate with me about him -she wrote what she had to say--I, making answer to her, followed the -same course. I thought, may-be, I'd better let you know how he is felt -about in this place." - -"I am sorry," faltered Barbara. "I did not know--My father and mother -told me so little----" - -"They're a fearsome gossiping lot in Chancton," Doctor McKirdy was still -speaking in an angry ruffled voice; "I don't suppose you'll have much -call to see any of them, but Madam may just mean you to do so, and you -may as well be put on your guard. And then you'll be having your own -friends here, I'm thinking"--he shot a quick look at her--"Madam bid me -tell you that she has no idea of your shutting yourself up, and having -no company but Mrs. Turke and,"--he turned and made her an odd, ungainly -little bow--"your most humble servant here!" - -"I have no friends," said Barbara, in a very low tone. "Nay, I should -not say that, for I have two very good friends, a Mr. Johnstone, the -Governor of Santa Maria, and his wife--also, since yesterday, a -third,--if he will take me on trust for my mother's sake." She smiled on -her companion with a touch of very innocent coquetry. Doctor McKirdy's -good humour came back. - -"Ay," he said, "there's no doubt about that _third_ friend," but his -brow clouded as Barbara added, "There is one person in Chancton I'm very -anxious to see,--a Mrs. Boringdon. She is the mother of my friend Mrs. -Johnstone." - -The mention of this lady's name found Doctor McKirdy quite prepared, and -ready with an answer. "Well, I'm not saying you'll like her, and I'm not -saying you'll dislike her." - -"If she's at all like her daughter I know I shall like her." - -"May-be you will prefer the son, Mr. Oliver Boringdon--I do so myself, -though I've no love to waste on him." - -How the doctor longed to tell Mrs. Rebell what he really thought of this -Mrs. Boringdon, the mother of Madame Sampiero's estate agent, and of how -badly from his point of view this same young gentleman, Oliver -Boringdon, sometimes behaved to him! But native caution, a shrewd -knowledge that such warnings often bring about the exact opposite to -what is intended by those who utter them, kept him silent. - -Barbara's next words annoyed him keenly. - -"Oliver!" she cried, "of course I shall like him!" - -"Oliver? Then you're already acquainted with him?" The doctor felt -beside himself with vexation. He was a man of feuds, and to him the land -agent, all the more so that he was a highly educated man, who had been a -civil servant, and later, for a brief period of glory, a member of -Parliament, was a very real thorn in the flesh. - -But Barbara was laughing, really laughing, and for the first time since -her arrival at Chancton. "If I were acquainted with him," she cried, -"surely I should not be calling him by his Christian name! But of course -his sister, Mrs. Johnstone, has talked to me of him: he is her only -brother, and she thinks him quite perfect." - -"It's well there are two to think him so! I refer, o' course, Ma'am, to -the youth himself, and to this lady who is a friend of yours." - -"Is he conceited? Oh! what a pity!" - -"Conceited?" Doctor McKirdy prided himself on his sense of strict -justice and probity: "Nay, nay, that's no' the word for it. Mr. Oliver -Boringdon just considers that he is always right, and that such a good -thinker as himself can never be wrong. He's encouraged in his ideas by -the silly women about here." - -"Does my godmother like him?--he's her land-agent, isn't he?" - -"Madam!" cried Doctor McKirdy indignantly, "Madam has never wasted a -thought upon him,--why should she?" - -He looked quite angrily at his companion. Barbara was still smiling: a -delicate colour, the effect of walking against the wind, had come into -her face. - -"They're all alike," growled the doctor to himself, "just mention a -young man to a young woman and smiling begins," but the harsh judgment, -like most harsh judgments, was singularly at fault. Poor Barbara was -waking up to life again, ready to take pleasure in the slightest matter -which touched her sense of humour. The doctor, however, had become -seriously uneasy. Why this strange interest in the Boringdons? Mrs. -Rebell now belonged to the Priory, and so was surely bound to adopt -without question all his, Alexander McKirdy's, views and prejudices. Her -next words fortunately gave him the opening he sought. - -"I suppose there are many young ladies at Chancton?" - -"There is just one," he said, brightening, "a fine upstanding lass. The -father of her is General Thomas Kemp. May-be you've heard of him, for -he's quite a hero, Victoria Cross and a' that, though the fools about -here don't recognise him as such." - -"No," said Barbara, "I never heard of the heroic General Kemp." - -Her eyes were brimming over with soft laughter. Living with her parents -first in one and then in another continental town, she had had as a -young girl many long solitary hours at her disposal, and she had then -read, with keen zest, numberless old-fashioned novels of English life. -This talk seemed to bring back to her mind many a favourite story, out -of which she had tried in the long ago to reconstruct the England she -had then so longed to know. Ah! now she must begin novel-reading again! -And so she said, "I suppose that Oliver Boringdon is in love with the -General's daughter." - -Doctor McKirdy turned and looked at her, amazed and rather suspicious; -"you show great prescience--really remarkable prescience, Ma'am. I was -just about explaining to you that there is no doubt something like a -kindness betwixt them. There's another one likes her, a Captain Laxton, -but they say she won't have aught to say to him." - -"Oh no! she must be true to Mr. Boringdon, and then, after a long -engagement,--oh! how wise to have a long engagement,"--Barbara sighed -instinctively--"they will be married in the little church which I look -down upon from my stone balcony? and then--why then they will live happy -ever after!" - -"No, no, I cannot promise you that," said Doctor McKirdy gruffly, "that -would be forecasting a great deal too much!" - -Even as he spoke the deeply rutted path was emerging abruptly on a vast -expanse of rolling uplands. They were now on the open down; Barbara laid -a detaining hand on the old Scotchman's arm, and looked about her with -enraptured eyes. Before her, to the east, lay a dark oasis, a -black-green stretch of fir plantation, redeemed a hundred years ago from -the close cropped turf, and a large white house looked out from thence -up the distant sea. To the north, some three miles away, rose the high -sky-line. A dense wood, said to be part of the primeval forest, crept -upwards on a parallel line. There, so says tradition, Boadicea made her -last stand, and across this down a Roman road still asserts the final -supremacy of the imperial force. - -A sound of voices, of steady tramping feet, broke the exquisite -stillness. Towards them, on the path which at a certain point sharply -converged from that on which Doctor McKirdy and Barbara stood, advanced -Fate, coming in the shape of two men who were in sharp contrast the one -to the other. - -Oliver Boringdon--dark, upright, steady-eyed--had still something of the -Londoner and of the Government official about his appearance. His dark, -close-cropped hair was covered by a neat cap which matched his serge -coat and knickerbockers. His companion, James Berwick, looked--as indeed -he was--far more a citizen of the world. He was bare-headed, his fair -hair ruffled and lifted from his lined forehead by the wind; his -shooting clothes, of rough tweed and ugly yellow check colouring, were -more or less out of shape. He was smoking a huge pipe, and as he walked -along, with rather ungainly steps--the gait of a man more at home in the -saddle than on foot--he swung an oak stick this way and that, now and -again throwing it in the air and catching it again--a trick which sorely -tried the patience of his staider companion. - -When they reached the nearest point to Doctor McKirdy and Mrs. Rebell, -the one took off his cap and the other waved his stick vigorously by way -of greeting. Indeed Berwick, as Doctor McKirdy very well saw, would have -soon lessened the ten yards space between the two groups, but Boringdon, -looking before him rather more straightly than before, was already -walking on. - -"Well," said the doctor, "you have now had your wish, Ma'am: that was -Mr. Oliver Boringdon, and the other is his fidus Achates, Mr. James -Berwick: _he's_ a conceited loon if you like. But then he's more reason -to be so! Now what d'ye think they reminded me of as they walked along -there?" - -"I don't know," faltered Barbara. She was still feeling as if a sudden -blast of wind had beaten across her face--such had been the effect of -the piercing, measuring glance of the man whom she took to be Oliver -Boringdon. No doubt the over-bold look was excused by the fact that he -recognised in her his sister's friend. Barbara flushed deeply; she was -wondering, with acute discomfort, what account of her, and of her -affairs, Grace Johnstone--impetuous, indiscreet Grace--had written to -her mother and brother? Oh! surely she could be trusted to have kept -secret certain things she knew--things which had been discovered by the -Johnstones, and admitted by Barbara in her first moments of agonised -relief from Pedro Rebell's half-crazy ill-usage. - -"Well, I'll tell you what the sight of the two of them suggested to me," -went on Doctor McKirdy, "and in fact what they exactly appeared like, -just now,----" he hesitated a moment, and then with manifest enjoyment -added, "The policeman and the poacher! That's what any stranger might -well ha' taken them for, eh?" But Barbara had given no heed to the bold -gazer's more drab companion. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - "Mates are chosen marketwise - Coolest bargainer best buys, - Leap not, nor let leap the heart; - Trot your track and drag your cart, - So your end may be in wool - Honoured and with manger full." - - GEORGE MEREDITH. - - -Mrs. Boringdon, sitting in the drawing-room at Chancton Cottage, looked, -in spite of her handsome dress and her manner and appearance of -refinement, strangely unsuited to the place in which she found herself. -Even the Indian tea-table--one of the few pieces of furniture added to -the room by its present occupant, and now laden with substantial silver -tea-pot, cream-jug, and sugar-basin burnished to their highest point of -brilliancy--was out of keeping with its fragile charm. The room, indeed, -had been scarcely altered since it had been furnished, some sixty years -before, as a maiden retreat for one of Madame Sampiero's aunts, the Miss -Lavinia Rebell of whom tradition still lingered in the village, and -whose lover had been killed in the Peninsular War. - -On her arrival at Chancton Mrs. Boringdon would have dearly liked to -consign the shabby old furniture, the faded water-colours and colour -prints, to some unhonoured lumber-room of the Priory, but even had such -desecration been otherwise possible, the new mistress of Chancton -Cottage was only too well aware that she lacked the means to make the -old-fashioned house what she would have considered habitable. Indeed, -she had been thankful to learn that the estate agency offered to her son -through the intermediary of his friend, James Berwick, carried with it -the use of a fully furnished house of any sort. - -Whenever Mrs. Boringdon felt more than usually dissatisfied and critical -of the furnishings of the rooms where she was fated to spend so much of -her time--for she had no love of the open air--she tried to remind -herself that this phase of her life was only temporary; that soon--her -son thought in two or three years, but Berwick laughed at so prudent a -forecast--the present Government would go out, and then "something" must -surely be found for her clever Oliver. - -To-day, her son had brought his friend back to lunch, and the two young -men had stayed on in the dining-room and in the little smoking-room -beyond, talking eagerly the one with the other. As the mother sat in her -drawing-room patiently longing for her cup of tea, but content to wait -Oliver's good pleasure--or rather that of James Berwick--she could hear -the voices rising and falling, and she rejoiced to think of the intimacy -which those sounds betokened. - -Mrs. Boringdon was one of the many in whom the mere possession of wealth -in others excites an almost hypnotic feeling of interest and goodwill. -When in his presence--nay, when simply even in his neighbourhood--she -never forgot that her son's intimate friend and one-time chief, James -Berwick, was an enormously rich man. That fact impressed her far more, -and was ever more present to her mind, than the considerable political -position which his personality and his wealth together had known how to -win for him. When with Berwick Mrs. Boringdon was never wholly at ease, -never entirely her cool, collected self. And now this afternoon, sitting -there waiting for them to come in and join her, she wondered for the -thousandth time why Oliver was not more amenable to his important -friend--why he had not known how to make himself indispensable to James -Berwick. Had there only been about him something of the sycophant--but -Mrs. Boringdon did not use the ugly word--he would never have been -allowed to slip into this backwater. She was one of the few remaining -human beings who believe that everything is done by "influence," and she -had never credited her son's assurance that no "job" was in the least -likely to be found for him. - -His mother's love for Oliver was tempered by fear; she was keenly -desirous of keeping his good opinion, but of late, seeing how almost -intolerable to him was the position he had accepted, she had been sorely -tempted to speak--to point out to him that men in the position of James -Berwick come to expect from those about them something like -subserviency, and that then they often repay in lavish measure those who -yield it them. - -At last the dining-room door opened and the two men came in. - -"Well," cried Berwick, "we've thrashed out the whole plan of campaign! -There's never anything like a good talk with Oliver to confirm me in my -own opinion! It's really absurd he should stick on here looking after -the Chancton cabbages, dead and alive--but he's positively -incorruptible! I'm thinking of starting a newspaper, Mrs. Boringdon, and -to coax him into approval--also, I must say, to secure him a little -freedom--I offered him the editorship, but he won't hear of it." - -Berwick had thrown himself as he spoke into a low chair, which creaked -ominously under his weight. How indignant would Mrs. Boringdon have felt -had any other young man, looking as James Berwick now looked, his fair -hair tossed and rumpled with the constant ruffling of his fingers, come -and thrown himself down in this free and easy attitude on one of the few -comfortable chairs in Chancton Cottage! But his hostess smiled at him -very indulgently, and turned a look of gentle reproach at her son's -stern dark face. - -"An editorship," she said, vaguely, "that sounds very nice. I suppose it -would mean going and living in London?" Her quick mind, darting this way -and that, saw herself settled in a small house in Mayfair, entertaining -important people, acting perhaps as hostess to Berwick's friends and -supporters! She had once been able to render him a slight service--in -fact, on two occasions he had been able to meet a friend, a lady, in her -drawing-room. In doing what she had done Mrs. Boringdon had lowered -herself in her own eyes, and she had had the uncomfortable sensation -that she had lost in his some of the prestige naturally attaching to his -friend's mother, and yet, for all she knew, these interviews might have -been of a political nature. Women now played a great part in politics. -Mrs. Boringdon preferred to think that the fair stranger, concerning -whose coming to her house there had been so much mystery, had been one -of these. - -Her son's next words rudely interrupted her pleasant dream. - -"The ownership of a newspaper," Oliver was saying abruptly, "has never -yet been of any use to a politician or statesman, and has certainly -prevented some from getting into the Cabinet," and he named two -well-known members of Parliament who were believed to be financially -interested in certain important journals. "It isn't as if you wanted -what the Americans call a platform," he went on. "No man is more sure of -a hearing than you are yourself. But just now, the less you say the more -you will be listened to when the moment comes for saying it!" - -The speaker was walking up and down the narrow room, looking restless -and impatient, with Berwick smiling lazily up at him, though evidently -rather nettled at the frank, unasked-for advice. - -Mrs. Boringdon judged the moment had come to intervene. "I hear that -Lord Bosworth and your sister are back at Fletchings, and that they are -expecting a good many people down--" She added, in a tone of apology, -"Chancton, as you know, has half-a-dozen Court newsmen of its own." - -"To me"--Berwick had jumped up and was helping himself to sugar, to -cake, with the eager insouciance of an intimate--"to me Chancton always -has been, what it is now more than ever, the most delightful spot on -earth! I know that Oliver doesn't agree with me, but even he, Mrs. -Boringdon, ought to enjoy the humours of the place. What other village -can offer such a range of odd-come-shorts, of eccentrics? Where else in -these prosaic days can one see gathered together in one spot our -McKirdys, our Vipens----" - -"Our Mrs. Turkes," said Oliver slily. He came forward smiling, good -humour restored, and took his share of the good things his mother had -provided. - -"Oh! yes," said Berwick, rather hastily, "of course we must throw in my -foster-mother--in fact, I'm sure she would be deeply offended at being -left out! And then, there's another thing I think I can claim for -Chancton. Here one may always expect to come across the unexpected! -To-day whom should we meet, Mrs. Boringdon, but McKirdy, wrapped in his -historic plaid and snuff-coloured hat, and accompanied by a nymph, and -an uncommonly attractive nymph too!" - -Mrs. Boringdon looked gently bewildered. "A nymph!" she exclaimed, "do -you mean a lady? What an extraordinary thing!" - -Berwick looked across at his hostess and grinned. Now and again Oliver's -mother actually reminded this whimsical young man of Mistress Quickly, -and it was an added delight to picture to himself her surprise and -horror if only she had known what was in his mind. - -But Boringdon was frowning. "Nonsense!" he said, irritably, "From what I -could see, she was simply a very oddly dressed young woman! McKirdy has -always been fond of making friends with the summer visitors, and he -always prefers strangers to acquaintances. I must say the doctor is one -of the Chancton characters with whom I, for one, could well dispense! He -was really insolent to me yesterday, but there is no redress possible -with an old man like that. His latest notion is that I must only -communicate with Madame Sampiero through him!" - -James Berwick turned round, and Mrs. Boringdon thought he looked -annoyed; he always chose to regard everything and everybody connected -with the Priory as his very particular concern. "I must be off now," he -said, "Arabella has several people arriving this afternoon, and I ought -to be there to look after them. Walk with me as far as the great gates, -old fellow?" - -But Boringdon shook his head. "Sorry I can't," he said, shortly, "but -I'm expecting one of the village boys to come in any minute. Kemp -promised me to talk to him, to try and persuade him to enlist, and he's -coming up to tell me the result." - -"Then you're not returning to the Priory to-night, Mr. Berwick?" a note -of delicate reserve had come into Mrs. Boringdon's voice; she never, if -she could help it, referred to the Priory or to the Priory's mistress. - -"No, I'm still at Chillingworth. But I expect to be over just for the -night to-morrow. Then I'm off for a month's yachting." - - * * * * * - -Oliver came back from the hall door and sat down. His mother saw with a -pang how tired and how discouraged he looked. "I think," she said, "that -you might have done, dear, what Mr. Berwick asked you to do--I mean, as -to seeing him back part of the way to Fletchings. That village lad could -have waited for you--and--I suppose it was all a joke about the new -paper and the editorship?" - -"Oh! no, he's thinking of it," he said. "I suppose, mother, you never -heard of the _Craftsman_, the paper in which the great Duke of Berwick's -friend, Lord Bolingbroke, wrote. Some fellow has been talking to him -about it, and now he thinks he would like to resuscitate it. Incredible -that so shrewd a man should sometimes choose to do such foolish things, -actuated, too, by the silliest of sentimental motives! If I were he, I -should feel anything but proud of my descent from the Stuarts. However, -I hope I've choked him off the whole idea." - -As he caught her look of fresh disappointment, he added, with a certain -effort, "I'm afraid, mother, that you've as little reason to like -Chancton as I have. Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't do better to -throw it all up and go to London. I certainly don't want to edit any -paper for Berwick, but I dare say I could get work, literary work of -sorts; and, after all, I should be far more in touch there with the -things I really care about." - -His tone of dejection went to her heart, but she answered, not the last, -but the first sentence he had uttered. "You are right," she said, rather -slowly, "I do not like Chancton any better than you do, but I shall -always be glad we came here, if only because it has brought us in -contact with the Kemps--or perhaps I should say with their daughter." - -Oliver looked up at his mother uneasily; he was aware that with her a -confidence was rarely spontaneous. - -"I wonder," she said, and turning she fixed her eyes on the fire, away -from his face, "I have often been tempted to wonder lately, my dear boy, -what you really think of Lucy--how you regard her? Pray do not answer me -if you would rather not do so." - -Boringdon hesitated. His mother's words, her extreme frankness, took him -completely by surprise; for a moment he felt nearer to her than he had -done for years. Still, he was glad that she went on staring into the -fire, and that he was safe from meeting the acute, probing glance he -knew so well. - -"You've asked me a very difficult question," he said at last--"one I -find almost impossible to answer truly." - -Mrs. Boringdon's hands trembled. She also felt unwontedly moved. She had -not expected so honest a confession. - -But Oliver was again speaking, in a low, preoccupied voice. "Perhaps we -have not been wise, you and I, in having so--so"--his lips sought to -frame suitable words--"so charming a girl," he said at last, "constantly -about the house. I have certainly become fond of Lucy--in fact, I think -I may acknowledge to you, mother, that she is my ideal of what a girl -should be." How odd, how inadequate, how priggish his words sounded to -himself! Still he went on, with gathering courage, "But no one knows -better than you do how I am situated. For what I am pleased to call my -political ambitions, you have already made sacrifices. If I am to do -what I wish with my life, such a marriage--indeed, any marriage, for -years to come--would be for me quite out of the question. It would mean -the condemnation of myself to such a life as that I am now leading, and -I do not feel--perhaps I ought to be ashamed of not feeling--that my -attraction to Miss Kemp is so strong as to make me desirous of giving up -all I have striven for." - -Mrs. Boringdon made no reply. She still stared on into the fire; a -curious look, one of perplexity and hesitation, had come over her face. - -"Mother!" he cried, and the tone forced her to look round at him, -"surely you don't think--it is not your impression that Lucy----" - -"I think she has become very fond of you," said Mrs. Boringdon -deliberately. "But I confess that I have sometimes thought that she -seemed fonder of me than of you." She smiled as she spoke, but to -Boringdon this was no smiling matter--indeed, it was one which to his -mind could scarcely be discussed with decency by himself and his mother. -Then a vision of Lucy Kemp, steady, clear-eyed Lucy, almost too -sensible--so the people at Chancton, he knew, regarded her to be--came -to his help. "No, no," he said, with a sudden sense of relief, "I'm -quite sure, mother, that any feeling--I mean the kind of feeling of -which we are speaking--has been entirely on my side! We will be more -careful. I am willing to admit that I have been foolish." - -But Mrs. Boringdon scarcely heard what he was saying. She who so seldom -doubted as to her course of action, was now weighing the pros and cons -of what had become to her a matter for immediate decision. Unfortunately -her son's next words seemed to give her the opening she sought. - -"Sometimes I am tempted to think"--Oliver had got up, he was -leaning against the mantel-piece, looking down into his mother's -face--"Sometimes, I say, I am tempted to think that after all money is -the one important thing in life! When I look back to how I regarded -James Berwick's marriage--he once accused me of condemning what he did, -and I could not deny that I had done so--I see how much more wise he was -than I. Why, to him that marriage which so shocked me was the turning -point--ay, more, that money, together, perhaps, with his wife's death, -steadied him--amazingly--I refer of course to his intellectual -standpoint, and to his outlook on life! And you, mother--you've always -thought more of money than I've ever done. But even you once thought -that it could be too dearly purchased." - -Mrs. Boringdon reddened. Her son's words gratified her. She was aware -that he was alluding to an offer of marriage which she herself had -unhesitatingly rejected at a time when her daughter was still in the -schoolroom, and her son at Charterhouse. Her middle-aged wooer had been -a man of some commercial standing and much wealth, but "not a -gentleman," so the two pitiless young people had decided, and Mrs. -Boringdon, her children believed, had not hesitated for a moment between -a life of poor gentility and one of rather vulgar plenty. - -"Oh! yes," she said slowly, "money can certainly be too dearly -purchased. But still, you on your side, you and your sister Grace, have -always thought far too little of it. Of late I have sometimes wondered, -Oliver, if you knew--whether you are aware"--for the life of her she -could not help the sudden alteration in her measured voice--"that our -dear little friend, Lucy Kemp, is something of an heiress--that in four -years time, when she is five-and-twenty, that is, there will be handed -over to her £25,000?" - -And then, while her son listened to her in complete silence, giving no -clue as to how he regarded the information, she explained her knowledge -as having come to her from an absolutely sure source, from a certain -Miss Vipen, the chartered gossip of Chancton, whose information could be -trusted when actual facts were in question. - -Even after Mrs. Boringdon had done speaking, Oliver still sat on, -resting his head on his hands. "I wonder if Laxton knows of this?" he -said at last. "What a brute I should think him if he does!" and Mrs. -Boringdon felt keenly, perhaps not unreasonably, irritated. Her son's -words also took her by surprise--complete silence would have satisfied -her, but this odd comment on the fact she had chosen to reveal was very -different from what she had expected. - -But when, some three hours later, the mother and son had finished their -simple dinner, and Oliver announced to his mother that he must now go -down to the Grange for half an hour in order to consult General Kemp -over that village lad whose conduct was giving Oliver so much trouble, -Mrs. Boringdon smiled. Her son caught the smile and it angered him. How -utterly his mother misunderstood him, how curiously little they were in -sympathy the one with the other! - -As he left the house she heard the door bang, and sitting in the -drawing-room knitting him a pair of silk socks, she allowed her smile to -broaden till it transformed her face almost to that likeness which -Berwick sometimes saw in her, to that of a prim Mistress Quickly. - - * * * * * - -Boringdon did not go straight down to the Grange. Instead, after having -groped his way through the laurel hedges and so into the moonlit road, -he turned to the left, and struck out, making a long round before -seeking the house for which he was bound. - -Both his long talk with Berwick, and the short, strange conversation -with his mother, had disturbed and excited him, bringing on a sudden -nostalgia for the life he had left, and to which he longed so much to -get back. During his eager discussion with the man whom he regarded as -being at once his political chief and his political pupil, Chancton and -its petty affairs had been forgotten, and yet now, to-night, he told -himself with something like dismay that even when talking to Berwick he -had more than once thought of Lucy Kemp. The girl had become his friend, -his only confidante: into her eager ears he had poured out his views, -his aspirations, his hopes, his ambitions, sure always of sympathy, if -not of complete understanding. A bitter smile came over his face--no -wonder Mrs. Boringdon had so often left them together! Her attitude was -now explained. - -Boringdon had no wish to pose, even to himself, as a Don Quixote, but, -in his views as to the fitting relationship of the sexes, he was most -punctilious and old-fashioned, perhaps lacking the essential nobility -which would have been required in such a man as himself to accept a -fortune, even from a beloved hand. What, take Lucy's £20,000--or was it -£25,000--in order to start his bark once more on the perilous political -sea? How little his mother understood him if she seriously thought he -could bring himself to do such a thing, and in cold blood! - -As he strode along in the darkness, there came back to his mind the -circumstances connected with an experience in his life which he had -striven not unsuccessfully to forget,--the passion of feeling he had -wasted, when little more than a boy, on James Berwick's sister. - -Those men and women who jeer at first love have surely never felt its -potent spell. Twelve years had gone by since Boringdon had dreamed the -dream which had to a certain extent embittered and injured the whole of -his youth. What a fool he had been! But, on the other hand, so he -remembered now, how little he had thought--if indeed he had thought at -all--as to any question connected with Arabella Berwick's fortune or -lack of it! - -Miss Berwick had been mistress of her uncle's house, that Lord Bosworth -who was a noted statesman as well as a man of rank: of course she must -have money, so Boringdon in his young simplicity had thought, and -certainly that belief had been no bar to what he had brought himself -tremblingly to believe might come to pass. The beautiful girl, secure in -her superior altitude of twenty-five years of life, and an already -considerable knowledge of the world, had taken up the clever boy, her -brother's Oxford friend, with pretty enthusiasm. She had liked him quite -well enough to accept smilingly his adoration, to allow that he should -amuse her (so he had realised ever since) in the intervals of a more -serious love affair. Well, as he reminded himself to-night, they had -been quits! Small wonder indeed that even now, after twelve years had -gone by, the recollection of certain bitter moments caused Boringdon to -quicken his footsteps! - -To-night it all came back to him, in a flood of intolerable memories. It -had been late in the season, on the eve--or so he had thought--of his -dream's fruition, during the last days of his first spring and summer in -London after he had gone down from Oxford. Some merciful angel or some -malicious devil--he had never quite known which--had caused him, one -Sunday afternoon, while actually on the way to Bosworth House, to turn -into Kensington Gardens. - -There, in a lonely grassy by-way among the trees, where he had turned -aside to think in solitude of his beautiful lady, he had suddenly come -on her face to face,--on Arabella Berwick, on his goddess, on the woman -whose every glance and careless word had been weighed by him with -anxious thought,--finding her in such a guise that for a moment he had -believed that his mind, his eyes, were playing him some evil trick. - -Miss Berwick, her eyes streaming with tears, was clinging to a man's -arm; and, what made the scene the more unreal, the more incredible, to -the amazed onlooker, Boringdon knew the man quite well, and had often, -in his young importance, looked down on him as being so much less -intimate at Bosworth House than he was himself. The man into whose -plain, powerful face Arabella Berwick was gazing with such agonised -intensity was Daniel O'Flaherty, an Irish barrister, but lately come to -practise at the English Bar, a Paddy whose brogue--so Berwick had -assured his friend Boringdon--you could cut with a knife, but who was, -he had added good-naturedly, said by many people to be a clever fellow! - -And now Oliver was walking straight upon them,--on O'Flaherty and -Arabella Berwick. He stopped short, staring with fascinated, -horror-stricken eyes, making no effort to pass by, to show the decent -hypocrisy he should have shown; and what he heard made it only too easy -to reconstitute the story. Miss Berwick had also dreamed her dream, and -she was now engaged in deliberately putting it from her. - -At last the man had cut the painful scene short, but not before -Boringdon had seen the woman, whom he had himself set on so high a -pedestal, fling her arms round her companion's neck in one last agonised -attempt to say good-bye. It was the Irishman, of whom Boringdon had made -such small account in his own mind, who at last--with the measured -dignity born of measureless grief and loss--led her towards the -spectator whom he vaguely recognised as one of James Berwick's younger -friends. "Perhaps you will kindly take Miss Berwick home?" and then he -had turned and gone, and she who had renounced him, taking no heed of -Boringdon, had stood and gazed after him as long as he remained in -sight. - -During the walk back to Bosworth House it had been Boringdon's lot to -listen while his companion told him, with a sort of bald simplicity, the -truth. - -"I love him, Mr. Boringdon, with all my heart--with all my body--with -all my soul! But certain things are impossible in this world,--apart -from everything else, there is the fact that for the present we are both -penniless. He admits that often years go by before a man situated as he -is makes any real way at the Bar. I ought not to have allowed it to come -to this! I have been a fool,--a fool!" She had tried to smile at him. -"Take example by me, Mr. Boringdon, never allow yourself to really care. -It's not worth it!" - -She had gone on, taking very little notice of him, talking as if to -herself--"Of course I shall never marry, why should I? I have -James,--till now I have never cared for anything but James." Then at -last had come a word he had felt sorely. Arabella Berwick had looked at -him with something like fear in her eyes,--"You will not say anything of -this to my brother, Mr. Boringdon? I trust to your honour,"--much as she -might have spoken to a schoolboy, instead of to a man--a man, as he -angrily reminded himself, of one-and-twenty! - -How well he remembered it all still, and yet what a long time ago all -that happened! He himself had altered, incredibly, in these short years. -O'Flaherty was no longer an unknown, uncouth Irishman: he had won a -place even in the Berwicks' high little world: steady, moderate -adherence to his country's unpopular cause had made him something of a -personage even in the House of Commons, and he was known to be now -earning a large,--nay, a huge,--income at the Bar. Of the two men who at -one and the same moment had loved Arabella Berwick, it was he who had -forged ahead, Oliver Boringdon who had lagged behind. - -And the heroine of the adventure? She was still what all those about -her, with the possible exception of these two men, had always thought -her to be--the accomplished, rather cold, brilliant woman of the world, -content to subordinate exceptional intellectual gifts to the exigencies -of her position as mistress of her uncle's house; bending her fine mind -to the problem of how to stretch Lord Bosworth's always uncertain and -encumbered income to its furthest possible limit, for one of Miss -Berwick's virtues had always been a great horror of debt. More, she had -so fashioned her life during the last ten years that she was regarded by -many shrewd observers as being quite as remarkable a person as her -brother--in fact, where he was concerned, the power behind the throne. -She loved, too, to exercise her power, to obtain good places for her -favourites, to cause some humble climber of the ladder of fame to leap -at one bound several of the hard intervening bars. It was admitted that -the only strong feeling finding place in her heart was love of her -brother, James Berwick, and for him, in a worldly sense, she had indeed -done well. - -Since that afternoon, twelve years before, Miss Berwick and Oliver -Boringdon had never been on really cordial terms. She had at first -tried, foolishly, to make a friend of him, a confidant, but he had not -been possessed of the requisite amount of philosophy, and she had drawn -back mortified at the condemnation, even at the dislike, which she had -read in his eyes. - -Very early Berwick had said to his friend, "I don't know what has -happened to my sister and yourself, old fellow, but it will not make any -difference to us, will it?" But, as Boringdon was well aware, it had -made a difference. The sister's influence was on the whole always thrown -in against that of the friend. It had certainly not been with Miss -Berwick's goodwill that Boringdon had been offered, through her -brother's intermediary, work which would bring him within two miles of -Lord Bosworth's country house; but Oliver Boringdon was very rarely at -Fletchings, and never without a direct invitation from its mistress. - - * * * * * - -As so often happens, the stirring of heart depths brings up to the -surface of the mind more than one emotion. Had it not been for his -mother's smile, Boringdon would not now have turned into the Grange -gate, but it was his great wish that what had been said this day should -make no difference to his relations with the Kemps--save, of course, -that of making him personally more prudent in the one matter of his -indulging in Lucy's society. - -Alas for Boringdon's good resolutions! He had meant that this evening -call at the Grange should be of a purely business character, and at the -door he asked only for General Kemp. - -"The master's upstairs with Mrs. Kemp. She's got a chill, but I'll tell -him you're here, sir," and Oliver had been shown as a matter of course -into the panelled parlour where Lucy sat reading alone. The very sight -of the girl seemed to bring with it peace--restored in subtle measure -the young man's good opinion of himself. And then she seemed so simply, -so unaffectedly glad to see him! Within the next hour, he was gradually -brought to tell her, both of the long talk with Berwick--Lucy had proved -an apt student of political economy within the last year--even of the -proposed newspaper and the editorship, of which the offer, coming from -anyone else, would, he said, "have tempted me." - -"Ah! but you think Mr. Berwick ought not to start such a paper--that it -might do him harm?" Lucy looked up with quick intelligent eyes. - -Boringdon had scarcely said so,--in so many words,--yet, yet--certainly -yes, that was what he had meant, and so, "Exactly!" he exclaimed; "and -if I don't join in, the scheme will probably come to nothing." Lucy -allowed her softened gaze to linger on the face of the man who had -gradually made his way into her steadfast heart. How good, how noble he -was, she thought, and, how unconscious of his own goodness and nobility! - -The girl was in that stage of her mental development when the creature -worshipped must necessarily appear heroic. Two men now fulfilled Lucy's -ideal--the one was her father, the other Oliver Boringdon. Poor Laxton, -with his humble passion for herself, his half-pretended indifference to -the pleasures and duties of the British officer's life in time of -profound peace, his love of hunting and rough out-door games,--all -seemed to make him most unheroic in Lucy's eyes. She was dimly aware -that Captain Laxton's love for her was instinctive, that he was -attracted in spite of himself; and the knowledge perplexed and angered -her. She knew well, or thought she knew well, the sort of woman with -whom the young soldier ought to have fallen in love,--the well-dressed, -amusing, "smart" (odious word, just then coming into fashion!) type of -girl, whom he undoubtedly, even as it was, much admired. But Oliver -Boringdon--oh! how different would be the natural ideal of such a man. - -Lucy was only now beginning to see into her own heart, and she still -believed that her regard for Boringdon was "friendship." Who could -hesitate as to which was the better part--friendship with Boringdon, or -marriage with Laxton? - -"I--I want to ask you something." Lucy's heart was beating fast. - -"Yes, what is it?" He turned sharply round. - -"I've been reading the life of Edmund Burke." - -He bent forward eagerly. "It's interesting, isn't it?" - -"Yes, yes, indeed it is! But I want to ask you why a hundred years have -made such a change? Why it is that now a young man who has every -aptitude for political life----" Lucy hesitated, the words were not -really her own, they had been suggested--almost put into her mouth--by -Oliver's mother. - -"Yes?" he said again, as if to encourage her. - -"Why such a person cannot now accept money from--from--a friend, if it -will help him to be useful to his country?" - -"You mean"--he went straight to the point--"why cannot I take money from -James Berwick?" He was looking at her rather grimly. He had not thought -that Mrs. Boringdon would find the girl so apt a pupil. - -Poor Lucy shrank back. "Forgive me," she said, in a low tone, "I should -not have asked you such a question." - -"You have every right," he said, impulsively. "Are we not friends, you -and I? Perhaps you did not know that this was an old quarrel between my -mother and myself. Berwick did once make me such an offer, but I think -you will see--that you will feel--with me that I could not have accepted -it." - -General Kemp, coming down half an hour later, found them still eagerly -discussing Edmund Burke, and so finding, told himself, and a little -later told his wife, that the world had indeed changed in the last -thirty years, and that he, for his part, thought the old ways of love -were better than the new. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - "Il est plus aisé d'être sage pour les autres que de l'être pour - soi-même." - LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. - - -Chancton Priory had been, from his earliest boyhood, even more James -Berwick's home than was his uncle's house over at Fletchings, and it was -incomparably dearer to him in every sense than Chillingworth, which came -to him from his dead wife, together with the huge fortune which gave him -such value in Mrs. Boringdon's eyes. The mistress of the Priory had -always lavished on Lord Bosworth's nephew a measure of warm affection -which she might just as reasonably have bestowed on his only sister, but -Miss Berwick was not loved at Chancton Priory, and, being well aware -that this was so, she rarely came there. Indeed, her brother's real love -for the place, and for Madame Sampiero, was to her somewhat -inexplicable: she knew that at the Priory he felt far more at home than -he was at Fletchings, and the knowledge irked her. - -In truth, to James Berwick one of the greatest charms of Chancton Priory -had come to be the fact that when there he was able almost to forget the -wealth which had come to him with such romantic fulness when he was only -four-and-twenty. Madame Sampiero, Doctor McKirdy, and Mrs. Turke never -seemed to remember that he was one of the richest men in the kingdom, -and this made his commerce with them singularly agreeable. - - * * * * * - -Certain men and women have a curious power of visualising that fifth -dimension which lies so near and yet so far from this corporeal world. -For these favoured few, unseen presences sometimes seem to cast visible -shadows--their intuition may now and then be at fault, but on the other -hand, invisible guides will sometimes lead them into beautiful secret -pastures, of which the boundaries are closely hidden from those of their -fellows who only cultivate the obvious. It was so with James Berwick, -and, as again so often happens, this odd power--not so much of second -sight as of divination--was quite compatible with much that was -positive, prosaic, and even of the earth earthy, in his nature and -character. He attributed his undoubted gift to his Stuart blood, and was -fond of reminding himself that the Old Pretender was said always to -recognise a traitor when approached by one in the guise of a loyal -servant and friend. - -On the afternoon following that spent by him at the Boringdons', Berwick -walked across to Chancton from Fletchings. He came the short way through -the Priory park--that which finally emerged by a broad grass path into -the lawn spreading before the Elizabethan front of the great mass of -buildings. As he moved across, towards the porch, he thought the fine -old house looked more alive and less deserted than usual, and having -passed through the vestibule, and so into the vast hall, he became at -once aware of some influence new to the place. - -He looked about him with an eager, keen glance. A large log fire was -burning in the cavernous chimney, but then he knew himself to be -expected: to that same cause he attributed the rather unusual sight of a -china bowl full of autumn flowers reflected in the polished mahogany -round table, on which, as he drew near, he saw three letters, addressed -in McKirdy's stiff clear handwriting, lying ready for the post. Berwick, -hardly aware of what he was doing, glanced idly down at them: then, as -he moved rather hastily away, he lifted his eyebrows in surprise--one -was addressed to his sister, Miss Arabella Berwick, at Fletchings; yet -another, with every possible formality of address, to the Duchess of -Appleby and Kendal, at Halnakeham Castle; while the third bore the name -of another great lady living some ten miles from Chancton, and to -whom--Berwick would have been ready to lay any wager--no communication -had been sent from the Priory for some twenty odd years, though both she -and the kindly Duchess had in the long ago been intimate with Madame -Sampiero. - -Once more Berwick looked round the hall, and then, abruptly, went out -again into the open air, and so made his way across at right angles to a -glass door giving direct access to a small room hung with sporting -prints and caricatures, unaltered since the time it had been the estate -room of Madame Sampiero's father. Here, at least, Berwick felt with -satisfaction, everything was absolutely as usual. He went through into a -narrow passage, up a short steep staircase to the upper floor, and so to -the old-fashioned bedroom and dressing-room which no one but he ever -occupied, and which were both still filled with his schoolboy and -undergraduate treasures. There was a third room on each of the floors -composing the two-storied building which had been added to the Priory -some fifty years before, and these extra rooms--two downstairs, one -upstairs--were sacred to Mrs. Turke. - -There, as Berwick well knew, she cherished the mahogany cradle in which -she had so often rocked him to sleep: there were photographs of himself -at every age, to which, of late years political caricatures had been -added, and there also were garnered the endless gifts he had made and -was always making to his old nurse. James Berwick had been sadly spoilt -by the good things life had heaped on him in almost oppressive -lavishness, but no thought of personal convenience would have made him -give up, when at the Priory, these two rooms--this proximity to the -elderly woman to whom he was so dear, and who had tended him so -devotedly through a delicate and fretful childhood. - -As he walked about his bedroom, he looked round him well pleased. A good -fire was burning in the grate, still compassed about with a nursery -fender, and his evening clothes, an old suit always kept by him at -Chancton, were already laid out on the four-post bed. Everything was -exactly as he would have wished to find it; and so seeing, he suddenly -frowned, most unreasonably. Why was it, he asked himself, that only -here, only at the Priory, were things done for him as he would have -always wished them to be--that is, noiselessly, invisibly? His own -servants over at Chillingworth never made him so comfortable! But then, -as he was fond of reminding himself, he was one of those men who dislike -to be dependent on others. A nice regard, perhaps, for his own dignity -had always caused him to dispense with the services of the one dependant -to whom, we are told, his master can never hope to be a hero. - -There came a knock, a loud quavering tap-tap on the door. Berwick walked -forward and opened it himself, then put his arms round Mrs. Turke's fat -neck, and kissed her on each red cheek. The mauve and white striped gown -was new to him, but each piece of handsome jewellery set about the -substantial form had been his gift. "Well, Turke! well, old Turkey! it's -an age since I've seen you all! I was in the village for a moment -yesterday----" - -"For a moment? Fie, Mr. James, I know all about it, sir! You was at the -Cottage for hours!" - -"Well, I really hadn't a minute to come over here! But make me welcome -now that I am come, eh Turkey?" - -"Welcome? Why, bless you, sir, you know well enough that you're as -welcome as flowers in May! We _have_ missed you dreadful all this -summer! I can't think why gentlemen should want to go to such outlandish -spots: I looked out the place in 'Peter Parley,' that I did, and I used -to shake in my bed when I thought of all you must be going through, when -you might be at home, here, with everything nice and comfortable about -you." - -"I'll tell you what we'll do, Turkey--you can tell McGregor to lay -dinner in the business room to-night, and you shall have it with me." - -As if struck by a sudden idea, he added, "And we'll have beans and -bacon!" - -Mrs. Turke went off into a fit of laughter. "In October!" she cried. -"Why, my lamb, where's all your fine learning gone to? Not but what, -thanks to glass and the stoves, the fruits of the earth do appear at -queer times nowadays, but it would be a sin to waste glass and stoves on -beans!" - -Berwick was not one whit abashed, "If we can't have broad beans, we can -have toasted cheese. My sister has got a French chef at Fletchings, and -luncheon to-day was--well, you know, Turkey!" - -"I know, sir, just kickshaws! Taking the bread out of honest -Englishwomen's mouths. I'd chef him!" and Berwick realised from the -expression of her face that Mrs. Turke thought to chef was French for to -cook. - -But there was a more important matter now in hand to be discussed, and -she said slily, "You'll have better company than me to-night, Mr. -James,--you'll have to put on your company manners, sir, for there's a -lady staying here now, you know." - -"A lady?" he cried, "the devil there is!" - -"You remember Mr. and Mrs. Richard Rebell, surelye? They were here -constant,--now let me see, a matter of twenty-five years ago and more, -when you, Mr. James, were ten years old, my dear." - -"What?" he said, his tone suddenly altering, "do you mean--surely you -cannot mean that poor Richard Rebell's daughter is staying here--in the -Priory?--now?" - -"Yes, that's just what she is doing--staying." - -"Oh!" he said, in an altered voice, "perhaps after all I had better go -back to Chillingworth to-night." He added abruptly, "She married (her -name is Barbara, isn't it?) one of the West Indian Rebells. Is he here -too?" - -Mrs. Turke folded her hands together, and shook her head sadly, but with -manifest enjoyment. It was well that Mr. James knew nothing, and that it -had been her part to tell the great news. "Oh no, we never mention him; -his name is never heard! From what I can make out from the doctor,--but -you know, Mr. James, what he's like,--the poor young lady, I mean Mrs. -Rebell, has been most unlucky, matrimonially speaking; just like--_you -know who_, sir----" - -"Oh! she's left her husband, has she? It seems to run in the family. Has -she been here long, Turkey?" - -"Only since the day before yesterday. But Madam has already took to her -wonderful: she does the morning reading now." - -"I should think that would be a great improvement on McKirdy's. But, by -the way, isn't McKirdy jealous?" - -Mrs. Turke shook her finger at the speaker. "That's only your fun now, -Mr. James! What call would the doctor have to be such a thing as -jealous? Fie! Besides, he's quite taken to her himself." - -"Why then, the girl we saw with McKirdy yesterday must have been Mrs. -Rebell! A tall, dark, slim creature, eh, Turkey? Very oddly dressed?" He -turned and looked hard at his old nurse; she, in return, gave her -nurseling a quick shrewd glance from out of her bright little eyes. - -"She's not what I call dressed at all," she said, "I never did see a -young lady so shabby, but there, out in those hot climates----" she -paused tolerantly. "Never mind; we'll soon make that all right. Madam -set Léonie to work at once. As for looks," Mrs. Turke bridled, "Mrs. -Rebell favours her poor papa more than she does her poor mamma," she -said, primly, "but she's a very pleasant-spoken young lady. I do think -you'll like her, Mr. James; and if I was you, sir, I would make up my -mind to stay to-night and to be kind to her. I don't think you'll want -much pressing----" - -Again she gave him that quick shrewd look which seemed to say so much -more than her lips uttered. Sometimes Berwick felt an uncomfortable -conviction that very little he thought and did remained hidden from his -old nurse. To-night, as Mrs. Turke had felt quite sure he would do, he -made up his mind to remain at Chancton Priory and to follow, in this -matter of Mrs. Rebell, the advice given him. - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile, the subject of their discussion was sitting on a stool at the -foot of her godmother's couch. It was strange how two days of constant -communion with this stricken woman had impressed Barbara Rebell with a -sense of Madame Sampiero's power of protecting and sheltering those over -whom was thrown the mantle of her affection. The whole of Barbara's past -life, her quiet childhood, her lonely girlhood, even the years she had -spent with Pedro Rebell, had accustomed her to regard solitude as a -normal state, and she now looked forward eagerly to what so many would -have considered the long dull stretch of days spread out before her. - -All she desired, but that most ardently, was to become dear,--she would -whisper to herself, perhaps necessary,--to Madame Sampiero. The physical -state others might have regarded with repugnance and horror produced no -such effect on Barbara's mind and imagination. All the tenderness of a -heart long starved, and thrown back on itself and on the past, was now -beginning to be lavished on this paralysed woman who had made her so -generously welcome, and who, she intuitively felt, was making so great -and so gallant a stand against evil fortune. - -Even to-night Mrs. Rebell, coming into the room, had been struck by -the mingled severity and splendour of Madame Sampiero's appearance. -The white velvet gown, the black lace cross-over, and the delicate -tracery of the black coif heightened the beauty of the delicate -features,--intensified the fire in the blue eyes, as a brighter scheme -of colouring had not known how to do. - -Léonie--the lean, clever-looking, deft-fingered French maid who had -grown old in the service of her mistress--stood by the couch looking -down at her handiwork with an air of pride: "Madame a voulu faire un -petit bout de toilette pour Monsieur Berwick," she explained -importantly. Poor Barbara was by now rather nervously aware that there -was something about her own appearance to-night which did not please her -godmother. Indeed, sitting there, in this lofty room full of beautiful -and extremely ornate pieces of furniture and rich hangings, she felt -acutely conscious that she was, as it were, out of the picture. Words -were not needed to tell her that, for some mysterious reason, her -godmother wished her to look well before this Mr. James Berwick, who, if -Mrs. Turke was to be believed, seemed to come and go so often at the -Priory, but regarding whom, she, Barbara, felt as yet no interest. - -Almost involuntarily she answered the critical expression which rested -on the clear-cut face. "I care so little how I look,--after all what -does it matter?" - -But more quickly than usual she realised the significance of the -murmured words, "Nonsense, child, it does matter, very much!" and she -divined the phrase, "A woman should always try to look her best." -Barbara smiled as Léonie joined in with "Une jolie femme doît sa beauté -à elle-même," adding, in response to another of those muffled -questioning murmurs, "Mais oui, Madame, Monsieur Boringdon a dû venir -avec Monsieur Berwick." - -Mrs. Rebell looked up rather eagerly; if Oliver Boringdon were to be -there this evening, and if outward appearance were of such consequence -as these kind people, Madame Sampiero and the old Frenchwoman, seemed to -think, then it was a pity that one of the only two people whom she had -wished to impress favourably at Chancton should see her at a -disadvantage. - -Again came low murmurs of which the significance entirely escaped -Barbara, but which Léonie had heard and understood: quickly the maid -went across the great room, and in a moment her brown hands had pulled -open a deep drawer in the Buhl wardrobe which had once adorned the bed -chamber of the last Queen of France. Now Léonie was coming back towards -her mistress' couch, towards Barbara, her arms laden with a delicate -foam of old lace. - -A few minutes of hard work with a needle and white thread, much eager -chatter of French, and Barbara's thin white silk gown had been -transformed from a straight and, according to the fashion of that day, -shapeless gown, into a beautiful and poetic garment. - -A gleam of amused pleasure flashed across Madame Sampiero's trembling -lips and wide open blue eyes: she realised that a little thought, a -little trouble, would transform her god-daughter, if not into a beauty, -then into a singularly distinguished and attractive-looking young woman. - -Like most beautiful people, Barbara Sampiero had always been generous in -her appreciation of the beauty of others, and she would have been -pleased indeed had Richard Rebell's daughter turned out as lovely as had -been her mother,--lovely with that English beauty of golden hair and -perfect colouring. But Barbara's charm, so far at least, seemed of the -soul rather than of the body, and, recognising this fact, Madame -Sampiero had at first felt disappointed, for her own experience--and in -these matters a woman can only be guided by her own personal -experience--was that in this world beauty of body counts very much more -in obtaining for those who possess it their heart's desire than does -beauty of soul. - - * * * * * - -The mistress of Chancton Priory had hesitated painfully before allowing -Doctor McKirdy to write the letter which had bidden Barbara Rebell come -to England. The old Scotchman, who to her surprise had urged Madame -Sampiero to send for her god-daughter, regarded the coming of Barbara as -a matter of comparatively small moment. If the experiment was not -successful, well then Mrs. Rebell could be sent away again; but the -mistress of the Priory knew that to herself the coming of Richard -Rebell's daughter must either bring something like happiness, and the -companionship for which she sometimes craved with so desperate a -longing, or the destruction of the dignified peace in which she had -known how to enfold herself as in a mantle. - -For a few days, Barbara's fate had indeed hung in the balance, and could -money have taken the place of the shelter asked for, it would have been -sent in ample measure. At last what had turned the balance and weighed -down the scale had been a mere word said by Mrs. Turke--a word referring -incautiously to James Berwick as the probable future owner of Chancton -Priory. - -Hearing that word, the present owner's trembling lips had closed tightly -together. So that was what they were all planning? That the Priory -should be, in the fulness of time, handed over to James Berwick, to be -added to the many possessions he had acquired by the sale of -himself--Madame Sampiero, discussing the matter in the watches of her -long night, did not choose and pick her words--by that of his young -manhood, and of his already growing political reputation, to a sickly -woman, older than himself, whose death had been the crowning boon she -had bestowed on her husband. - -And so Chancton, which Madame Sampiero loved with so passionate an -affection, was meant to take its place, as if by chance, at the end of -the long list of Berwick's properties--that list which all who ran might -read in those books of reference where the mightiness of Lord Bosworth's -nephew was set forth--after Chillingworth, after the town house, after -Churm Paddox, Newmarket, even after the property he had inherited from -his own father in France. The thought whipped her as if with -scorpions--perhaps the more so that for one moment, in the long ago, at -a time when Barbara Sampiero wished to share everything with the man she -loved, and before little Julia, that _enfant de miracle_, was born, she -had seriously thought of making Lord Bosworth's nephew her heir. But his -marriage had revolted her profoundly, and had, of course, made the -questions of his future and his career, which had at one time been a -matter for anxious thought on the part of his uncle and political -godfather, more than secure. Well, indeed, had he, or rather his sister -Arabella, feathered James Berwick's nest! - -Like most lonely wealthy women, Madame Sampiero had made and destroyed -many wills in the course of her life, but since the death of her child -she had made no new disposition of her property. Let the place go to any -Rebell who could establish his or her claim to it--such had been her -feeling. But while Barbara's short, pitiful, and yet dignified letter -still remained unanswered, and while Mrs. Turke's incautious word still -sounded in her ears, she had sent for her lawyer, and, after making a -will which surprised him, had dictated to Doctor McKirdy the letter -bidding Mrs. Rebell come and take up her permanent home at Chancton. - -And now--ah! even after only very few hours of Barbara's company, Madame -Sampiero lay and trembled to think how nearly she had let this good -thing which had suddenly come into her shadowed life slip by. All her -life through she had acted on impulse, and often she had lived to regret -what she had done, but this time, acting on what was to be, so she had -assured herself, the last memorable impulse of her life, her instinct -had guided her aright. - -What Barbara had felt, on the first morning when she wandered about the -beautiful old house, her god-mother had since also experienced, with -increasing regret and self-reproach. Why had she not sent for the girl -immediately after Richard Rebell's death? Why had she allowed the -terrible grief and physical distress which then oppressed her to prevent -the accomplishment of that act of humanity and mercy? True, poor Barbara -had already met the man whom she had married almost immediately -afterwards, but had she, Madame Sampiero, done her duty by her -god-daughter, the girl might have been saved from the saddest because -the least remediable fate which can befall a woman, that of an unhappy -uncongenial marriage--how unhappy, how uncongenial Madame Sampiero did -not yet fully know. - -But now it was no use to waste time in lamenting the irreparable, and -the paralysed woman set her clear mind to do all that could be done to -make the life of her young kinswoman as much as might be honoured and -happy. Those old friends and neighbours whose disapproval and -reprobation the owner of Chancton Priory had endured during many years -with easy philosophy, and whose later pity and proffered sympathy she -had so fiercely rejected when her awful loss and subsequent physical -disability had made them willing to surround her once more with love, -with sympathy, ay and almost with the respect she had forfeited, should -now be asked to show kindness to Richard Rebell's daughter. Hence the -letters dictated to Doctor McKirdy which Berwick had seen lying ready -for post in the hall. - -Other epistles, of scarcely less moment from the point of view of Madame -Sampiero, had also been despatched from the Priory during the last two -days. Barbara must be made fit in every way for the place which she was -to take now, and in the future, at Chancton Priory. In material matters, -money can do so much! Madame Sampiero knew exactly how much--and alas! -how little--money can do. Her wealth could not restore poor Barbara's -girlhood, could not obliterate the fact that far away, in a West Indian -island, there lived a man who might some day make Barbara as wretched as -she herself had been made by Napoleone Sampiero. But there remained the -power of so acting that Barbara should be armed _cap-à-pie_ for any -worldly warfare that might come--the power of surrounding her with that -outward appearance of importance and prosperity which, as Madame -Sampiero well knew, means much in this world. - -Hence milliners and dressmakers were told to hie them to Chancton, from -Bond Street, and, better still, from the Rue de la Paix. Doctor McKirdy -was amused, bewildered, touched to the heart, as he bent his red-grey -head over the notepaper, and drew heavy cheques "all for the covering of -one poor perishable body." So much fling he allowed himself, and then -suddenly "Madam" had said something,--now what had she said? The doctor -was completely nonplussed, angry with himself--he, whose mind always -leapt to hers! Again and again the long sentence was murmured forth--it -must be something of the utmost importance--luckily Mrs. Turke just then -bustled into the room, and with startling clearness had come the words, -"You tell him, Turkey!" Again the muttered incomprehensible murmur, and -Mrs. Turke's instant comprehension, "Why, of course, Madam reminds you, -doctor, that - - "The very sheep and silkworms wore - The selfsame clothing long before!" - -Well, well, as long as it all added a moment of cheerfulness, of -forgetfulness of the bitter past to his patient, what did anything -matter? Doctor McKirdy told himself rather ruefully that Madam had -always been fond of fine raiment: for his part, he thought Mrs. Rebell -looked very well as she was, especially when wearing that long white -cloak of hers, but if it pleased Madam to dress her up like a doll, why, -of course, they must all give in with a good grace. - -Meanwhile, oh! yes, he quite understood that she was not to be shown -overmuch to the critical eyes of the village--there was to be no going -to church, for instance, till the fine feathers were come which were to -transform the gentle modest dove-like creature into a bird of paradise. - -To-day, for the first time for many years, Madame Sampiero could have -dispensed with the presence of James Berwick at the Priory. Of all men -he was the most fastidious in the matter of women's looks. A first -impression, so Barbara's godmother reminded herself, counts so much with -a man, and what James thought now of Barbara Rebell would be sure to be -reported at once at Fletchings. - -Fletchings, never long out of Madame Sampiero's thoughts, yet rarely -mentioned to those about her--Fletchings the charming, rather small -manor-house originally bought by Lord Bosworth in order that he might be -close--and yet not too close, in the eyes of a censorious world--to -Chancton Priory. This had been some thirty years ago, long before the -memorable later period when both of them became entirely indifferent to -what that same world might think. - -And now James Berwick had come to be the only link between Fletchings -and the Priory. It had been Madame Sampiero's will, ruthlessly carried -out, that all relationship between herself and Lord Bosworth should -cease--that they should no longer meet, even to mourn together their -child Julia. She wished to be remembered as she had been, not as she now -was, a living corpse, an object of repulsion--so she told herself with -grim frankness--to any sanely constituted man. - -The mistress of Chancton Priory never allowed herself to regret her -decision, but still there were times when James Berwick's prolonged -absences saddened her and seemed to make the lamp of her life burn very -low. From him alone she chose to learn what her old friend was thinking -and doing, and how he regarded those struggles in the political arena of -which she was still almost as interested a spectator as he was himself. -Through Berwick, she was thus able to follow each phase of the pleasant -life Lord Bosworth had made for himself, in this, the evening of his -days. - -Madame Sampiero, during the long hour just before the dawn, had debated -keenly within herself as to whether it would be well for Barbara to go -to Fletchings. Certainly, yes, if the so doing would add to her -happiness or consolidate her position, but then Arabella Berwick must be -won over and propitiated, made to understand that Mrs. Rebell was -destined to become a person of importance. What Arabella should be -brought to think rested with James Berwick. For the first time for -years, Madame Sampiero would have given much to be downstairs, to-night, -to see what was going on in the great Blue drawing-room which lay just -below her own room. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - "So every sweet with sour is tempered still, - That maketh it be coveted the more; - For easy things that may be got at will - Most sorts of men do set but little store." - SPENSER. - - -Berwick walked up and down the hall waiting for Mrs. Rebell. Not only -Mrs. Turke's ambiguous utterances, but his own knowledge of her parents, -made him look forward with a certain curiosity to seeing her. - -The story of Richard Rebell, the one-time brilliant and popular man -about town, who, not long after his marriage to a reigning beauty, had -been overwhelmed by the shameful accusation of cheating at cards; the -subsequent libel case which had developed into a mid-Victorian _cause -célèbre_; the award of nominal damages; and Mr. and Mrs. Richard -Rebell's ultimate retreat, for ever, to the Continent--it was all well -known to James Berwick. - -Still, he would rather have met this Mrs. Rebell anywhere else than at -Chancton Priory. Her presence here could not but destroy, for himself, -the peculiar charm of the place. - -How unpunctual she was! Why was it that women--with the one exception of -his sister Arabella--were always either too early or too late? - -McGregor's voice broke across the ungallant thought, "Mrs. Rebell, sir, -is in the Blue drawing-room. She has been down some time." - -The words gave Berwick a disagreeable shock. The Blue drawing-room? -Years had gone by since the two charming rooms taking up the whole west -side of the Priory had been in familiar use. He remembered very well the -last time he had seen them filled with a feminine presence. It had been -just after his first term at Oxford, when he still felt something of the -schoolboy: Madame Sampiero, beautiful and gracious as she only knew how -to be, had received him with great kindness, striving to put him -completely at his ease. There had been there also his uncle, Lord -Bosworth, and a certain Septimus Daman, an old friend and habitué of the -Priory in those later days of Lord Bosworth and Madame Sampiero's -intimacy, when no woman ever crossed its stately threshold. - -Just before the little party of four, the three men and their hostess, -had gone in to dinner, a radiant apparition had danced into the room, -little fair-haired Julia, the incarnation of happy childhood. Her mother -had placed her, laughing, beside the rather fantastic portrait which was -then being painted of the child by an Italian artist, and which now hung -in Lord Bosworth's study at Fletchings, bearing silent witness to many -past events. - -With the memory of this scene singularly vivid, it shocked Berwick that -now, even after the lapse of so many years, another woman should be -installed as mistress of the room towards which he was bending his -steps. So feeling, he hesitated, and waited for a moment, a frown on his -face, before turning the handle of the door. - - * * * * * - -James Berwick cultivated in himself a sense of the unusual and the -picturesque; especially was he ever consciously seeking to find these -qualities in those women with whom chance brought him into temporary -contact. As he passed through into the Blue drawing-room, he became at -once aware that the former ordered beauty of the apartment had been -restored, and that the tall white figure standing by the fire -harmonised, in some subtle fashion, with the old French furniture -covered in the rather bright blue silk which gave its name to the room. - -Barbara Rebell was gazing down into the wood fire, one slender hand and -arm resting on the rose marble mantel-piece. She looked singularly young -and forlorn, and yet, as she turned towards him, he saw that her whole -bearing was instinct with a rather desperate dignity. She was not at all -what the man advancing towards her had thought to find--above all she -now looked curiously unlike the clear-eyed vigorous creature she had -appeared when walking by McKirdy's side along the open down. - -As James Berwick came into the circle of light thrown by the tall shaded -lamps, she turned and directly faced him,--the expression of her face -that of a shrinking and proud embarrassment. Then she spoke, the words -she uttered bringing to her hearer discomfiture and rather piqued -surprise. - -"I have been wishing so much to see you, Mr. Boringdon, and also your -mother. I think your sister must have written and told you of her -kindness to me--though indeed I do not suppose for a moment she can have -made you understand how very very good she and Mr. Johnstone both were. -I am the bearer of several things from Grace. Also"--her low grave voice -faltered--"I wish to ask if you will be so kind as to arrange for the -sending back to your brother-in-law of some money he lent me." She held -out as she spoke an envelope, "It is fifty pounds, and I do not know how -to convey it to him." - -Berwick felt keenly annoyed,--there is always something lowering to -one's self-esteem in being taken for another person, and especially in -receiving in that character anything savouring of a confidential -communication. - -"You are making a mistake," he said, rather sharply; "my name is -Berwick--James Berwick. Oliver Boringdon, Mrs. Johnstone's brother, -lives at Chancton Cottage. You will certainly meet him in the course of -the next day or two." - -Mrs. Rebell looked for a moment extremely disconcerted: a flood of -bright colour swept over her face, but Berwick, now considering her -closely, saw that, if confused, she was also most certainly relieved. -Her manner altered,--she became, in a gentle and rather abstracted way, -at ease. The man now standing close to her suddenly felt as if in the -presence of a shy and yet confiding creature--one only half tame, ready -to spring away at any rough unmannerly approach. He caught himself -wondering how it was that she had already made friends with McKirdy, and -he told himself that there was about this woman something at once -delicately charming and at the same time disarming--he no longer grudged -her presence at the Priory. - -On their way to the dining-room, during their progress through the hall, -Berwick looked down at the fingers resting on his arm. They were -childishly small and delicate. She must have, he thought, a singularly -pretty foot: yes, there was certainly something of the nymph about -her,--his first instinct had not been at fault, after all. - -Mrs. Rebell walked to the further side of the large round table, -evidently regarding her companion as her guest, and from that moment -onwards, James Berwick never disputed Barbara Rebell's sovereignty of -Chancton Priory. Indeed, soon he was glad that she had chosen so to -place herself that, whenever he looked up, he saw her small head--the -ivory tinted face so curiously framed by short curling dark hair, and -the rather widely set apart, heavy-lidded eyes--sharply outlined against -the curtainless oriel window, of which the outer side was swept by the -branches of a cedar of Lebanon. - -Berwick felt himself in an approving mood. His old nurse had been right; -Mrs. Rebell would add to, not detract from, the charm of the Priory. -Many trifling matters ministered to his fancy. The dining-table was bare -of flowers and of ornament: McGregor, it was clear, had lost touch with -the outside world. Berwick was glad too that Mrs. Rebell wore no -jewels,--not even, to his surprise, a wedding ring. She must be even -more out of touch with her contemporaries than McGregor! And yet her -dress,--yes, there could be no doubt about it--had an air of -magnificence, in spite of its extreme plainness. Now that he came to -think of it, her white lace gown, vaporous and mysterious, resembled, -quite curiously so, that of a bride. - -So, doubtless, sitting there, as they were sitting now, more than one -Rebell bride and bridegroom had sat in this old dining-room, at this -very round table, in those days when men brought their newly-wedded -wives straight home. The last Rebells to have done so must have been -Madame Sampiero's grandfather and grandmother, her own and her -god-daughter's common ancestors. Berwick wondered swiftly if it was from -that bride of a hundred years ago that Barbara had taken her eyes--those -singularly desolate eyes which alone in her face implied experience. - -He looked across the table with a whimsical, considering look. A -stranger passing by outside that window would take them for husband and -wife. So do folk judge by mere appearance! The fact that for himself as -well as for her marriage was out of the region of practical -possibilities made amusing,--gave something of piquancy to this little -scene of pseudo-domesticity. - -Barbara also looked up and across at him. She saw clearly, for the first -time, for the lamps in the Blue drawing-room gave but a quavering light, -the tanned and tense-looking face, of which perhaps the most arresting -features were the penetrating bright blue eyes. The strong jaw--not a -handsome feature, this--was partly concealed by a ragged straw-coloured -moustache, many shades lighter than the hair brushed straight across the -already seamed forehead. She smiled, a delicate heart-whole smile, -softening and brightening, altering incredibly the rather austere lines -of her face. - -"I'm thinking," she said, "of Mrs. Turke. I was in her sitting-room -to-day, and she showed me the many portraits she has there of you; that -being so, I certainly ought not to have mistaken you, even for a moment, -for Mr. Boringdon!" - -But with the mention of the name the smile faded, and a look of -oppression came over her face. - -"Grace Johnstone," Berwick's sudden utterance of the name was an -experiment: he waited: ah! yes, that was it! The painful association was -with Mrs. Johnstone, not with Oliver Boringdon or his mother. - -"Grace Johnstone," he repeated, "is a very old friend of mine, Mrs. -Rebell, and it is always a pleasure to me to have news of her." - -Barbara was opening and shutting her ringless left hand with a nervous -gesture: she began crumbling the bread by her plate. - -"I have not known her very long," she said, "but nothing could have -exceeded her kindness to me. I was very ill, and Mrs. Johnstone took me -into her own house and nursed me well again. It seemed so very strange a -coincidence that her mother and brother should be living at Chancton, so -near to my godmother." But Berwick realised that the coincidence was not -regarded by the speaker as a happy one. - -"Mrs. Boringdon," he said slowly, "is quite unlike her daughter. I -should think there was very little confidence between them. If you will -allow me to be rather impertinent, to take advantage of our -relationship--you know my great-grandfather very wisely married your -great-grandmother's sister--I should like to give you a piece of -advice----" - -Barbara looked at him anxiously--the youthfulness which had so disarmed -him again became manifest in her face. - -"My advice is that you write a note to the Johnstones, and then confide -it to my care to send off with the fifty pounds you are returning to -them. I will see that they receive it safely." Some instinct--the -outcome, perhaps, of many money dealings with pretty women--made him -add, with a touch of reserve, "But perhaps Mrs. Johnstone did not know -of this loan?" - -"Oh! yes, of course she did! Indeed it was she who suggested it. But for -that I could not have come home." Barbara was blushing, and Berwick saw -tears shining in her eyes. He felt oddly moved. He had often heard of, -but he had never seen, the shedding of tears of gratitude. - -"Yes," he said hastily, "I felt sure that was the case. But I do not -think Mrs. Boringdon need be informed of the fact." - -Mrs. Rebell had risen. A sudden fear that she might be going upstairs, -that he would not see her again that night, came over Berwick. - -"Do go into the drawing-room and write that note to the Johnstones, and -I will join you there in a few moments. I am going over to my own -quarters to fetch something which will, I think, interest you." - -Berwick held open the door, waited till the echo of her footsteps had -gone, then quickly lighted a pipe, and walking across the dining-room -pushed open one of the sections of the high oriel window. Then he made -his way round, almost stealthily, to the stretch of lawn on which opened -the French windows of the two drawing-rooms. The curtains were not -drawn: McGregor, and his satellite, the village lad who was being -transformed into a footman, had certainly grown careless,--and yet it -would have been a pity to shut out the moon, and it was not at all cold. - -Pacing up and down, Berwick, every few moments, saw, set as in a frame, -the whole interior of the Blue drawing-room, forming a background to -Barbara Rebell. Indeed, she was quite near the window, sitting--an hour -ago the fact would have shocked him--at Madame Sampiero's own -writing-table, at that exquisite Louis XV. escritoire which had been -discovered by Lord Bosworth in a Provençal château, and given by him, -now many a long year ago, to the mistress of Chancton Priory. - -Barbara had lighted the two green candles which her unseen watcher could -remember as having been there so long that their colour had almost -faded. She was bending over the notepaper, her slight supple figure -thrown forward in a curiously graceful attitude. Again and again -Berwick, walking and smoking outside, stopped and looked critically at -the little scene. It is seldom that a man can so look consideringly at a -woman, save perhaps at a place of public amusement, or in a church. - -At last, slightly ashamed of himself, he turned round for the last time, -and plunged into the moonlit darkness lying the other side of the house. -In his room was a graceful sketch of Mrs. Richard Rebell, Barbara's -lovely mother. He felt certain that the daughter would greatly value it. -How surely his instinct had guided him he himself hardly knew. Barbara -had loved her mother passionately, and after this evening she never -glanced at the early presentment of that same beloved mother without a -kind thought for the giver of it. - - * * * * * - -A curious hour followed: spent by Berwick and Mrs. Rebell one on each -side of Madame Sampiero's couch--Barbara listening, quite silently, -while Berwick, never seen to more advantage than when exerting himself -to please and interest the stricken mistress of Chancton Priory, told -news of that absorbing world of high politics which to Madame Sampiero -had long been the only one which counted, and in which much of her past -life had been spent. - -So listening, Barbara felt herself pitifully ignorant. Pedro Rebell, -proud as he had been of his British name and ancestry, made no attempt -to keep in touch with England. True, certain names, mentioned so -familiarly before her, were remembered as having been spoken by her -father, but this evening, seeing how much this question--this mysterious -question of the Ins and the Outs--meant to Madame Sampiero, Barbara made -up her mind, rather light-heartedly considering the magnitude of the -task, to lose no time in mastering the political problems of her -country. - -It must be admitted that Berwick's eager out-pouring--though it included -what one of his listeners knew was a masterly forecast of the fate he -hoped was about to overwhelm the Government which had already earned the -nickname of "The Long Parliament"--did not add much to Mrs. Rebell's -knowledge of contemporary statecraft. Still, her attention never -flagged, and the speaker, noting her absorption, thought he had never -had so agreeable an audience, or one which showed more whole-heartedly -its sympathy with Her Majesty's Opposition. - -The entrance of Doctor McKirdy into the room proved a harsh -interruption. - -"Be off!" he cried unceremoniously. "Madam won't be having a glint of -sleep this night!" and then as Madame Sampiero spoke, her speech sadly -involved, "Ay, ay, I've no doubt that all this company and talking has -made ye feel more alive, but we don't want you to be feeling dead -to-morrow, Madam--eh, what? That wouldn't matter? It would indeed -matter, to those who had your death on their consciences!" - -But already Berwick and Mrs. Rebell were in the corridor. "I hope I have -not tired her?" he said ruefully. - -"No--no, indeed! You heard what she said? You made her feel alive--no -wonder she looks forward to your coming! Oh! I hope you will be here -often." - -Berwick looked at her oddly, almost doubtfully, for a moment. "I expect -to be here a good deal this winter," he said slowly. - -But if he thought that the evening, so well begun, was to be concluded -in the Blue drawing-room downstairs, he was disappointed. Barbara turned -and made him an old-fashioned curtsey--such an obeisance as French and -Italian girls are taught to make to those of rank, and to the aged,--and -then in a moment she was gone, up the winding staircase, leaving Berwick -strangely subjugated and charmed. - -He was turning slowly when there came the sound of shuffling feet. -"Madam insists on your coming back just for a moment. Now don't go -exciting of her or she'll never live to see you occupying that chair of -little ease." - -"What chair?" asked Berwick lazily: he was fond of McKirdy with an old -fondness dating from his earliest childhood. - -"The high seat, the gallows of fifty cubits set apart for the Prime -Minister of this great country!" - -"I'm afraid Madam will have to wait a long time before she sees me -there!" - -"Well, man, give her at least the chance of living to see that glorious -day!" - -But Madame Sampiero had, as it turned out, very little to say, and -nothing of an exciting nature. - -"Do I think Arabella will like her?" Berwick was rather taken aback and -puzzled. He had not thought of his sister and Mrs. Rebell in -conjunction, and the idea was not a particularly agreeable one. "Well, -yes, why shouldn't she? They are absolutely unlike," a not unkindly -smile came over his face. He added, "I am sure my uncle will be charmed -with her," then bent forward to catch the faltering utterance, "Yes, I -know Richard Rebell was a friend of his--but do I understand that you -want Arabella to ask her to Fletchings?" There was a rather long -pause--"Yes, yes, Arabella shall certainly call on Mrs. Rebell, and at -once." - - * * * * * - -One fact necessarily dominated Berwick's relations with, and attitude -towards, women. That he often forgot this fact, and would remain for -long periods of time quite unaware that it lay in wait for him to catch -him tripping, was certain. But even so, any little matter, such as a -moment of sudden instinctive sympathy with some pretty creature standing -on the threshold of life, was apt to bring back the knowledge, to make -the Fact the one thing to be remembered. - -Again, it was never forgotten--not for a moment--by the human being who -had Berwick's interest most at heart, and who had played from his -earliest boyhood a preponderant part in his life. Arabella Berwick -always remembered that her brother's dead wife, behaving on this unique -occasion as a man might have done, and as men have often done, had so -left her vast fortune that even the life interest must pass away from -him, and that irrevocably, in the event of his making a second marriage. - -At the time of his wife's death, James Berwick had been annoyed--keenly -so--by the comment this clause in her will had provoked--far more so -indeed than by the clause itself. His brief experience of married life -had not been such as to make him at all desirous of repeating the -experiment; and what he saw of marriage about him did not incline him to -envy the lot of the average married man. Accordingly, the condition of -bachelorhood attaching to his present wealth pressed very lightly on -him. It was, however, always present to Miss Berwick, and when her -brother was staying at Fletchings--even more, when she was acting, as -she sometimes did, as hostess to his friends--attractive girls were -never included in the house party, and the agreeable, unattached widow, -who has become a social institution, was rigorously avoided by her. - -Unless the attraction is so strong as to cause him to overleap each of -the many barriers erected by our rather elaborate civilisation, a man of -the world--a man interested supremely in politics, considerably in -sport, and in the hundred and one matters which occupy people of wealth -and leisure--is generally apt to know, in an intimate social sense, only -those women with whom he is brought in contact by his own womenfolk. -Berwick went into many worlds to which his sister had no wish to have -access, but both before his marriage and since he had become a widower, -she had been careful to throw him, as far as lay in her power, with -women who could in no way dispute her own position as his trusted -counsellor and friend. This was made the more easy because James Berwick -in all good faith disliked that feminine type which plays in politics -the part of francs-tireurs--he called them by the less agreeable name of -"stirabouts." Miss Berwick cultivated on her brother's behalf every type -of pretty, amusing, and even clever married woman, but no worldly mother -was ever more careful in keeping her daughter out of the way of -detrimentals than was Arabella Berwick in avoiding for her brother -dangerous proximities of an innocent kind. - -Unfortunately Berwick was not always as grateful as he should have been -to so kind and far-sighted a sister. He would suddenly take a fancy to -the freshest and prettiest _débutante_, and for a while, perhaps from -June to August, Arabella would tremble. On one occasion she had conveyed -some idea of her brother's position to an astute lady who had regarded -him as a prospective son-in-law, and when once the mother had thoroughly -realised the dreadful truth concerning the tenure of his large income, -the young beauty had been spirited away. - -Then, again,--and this, it is to be feared, happened more -frequently--Berwick would deliberately put himself in the way of some -devastating charmer, who, even if technically "safe" from his sister's -standpoint, belonged to the type which breeds mischief, and causes those -involuntary appearances in the law courts of his country which stand so -much in the way of the ambitious young statesman. Such ladies, as Miss -Berwick well knew, have a disconcerting knack of getting rid of their -legal impediment to re-marriage. Berwick had lately had a very narrow -escape from such a one. In the sharp discussion between the brother and -sister which had followed, he had exclaimed sardonically, "Really, -Arabella, what you ought to look out for--I mean for me--is some poor -pretty soul with a mad husband safe out of the way. You know lunatics -live for ever." And Arabella, though she had smiled reprovingly, had -been struck by the carelessly uttered words. - -Miss Berwick's attitude to certain disagreeable and sordid facts of -human life had been early fixed by herself as one of disdainful -aloofness. She did not permit herself to judge those about her, and far -preferred not to know of their transgressions. When such knowledge was -thrust upon her--as had necessarily been the case with her uncle, Lord -Bosworth, and Madame Sampiero--she judged narrowly and hardly the woman, -contemptuously and leniently the man. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - "Crois-tu donc que l'on peut commander à son coeur? - On aime malgré soi, car l'Amour est un hôte - Qui vient à son caprice, et toujours en vainqueur." - - E. AUGIER. - - -During the ten days which followed that on which Mrs. Boringdon had held -a certain conversation with her son, Lucy Kemp gradually became aware of -two things. The first, which seemed to blot out and exclude everything -else, was that she loved--in the old-fashioned pathetic sense of the -abused word--Oliver Boringdon. - -Hitherto she had been able to call the deep feeling which knit her to -him "friendship," but that kindly hypocrisy would serve no longer: she -was now aware what name to call it by. She had known it since the -evening she had noticed that his manner had altered, that he had become -more reserved, less really at ease. The second thing of which Lucy -became aware, during those long dragging empty days, was the fact of her -keen unhappiness, and of her determination to conceal it from those -about her--especially from the father and mother who, she knew, were so -strangely sensitive to all that concerned her. - - * * * * * - -Major-General and Mrs. Kemp had been settled at Chancton Grange for some -years, and the Mutiny hero, the man whose gallant deed had once thrilled -England, Mrs. Kemp, and their young daughter, had come to be regarded by -the village folk with that kindly contempt which is bred, we are told, -by familiarity. - -The General's incisive, dry manner was rather resented by those of his -neighbours who had hoped to make of him a local tea-party celebrity, and -his constructive interest in local politics won him but tepid praise -from the villagers, while the fact that Mrs. Kemp's large-minded charity -and goodness of heart was tempered by a good deal of shrewd -common-sense, did not make her the more loved by those, both gentle and -simple, whom she was unwearying in helping in time of trouble. - -The husband and wife were, however, rather grudgingly regarded as a -model couple. It had soon been noticed that they actually appeared -happier together than apart, and, surprising fact, that in the -day-to-day life of walking and driving, ay and even of sitting still -indoors, they apparently preferred each other's company to that of any -of their neighbours! - -Why one man succeeds, and another, apparently superior in every respect, -fails in winning the prizes, the pleasant places, and the easy paths of -life, is a mystery rather to their acquaintances than to their intimate -friends--people who, according to the schoolboy's excellent definition, -"know all about you, but like you all the same." Now the peculiarity -about General Kemp was that he had neither succeeded nor failed, or -rather he had been successful only up to a certain point. He had won his -V.C. as a subaltern in the Mutiny, and promotion had naturally followed. -But after he had attained to field rank, he saw his career broken off -abruptly, and that for no shortcomings of his own, for nothing that he -could have helped or altered in any way. - -It was a prosaic misfortune enough, being simply the relentless knife of -economy, wielded by a new and enthusiastic Secretary at War, which cut -off at one sweep General Kemp and various of his contemporaries and -comrades in arms. The right honourable gentleman, as he explained to an -admiring House of Commons, was able to save the difference between the -full pay and the retired pay of these officers--a substantial sum to be -sure, but still not so much as was afterwards expended by the right -honourable gentleman's successors in bringing the establishment of -officers up to its proper strength again. - -General Kemp was a deeply disappointed man, but he kept his feelings -strictly to himself, and only his wife knew what compulsory retirement -had meant to him, and, for the matter of that, to herself, for Mrs. -Kemp, very early in life, had put all her eggs in Thomas Kemp's basket. - -But in one matter there had been no disappointment. The fact that Lucy's -childhood had been spent, though not unhappily, far from her parents, -seemed to make her doubly dear to them: and then, to their fond eyes and -hearts, their child was everything a girl should be. Unlike the girls of -whom Mrs. Kemp sometimes heard so much, she showed no desire to leave -her father and mother--no wish even to enjoy the gaieties which fell to -the lot of her contemporaries who lived amid livelier scenes than those -afforded by a remote Sussex village, and this though she was as fond of -dancing and of play as other young creatures of her age. - -Until a year ago,--nay, till six months back,--Mrs. Kemp would have -disbelieved an angel, had so august a visitant foretold that there would -soon arise, and that through no fault of hers or of the girl's, a cloud -between her daughter, her darling Lucy, and herself; and yet this thing, -this incredible thing, had come to pass. - -The worst the mother had feared, and she had sometimes feared it -greatly, was that her only daughter, following in this her own example, -would marry to India, or, worse still, to some far-away colony. But, -even so, Mrs. Kemp would have made the sacrifice, especially if Lucy's -lover had in any way recalled the Tom Kemp of thirty years before. - -However, as so generally happens, the danger the mother had dreaded -passed by harmlessly: Lucy received and rejected the offer of a soldier, -the son of one of the General's oldest friends; and her girlish heart -had turned to something so utterly different, so entirely unexpected, -that neither Mrs. Kemp nor Lucy's father had known how to deal with the -situation which had come upon them with a suddenness which had amazed -them both. - - * * * * * - -In spite of her look of unformed youth and gravely young manner, Lucy -Kemp was in no sense a child. There are surely many women who at some -stage of their life, paraphrasing the famous phrase, might well exclaim, -"I think, therefore I am--a woman." But such a test would convict many -women of eternal childhood. - -Lucy, during the last year, had thought much--too much, perhaps, for her -comfort. She had early made up her mind as to what she did not wish to -do with her life. In no circumstances would she become the wife of -Captain Laxton, but she had found it difficult to convince him of her -resolution. - -So it was that now, during those dreary days when the flow of constant -communication between Oliver Boringdon and the Grange had ceased, as if -by a stroke of malignant magic, poor Lucy had had more than time to -examine her mind and heart, and to feel a dreadful terror lest what she -found there should also be discovered by those about her, and especially -by Oliver himself. - -Mrs. Kemp was not well--so rare an occurrence as to alter all the usual -habits of the Grange. The General wandered disconsolately about the -garden, and through the lower rooms, reading, smoking, and gardening, -but it always ended in his going up to his wife's room. Lucy, standing -apart, was not too busy with her thoughts to realise, more than she had -ever done before, the vitality, the compelling bondage, of such an -attachment as that between her quiet, rather silent, father and her -impulsive affectionate mother. Watching those two with a new, and an -almost painful, interest, the girl told herself that, for a year of such -happy bondage between herself and Oliver Boringdon, she would willingly -give the rest of her life in exchange. - -Looking back, especially on the last few months, Lucy was able to recall -many moments, nay hours, when Oliver had undoubtedly regarded her as -being in a very special sense his friend. Bending over her work, sitting -silent by her mother's bedside, Lucy would suddenly remember, with a -fluttering of the heart, certain kindly looks, certain frankly uttered -confidences--and, remembering these things, she would regain some of the -self-respect which sometimes seemed to have slipped away from her in a -night. To Lucy Kemp the thought of seeking before being sought was -profoundly repugnant, and she was deeply ashamed of the feeling which -possessed her, and which alone seemed real in her daily life. - -There had been no love-making on Oliver's part--no, indeed!--but the -very phrase has acquired a vulgar significance. The girl thought she -knew every way of love, and she shrank from being "made love to." -Captain Laxton's eager desire to anticipate her every trifling wish, his -awkward and most unprovoked compliments, the haunting of her when she -would so much rather have been alone--ah! no, Oliver could never behave -like that, in so absurd, so undignified a manner, to any woman. If -Captain Laxton was a typical lover, then Lucy Kemp felt sure that -Boringdon was incapable of being, in that sense, in love, and she -thought all the better of him for it. - -Nay, more,--the belief that Oliver was in this so different from other, -more commonplace, men, brought infinite comfort. Lucy, compelled to -admit that he had at no time shown any wish to make love to her, brought -herself to think it possible that Boringdon was in very truth incapable -of that peculiar jealous passionate feeling of which the girl now knew -herself to be as much possessed as was Captain Laxton himself--that -strange state of feeling so constantly described in those novels which -she and her mother read, and of which her soldier lover, when in her -company, seemed the living embodiment. - -During the past ten days, Lucy had only twice seen Oliver, and this in -village life must mean deliberate avoidance. So feeling, pride, and -instinctive modesty, had kept her away from the Cottage, and Mrs. -Boringdon--this was surely strange--had made no effort to see her. Once, -in a by-way of Chancton, Lucy had met Oliver face to face,--he had -stopped her, inquired eagerly concerning Mrs. Kemp, and seemed inclined, -more than she had done at the moment, to talk in the old way, to -linger--then with an odd, almost rude abruptness, he had turned and left -her, and tears, of which she had been bitterly, agonisingly ashamed, had -rushed into poor Lucy's brown eyes. - -Their other meeting--one which was infinitely pleasanter to look back -upon--had been at the Grange. Boringdon had come with a note from his -mother to Mrs. Kemp; Lucy had taken it from him at the door, and unasked -he had followed the girl through the hall out into the old-fashioned -garden. There, after a word said by her as to the surprising result of -an important by-election,--since she had known him Lucy had become very -much of a politician,--Oliver had suddenly taken from his pocket a -letter which concerned him nearly, and acting as if on an irresistible -impulse, he had begged her to read it. - -The letter was from a man who had been one of his principal constituents -and supporters during his brief period of Parliamentary glory, and -contained private information concerning the probable resignation of the -member who had been Boringdon's successful rival at the last -election--it of course amounted to an invitation to stand again. - -For a moment standing, out there in the garden, Time seemed to have been -put back: Oliver and she were talking in the old way--indeed, he was -just telling her exactly what he meant to write in answer to this -all-important letter, when, to Lucy's discomfiture and deep chagrin, -General Kemp had suddenly appeared in the garden porch of the Grange and -had put a quick sharp end to the discussion. "Your mother wants you, -Lucy--will you please go up to her at once?" and the girl had obeyed -without saying good-bye, for she felt sure--or perhaps, had hoped to -ensure--that Boringdon would wait till she came down again. But alas! -when she ran down, a few minutes later, the young man was gone, and her -father answered her involuntary look of deep disappointment with one -that made her hang her head and blush! The child in Lucy asked itself -pitifully how father could have been so unkind. - -General Kemp had indeed been angry--nay, more than angry. The showing of -a letter by a man to a woman is an action which to an onlooker has about -it something peculiarly significant and intimate. Standing just within -the threshold of his house, seeing the two figures standing on the path -close to one another, and so absorbed in what they were saying that some -moments elapsed before they looked up and became aware of his presence, -the father realised, more than he had done before, Lucy's odd relation -to the young man. "What the devil"--so General Kemp asked himself with -rising anger--"what the devil did Boringdon mean by all that sort of -thing?" - -"Il faut qu'une porte soît ouverte ou fermée!" The wise French saying -which provided de Musset with a title for one of his most poignant -tragi-comedies, was probably unknown to General Kemp, but it exactly -expressed his feeling. The upright soldier had no liking for half-open -doors--for ambiguous sentimental relations. - - * * * * * - -"I can't think what the man was thinking of--taking a letter out of his -pocket, and showing it to her for all the world as if she were his wife! -I wish, Mary, you'd say a word to Lucy." - -"What word would you have me say, Tom?" Mrs. Kemp raised herself -painfully in bed. She still felt in all her bones the violent chill she -had caught, and the being compelled to lie aside had made her, what she -so seldom was, really depressed. On this unfortunate afternoon she had -followed with intuitive knowledge every act of the little drama enacted -downstairs: she had heard the General's sharply uttered command; noted -Lucy's breathless eager longing to be down again; and then she had heard -the front door open and shut; and she had listened, almost as -disappointedly as Lucy might have done, to Boringdon's firm steps -hurrying up the road past her windows. If only she had not caught this -stupid cold, all this might have been prevented! To-morrow she must -really persuade the doctor to let her come down again. - -"Surely, Mary, you don't need to be told what to say to the child! A -mother should always know what to do and what to say in such a case. If -we had a son and I thought him behaving badly to some girl, I should be -at no loss to tell him what I thought of his conduct,--in fact, I should -think it my duty as his father to do so." The General came and stood by -his wife's bed. He glowered down at her with frowning, unhappy eyes. - -"But that would be so different, Tom! I should be quite willing to speak -to Lucy if I thought she were behaving badly--if she were to flirt, for -instance, as I have seen horrid girls do! But this, you see, is so -different--the poor child is doing nothing wrong: it is we who have been -wrong to allow it to come to this." - -The General walked up and down the room. Then he suddenly turned and -spoke, "Well, I think something ought to be done. Get the matter settled -one way or the other. I never heard of such a state of things! Lucy -looks very far from well. Such a case never came my way before." - -"Oh! Tom, is that quite true?" - -"Certainly it is!"--he turned and faced her,--"quite true. Of course -I've known men behave badly to women, very badly indeed, who hasn't? and -women to men too, for the matter of that. But I've never come across -such an odd fellow as Boringdon. Why, he scowled at me just now,--upon -my word you might have thought I was the stranger and he her father! but -I took the opportunity of being very short with him--very short indeed!" -Then, as Mrs. Kemp sighed a long involuntary sigh, "No, Mary, in this -matter, you must allow me to have my own way. I don't approve of that -sort of conduct. It's always so with widows' sons--there are certain -things only a man can knock into 'em! I wish I'd had that young fellow -in the regiment for a bit. It would have done him a great deal more good -than the House of Commons seems to have done. And then again I can't at -all see what Lucy sees in him. He's such a dull dog! Now Laxton--I could -understand any girl losing her heart to Laxton!" He walked to the -window. "There's McKirdy coming in. I'll go down and have a talk with -him. Meanwhile, you think over all I've been saying, Mary." - -Poor Mrs. Kemp! as if she ever thought nowadays, in a serious sense, of -anything else! But she was inclined, in her heart of hearts, to share -Lucy's view of Boringdon's nature. Perhaps he was one of those men--she -had known a few such--who are incapable of violent, determining feeling. -If that were so, might not his evident liking for, and trust in, Lucy, -develop into something quite sufficiently like love amply to satisfy the -girl? - - * * * * * - -And Boringdon? Boringdon also was far from happy and satisfied during -those days which had followed on his talk with his mother. The result of -the conversation had been to make him deliberately avoid Lucy Kemp. But -at once he had become aware that he missed the girl--missed, above all, -the power of turning to her for sympathy, and even to a certain extent -for counsel, more than he would have thought possible. He felt suddenly -awakened to a danger he would rather not have seen,--why, oh! why, had -not his mother left well alone? The state of things which had existed -all that summer had exactly suited him. Looking back, Oliver felt sure -that Lucy had not misunderstood the measure of affection and liking -which he was willing, nay, eager, to bestow on her. - -As the days went by, the young man wondered uneasily why his mother had -suddenly left off asking the girl to lunch and to tea, as she had done, -at one time, almost daily. He knew that Mrs. Boringdon rarely acted -without a definite motive. Often her eyes would rest on his moody face -with a questioning look. He longed to know why Lucy never came to the -Cottage, but he was unwilling to give his mother the satisfaction of -hearing him make such an inquiry. Then he reminded himself that, after -all, Mrs. Kemp was really ill: the whole village watched with interest -the daily visit to the Grange of the Halnakeham doctor. Perhaps Lucy -found it difficult to leave home just now. - -Even concerning his village worries--those connected with his work as -land-agent to the Chancton estate--Boringdon had got into the way of -turning to Lucy Kemp for comfort, and so he felt cut off from the only -person to whom he could talk freely. Then had come that short meeting in -the lane, and something timid, embarrassed in Lucy's manner had suddenly -made him afraid, had put him on his guard--but afterwards he had been -bitterly ashamed of the way in which he had behaved in leaving her so -abruptly. - -His heart grew very tender to her, and, had he not known that his mother -was watching him, he would almost certainly have "made it up"--have -given way--and nature would have done the rest. But Oliver was aware -that any sign of weakness on his part would be a triumph for Mrs. -Boringdon--a proof that she had known how to shepherd him into a -suitable engagement with a well-dowered girl: and so he had held out, -knowing secretly that it only rested with him to restore his old -relation with Lucy to its former footing. - -At last, it had been Mrs. Boringdon who had asked him, in her most -innocent and conventional voice, to take a note from her to Mrs. Kemp, -and the accident that it had been Lucy who had opened the front door had -been enough to shake his resolution, and to break down the barrier which -he had put up between himself and her. At the time he had been carrying -the letter concerning his old constituency about with him for two days, -and the temptation to tell Lucy all about it proved too strong. Hence he -had followed her through into the quiet fragrant garden which held for -him so many pleasant associations of interesting, intimate talk with -both the mother and the daughter. - -Then, almost at once, had come the sharp, he told himself resentfully -the utterly unwarrantable, interruption--more, there had been no -mistaking General Kemp's manner--that of the man who cries "hands off!" -from some cherished possession. Boringdon's guilty conscience--it was -indeed hard that his conscience should feel guilty, for he was not aware -of having done anything of which he should be ashamed--Boringdon's -guilty conscience at once suggested the terrible thought that General -Kemp doubtless regarded him as a fortune-hunter. When the front door of -the Grange had closed on him he felt as if he could never come there -again, and as if one of the pleasantest pages of his life had suddenly -closed. - -He determined to say nothing of the pregnant, even if almost wordless, -little scene to his mother, and it was with a nervous dread of questions -and cross questions that he entered the drawing-room of the Cottage with -words concerning a very different person from Lucy Kemp on his lips. -"Don't you think," he asked, "that the time has come when we ought to do -something about Mrs. Rebell? She has been here, it seems, at least a -week, and several people have already called on her." - -Mrs. Boringdon looked at her son with some surprise, and he saw with -satisfaction that his little ruse had been successful; the news he -brought had made her forget, for the moment, the Grange and Lucy Kemp. - -"Several people?" she repeated, "I think, my dear boy, you must be -mistaken. No one _ever_ calls at Chancton Priory. How could -anyone--unless you mean Miss Vipen and the Rectory," she smiled -slightingly--"have even been made aware of this Mrs. Rebell's arrival?" - -"And yet there's no doubt about it," he said irritably, "I had the list -from McKirdy, who seemed to take these calls as a personal compliment to -himself! Miss Berwick drove over two or three days ago, and so did the -Duchess of Appleby and Kendal." He waited a moment, feeling rather -ashamed. He had known how to rouse his mother to considerable interest -and excitement. - -"The Duchess?" she echoed incredulously.--Most country districts in -England have a duchess, and this district was no exception to the -rule,--"what an extraordinary thing! I should have called on Mrs. -Rebell, Grace's friend, before now, but it seemed so strange that she -was not in church. It made me fear"--Mrs. Boringdon looked slightly -shocked and genuinely grieved--"that she was going to follow the example -of all the other people connected with the Priory." - -"I don't know why you should say that, mother. It is quite impossible -for Madame Sampiero to go to church, even if she wished to do so. As for -McKirdy, I suppose he is a Presbyterian, but the Priory servants all go, -don't they?" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Boringdon, reluctantly, "the servants certainly do -go,--that is, the lower servants. No one has ever seen the housekeeper -at church, and, of course the state of things here must grieve Mr. -Sampson very much." - -Oliver smiled grimly. "If that is really so, Sampson doesn't know when -he's well off. The sight of Mrs. Turke, resplendent in a new gown each -Sunday, would certainly distract the congregation from his dull sermon!" -But Mrs. Boringdon bent her head gravely, as if refusing to discuss so -unsavoury and painful a subject. - -"Have you seen her?" she asked with some natural curiosity. She added -hastily, "I mean, of course, Mrs. Rebell." - -"No," he said, "but I expect to do so in a few minutes. I saw McKirdy in -the village just now, and profiting by his absence, I'm going to try and -establish some kind of communication between Madame Sampiero and myself. -There's a most urgent matter which ought to be settled at once, and -McKirdy was so disagreeable the last time we met that I do not wish to -bring him into it if I can possibly avoid it." - - * * * * * - -The Chancton estate, in addition to two villages, comprised many large -farms stretching out on the fringe of the downs, and no day went by -without the transaction by Boringdon of much complicated and tiresome -business. In this, however, there would naturally have been much to -interest such a man as himself, especially as he and Berwick had -theories about agricultural problems and were eager to try -experiments--in fact, Berwick was already doing so very successfully on -his Sussex estate. - -But for Boringdon, the new work to which he had set his hand had soon -been poisoned, owing to the peculiar conditions under which he was -compelled to do it. His immediate predecessor had been Doctor McKirdy, -whose duties as medical attendant to Madame Sampiero had comprised for a -while that of being her vice-regent as regarded estate matters. That -arrangement had been anything but a success, hence the appointment, -through Lord Bosworth's, or rather through James Berwick's, influence, -of Oliver Boringdon. The change had been made the more easy because -McKirdy, with an obstinacy worthy of a better cause, had always refused -to accept any payment for this extra labour. - -At first, the old Scotchman had been glad to give up the work he knew -himself to have performed inadequately. Then, as time went on, he began -to interfere, and Boringdon discovered, with anger and astonishment, -that many matters were being gradually referred, both by the greater and -the lesser tenants, directly to Madame Sampiero, or rather to the man -who was still regarded, and with reason, as her vice-regent. - -The doctor also insisted on being the sole means of communication -between his patient and Boringdon. This was after he had found them -speaking together,--or rather Boringdon speaking and Madame Sampiero -listening,--concerning some public matter quite unconnected with -Chancton. From that moment, Alexander McKirdy had set his very -considerable wits to work against the younger man. He had informed him -with sharp decision that his weekly audiences with his employer must -cease: pointing out that almost everything that must be referred to her -could be so done through him. Boringdon, for a while, had felt content -that this should be so--he had always had a curious fear and repugnance -of the still stiff figure, which seemed to be at once so physically dead -and so mentally alive. - -Then had come the gradual awakening, the realisation of his folly in -consenting to an arrangement which destroyed his authority with those -with whom he was brought into daily contact. Even the humblest cottager -had soon discovered that the doctor, or "Kirdy," as he was -unceremoniously styled amongst themselves, was once more the real -over-lord of Chancton, and Boringdon found himself reduced to the -disagreeable _rôle_ of rent collector, his decisions concerning any -important matter being constantly appealed from, and revoked by, the -joint authority of Madame Sampiero and Doctor McKirdy. - -The situation soon became almost intolerable to the high-spirited and -sensitive young man: if it had not been for his mother, and for the fact -that the very generous income allotted to him for the little he now did -was of the utmost importance to her, he would ere this have resigned the -land agency. - -His pride prevented any mention of the odious position in which he found -himself to Berwick, the more so that in theory he had all the power--it -was to him, for instance, that Madame Sampiero's lawyers wrote when -anything had to be settled or done. McKirdy also always allowed him to -carry on any negotiations with neighbouring landowners. Boringdon had a -free hand as regarded the keepers and the shooting--indeed, it was only -with regard to the sporting amenities of the estate that he was really -in the position of master rather than servant. - -To his mother he always made light of his troubles, though he -was well aware that he had her ardent sympathy, which took the, -to him, disagreeable form of slight discourtesies to Doctor -McKirdy--discourtesies which were returned with full interest by the old -Scotchman. To Lucy and to Lucy's mother he had been more frank, and all -she knew had not contributed to make Lucy feel kindly to Doctor McKirdy, -though he was quite unconscious of how he was regarded by her. - -To-day, matters had come, so felt Boringdon, to a head. On his way from -the Cottage to the Grange, he had stopped for a moment at the estate -office, and there had engaged in a sharp discussion with one of the more -important Chancton farmers concerning a proposed remittance of rent. The -man had brought his Michaelmas rent in notes and gold, the sum -considerably short, according to Boringdon, of what should have been -paid. The land-agent had refused to accept the money, and the farmer, -naturally enough, had declared it to be his intention to make an appeal -to Madame Sampiero through Doctor McKirdy. - -It had been partly to turn his mind from the odious memory of this -conversation that the young man had not been able to resist the -temptation of following Lucy through into the garden with which he had -so many pleasant memories, and once there, of showing her the letter -which seemed to point to an ultimate escape from Chancton, and all that -Chancton now represented of annoyance and humiliation. - -Leaving the Grange, he had passed Doctor McKirdy, and had made up his -mind to try and see Madame Sampiero within the next few hours. If it -came to the point, he believed he could conquer, only, however, by -calling to his aid the Bosworth faction, but the thought of an appeal to -Berwick was still, nay, more than ever, disagreeable. At the same time -this was a test case. He was sorry that his mother had not called on -Mrs. Rebell, for he was dimly aware that the trifling lack of courtesy -would give McKirdy a slight advantage, but during the last few days he -had had other things to think of than his sister's unfortunate protégée, -in whom, however, he unwillingly recognised another adherent to the -McKirdy faction. - -And yet the first meeting of Boringdon and Barbara Rebell fell out in -such wise that it led to a curiously sudden intimacy, bred of something -between pity and indignation on her side and gratitude on his. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - "She whom I have praised so, - Yields delight for reason too: - Who could dote on thing so common - As mere outward-handsome woman? - Such half-beauties only win - Fools to let affection in." - WITHER. - - -Mrs. Rebell was sitting by her god-mother's couch, pouring out tea. She -had just come in from a walk on the downs, and as she sat there, her -eyes shining, the colour coming and going in her cheeks, Madame -Sampiero's gaze rested on her with critical pleasure and approval, -lingering over every detail of the pretty brown cloth gown and neat -plumed hat, both designed by a famous French arbiter of fashion who in -the long ago had counted Madame Sampiero as among his earliest and most -faithful patronesses. - -The last few days had been to Mrs. Rebell days of conquest. She had -conquered the right to come in and out of her god-mother's room without -first asking formal leave of Doctor McKirdy, and he had given in with a -good grace. She had won the heart of Mrs. Turke, and was now free of the -old housekeeper's crowded sitting-room; and she had made friends also -with all the dumb creatures about the place. - -Then again, the pretty gowns, the many charming trifles which had come -from Paris, and which she had been made to try on, one by one, in her -god-mother's presence, contributed, though she felt rather ashamed of -it, to her feeling of light-heartedness. Barbara Rebell, moving as one -at home about the Priory, looked another creature from the shrinking -sad-eyed woman who had arrived at Chancton a fortnight before, believing -that youth, and all the glad things that youth represents, lay far -behind her. - -There came a knock, McGregor's discreet knock, at the door. Barbara -sprang up, and a moment later came back with a letter, one which the -bearer had apparently not dared to put by, as was the rule with such -missives, and indeed with all letters addressed to the mistress of the -Priory, till Doctor McKirdy was ready to read them, and to transmit such -portions of their contents as he thought fit to his friend and patient. - -"A note for you, Marraine!" The French equivalent for god-mother had -always been used by Barbara Rebell both as child and girl in her letters -to Madame Sampiero, and she had now discovered that it was preferred to -its more formal English equivalent, or to the "Madam" which all those -about her used. "Shall I read it to you?" - -Barbara was looking down at the letter which she held in her hand with -some surprise. The ink was not yet dry,--it must therefore have been -written, in great haste, just now in the hall, and must call for an -immediate answer. She waited for a sign of assent, and then opened the -envelope:-- - - "DEAR MADAME SAMPIERO,--I am sorry to trouble you, but I fear I - must ask you to see me at your early convenience about a certain - matter concerning which your personal opinion and decision are - urgently required. Perhaps you will kindly send me word as to - what time will suit you for me to come and see you. - - "Yours faithfully, - "OLIVER BORINGDON." - -Madame Sampiero's eyelids flickered, "Would you like to see him, -child--our Chancton _jeune premier_?" and the ghost of a satirical smile -hovered over the still face and quivering mouth. - -"Yes, indeed, Marraine, if it would not tire you! You know it was his -sister who was so kind to me in Santa Maria. May I send for him now? He -evidently wants to see you about something very important--" - -But McGregor, convinced that there would be no answer to the note he had -most unwillingly conveyed upstairs, had not waited, as Barbara had -expected to find, in the corridor. She hesitated a moment, then, -gathering up her long brown skirts, ran down to the hall. - -Boringdon was walking up and down, waiting with dogged patience for the -message which might, after all, not be sent to him. "Will you kindly -come up--now--to Madame Sampiero? She is quite ready to see you!" To the -young man the low, very clear voice, seemed at that moment the sweetest -in the world: he turned round quickly and looked at the messenger with a -good deal of curiosity. - -No thought that this elegant-looking girl could be Mrs. Rebell came to -his mind. Doubtless she was one of the few people connected with Madame -Sampiero's past life--perhaps one of the cousins who sometimes came to -Chancton, and whom, occasionally, but very rarely as the years had gone -on, the paralysed woman consented to receive. - -Rather bewildered at the ease with which the fortress had been stormed -and taken, he followed the unknown young lady upstairs. But once in the -corridor, when close to Madame Sampiero's door, Barbara stopped, and -with heightened colour she said, "I know that you are Grace Johnstone's -brother, I have been hoping the last few days to go and see your mother. -Will you please tell her how much I look forward to meeting her?" And -before he could make any answer, she whom Boringdon now knew to be Mrs. -Rebell had opened the door, and was motioning him to precede her into -the room into which he had not been allowed to come for two months. - -A moment later he stood at the foot of Madame Sampiero's couch, feeling -the place in which he found himself curiously transformed, the -atmosphere about him more human, less frigid than in those days when his -weekly conferences with the owner of Chancton had been regarded by him -with such discomfort and dread. - -The presence of the low table on which now lay a tea-tray and a bowl of -freshly-gathered roses affected him agreeably, though he still quailed -inwardly when his eyes met those of the paralysed woman stretched out -before him: Boringdon was not imaginative, and yet these wide open blue -eyes had often haunted him--to-day they rested on him kindly, and then -looked beyond him, softening as they met those of her god-daughter. - -Before he was allowed to begin on what he felt to be such disagreeable -business, Mrs. Rebell--the woman whom he now knew to be his sister's -friend, and regarding whom he was being compelled to alter, moment by -moment, all his preconceived notions--had poured him out a cup of tea, -and had installed him by her side. Later, when she made a movement as if -to leave him alone with Madame Sampiero, she was stopped with a look, -and Boringdon, far from feeling the presence of a third person as -disagreeable and as unwarranted as he had always felt that of McKirdy or -of Mrs. Turke, was glad that Mrs. Rebell had been made to stay, and -aware, in some odd way, that in her he would have an ally and not, as -had always been the case with McKirdy, a critic, if not an enemy. - -After a short discussion, he was allowed to go with the point settled to -his satisfaction. Madame Sampiero had retained all her shrewdness, and -all her essential justness of character; moreover, his case, presented -partly through the medium of Barbara's voice, had seemed quite other -than what it would have done explained inimically by Alexander McKirdy. -Indeed, during the discussion Boringdon had the curious feeling that -this soft-voiced stranger, who, after all, was in no position to judge -between himself and the peccant farmer, was being made to give the -ultimate decision. It was Barbara also who had to repeat, to make clear -to him, reddening and smiling as she did so, her god-mother's last -words, "If you're not busy, you might take Mrs. Rebell down to the -Beeches. The trees won't look as well as they are doing now in a week's -time;" and while murmuring the words Madame Sampiero's eyes had turned -with indefinable longing towards the high windows which commanded the -wide view she loved and knew so well, but which from where she lay only -showed the sky. - - * * * * * - -A rude awakening awaited both Barbara and Boringdon in the hall below; -and a feeling of guilt,--an absurd unwarrantable feeling, so he told -himself again and again when he thought over the scene later,--swept -over the young man when he saw Doctor McKirdy pacing, with quick angry -steps, that very stretch of flag-stones where he himself had walked up -and down so impatiently half an hour before. - -"So you've been up to see her? Against my very strict orders--orders, -mind ye, given as Madam's medical man! Well, well! All I can say is, -that I'm not responsible for what the consequences may be. Madam's not -fit to be worried o'er business--not fit at all!" The words came out in -sharp jerky sentences, and as he spoke Doctor McKirdy scowled at the -young man, twisting his hands together, a trick he had when violently -disturbed. - -As the two culprits came towards him he broke out again, almost turning -his back on them as he spoke, "I cannot think what possessed the man -McGregor! He will have to be dismissed, not a doubt about it! He has the -strictest, the very strictest orders--he must have been daft before he -could take up a stranger to Madam's room!" There was a world of scorn in -the way in which McKirdy pronounced the word "stranger." - -Angry as Boringdon had now become, indignant with the old man for so -attacking him in the presence of one who was, as Oliver did not fail to -remind himself, the real stranger to all their concerns, he yet felt -that to a certain extent the doctor's anger and indignation were -justified. Boringdon knew well enough that, but for McKirdy's absence -from the Priory that afternoon, he could never have penetrated into -Madame Sampiero's presence. He had also been aware that McGregor was -acting in direct contravention of the doctor's orders, and that nothing -but his own grim determination to be obeyed had made the man take his -note upstairs. All this being so, he was about to say something of a -conciliatory nature, when suddenly Mrs. Rebell came forward-- - -"It is I," she said--and Boringdon saw that she showed no sign of -quailing before Doctor McKirdy's furious looks--"who asked my god-mother -to see Mr. Boringdon, and so it is I alone, Doctor McKirdy, who should -be blamed for what has happened. Madame Sampiero asked my advice as to -whether she should see him, and as the matter seemed urgent, I decided -that she had better do so at once, instead of waiting, as I should -perhaps have done, to ask you if she was fit to do so." - -She looked inquiringly from one man to the other--at the old Scotchman -whose face still twitched with rage, and whose look of aversion at -herself she felt to be cruelly unjust, almost, she would have said, had -she not become really fond of him, impertinent; and at Boringdon, who -also looked angry, but not as surprised as she would have expected him -to be before so strange an outburst. - -There was a moment of tense silence, and then, suddenly, Barbara herself -caught fire. Like most gentle, self-restrained natures, she was capable -of feeling deep instant gusts of anger, and one of these now swept over -her. - -"If you will go up and see Madame Sampiero," she spoke very coldly, "I -think you will admit, Doctor McKirdy, that my god-mother has not been in -any way injured by seeing Mr. Boringdon." She turned, rather -imperiously, to the young man. "I think," she said, "that now we had -better go out. I suppose it will take at least half an hour to walk -round by the Beeches, and later my god-mother will be expecting me back -to read to her." - -Without again glancing at Doctor McKirdy, Mrs. Rebell walked across to -the vestibule, and so out into the open air, Boringdon following her -rather shamefacedly, and in silence they struck off down the path which -led round the great meadow-like enclosure to the broad belt of beeches -which were the glory of Chancton Priory. - -Then, somewhat to his own surprise, Boringdon found himself making -excuses for the old Scotchman, while explaining to Mrs. Rebell the odd -position in which he often found himself. The conversation which -followed caused strides, which might otherwise have taken weeks or even -months to achieve, in his own and Barbara's intimacy. - -Very little was said of Grace Johnstone and of Santa Maria; it was of -the Priory, and of its stricken mistress, of Chancton and of Doctor -McKirdy, that they talked, and it was pleasant to Boringdon to hear his -own part being taken to himself, to hear McKirdy severely censured in -the grave low voice whose accents had sounded so sweetly in his ears -when it had come to call him to Madame Sampiero's presence. - -So eager was their talk, so absorbed were they in what they were saying, -that neither had eyes for the noble trees arching overhead; and when at -last they came out, from the twilight of the beeches, into the open air, -Barbara felt respect and liking for the young man. - -When they were once more close to the house, she put up her hand with a -quick gesture. "Don't come up with me to the porch," she said, "I am -sure you had better not meet Doctor McKirdy--I mean for the present." He -obeyed her silently, though for the moment he felt not unkindly towards -the old man he had conquered in what, he confessed to himself, had been -unfair fight. With Mrs. Rebell on his side he could afford to smile at -McKirdy's queer susceptibilities and jealousies. He must come and see -her to-morrow; there seemed so much more to say, to ask too, about -Grace--dear Grace, who had written with such warm-hearted feeling of -this charming, interesting woman who ought to be, so Boringdon told -himself, a most agreeable and softening influence at the Priory. - - * * * * * - -That same evening, Mrs. Boringdon, after much hesitation and searching -of heart, ventured to ask her son a question. - -"How did you find them all at the Grange? It seems a long time since I -have seen Lucy." - -Oliver's face clouded over, but he was surprised at his own calmness, -his absence of annoyance; that disagreeable episode at the Grange now -seemed to have happened long ago. - -"Everything was as usual," he answered hesitatingly; "--at least, no, I -should not say that, for General Kemp's manner to me was far from being -usual. I cannot help thinking, mother, that you made a mistake the other -day--I mean as regards Lucy;"--a note of reserve and discomfort crept -into his voice as he pronounced her name,--"The General's manner was -unmistakable, he all but showed me the door! I think it would be as -well, both for you and for me, if we were to put all thought of her from -our minds, and to see, in the future, less of her." - -Boringdon found it less easy to answer his mother's next question, "And -Madame Sampiero,--I suppose you did not see her to-day? I wonder if she -sees anything of Mrs. Rebell?" - -"Yes," he said, rather reluctantly, "McKirdy was out, and I had, on the -whole, a satisfactory interview with Madame Sampiero, owing it, in a -measure, to Mrs. Rebell. Madame Sampiero is evidently very fond of her. -By the way, she--I mean Mrs. Rebell--sent you a nice message about -Grace." - -"Oh! then she's a pleasant woman--I'm so glad! Everything makes a -difference in a little place like Chancton. I suppose," Mrs. Boringdon -spoke absently, but her son knew that she would require an answer, "that -Mrs. Rebell did not mention Miss Berwick, or the Duchess?" - -"Oh! no, mother," Oliver answered rather drily, "Why should she have -done so--to me?" - -"Oh! well--as a kind of hint that I ought to have called. I hope you -explained the matter to her? I mean to go there to-morrow." - -Boringdon made no remark. He had no intention, nay, he had an -instinctive dislike to the idea, of discussing Mrs. Rebell with his -mother, and he vaguely hoped that they would never become intimate. - - * * * * * - -Arabella Berwick was sitting in the little room, originally a powder -closet, which was set aside for her use at Fletchings. It was well out -of the way, on the first floor of the old manor-house, tucked away -between the drawing-room, which was very little used except in the -evening, and the long music gallery, and it was characteristic of Miss -Berwick that very few among the many who came and went each summer and -autumn to Fletchings were aware of the existence of this, her favourite -retreat. - -In the Powdering Room, as it was still called, Lord Bosworth's niece -wrote her letters, scrutinised with severely just eyes the various -household accounts, and sometimes allowed herself an hour of complete -relaxation and rest. The panelled walls, painted a pale blue, were hung -with a few fine engravings of the more famous Stuart portraits, -including two of that Arabella Stuart after whom Miss Berwick had been -herself named. There was also, on the old-fashioned davenport at which -she wrote her letters, a clever etching of her brother, done when James -Berwick was at Oxford. - -The mistress of such a house has a well-filled, and indeed often a -tiring, life, unless she be blessed with a highly paid, and what is not -always the same thing, a highly competent, housekeeper and factotum, to -take the material cares off her shoulders. Lord Bosworth was nothing if -not hospitable. There was a constant coming and going of agreeable men -and women in whatever place he happened to find himself. He disliked -solitude, and in the long years Miss Berwick had kept her uncle's house, -she could scarcely remember a day in which they had been absolutely -alone together. - -As a high-spirited, clever girl, brought suddenly from the companionship -of an austere aunt and chaperon, she had found the life a very agreeable -one, and she had set her whole mind to making it successful. Even now, -she had pleasant, nay delightful, moments, but as she grew older, and -above all, as Lord Bosworth grew older, much in the life weighed upon -her, and any added trouble or anxiety was apt to prove almost -unbearable. - -To-day, she had received a letter from her brother which had caused her -acute annoyance. James Berwick was coming back, a full fortnight before -she had expected him,--his excuse, that of wishing to be present at the -coming-of-age festivities of Lord Pendragon, the Duke of Appleby and -Kendal's only son, which were shortly to take place at Halnakeham -Castle. He had always had,--so his sister reminded herself with curling -lip,--a curious attachment to this neighbourhood, a great desire to play -a part in all local matters; this was the more strange as the Berwicks' -only connection with Sussex had been the purchase of Fletchings by their -uncle, and James Berwick's own inheritance from his wife of -Chillingworth, the huge place, full of a rather banal grandeur, where -its present possessor spent but little of his time. - -There were three reasons why Miss Berwick would have much preferred that -her brother should carry out his original plan. The first, and from her -point of view the most important, concerned, as did most important -matters to Arabella, Berwick himself. She had just learned, from one of -the guests who had arrived at Fletchings the day before, that the woman -whom, on the whole, she regarded as having most imperilled her brother, -would almost certainly be one of the ducal house-party at Halnakeham. -This lady, a certain Mrs. Marshall, was now a widow, and the sister -feared her with a great fear. - -The second reason was one more personal to herself. Miss Berwick was -trying to make up her mind about a certain matter, and she felt that her -brother's presence--nay, even the mere fact of his being in the -neighbourhood--would make it more difficult for her to do so. She knew -herself to be on the eve of receiving a very desirable offer of -marriage. Its acceptance by her would be, in a sense, the crowning act -of her successful life. The man was an ambassador, one of the most -distinguished of her uncle's friends, a childless widower, who, as she -had long known, both liked and respected her. In a few days he would be -at Fletchings, and she knew that the time had come when she must make up -her mind to say yes or to say no. - -The third complication, from the thought of which Miss Berwick shrank -with a pain which surprised herself, was the fact that both Lord -Bosworth, and now her brother in this letter which lay before her, had -requested her to write and ask Daniel O'Flaherty--the man whom she had -once loved--to come and spend a few days at Fletchings. They had met -many times since that decisive interview in Kensington Gardens which had -been so strangely interrupted by Oliver Boringdon--for such meetings are -the unforeseen penalties attendant on such conduct as had been that of -Arabella--but both had hitherto contrived to avoid staying under the -same roof. Now, however, she felt she could no longer put off giving -this invitation, the more so that it was for her brother's sake that -Lord Bosworth wished O'Flaherty to be asked to Fletchings. - -Miss Berwick had early found it advisable, when something painful had to -be done, to "rush her fences." She took up her pen and wrote, in her -fine, characteristic hand-writing, the words, "Dear Mr. O'Flaherty." - -Then she laid the pen down, lay back in her chair, and closed her eyes. -Even after so long a time had gone by, the memory of what had passed -between Daniel O'Flaherty and herself was intolerably bitter. Arabella -even now never thought of him without asking herself how it happened -that she had not realised what manner of man he really was, and why she -had not foreseen how sure he was to make his way. She never saw his name -printed, never heard it uttered, without this feeling of shamed surprise -and acute self-reproach coming over her. - -The strong attraction she had felt for the then untried Irishman had in -a sense blinded her--made her distrustful of his real power. Her uncle, -Lord Bosworth, had been more clear-sighted, in those far-off days when -he had encouraged the unknown barrister to come about Bosworth House, -just before she herself so ruthlessly sent him away. - -And now she found the wording, as well as the writing, of her letter -difficult: she wished to leave the matter of Daniel O'Flaherty's coming -to Fletchings, or his staying away, entirely to his own sense of what -was fitting. He had become, as she had reason to know, a man much sought -after: perhaps the dates which she was able to offer him would all be -filled up. - - * * * * * - -There came a slight sound; Miss Berwick opened her eyes, she sat up, an -alert look on her face, ready to repel the intruder whoever he might be. -Lord Bosworth, introducing his ample person through the narrow door of -the tiny room, was struck by the look of age and fatigue which had come -over--it seemed to him only since yesterday--his niece's delicate -clear-cut features and shadowed fairness. Arabella Berwick had always -been a good-looking replica of her remarkable-looking brother, but -youth, which remains so long with many women, had gone from her. She -often looked older than thirty-eight, and her deep-set compelling bright -blue eyes, of which the moral expression was so different from that -produced by those of James Berwick, gave an impression of singular -disenchantment. - -"Am I disturbing you?"--Lord Bosworth spoke very courteously--"if so, I -will speak to you some other time." Arabella at once hid the great -surprise she felt at seeing him here, for this was, as far as she could -remember, her uncle's first visit to the Powdering Room: "Oh! no," she -said, "I was only writing to Mr. O'Flaherty. You would like him to come -soon, wouldn't you?" - -"Yes, certainly! I am told he will have to be Attorney-General. He is -the sort of man James ought to have got hold of long ago. We seem to -have lost sight of him. I know I went to some trouble for him years -ago--and then somehow he disappeared. Perhaps it was my fault--in that -case I ought to write him a line myself." - -Then he became silent, looking at his niece with a curious persistent -gaze which embarrassed her. There had never been any real intimacy -between the uncle and niece, and the thought that Lord Bosworth had -suspected anything concerning what had occurred between herself and -O'Flaherty would have been intensely disagreeable to Arabella. She felt -herself flushing, but met his look with steady eyes, comforted by the -knowledge that, whatever he knew or suspected, he would most certainly -say nothing. - -"I see," he said, "that you guess what I have come to tell you. I have -had a letter from Umfraville--you know he comes to-morrow? It is a very -good letter, a better letter than I should have thought he could have -written on such a subject, but it amounts to this: before offering -himself, he wishes to be sure of what your answer will be, and he wants -you to make up your mind within the next few days,--in fact before he -leaves us. It would be a great position, my dear, and one which you -would fill admirably." - -As he spoke the colour had faded from Miss Berwick's face. She felt -relieved and rather touched. "But what would _you_ do?" she said -involuntarily. - -Lord Bosworth made none of the answers which might have been expected -from him. He said no word as to his niece's happiness being of more -consequence than his own comfort, and if he had done so, Miss Berwick -would not have believed him. - -"I do not suppose that you are aware,"--he put his strong hands on the -table before him, and looked at her with a sudden pleading look which -sat oddly on his shrewd, powerful face--"I do not suppose, Arabella, -that you are aware that I made Madame Sampiero an offer of marriage some -six or seven years ago, not long after the death of--of Sampiero. I -believe her answer was contained in one of the very last letters she -ever wrote with her own hand. Well, now--in fact for a long time past--I -have been contemplating a renewal of that offer. Nay more, should she -again refuse, which I know well to be more than probable, I cannot see -why, at our time of life, especially in view of her present state, we -should even so not be together." - -His niece looked at him in frank incredulous astonishment. She felt -mortified to think how little she had known this man with whom she had -lived for so long. - -"Surely," she said, "surely you would find such an existence absolutely -intolerable?" - -"I do not know what I have done that you should judge me so -severely."--Lord Bosworth's answer was made in a very low tone. "You are -a clever woman, Arabella, and I have always done full justice to your -powers, but, believe me, there are certain things undreamt of in your -philosophy, and I do not think"--he stopped abruptly, and finished the -sentence to himself, "I do not think Umfraville is likely to bring them -any nearer to you." - -He got up. "I thought I ought to tell you," he said, with a complete -change of tone, "because my intention may influence your decision. -Otherwise, I should not have troubled you with the matter." Then his -heart softened to her: he suddenly remembered her long and loyal, if -loveless, service. "Quite apart from any question of our immediate -future, you must remember, my dear, that I'm an old man. I cannot help -thinking that your life alone would be very dreary, and, much as you -care for James, I cannot see either of you making in a permanent sense -any kind of life with the other. In your place--and I have thought much -about it--I should accept Umfraville. The doing so would enable you to -lead the same life that you have led for the last twenty years, with -certain great added advantages. Then Umfraville, after all, is a very -good fellow,--good yet not too good, clever and yet not too clever!" - -She smiled at him an answering but rather wavering smile, and he went -out, closing the door behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts, -and with her scarcely begun letter to O'Flaherty lying before her. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - "I beg to hint to all Equestrian Misses - That horses' backs are not their proper place; - A woman's forte is music--love--or kisses, - Not leaping gates, or galloping a race; - I sometimes used to ride with them of yore, - And always found them an infernal bore." - - Ascribed to LORD BYRON. - - -It was the morning of the first meet of the South Sussex Hunt, and in -spite of the humble status of that same hunt among sporting folk, the -whole neighbourhood was in an agreeable state of excitement. - -Even in a country district where hunting plays a subordinate part in the -local life, the first meet of the season is always made the occasion for -a great gathering. There had been a time when it had taken place on the -lawn of Chancton Priory, and the open-handed hospitality of that Squire -Rebell who had been Madame Sampiero's father was still regretfully -remembered by the older members of the S.S.H. - -Nowadays the first meet was held at a place known locally as Whiteways, -which, though close to no hospitable house, had the advantage of -proximity to the town of Halnakeham, being situated just outside the -furthest gate of the park stretching behind Halnakeham Castle. - -Whiteways was a singularly beautiful and desolate spot, forming the apex -of a three-sided hill commanding an amazing view of uplands and -lowlands, and reached by various steep ways, cut through the chalk, -which gave the place its name, and which circled ribbon-wise round the -crest of the down, the highest of the long range which there guards the -coasts of Sussex. - -General Kemp had taken to hunting in his old age, and though in theory -he disapproved of hunting women, in practice he often allowed his -daughter many a happy hour with the hounds, although she had to be -contented with the sturdy pony, "warranted safe to ride and drive," a -gift from Captain Laxton to Mrs. Kemp. - - * * * * * - -At the Grange breakfast was just over. The General looking his best--so -Mrs. Kemp assured herself with wifely pride--in his white riding -breeches and grey coat, stood by the window of the pretty room opening -out on to the lawn. - -"I think it's time you went up and dressed, Lucy. You know it's a good -way to Whiteways, and we don't want the horses blown." - -Lucy looked up obediently from a letter she was reading, "Yes, father, -I'll go up at once. It won't take me long to dress." - -The girl would have given much to have been allowed to stay at home. But -she knew that her doing so would probably mean the giving up on the part -of her mother of one of the few local festivities which Mrs. Kemp -heartily enjoyed. Even more, Lucy feared her father's certain surprise -and disappointment, followed, after the first expression of these -feelings, by one of those ominous silences, those tender questioning -glances she had come to look for and to dread. - -General Kemp was treating his daughter with a consideration and -gentleness which were growing daily more bitter to Lucy. The poor child -wondered uneasily what she could have done to make her father see so -clearly into her heart. She would have given much to hear him utter one -of his old sharp jokes at her expense. - -Nothing was outwardly changed in the daily life of the village, Chancton -had been rather duller than usual. Mrs. Rebell's back had been seen at -church in the Priory pew, but she had gone out, as she had come in, by -the private door leading into the park. Mrs. Boringdon had been away for -nearly a fortnight, staying with an invalid sister, and so there had -been very little coming and going between the Cottage and the Grange, -although the Kemps and Oliver had met more than once on neutral ground. - -To-day, as Lucy well knew, was bound to be almost an exact replica of -that first day out last autumn. Then, as now, it had been arranged that -Mrs. Boringdon should drive Mrs. Kemp to Whiteways; then, as now, Lucy -and her father were to ride there together, perhaps picking up Captain -Laxton on the way. But, a year ago, Oliver Boringdon had ridden to the -meet in their company, while this time nothing had been said as to -whether he was even going to be there. A year ago, the day had been one -full of happy enchantment to Lucy: for her father had allowed her to -follow the hounds for over an hour, with Boringdon as pilot, and he,--or -so it seemed to the happy girl,--had had no eyes, no thought for anyone -else! The knowledge that to-day would be so like, and yet, as a subtle -instinct warned her, so unlike, was curiously painful. - -Still, no thought of trying to escape from the ordeal entered Lucy's -mind. But mothers--such mothers as Mrs. Kemp--often have a sixth sense -placed at their disposal by Providence, and the girl's mother divined -something of what Lucy was thinking and feeling. - -"I wonder," she said, "if you would rather stop at home? You look tired, -child, and you know it is a long way to Whiteways, and a rather tiring -experience altogether! Of course I should go just the same." - -General Kemp turned to his wife inquiringly, as if asking for a lead, -and Lucy intercepted the look which passed between them. "Why, mother," -she cried, "I shouldn't think of doing such a thing! I've been looking -forward to to-day for ever so long! I know what you are thinking"--she -flushed vividly, "but I'm sure Captain Laxton is much too old a friend -to bear me a grudge, or to feel any annoyance as to meeting me. After -all, he need not have come back----" and without giving either of her -parents time to answer, she ran out of the room. - -General Kemp was much taken aback. This was the first time he had heard -Lucy allude to Captain Laxton's affection for herself, or to the offer -which she had rejected. To his mind such an allusion savoured almost of -indelicacy. He did not like to think his daughter guilty of -over-frankness, even to her father and mother. - -"Can it be, Mary," he said, puzzled, "that she's thinking of Laxton -after all?" - -Mrs. Kemp shook her head. She knew very well why Lucy had mentioned her -lover--that his image had been evoked in order to form as it were a -screen between herself and what she had divined to be her mother's -motive in suggesting that she should stay at home, but it would be -hopeless to try and indicate such feminine subtleties to Lucy's father. - - * * * * * - -In the country, as in life, there are always many ways of reaching the -same place. The pleasantest carriage road to Whiteways lay partly -through the Priory park, and it was that which was chosen by Mrs. -Boringdon and Mrs. Kemp. Lucy and her father preferred a less frequented -and lonelier path, one which skirted for part of the way the high wall -of James Berwick's property, Chillingworth. - -They had now left this place far behind, and were riding slowly by the -side of a curving down: Captain Laxton had evidently gone on before, or -deliberately chosen to linger behind, and the father and daughter were -alone. Soon they left the road for the short turf, broken here and there -with hawthorn bushes; and Lucy, cheered by the keen upland air, was -making a gallant effort to bear herself as she had always done on what -had been such happy hunting days last winter. Already she could see, far -away to her left, a broad shining white road, dotted with carriages, -horsemen and horsewomen, and groups of walkers all making their way up -towards the castellated gate-way which frowned on the summit of the hill -above them. - -When the father and daughter reached the large circular space, sheltered -on one side by two wind-blown fir-trees, they found that they were -rather late, and so had missed the pretty sight of the coming of the -huntsman and his hounds over the brow of the down. Lucy made her way at -once through the crowd close to where Mrs. Boringdon's low pony-carriage -was drawn up just beneath the high stone gate-way, next to that of Mrs. -Sampson, the Chancton rector's wife, who had weakly consented to bring -Miss Vipen. Even Doctor McKirdy had vouchsafed to grace the pretty -scene, and he was sitting straightly and lankily on the rough old pony -he always rode, which now turned surprised and patient eyes this way and -that, for the doctor had never before attended a meet of the S.S.H. - -As yet Lucy could see nothing of Captain Laxton or of Boringdon, and she -felt at once relieved and disappointed. Perhaps Oliver was too busy to -give up a whole day to this kind of thing, and yet she knew he always -enjoyed a day with the hounds, and that he had theories concerning the -value of sport in such a neighbourhood as this. She reminded herself -that if he had not been really very busy, more so than usual, he would -certainly have found time to come to the Grange during his mother's -absence from Chancton. - -As these thoughts were coming and going through her mind in between the -many greetings, the exchange of heavy banter such an occasion always -seems to provoke, she suddenly heard Boringdon's voice, and realised -that he was trying to attract her attention. Lucy's pony, feeling the -agitation his young mistress was quite successfully concealing from the -people around her, began to quiver and gave a sudden half-leap in the -air. - -"What has come over sober Robin?"--Boringdon was smiling; he looked in a -good-tempered, happy mood--"I did so hope you would be here! I looked -out for you on the road for I wanted to introduce----" - -There was a sudden babel of voices; an old gentleman and his two -talkative daughters, all three on foot, were actually pulling Lucy's -habit to make her attend to what they were saying. Oliver shook his -head, shrugged his shoulders, and to Lucy's bitter, at the moment almost -intolerable disappointment, turned his horse through the crowd towards -the fir-trees close to which were drawn up several carriages, including -the Fletchings phaeton, driven, so the girl observed, by Miss Berwick, -by whose side an elderly man was looking about him with amused indulgent -eyes. - -Still, the day was turning out pretty well. Oliver would surely come -back soon,--doubtless with whoever it was he wished to introduce to her. -It was always a great pleasure to Lucy to meet any of Boringdon's old -political acquaintances. Such men were often at Fletchings. Of course -Lucy Kemp knew Miss Berwick, but by no means well,--besides, an instinct -had told her long ago that Oliver had no liking for his friend's sister. - -There was a pause. Then Lucy saw that Oliver was riding towards her, and -that he was accompanied by a lady, doubtless one of the Fletchings -party, for she was mounted on a fine hunter, a certain Saucebox, locally -famous, which belonged to James Berwick, and which was often ridden by -his sister. - -The unknown horsewoman was habited, booted, and hatted, in a far more -_cap-à-pie_ manner than was usual with the fair followers of the South -Sussex Hunt, and she and her mount together, made, from the sportsman's -point of view, a very perfect and pretty picture, though she was too -pale, too slight, perhaps a thought too serious, to be considered pretty -in the ordinary sense. - -Still, both horse and rider were being looked at by many with eyes that -were at first critical but soon became undisguisedly admiring, and the -Master, old Squire Laxton, was noticed to cut short a confidential -conversation with the huntsman in order to give the stranger an -elaborate salutation. - -Even Mrs. Kemp felt a slight touch of curiosity. "Who is that with whom -your son is riding?" she inquired of Mrs. Boringdon. - -"I don't know--perhaps one of the Halnakeham party. The Duke always -makes a point of being here to-day." - -Mrs. Boringdon's eyes rested appreciatively on the group formed by her -son and the unknown horsewoman; they took in every detail of the -severely plain black habit, the stiff collar, neat tie, and top hat. -Oliver seemed to be on very good terms with his companion--doubtless she -was one of his old London acquaintances. What a pity, thought Mrs. -Boringdon with genuine regret, that he saw so few of that sort of people -now--prosperous, well-dressed, well-bred women of the world, who can be -so useful to the young men they like! - -Lucy, also becoming conscious of the nearness of Oliver and his -companion, looked at the well-appointed horsewoman with less kindly eyes -than the two older ladies sitting in the pony carriage had done. The -girl told herself that such perfection of attire, worn at such a meet as -this of Whiteways, was almost an affectation on the part of the lady -towards whom Oliver was bending with so pleased and absorbed a glance. A -moment later the two had ridden up close to her, and Boringdon was -saying, "Miss Kemp----Mrs. Rebell, may I introduce to you Miss Lucy -Kemp?" - -Barbara's eyes rested very kindly on the girl. She remembered what -Doctor McKirdy had told her, during that walk that he and she had taken -together on the downs on the morning of her first day at Chancton. It -was nice of Oliver Boringdon to have brought her up at once, like this, -to the young lady whom he admired, but who was not,--so Barbara thought -she remembered McKirdy saying,--as yet his _fiancée_. - -Mrs. Rebell had lately seen a great deal of Grace Johnstone's brother, -in fact he was constantly at the Priory and always very much at her -service; they had become quite good friends, and since she had "made it -up" with the old doctor, she had taken pains to show both him and Madame -Sampiero that Oliver Boringdon had a right to more consideration than -they seemed willing to give him. - -Then Lucy's steady gaze rather disconcerted her; she became aware of the -girl's scanty riding habit--General Kemp's favourite form of safety -skirt--of the loose well-worn covert coat, and the small bowler hat -resting on her bright brown hair. - -"I feel rather absurdly dressed"--Lucy was struck by Barbara's soft full -voice--"but my god-mother, Madame Sampiero, ordained that I should look -like this. My last riding habit was made of khaki!" - -The note of appeal in Mrs. Rebell's accent touched Lucy at once. "Why, -of course you look absolutely right! My father often says what a pity it -is that so many women have given up wearing plain habits and top hats," -Lucy spoke with pretty sincere eagerness---- - -"She is a really nice girl," decided Barbara to herself; and Oliver also -looked at his old friend Lucy very cordially. To his mind both young -women looked exactly right, that is, exactly as he liked each of them to -look--Lucy Kemp perhaps standing for the good serviceable homespuns of -life, Barbara Rebell for those more exquisite, more thrilling moments -with which he had, as yet unconsciously, come to associate her. - -"Of course," he said, a little quickly, "this is Mrs. Rebell's first -experience of hunting, though she has ridden a great deal,--in fact, all -her life. Otherwise Madame Sampiero would hardly have suggested sending -over to Chillingworth for Saucebox. Hullo, Laxton!"--his voice became -perceptibly colder, but Lucy noticed with some surprise that Mrs. Rebell -bowed and smiled at the newcomer, but Boringdon gave her no time to -speak to him--"You had better come over here," he said urgently, "we -shall be getting to work soon," and in a moment, or so it seemed to -Lucy, he and the lady whom she knew now to be Mrs. Rebell had become -merged in the crowd, leaving Captain Laxton by her side looking down on -her with the half bold, half fearful look she knew so well. - - * * * * * - -Boringdon had taken Barbara to the further side of the great stone -gateway, and she was enjoying every moment of the time which seemed to -many of those about her so tedious. She was even amused at listening to -the quaint talk going on round her. "Scent going to be good to-day?" -"Well, they _say_ there's always a scent some time of the day, and if -you can find the fox _then_, why you're all right!"--and the boastful -tone of a keen weather-beaten elderly man, "I never want a -warranty,--why should a man expect to find a perfect horse?--he don't -look for perfection when he's seeking a wife, eh?" "Oh! but there's two -wanted to complete that deal. The old lady 'as not come up to the -scratch yet, 'as she, John?" "Well, when she does, I shan't ask for any -warranty, and I bet you I'll not come out any worse than other folk -do!"--and then the old joke, one of Solomon's wise sayings, uttered by -an old gentleman to a nervous girl, "Their strength shall be in sitting -still!" - -Mrs. Rebell looked straight before her. Of all the cheerful folk -gathered together near her, none seemed to have eyes for the beauty, the -amazing beauty of the surrounding country. To the right of the kind of -platform upon which the field was now gathered together, the hill -dropped abruptly into a dark wood, a corner of the ancient forest of -Anderida, that crossed by Cæsar when he came from Gaul--a forest -stretching from end to end of the South Downs, broken by swift rivers -running down to the sea. It was here--but Barbara, gazing with delighted -eyes down over the treetops, did not know this--it was here, in this -patch of primeval woodland, that the first fox of the season was always -sought for and often found. - -Yet another "white way" wound down towards the red-roofed farmhouses -which lined the banks of the tidal stream glistening in the vale below; -and opposite, in front, a gleaming cart-track led up to a strip of fine -short grass, differing in quality and even in colour from the turf about -it, and marking the place where, according to tradition, Boadicea made -her last stand. From thence, by climbing up the low bank on which a -hedge was now set, the lover of the downs looked upon one of the -grandest views in the South of England--that bounded on one side by the -sea, on the other, beyond the unrolled map-like plain, by the long blue -barrier of the Surrey hills. - -Barbara's eyes dilated with pleasure. The fresh autumn wind brought a -faint colour to her cheeks. She felt a kind of rapture at the beauty of -the sight before her. It was amazing to her that these people could be -talking so eagerly to one another, gazing so critically at the huntsman -and at the hounds gathered on their haunches, while this marvellous -sight lay spread out around and before them. - -Mrs. Kemp, sitting by the side of Mrs. Boringdon in the pony-carriage, -had something of the same feeling. She turned--foolishly, as she -somewhat ruefully admitted to herself a moment later--to her companion -and contemporary for sympathy--"I never saw Whiteways looking so -beautiful as it does to-day!" - -Mrs. Boringdon looked deliberately away from the sight which lay before -her, and gazed thoughtfully at the sham Norman gateway. "Yes," she said, -"very pretty indeed! Such a charming background to the men's red coats -and to the dogs! Still, I wonder the Duke allows so many poor and dirty -people to come streaming through the park. It rather spoils the look of -the meet, doesn't it? If I were he, I should close the gates on this one -day of the year at any rate." - -Mrs. Kemp made no answer, but she bethought herself it was surely -impossible that Lucy should be happy, in any permanent sense, if made to -live in close proximity to Oliver Boringdon's mother. - - * * * * * - -Time was going on. The walkers and those who had driven to Whiteways -were asking one another uneasily what the Master was waiting for. Miss -Vipen, sitting bolt upright by Mrs. Sampson's side, addressing now and -again a sharp word of reproof to the two young Sampsons sitting opposite -to her, alone divined the cause of the delay. The Master of the South -Sussex Hunt, that is, Tom Laxton--she had known him all her life, and -even as a boy he had been afraid of her--was, of course, waiting for the -Duke, for the Duke and the Halnakeham party! It was too bad to keep the -whole field waiting like this, and probably the fault of the Duchess, -who was always late at all local functions. Miss Vipen told Mrs. Sampson -her opinion of the Duke, of the Duchess, and last but not least of the -Master, whose subserviences to the great she thoroughly despised. - -All at once there was a stir round the gate-way: "The Duke at last!" -looking for all the world, so Miss Vipen observed to Mrs. Sampson, like -an old fat farmer, and apparently quite pleased at having kept everybody -waiting. As for Lord Pendragon, he was evidently very much the fine -gentleman--or, stay, the weedy scholar from Oxford who despised the -humble sports of a dull neighbourhood. But the time would come--Miss -Vipen nodded her head triumphantly--when he, Lord Pendragon, would -become very fat, like his mother, who, it was well known, was now too -stout to ride. "They say," whispered Miss Vipen in Mrs. Sampson's -unwilling ear, "that he is in love with a clergyman's daughter, and that -the Duke won't hear of it! If they made her father a Bishop, I suppose -it would be less objectionable-- Ah! there's the Duchess. They say her -carriages are always built just about a foot broader than anybody else's -in order that her size may not show so much." - -A move was now made for Whitecombe wood, and the Master trotted down -towards a point from which on many a former occasion he had viewed a fox -break away in the direction of the open down, and had been able to get a -good start before he could be overtaken by what he used to call "all -these confounded holiday jostlers." - -While all this was going on, Captain Laxton had not stirred from Lucy's -side, and together they rode over up towards Boadicea's camp. "If they -find soon, which I think very doubtful," he said quietly, "and if, what -is even less likely, the fox breaks, he is sure to head this way"--he -pointed to the left--"because of the wind." - -Lucy looked at him with a certain respect: she herself would never have -thought of that! Captain Laxton, in the past, had often surprised her by -his odd little bits of knowledge. She suddenly felt glad that he was -there, and that apparently he bore her no grudge. More, she reminded -herself that during the whole of the past summer she had missed his -good-natured presence--that they had all missed him, her mother even -more than herself. If he had not come to Whiteways to-day, she would now -be by herself, down among those foolish people who were riding quickly -and aimlessly up and down the steep roads near the wood, her father -throwing her a word now and then no doubt, but Oliver giving her neither -look, word, nor thought. - -Lucy had become aware that Boringdon and Mrs. Rebell had chosen, as she -and Laxton had done, a point of vantage away from the rest of the field, -and that Oliver, with eager glowing face, was explaining the whole -theory of hunting to his companion--further, that she was hanging on his -words with great interest. - -Meanwhile, Captain Laxton was looking at Lucy Kemp no less ardently than -Boringdon was gazing at Barbara Rebell. The young man had come out -to-day with the definite intention of saying something to the girl, and -now he wished to get this something said and over as quickly as -possible. - -"I hope that what happened last time I saw you won't make any -difference, Lucy--I mean as to our being friends, and my coming to the -Grange?" - -He had always called her Lucy--always, that is, since her parents had -come home from India when she was twelve years old. Now it is difficult, -or so at least thought Lucy Kemp, to cherish any thought of romance in -connection with a man who has called you by your Christian name ever -since you were a little girl! - -She hesitated. To her mind what had happened when they had last met -ought to make a difference. She remembered how wretched his evident -disappointment and unhappiness had made her at the time, and how kindly, -since that time, had been her thoughts of him, how pained her father and -mother had been. And now? Even after so short a time as three months, -here he was, looking as cheerful and as good-tempered as ever! It was -clear he had not cared as much as she had thought, and yet, according to -her mother, he had wanted to speak to her nearly two years ago, and had -been asked to bide his time. It was the knowledge of this constancy on -his part which had made Lucy very tender to him in her thoughts. - -Laxton misunderstood her silence: "You need not be afraid, Lucy, -that--that I will bother you again in the same way. But honestly, you -don't know how I have missed you all, how awfully lonely I've felt -sometimes." - -Lucy became aware that he was looking at her with a troubled, insistent -face, and she suddenly remembered how much he used to be with them, -making the Grange his home when she was still a very young girl, though -he was more than welcome at another house in the neighbourhood. As for -old Squire Laxton, Lucy knew only too well why he now always looked at -her so disagreeably; the coming and going of this young soldier cousin -to Laxgrove had been the old sporting bachelor's great pleasure, apart -of course from hunting, and he had missed him sorely that summer. - -Why should not everything go on as it had done before, if Captain Laxton -really wished it to do so? And so she said in a low tone, "Of course we -have missed you too, all of us, very much." - -"Oh! well then, that's all right! I will come over to the Grange -to-morrow--I suppose you would all be tired out this evening? I've been -at Laxgrove nearly a week already, and I must be back at Canterbury on -Monday, worse luck! I say, Lucy----" - -"Yes?" Lucy smiled up at him quite brightly, but her mind was absorbed -in the scene below her: the Duke, the great potentate of the -neighbourhood, had come up to Mrs. Rebell--she was now following him -towards the victoria in which sat the ample Duchess, and Boringdon had -ridden off, galloping his mare down the steep rough road where the -Master, with anxious eyes, was watching the hounds slipping in and out -of the wood. Lucy was rather puzzled. How was it that this strange lady, -who had only arrived at the Priory some three weeks ago, and who never -came into the village--she had been out driving when Mrs. Boringdon had -called on her--knew everybody? She said suddenly, "I did not know that -you knew Mrs. Rebell: we have none of us seen her excepting in church." - -"I can't say I know her, but old Cousin Tom has made great friends with -her. You know she's been riding Saucebox every morning, and they, she -and Boringdon, always go past Laxgrove about twelve o'clock. The first -morning there was quite a scene. The mare didn't quite understand Mrs. -Rebell, I suppose, for a steam roller came up, and in a minute she was -all over the place. Mrs. Rebell sat tight, but it gave her rather a -turn, and Tom made her come into the house. Then yesterday--you know -what a down-pour there was--well, she and Boringdon came in again. I was -rather glad to see them, for he and Tom have had rather an -unpleasantness over the Laxgrove shooting. However, now, thanks to this -Mrs. Rebell, they've quite made it up. She's a nice-looking woman, isn't -she?--quite the kind of figure for a showy beast like Saucebox!" - -But Lucy made no answer: could it be, so thought Laxton uneasily, that -she did not like to hear another woman praised? To some girls, the young -man would never have said anything complimentary concerning another -lady, but Lucy Kemp was different; that was the delightful thing about -Lucy,--both about the girl and her mother. - -Old Tom, sitting over the smoking-room fire the evening before, had told -his young kinsman to give up all thought of Lucy Kemp. "Whoever you -marry now, it will be all the same about ten years hence!" so the -cynical bachelor had observed, but then, what did Tom Laxton know about -it? The younger man was well aware, in a general sense, that this was -true of many men and their wives. It would probably be true of him were -he to choose, and to be chosen, from among the group of pleasant girls -with whom he had flirted, danced, and played games during the last few -months. But with Lucy, ah! no,--Lucy Kemp had become a part of his life, -and he could not imagine existence without her somewhere in the -background. Of course, to his old cousin, to Tom Laxton, Miss Kemp was -simply a quiet rather dull girl who could not even ride really -well--ride as women ought to ride if they hunted at all. The old -sportsman had only two feminine ideals,--that of the loud, jolly, -hail-fellow-well-met sort of girl, or else the stand-offish, delicate, -high-bred sort of woman, like this Mrs. Rebell. - -Lucy was looking straight before her, seeing nothing, thinking much. -Oliver's absence from the Grange was now explained: he had been riding -every morning with Mrs. Rebell, putting off the dull hours which he had -to spend in the estate office till the afternoons. The girl thought it -quite reasonable that Boringdon should ride with Madame Sampiero's -guest, in fact, that sort of thing was one of those nondescript duties -of which he had sometimes complained to her as having been more than he -had bargained for. But how strange that he had not asked her, Lucy Kemp, -to come too! When a certain girl cousin of Oliver's was at the Cottage, -the three young people often enjoyed delightful riding expeditions,--in -fact, that was how Lucy had first come to know Oliver so well. - -"They've found at last! This way, Lucy!--" - -Lucy woke up as if from a dream. The sharp unmistakable cry of Bluebell, -one of the oldest hounds in the pack, broke on her ears. She and Laxton -galloped down to the left--then waited--Laxton smiling broadly as the -whole field swept past them just below, the men jostling one another in -their eagerness to get first to a gate giving access to a large meadow -which enclosed a stretch of down. - -Rather on one side Lucy saw Mrs. Rebell and Boringdon, and -Oliver--quiet, prudent Oliver--was actually giving Saucebox a lead over -a low hedge! A group of town-folk from Halnakeham clapped their hands on -seeing the lady clear the obstacle. Laxton laughed. "Miss Vipen would -talk about circus performances, eh! Lucy?" He had never liked Boringdon, -the two men had nothing in common. "But, of course, Mrs. Rebell may have -told him she wanted to jump. They were doing that sort of thing -yesterday down at Laxgrove, and I must say I thought it very sensible of -Boringdon." - - * * * * * - -But in point of fact the hounds had not found. They had struck a strong -drag in the lower end of the cover, but, after running for only thirty -or forty yards, scent had quickly failed, and a few minutes afterwards -the majority of the field had reappeared near the old gate on the crest -of the hill. - -"Well, it's not been much use so far, has it? I see that Mrs. Boringdon -and your mother have gone home"--General Kemp seemed in high good -humour. "And now that the Duchess is off, too, we shall be able to try -the Bramber wood." The speaker's eyes twinkled; the Duchess of Appleby -and Kendal had been a keen sportswoman in her day, and it had been hoped -that the hounds would find in the ducal covers. "Would you like to go -on, child?" He thought Lucy had been quite long enough with Laxton--that -is, if, as his wife assured him, she had not changed her mind about the -young man whom he himself liked so cordially. - -"I think, father, if you don't mind, I'd rather go home." The General's -face fell--it seemed such a pity to turn back now, just when the real -work of the day was to begin. He had heard the Master's dry words:--"The -Duchess is gone, isn't she? Then let's make for Highcombe without losing -a minute." But Laxton was interposing eagerly--"May I take Lucy home, -sir? I will look after her all right, and perhaps Mrs. Kemp will give me -a little lunch." - -The General looked doubtfully at the two young people. They had remained -close to one another during the last hour--what did it all mean? He -wished his wife were there to give him a word, a glance, of advice. - -"All right!" he said, "but in that case, I should advise you to go back -over the downs. It's a pleasanter way, and you'll be at Chancton twice -as quickly." - -Lucy looked gratefully at the young man: it was really nice of him to do -this--to give up his afternoon to her, and to brave, as he was certainly -about to do, old Squire Laxton's anger: the Master of the S.S.H. had -never understood his favourite kinsman's attitude to the noblest sport -ever devised by man. And so she assented eagerly to the proposal that -they should ride back over the downs. - -"But wouldn't you rather stay?" - -"I'm really glad of the excuse to get away!"--he smiled down on -her--"I've been simply longing to see your mother!" - -Slowly they made their way over the brow of the hill, and then down the -wide grassy slopes skirting the high wall which shut off Chillingworth -from the rest of the world. - -Lucy was very subdued, and very gentle. It was a relief to be with -someone who did not suspect, as her parents seemed to do, the truth as -to her feeling for Oliver Boringdon. Soon she and her companion were -talking quite happily together, he asking her about all sorts of -familiar matters. Again she bethought herself that she really had missed -him, and that it was nice to have him back again. - -Then there was a pause--Laxton had felt the kindness, the confidence of -her manner. Suddenly bending down, he saw that the tears were in her -eyes--that her lips were trembling. Could it be--? Oh! God, was it -possible that she relented--that his intense feeling had at last roused -an answering chord? A flood of deep colour swept over his fair sunburnt -face. "Lucy!" he said hoarsely, "Lucy!" She looked up at him with sudden -mute appeal, but alas! he misunderstood the meaning of the look. "If it -is ever any good--any good now, my asking you again, you will let me -know--you will be kind?" Poor, inadequate words, so he felt them to be, -but enough, more than enough, if he had interpreted aright the look he -had surprised. - -But Lucy shook her head, "It is no good, I only wish it were--though I -don't know why you should care so much." - -They rode on into the village, and Laxton showed the good stuff he was -made of by coming, as he had said he would, to the Grange, where Mrs. -Kemp, after glancing at Lucy, entertained him with a pitying and heavy -heart. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - "Falling in love is the one illogical adventure, the one thing - of which we are tempted to think as supernatural, in our trite - and reasonable world." - R. L. S. - - -Love has been described, by one who had a singularly intuitive knowledge -of men's hearts, as a vital malady, and in one essential matter the -similitude holds good--namely, in the amazing suddenness with which the -divine fever will sometimes, nay often, seize upon its victim, driving -out for the time being all other and allied ills, leaving room only for -the one all-consuming passion. - -James Berwick was one of those men--more rarely found perhaps in England -than on the Continent, and less often now than in the leisurely days of -the past--who can tell themselves that they are pastmasters in the art -of love. Two things in life were to him of absorbing interest--politics -and women, and he found, as have done so many of his fellows, that the -two were seldom in material conflict. His sister, Miss Berwick, did not -agree in this finding, but she kept her views and her occasional -misgivings to herself. - -Women had always played a great part in James Berwick's life, and that, -as is generally true of the typical lover, in a very wide sense, as -often as not "en tout bien tout honneur." He thought no hour wasted -which was spent in feminine company: he was tender to the pruderies, -submissive to the caprices, and very grateful for the affection often -lavished on him by good and kindly women, to whom the thought of any -closer tie than that of friendship would have been an outrage. - -More than once he had been very near, or so he had thought at the time, -to the finding of his secret ideal,--of that woman who should be at once -lover and friend. But some element, generally that of the selfless -tenderness for which his heart craved, was lacking in the unlawful loves -to which he considered himself compelled to confine his quest. - -He based his ideal on the tie which had bound his uncle, Lord Bosworth, -to Madame Sampiero, and of which he had become aware at a moment when -his youth had made him peculiarly susceptible to what was fine and -moving in their strange, ardent romance. - -To his ideal,--so he could still tell himself when on one of those -lamentable return journeys from some experimental excursion in that most -debatable land, le pays du tendre,--he could and would remain faithful, -however faithless he might become to the actual woman who, at the -moment, had fallen short of that same ideal. - -Berwick constantly made the mistake of consciously seeking love, and so -of allowing nothing for that element of fantasy and surprise which has -always played so great a part in spontaneous affairs of the heart. - -He asked too much, not so much of love, as of life--intellect, passion, -tenderness, fidelity, all these to be merged together in one who could -only hope to be linked with her beloved in unlawful, and therefore, so -whispered experience, in but temporary bonds. - -During the last ten years--Berwick was now thirty-five, and, while his -brief married life lasted, he had been absolutely faithful to the poor -sickly woman whose love for him had fallen short of the noblest of -all--he had found some of the qualities he regarded as essential to a -great and steadfast passion, first in one, and then in another, but -never had he found them all united, as his uncle had done, in one woman. - -Mrs. Marshall, of whom his sister was still so afraid had first -attracted him as a successful example of that type of woman to whom -beauty, and the brilliant exercise of her feminine instincts, stand in -lieu of mind and heart, and whose whole life is absorbed in the effort -to excite feelings which she is determined neither to share nor to -gratify. To vivify this lovely statue, to revenge, may-be, the wrongs of -many of his sex, had been for Berwick an amusing diversion, a game of -skill in which both combatants were to play with buttoned foils. - -But Mrs. Marshall, caught up at last into the flames in which she -had seen so many burn--holocausts to her vanity and intense -egotism--suddenly began to love Berwick with that dry, speechless form -of passion which sears both the lover and the beloved, and which seems -to strip the woman of self-respect, the man of that tenderness which -should drape even spurious passion. - -The death of the lady's husband had occurred most inopportunely, and had -been followed, after what had seemed to Berwick--now wholly -disillusioned--a shockingly short interval, by one of those scenes of -horror which sometimes occur in the lives of men and women and which -each participant would give much to blot out from memory. During the -interview he shuddered to remember, Berwick had been brought to say, "My -freedom is dearer to me, far more so, than life itself! If I had to -choose between marriage and death, I should choose death!" - -Arabella need not have been afraid. Louise Marshall's very name had -become hateful to him, and the fact that she was still always trying to -throw herself across his path had been one reason why he had spent the -whole summer far from England. - - * * * * * - -It was in this mood, being at the moment out of love with love, that -Berwick had come back this autumn to Sussex and to Chancton Priory. It -was in this same mood that he had first met Barbara Rebell, and had -spent with her the evening of which he was afterwards to try and -reconstitute every moment, to recall every word uttered by either. He -had been interested, attracted, perhaps most of all relieved, to find a -woman so different from the type which had caused him so much distress, -shame, and--what was perhaps, to a man of his temperament, -worse--annoyance. - -Then, after that short sojourn at the Priory, he had gone away, and -thought of Barbara not at all. Certain matters had caused him to come -back to Chillingworth before going on to Halnakeham Castle, and during -those days, with a suddenness which had left him defenceless, had come a -passion of deep feeling--none of those about them ventured to give that -feeling its true name--for the desolate-eyed, confiding creature, who, -if now thrown defenceless in his way as no woman had ever yet been, was -yet instinct with some quality which seemed to act as a shield between -himself and the tremulous, tender heart he knew was there, if only -because of the love Barbara lavished on Madame Sampiero. - -During those early days, and for the first time in Berwick's experience, -humility walked hand in hand with love, and the lover for a while found -himself in that most happy state when passion seems intensified by -respect. James Berwick had hitherto been always able to analyse every -stage of his feeling in regard to the woman who at the moment occupied -his imagination, but with regard to Mrs. Rebell he shrank from such -introspection. - -Yet another feeling, and one oddly new, assailed him during those long -hours which were spent in Barbara's company--now in the quiet stately -downstair rooms of the Priory, now out of doors, ay, and even by Madame -Sampiero's couch, for there Barbara, as if vaguely conscious of pursuit, -would often take refuge. Jealousy, actual and retrospective jealousy, -sharpened the edge of Berwick's feeling,--jealousy of Boringdon, of whom -he gathered Barbara had lately seen so much, and with whom, as he could -himself see, she must be on terms of pleasant comradeship--jealousy, far -more poignant and searching, of Pedro Rebell, and of that past which the -woman Berwick was beginning to regard as wholly his, had spent with him. - -Mrs. Rebell never made the slightest allusion to her husband, and yet -for six long years--those formative years between nineteen and -five-and-twenty--Pedro Rebell must have been, and in a sense rarely -allowed to civilised man, the master of this delicate, sensitive woman, -and, when he so pleased, her lover. Who else save the half-Spanish West -Indian planter could have brought that shadow of fear into Barbara's -eyes, and have made her regard the passion of love, as Berwick had very -soon divined she did regard it, as something which shames rather than -exalts human nature? - -From one and another, going even to Chancton Cottage, and questioning -Mrs. Boringdon in his desire to know what Barbara he knew well would -never tell him, Berwick had so far pieced together her past history as -to come somewhere near the truth of what her life had been. He could -picture Barbara's quiet childhood at St. Germains: could follow her -girlhood--spent partly in France, partly in Italy--to which, as she grew -to know him better, she often referred, and which had given her a kind -of mental cultivation which, to such a man as himself, was peculiarly -agreeable. Then, lastly, and most often, he would recall her long -sojourn in the lonely West Indian plantation. There, if Grace Johnstone -was to be believed, she had at times suffered actual physical -ill-treatment from the man whom she had married because he had come -across her path at a moment when she had been left utterly alone; and -also because--so Berwick, as he grew to understand her, truly -divined--Pedro Rebell bore her father's name, and shared the nationality -of which those English men and women who are condemned to exile are so -pathetically proud. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Turke, Doctor McKirdy, and Madame Sampiero all watched with varying -feelings the little drama which was being enacted before their eyes. - -Of the three, Mrs. Turke had the longest refused to believe the evidence -afforded by her very shrewd senses. The old housekeeper took a frankly -material view of life, and Doctor McKirdy had not been far wrong when he -had once offended her by observing, "I should describe you, woman, as a -grand old pagan!" There were few things she would not have done to -pleasure James Berwick; and that he should enjoy a passing flirtation -with Mrs. Rebell would have been quite within his old nurse's view of -what should be--nay more, Mrs. Turke would have visited with -condemnation any lady who had shown herself foolishly coy in accepting -the attentions of such a gentleman. - -But when the old woman realised, as she soon came to do, that Berwick's -feeling for Madame Sampiero's kinswoman was of a very different quality -from that with which she had at first credited him, then Mrs. Turke felt -full of vague alarm, and she liked to remind herself that Mrs. Rebell -was a wife, and, from certain indications, a good and even a religious -woman in the old-fashioned sense of the word. - -These stormy November days, so rough without, so peaceful within, each -big with the presage of coming winter, reminded Mrs. Turke of another -autumn at Chancton, and of other lovers who had found the atmosphere of -the Priory strangely conducive to such a state of feeling as that which -seemed to be brooding over James Berwick and Barbara Rebell. - -True, Madame Sampiero and Lord Bosworth had been far more equally -matched in the duel which had ended in the defeat of both: but the -woman, in that conflict, had been troubled with fewer scruples. They -also had begun by playing at friendship--they also had thought it within -their power to absorb only the sweet, and to reject the bitter, of the -feast spread out before them. In those far away days Mrs. Turke had -been, to a certain limited extent, the confidante of her mistress, and -now she felt angered at the knowledge that her foster-son was becoming -impatiently aware of her watching eyes, and nervously afraid of any -word, even said by his old nurse in joke, concerning his growing -intimacy with Mrs. Rebell. - -To Madame Sampiero, the present also brought back the past, and that, -ah! yes, most poignantly. As she lay in her beautiful room, her solitude -only broken by those two whom she had begun to watch so painfully, or by -Doctor McKirdy who gave her news of them, she felt like the wounded -warrior to whom heralds bring at intervals news of the conflict raging -without. A word had been said by Mrs. Turke soon after Berwick's return, -but the housekeeper had been rebuked by her paralysed mistress with -sharp decision. - -The thought that the creature who was beginning not to take, so much as -to share, in her heart the place of her dead child, could be caught in -the net out of which she herself had not even yet cut herself free, was -intolerable--the more so that she had been amused, rather cynically -amused, at the effect her god-daughter had produced on the austere -Boringdon. To see them together, to see his growing infatuation, and -Barbara's utter unconsciousness of the feeling which, after the first -memorable interview, brought him daily to the Priory, had been to -Barbara's god-mother a delicious comedy. The woman in her delighted in -the easy triumph of this other woman, more particularly because at first -she had not credited Barbara Rebell with the possession of feminine -charm. - -In this matter Boringdon showed Madame Sampiero how wrong she had been, -and not he only, but many others also had at once come under her spell. -And then, as is nearly always the way with those women who inspire -sudden passions, Mrs. Rebell's charm was not, in its essence, one of -sex. The grim, silent Scottish woman, Madame Sampiero's night attendant, -smiled when Barbara came into the room, and Léonie, the French maid, had -very early informed her mistress, "Je sens que je vais adorer cette -Madame Rebell!" while as for James Berwick, his attitude the more moved -and interested Madame Sampiero, because she had never seen him in any -relation save in that of her own kind, cool, and attentive guest. - -Every nature betrays feeling in a manner peculiarly its own. Berwick -would have been surprised indeed had he realised his constant betrayal -of a passion so instinctive as to be as yet only partially revealed to -his innermost self. For the first time in his experience he loved -nobly--that is, with tenderness and abnegation. To be constantly with -Barbara, to talk to her with that entire intimacy made possible by the -solitary circumstances of her life, was all he asked as yet. Barbara -Rebell, during those same short weeks, was also happy, and wholly -content with the life she saw spread out before her--looking back to the -six years spent with Pedro Rebell as to a terrible ordeal lying safely -far behind her, so deep, so racial had been, after the first few weeks -of their married life, the antagonism between them. - -Feeling her physical helplessness more than she had ever done, Madame -Sampiero asked herself, with a foreboding which deepened into pain, -whether certain passages in her own life were now about to be enacted -over again in that of her own cousin? Lying there, her mind alone free, -she told herself that while regretting nothing that had been, she yet -would do all in her power to prevent one she loved from going through -what she had endured--the more so that, to her mind, James Berwick was -not comparable to the man for whom she had herself sacrificed -everything. Lord Bosworth's only desire, and that over long years, had -been to make the woman he loved his wife. She knew well that the nephew -had a more ingenious and a less simple nature--that the two men looked -at life from a very different standpoint. - -Madame Sampiero also realised to the full what Berwick's great wealth -had meant and did mean to him, and how different a man he would have -been without it. Had Barbara Rebell been free, so the paralysed woman -now told herself, James Berwick would have fled from the neighbourhood -of the Priory at the first dawn of his attraction. - -Barbara's god-mother would have given much to know what neither her own -observation nor Doctor McKirdy's could tell her--namely, how Berwick's -undisguised passion was affecting the object of it. Every day the older -woman looked for some sign, for some conscious look, but Barbara -remained in this one matter an enigma to those about her. Madame -Sampiero knew--as every woman who has gone through certain experiences -is bound to know--the deep secrecy, the deeper self-repression, which -human beings, under certain conditions, can exercise when the question -involved is one of feeling, and so sometimes, but never when Mrs. Rebell -was actually with her, she wondered whether the attitude of Barbara to -Berwick hid responsive emotion, which, when the two were alone together, -knew how to show itself articulate. - -One thing soon became clear. Barbara much preferred to see either -Boringdon or Berwick alone; she avoided their joint company; and that, -so the three who so closely observed her were inclined to think, might -be taken as a sign that she knew most surely how it was with them, if -still ignoring how it was with herself. - - * * * * * - -Concerning love--that mysterious passion which Plotinus so well -describes as part god part devil--Doctor McKirdy was an absolute -fatalist. He regarded the attraction of man to woman as inevitable in -its manifestations as are any of the other maleficent forces of nature, -and for this view--not to go further than his own case--he had good -reason. Till he was nearly thirty, he had himself experienced, not only -a distaste but a positive contempt for what those about him described as -love. - -However much the fact was disguised by soft phrases, he, the young -Alexander McKirdy, knew full well that the passion was wholly base and -devilish--playing sometimes impish, more often terrible, tricks on those -it lured within its labyrinth; causing men to deviate almost -unconsciously from the paths lying straight before them; generally -injuring their careers, and invariably--and this, to such a nature as -his own, seemed the most tragic thing of all--making, while the spell -was upon the victims, utter fools of them. Above all had he condemned, -with deepest scorn and intolerance--this, doubtless, owing in a measure -to his early religious training--that man who allowed himself to feel -the slightest attraction for a married woman; indeed, for such a one, he -felt nothing but scathing contempt. The whole subject of man's relation -to woman was one on which the doctor had been, even as a very raw and -shy youth, always ready to hold forth, warning and admonishing those -about him, especially his own sentimental countrymen cast up on the -lonely and yet siren-haunted sea of London life. - -Then, holding these views more than ever, though perhaps less eager to -discuss them, a chance had brought him to Chancton, there to fall -himself in the same snare which he believed in all good faith so easy to -avoid. After one determined effort to shake himself free, he had bowed -his neck to the yoke, gradually sacrificing all that he had once thought -made life alone worth living to a feeling which he had known to be -unrequited, and which for a time he had believed to be unsuspected by -the object of it. - -Who was he, Alexander McKirdy, so he asked himself during those days -when he watched with very mingled feelings Berwick and Barbara--who was -he to jeer, to find fault, even to feel surprised at what had now -befallen James Berwick and Barbara Rebell? And yet, as was still apt to -be his wont, the old Scotchman blamed the woman far more than the -man--for even now, to his mind, man was the victim, woman the Circe -leading him astray. This view angered the mistress of the Priory, but -not even to please Madame Sampiero would the doctor pretend that he -thought otherwise than he did. - -"Is this, think you, the first time she soweth destruction?" he once -asked rather sternly. "I tell ye, Madam, she cannot be so simple as ye -take her to be! I grant her Jamie"--falling back in the eagerness of the -discussion on what had been his name for Berwick as a child--"we all -know he's a charmer! But how about that poor stiff loon, Oliver -Boringdon? would you say that there she has not been to blame?" - -But the answering murmur was very decided, "I am sure it is the first -time she has sowed destruction, as you call it." - -"Well then, she has been lacking the opportunities God gives most women! -If she has not sowed, it has not been for lack of the seed: she has a -very persuasive manner--very persuasive indeed! That first night before -she stumbled into this house, I was only half minded that she should see -you, and she just wheedled me into allowing her to do so--oh! in a very -dignified way, that I will admit. Now as women sow so shall they reap." - -"That," muttered Madame Sampiero, "is quite true;" and the doctor had -pursued, rather ruthlessly, his advantage. "Can you tell me in all -honesty," he asked, peering forward at her, meeting with softened gaze -the wide open blue eyes, "if you yourself sowed destruction -innocently-like, that is without knowing it? Was there ever a time when -you were not aware of what you were doing?" - -For a moment the paralysed woman had made no answer, and then her face -quivered, and he knew that the sounds which issued from between her -trembling lips signified, "Yes, McKirdy, I always did know it! But -Barbara is a better woman than I ever was----" - -"Ay, and not one half so beautiful as you ever were!" The doctor had -remained very loyal to his own especial Circe. - - * * * * * - -It now wanted but a week to Lord Pendragon's coming-of-age ball, and -Chancton Priory shared in the general excitement. Madame Sampiero was -well aware that this would be her god-daughter's real introduction to -the neighbourhood, and she was most anxious that the first impression -should be wholly favourable. As regarded what Barbara was to wear, -success could certainly be achieved; but in whose company she should -make her first appearance at Halnakeham Castle was more difficult to -arrange, for it had come to Doctor McKirdy's knowledge that James -Berwick intended that he and Mrs. Rebell should share the long drive -from Chancton to the Castle. - -This the mistress of the Priory was determined to prevent, and that -without signifying her sense of its indecorum. The way out of the -difficulty seemed simple. Madame Sampiero intimated her wish that Doctor -McKirdy should be the third occupant of the Priory carriage, and that -with this strange-looking cavalier, Barbara should make her appearance -at the Castle: in that matter she thought she could trust to Berwick's -instinct of what was becoming, and further, she had little fear that he -would wish to attract the attention of the Duchess of Appleby and Kendal -to his friendship with Mrs. Rebell. But, to Madame Sampiero's -astonishment and chagrin, Doctor McKirdy refused to lend himself to the -plan. - -"Nay," he said, "I've been thinking the matter over, and I cannot make -up my mind to oblige ye. Your wit will have to find out another way." -There had been a pause, and he added, with one of his curious twisted -smiles, "It's not such as I who would dare to intervene at 'the canny -hour at e'en'!" - -"Then I must tell James it cannot be!" Madame Sampiero spoke the words -with the odd muffled distinctness which sometimes came over her -utterance. But Doctor McKirdy had been thinking carefully over the -situation: "Why not ask Mrs. Boringdon?" he growled out. "The woman does -little enough for the good living she gets here!" - -Madame Sampiero looked at her faithful old friend with real gratitude. -How foolish she had been not to have thought of that most natural -solution! But to her, Oliver Boringdon's mother was the merest shadow, -scarcely a name. - -And so it was that James Berwick's plan was defeated, while Barbara -Rebell, who had not as yet become as intimate with Grace Johnstone's -mother as she hoped to do, was made, somewhat against her will, to write -and invite Mrs. Boringdon and her son to share with her the Priory -carriage. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - "Never, my dear, was honour yet undone - By love, but by indiscretion!" - - COWLEY. - - -It was the second day of the three which were being devoted to the -coming-of-age festivities of Lord Pendragon, and Miss Berwick had asked -herself to lunch at Halnakeham Castle. Because of the great ball which -was to take place that evening, this day was regarded by the Duchess and -the more sober of her guests as an off-day--one in which there was to be -a lull in the many old-fashioned jollifications and junketings which -were being given in honour of the son of the house. - -The Duchess of Appleby and Kendal had been a very good friend to -Arabella and to her brother, and that over long years. Owing to a -certain inter-marriage between her own family and that of the Berwicks, -she chose to consider them as relations, and as such had consistently -treated them. She was fond of James, and believed in his political -future. Arabella she respected and admired: both respect and admiration -having sure foundations in a fact which had come to the Duchess's -knowledge in the days when she was still young, still slender, and -still, so she sometimes told herself with a sigh, enthusiastic! This -fact had been the sacrifice by Arabella Berwick of the small fortune -left her by her parents, in order that some debts of her brother's might -be paid. - -At the present moment James Berwick was actually staying at the Castle, -and his sister had asked herself to lunch in order, if possible to see, -and if not, to hear, on what terms he found himself with that one of his -fellow guests whom his hostess, knowing what she did know of Arabella's -fears, should not have allowed him to meet under her roof. - -To Miss Berwick's discomfiture, Louise Marshall was at lunch, more -tragic, more mysterious in her manner, alas! more lovely, in her very -modified widow's dress, than ever; but Arabella's brother, so her host -informed her when they were actually seated at table, had gone over for -the day to Chillingworth! This meant that the sister had had a four-mile -drive for nothing--a drive, too, which was to be repeated that same -evening, for the whole of the Fletchings party, even Lord Bosworth, were -coming to the ball. - - * * * * * - -One of the most curious of human phenomena met with by the kindly and -good-hearted who are placed by Providence in positions of importance and -responsibility, is the extreme willingness shown by those about them to -profit by that same kindliness and good-heartedness--joined to a keen -disapproval when those same qualities are exercised on behalf of others -than themselves! - -There had been a time when the Duchess's rather culpable good-nature, -strengthened by her real affection for the two young people concerned, -had been of the utmost service to Arabella Berwick--when, indeed, -without the potent help of Halnakeham Castle, Miss Berwick would have -been unable to achieve what had then been, not only the dearest wish of -her heart, but one of the utmost material moment--the marriage of her -brother to the great heiress whose family had hoped better things for -her than a union with Lord Bosworth's embarrassed though brilliant -nephew and heir. - -But the kind Duchess's services on that occasion were now forgotten in -Arabella's extreme anger and indignation at the weak folly which had led -to Mrs. Marshall's being asked to meet Berwick. The sister had come over -to Halnakeham determined to say nothing of what she thought, for she was -one of those rare women who never cry over spilt milk,--the harm, if -harm there were, was already done. But the old habit of confidence -between the two women, only separated by some ten years in age, had -proved too strong, especially as the opportunity was almost thrust upon -the younger of the two by her affectionate and apologetic hostess. - -"Qui s'excuse s'accuse"; the Duchess, sitting alone after lunch with her -dear Arabella, should surely have remembered the wise French proverb, -the more so as she had not made up her mind how much she meant to say, -and how much to leave unsaid, concerning James Berwick's strange -behaviour during the few days he had been sleeping,--but by no means -living,--at the Castle. - -"Well, my dear, we need not have been afraid about your brother and poor -Louise Marshall--from what I can make out, he has hardly said a word to -her since he has been here! In fact, he has hardly been here at all. He -goes off in the morning and comes back late in the afternoon. He did -stay and help yesterday, and made, by the way, a most charming little -speech,--but then he took his evening off! I've been wondering whether -there can be any counter attraction in the neighbourhood of -Chillingworth--?" - -The speaker looked rather significantly at her guest. She had been at -some trouble to find out what that attraction could be which took -Berwick daily to Chancton, and as her own confidential maid was Mrs. -Turke's niece, and a Chancton woman, she had come to a pretty shrewd -idea of the truth. - -But Miss Berwick was absorbed in her grievance. "No," she said sharply, -"certainly not! James hasn't ever been over to Fletchings, and we have -no one staying there whom he could want to see. I suppose the truth is -he wisely tries to escape from Mrs. Marshall. Knowing all you know, -Albinia, and all I said to you last year, how _could_ you have the woman -here? I was really aghast when I heard that she was coming, and that -James was hurrying back to see her--of course everyone must be putting -two and two together, and he will find himself at last in a really bad -scrape!" - -The Duchess began to look very uncomfortable. "The poor soul wrote and -asked if she might come," she said feebly; "I do think that you are -rather hardhearted. It would melt your heart if you were to hear her -talking about him to me. She has paid a woman--some poor Irish lady -recommended to her--to look up all his old speeches, and she devotes an -hour every day to reading them over, and that although she doesn't -understand a word of what she's reading! It's really rather touching, -and I do think he owes her something. Of course you know what she would -like, what she is hoping for against hope--old Mr. Marshall was a very -rich man----" - -Miss Berwick knew very well, but she thought the question an outrage--so -foolish and so shocking that it was not worth an answer. Indeed, she -shrugged her shoulders, a slight but very decided shrug, more eloquent -than any words could have been from such a woman. - -The Duchess, kind as she was, and with a power of sympathetic insight -which often made her unhappy, felt suddenly angered. She took up a book. -It had a mark in it. "Reading this sentence," she said rather nervously, -"I could not help thinking of your brother." - -Miss Berwick held out a languid hand. She thought this rather a mean way -of avoiding a discussion. Then she read aloud the sentence-- - -"It is the punishment of Don Juanism to create continually false -positions, relations in life which are false in themselves, and which it -is equally wrong to break or to perpetuate." - -There was a pause. Arabella put the book down, and pushed it from her -with an almost violent gesture. "I cannot understand," she cried, "how -this can in any way have suggested James! I never met a man who was less -of a Don Juan. If he was so he would be happier, and so should I. -Imagine Don Juan and Louise Marshall--why, he would have made mincemeat -of such a woman; she would have been a mere episode!" - -"And what more has poor Louise been? No woman likes to be a mere -episode! I do not say"--the Duchess spoke slowly; she knew she had gone -a little too far, and wished to justify herself, also to find out, for -the knowledge had made her very indignant, if Arabella was aware of how -her brother was now spending his time,--"I do not say by any means that -your brother is a Don Juan in the low and mean sense of the term, but -circumstances and you--yes, you, in a measure--have made his relations -to women essentially false and unnatural. Yes, my dear girl, that sort -of thing _is_ against nature! You are amazed and indignant when I speak -of it as being possible that he should marry Louise Marshall, and yet I -am quite sure that James is a man far more constituted for normal than -for abnormal conditions, and that he would be happier, and more -successful in the things that you consider important for him if, like -other men, he realised that--that----" - -The Duchess stole a look at her guest's rigid face, then went on with -dogged courage-- - -"Well, that a certain kind of behaviour nearly always leads to a man's -having to take a woman--generally the wrong woman, too--to church, that -is, if he is, in the ordinary sense, an honourable man! I fear," -concluded the Duchess dolefully, "that you think me very coarse. But -James and Louise between them have made me quite wretched the last few -days, so you must forgive me, and really I don't think you have anything -to fear--Louise is leaving the day after to-morrow." - -The speaker got up; why, oh! why, had she allowed herself to be lured -into this odious discussion? - -Arabella had also risen, and for a moment the two women, perfectly -contrasted types of what centuries have combined to make the modern -Englishwoman of the upper class, faced one another. - -The Duchess was essentially maternal and large-hearted in her outlook on -life. She was eager to compass the happiness of those round her, and -thanked God daily for having given her so good a husband and such -perfect children--unconscious that she had herself made them to a great -extent what they were. Particular to niceness as to her own conduct, and -that of her daughters, she was yet the pitying friend of all black sheep -whose blackness was due to softness of heart rather than hardness of -head. On the whole, a very happy woman--one who would meet even those -natural griefs which come to us all with soft tears of submission, but -who would know how to avert unnatural disaster. - -To her alone had been confided the story of Miss Berwick's love passages -with Daniel O'Flaherty. To-day, looking at the still youthful figure and -proud reserved face of her friend, she marvelled at the strength of -character, the mingled cruelty and firmness, Arabella had shown, and she -wondered, not for the first time, whether the agony endured had been in -any sense justified by its results. Then she reminded herself that as -Mrs. O'Flaherty the sister could hardly have brought about, as Miss -Berwick had known how to do, her brother's marriage to one of the -wealthiest unmarried women of her day. - -"I think we ought to be going downstairs: and--and--please forgive me -for speaking as I did just now--you know I am simply tired out!" - -And indeed the Duchess had endured that which had gone far to spoil her -innocent happiness in her son's coming-of-age festivities. After each -long day of what was on her part real hard work, the poor lady, whom all -about her envied, would call on her only confidant, the Duke, to scourge -her for the folly to which her kindness of heart and platonic sympathy -with the tender passion had led her; and husband-wise he would by turns -comfort and scold her, saying very uncomplimentary things of both the -sinners now in full enjoyment of his hospitality. Berwick, generally the -most agreeable and serviceable of guests, was moody, ill at ease, and -often absent for long hours--behaving indeed in a fashion which only his -hosts' long kindness to him could, in any way, excuse or authorise. - -As to Mrs. Marshall, she made no effort to disguise her state of mind. -She gloried in her unfortunate and unrequited passion, and made the -object of it appear--what he flattered himself he had never yet -been--absurd. She made confidences to the women and entertained the men -with eulogies of Berwick. Now, to-day, she was looking forward, as her -hostess well knew, to the evening. At the ball it would surely be -impossible for her lover to escape her, though her anxiety--and this, -the Duchess's fatal knowledge of human nature also made clear to -her--was somewhat tempered by the fact that on this occasion, in honour, -as she plaintively explained, of dear Pendragon, and in order to cast no -gloom over the festivity, she would once more appear in a dress showing -the lovely shoulders which had once been described as "marmorean"--the -word had greatly gratified her--by a Royal connoisseur of feminine -beauty. - -The fact that the whole affair much enlivened the party and gave an -extraordinary "montant" to what would otherwise have been rather a prosy -gathering,--that her guests so much enjoyed an item which had no place -in the long programme of entertainments arranged by the Duke and -herself--was no consolation to the Duchess. - - * * * * * - -"One moment, Albinia!" - -The younger woman had turned very pale. The Duchess's words concerning -Berwick and his sentimental adventures had cut her to the quick. -Heavens! was this the way people were talking of her brother? The words, -"an honourable man," sounded in her ears. How cruelly, how harshly, men -and women judged each other! - -"Of course, what you said just now concerning James and his love -affairs,--if one may call them so,--impressed me. How could it be -otherwise? As you know, I have no sympathy, I might almost say no -understanding, of his attitude in these matters. There is a whole side -of life to which I feel," her voice dropped, "the utmost repugnance. I -have never allowed anyone to make me those confidences which seem so -usual nowadays, nay, more, I have never even glanced at the details of -any divorce case. I once dismissed a very good maid--you remember -Bennett?--because I found her reading something of the kind in my room. -I could not have borne to have about me a woman who I knew delighted in -such literature----" - -"But my dear Arabella----" - -"Let me speak! Bear with me a moment longer! Now, about James. Of course -I know he's in a difficult position--one that is, as you say, unnatural. -But, after all, many men remain unmarried from choice, ay, and even free -from foolish intrigues--to me such episodes are not love affairs. If -there is any fear of such folly leading to marriage, well then, for my -brother the matter becomes one of terrible moment----" - -"You mean because of the money?" The Duchess had sunk down again into a -chair--she was looking up at her friend, full of remorse at having -seemed to put Arabella on her defence. - -"Yes, Albinia, because of the money. You do not know--you have never -known--what it is to lack money. I have never wanted it for myself, but -I have longed for it, Heaven alone knows how keenly, simply to be -relieved from constant care and wearing anxieties. I seem to be the -first Berwick who has learnt how _not_ to spend! As for James, it is -impossible to imagine him again a poor man." - -"And yet he is not extravagant." - -Miss Berwick looked pityingly at the Duchess. "What is extravagance? -Perhaps in the common sense of the word James is not extravagant. But he -cares supremely for those things which, in these ignoble times of ours, -money alone ensures--Power--the power to be independent--the indefinite, -but very real, prestige great wealth gives among those who despise the -prestige of rank." - -"But do those people matter?" asked the Duchess, rather superbly. -"Snobbish radicals--I've met 'em!" - -"But that is just what they are _not_!" cried Arabella feverishly. "They -care nothing for rank, but they do care, terribly so, for money. The man -who is known to have it--fluid at his disposal (that's how I heard one -of James's friends once describe it)--at the disposal, if so it be -needed, of the party, commands their allegiance and their respect, as no -great noble, every penny of whose income is laid out beforehand, can -hope to do. If James, instead of marrying as he did do, had gone on as -he began, where would he be now? What position, think you, would he -occupy? I will tell you, Albinia,--that of a Parliamentary free-lance, -whose very abilities make him feared by the leaders of every party; that -of a man whose necessities make him regard office as the one thing -needful, who is, or may be, open to subtle forms of bribery, whose mouth -may be suddenly closed on the bidding of--well, say, of his uncle, Lord -Bosworth, because he gives him, at very long and uncertain intervals, -such doles as may keep him out of the Bankruptcy Court. Can you wonder -that I am anxious? To me he is everything in the world----" - -She stopped abruptly, then began speaking again in far more bitter -accents. - -"Louise Marshall! You spoke just now of his possible marriage to that -woman. She may be rich, but I tell you fairly that I would rather see -James poor than rich through her. I cannot find words to express to you -what I think of her. She sold herself, her youth, her great beauty, her -name, and her family connections--you among them, Albinia--to that -vulgar old man, and now that the whole price has been meted out to her, -she wishes to re-invest it in a more pleasant fashion. She has sold and -now she wishes to buy----" - -"My dear Arabella!" - -"Yes, it is I who am coarse,--horribly so! But I am determined that you -shall hear my side of the case. You speak of my brother's honour. Do you -know how Louise Marshall behaved last year? Do you know that, when that -wretched old man lay dying, she came to Bosworth House--to _my_ -house--and insisted on seeing James, and--and"--the speaker's voice -broke, the Duchess could see that she was trembling violently; "Why do -you make me remember those things--those horrible things which I desire -to forget?" - -Emotion of any sort is apt to prove contagious. The Duchess was very -sorry for her friend; but she had received, which Arabella had not, Mrs. -Marshall's confidences, and then she knew, what Arabella evidently did -not know, how James Berwick was now spending his time, and what had -dislodged--or so she believed--Louise Marshall from his heart. And so-- - -"As you have spoken to me so frankly," she said, "I also owe you the -truth. Perhaps I am not so really sorry for Louise as you seem to think -me, but, during the last few days, a fact has come to my knowledge--I -need hardly tell you that I have said nothing to Louise about it--which -has made me, I must say, feel rather indignant. I asked you just now, -Arabella, whether there could be any rival attraction at Chillingworth; -that, I confess, was rather hypocritical on my part, for there _is_ an -attraction--at Chancton Priory." - -"At Chancton Priory?" repeated Miss Berwick, "why there's absolutely no -one at Chancton Priory! Who can you possibly mean?" - -All sorts of angry, suspicious thoughts and fears swept through her -mind. As is so often the case with women who keep themselves studiously -aloof from any of the more unpleasant facts of real life, she was -sometimes apt to suspect others of ideas which to them would have been -unthinkable. She knew that her friend's maid was a niece of Madame -Sampiero's housekeeper. Was it possible that there had been any gossip -carried to and fro as to Berwick's attraction for some rustic beauty? -Well, whatever was true of him, that would never be true. To him -temptation did not lie that way. - -But it was the Duchess's turn to look astonished. "Do you mean," she -exclaimed, "that you have not seen and know nothing of Barbara -Sampiero's cousin,--of this Mrs. Rebell, who has been at Chancton for -the last six weeks, and whom, if I judge rightly from the very pathetic -letter which poor dear Barbara Sampiero dictated for me to that old -Scotch doctor of hers, she is thinking of making her heiress?" - -"Mrs. Rebell?"--Miss Berwick's tone was full of incredulous relief--"My -dear Albinia, what an extraordinary idea! Certainly, I have seen her. My -uncle made me call the very moment she arrived, and I never met a more -apathetic, miserable-looking woman, or one more _gauche_ and ill at -ease." - -"She did not look _gauche_ or ill at ease at the Whiteways meet." - -"Mrs. Rebell was not at the meet," said Arabella positively. "If she had -been, I should, of course, have seen her. Do you mean the woman who was -riding Saucebox?--that was some friend of the Boringdons." - -It was the Duchess's turn to shrug her shoulders: "But I spoke to her!" -she cried. "I can't think where your eyes could have been. She's a -strikingly attractive-looking woman, with--or so I thought, when I -called on her some ten days after she arrived at Chancton--a -particularly gentle and self-possessed manner." - -"Oh! but you," said Miss Berwick, not very pleasantly, "always see -strangers _en beau_. As to James, all I can say is that I only wish he -did admire Mrs. Rebell--that, at any rate, would be quite safe, for she -is very much married, and to a relation of Madame Sampiero." - -"You would wish James to admire this Mrs. Rebell? Well, not so I! To my -mind his doing so would be a most shocking thing, a gross abuse of -hospitality"--and as she saw that Miss Berwick was still smiling -slightly, for the suggestion that her brother was attracted to the -quiet, oppressed-looking woman with whom she had spent so uncomfortable -a ten minutes some weeks before, seemed really ludicrous--the Duchess -got up with a sudden movement of anger. "Well, you will be able to see -them together to-night, and I think you will change your opinion about -Mrs. Rebell, and also agree with me that James should be off with the -old love before he is on with the new!" - -"Albinia"--Miss Berwick's voice altered, there came into it something -shamed and tremulous in quality--"Sir John Umfraville has left us. When -it came to the point--well, I found I couldn't do it." - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - "To the fair fields where loves eternal dwell - There's none that come, but first they fare through Hell." - - BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. - - -It is wonderful how few mistakes are made by those who have the sending -out of invitations to a great country function. The wrong people are -sometimes included, but it rarely happens that the right people are left -out. - -Halnakeham Castle was famed for its prodigal hospitality, and on such an -occasion as the coming-of-age ball of the only son, the ducal -invitations had been scattered broadcast, and not restricted, in any -sense, to those for whom the word "dancing" was full of delightful -significance. In Chancton village alone, Miss Vipen could show the -Duchess's card, and so could Doctor McKirdy, while both the Cottage and -the Vicarage had been bidden to bring a party. - -This being the case, it was felt by Mrs. Kemp's neighbours to be very -strange and untoward that no invitation had been received at Chancton -Grange, but, as so often happens, those who were supposed to be the most -disturbed were really the least so. General Kemp and his wife were not -disposed to resent what Miss Vipen eagerly informed their daughter was a -subtle affront, and a very short time after the amazing omission became -known, Lucy Kemp received five invitations to join other people's -parties for the ball, and declined them all. - -Then came an especially urgent message from Mrs. Boringdon, brought by -Oliver himself. "Of course you will come with us," he said insistently, -"my mother is to have the Priory carriage, and," he added, smiling as if -speaking in jest, "I will tell you one thing quite frankly--if you -refuse to come, I shall stay at home!" - -Lucy gave him a quick, rather painful glance. What could he mean by -saying that to her?--but Mrs. Kemp, again dowered with that sixth sense -sent as a warning to those mothers worthy of such aid, asked rather -sharply, "Are you and Mrs. Boringdon then going alone, for Lucy's father -would not wish her in any case to remain up very late?" and Oliver -answered at once, "Oh! no, Mrs. Rebell will, of course, be with us--in -fact, in one sense we are going as her guests. It is she who is so -anxious that Lucy should come too, and you need have no fear as to our -staying late, for we are going especially early in order to be home -before one o'clock." And then, to Mrs. Kemp's surprise, Lucy suddenly -declared that she would come after all, and that it was very kind of -Mrs. Rebell to have asked her. - -On the great day, but not till five o'clock, the belated invitation did -at last arrive at the Grange, accompanied by a prettily worded sentence -or two of apology and explanation as to a packet of unposted cards. The -General and Mrs. Kemp, however, saw no reason to change the arrangement -which had been made; more than once Mrs. Boringdon had chaperoned their -daughter to local entertainments, and, most potent reason of all, every -vehicle in the neighbourhood had been bespoken for something like a -fortnight. If Lucy's father and mother wished to grace the ducal ball -with their presence, they would have to drive there in their own -dog-cart, and that neither of them felt inclined to do on a dark and -stormy November night, though there were many to inform them that they -would not in so doing find themselves alone! - - * * * * * - -Lucy Kemp had a strong wish, which she hardly acknowledged to herself, -to see Mrs. Rebell and Oliver Boringdon together. The girl was well -aware that Oliver's manner to her had first changed before the coming of -this stranger to the Priory, but she could not help knowing that he now -saw a great deal of Mrs. Rebell. She knew also that, thanks to that -lady's influence, the young man was now free to see Madame -Sampiero--that hidden mysterious presence who, if invisible, yet so -completely dominated the village life of Chancton. - -This, of course, was one reason why he was now so often at the Priory. -Indeed, his mother complained to Lucy that it was so: "I suppose that, -like most afflicted persons, Madame Sampiero is very capricious. As you -know, in old days she would never see Oliver, and now she expects him to -be always dancing attendance on her!" - -Lucy implicitly accepted this explanation of the long mornings spent by -her old friend at the Priory; but it may be doubted whether in giving -it, Mrs. Boringdon had been quite honest. On making Mrs. Rebell's -acquaintance, which she had not done till Barbara had been at Chancton -for some little time, the mistress of the Cottage realised that the -Priory now contained within its walls a singularly attractive woman. - -The excuse which Boringdon made, first to himself, and then to his -mother, concerning Madame Sampiero's renewed interest in village -affairs, was one of those half-truths more easily believed by those who -utter them than by those to whom they are uttered. During the fortnight -Mrs. Boringdon was away, Oliver spent the greater part of each day in -Mrs. Rebell's company; the after-knowledge of that fact, together with -his avoidance of Lucy Kemp, made his mother vaguely suspicious. She -also, therefore, was not sorry for the opportunity now presented to her -of seeing her son and Mrs. Rebell together, but she would have liked on -this occasion to be with them alone, and not in company with Lucy Kemp. - -In this matter, however, her hand was forced. Boringdon, when bringing -his mother's note to the Grange, told the truth, as indeed he always -did; the taking of Lucy to Halnakeham Castle was Mrs. Rebell's own -suggestion, and in making it Barbara honestly believed that she would -give her good friend--for so she now regarded Oliver Boringdon--real -pleasure. Also, she was by no means anxious for a drive spent in the -solitary company of this same good friend and his mother--especially his -mother. In Mrs. Boringdon, Barbara had met with her only disappointment -at Chancton. There had arisen between the two women something very like -antipathy, and more than once Mrs. Rebell had felt retrospectively -grateful to James Berwick for having given her, as he had done the first -evening they had spent together, a word of warning as to the mistress of -the cottage. - - * * * * * - -Certain days, ay and certain hours, are apt to remain vividly marked, -and that without any special reason to make them so, on the tablets of -our memories. - -Lucy Kemp always remembered, in this especially vivid sense, not only -the coming-of-age ball of Lord Pendragon, but that drive of little more -than half an hour, spent for the most part in complete silence by the -occupants of the old-fashioned, roomy Priory carriage. - -Lucy and Oliver, sitting with their backs to the horses, were in -complete shadow, but the carriage lamps threw a strong, if wavering, -light on Mrs. Boringdon and Barbara Rebell. For the first time the girl -was able to gaze unobserved at the woman who--some instinct told -her--had come, even if unknowingly, between herself and the man she -loved. - -Leaning back as far as was possible in the carriage, Barbara had a -constrained and pre-occupied look. She dreaded the festivity before her, -fearing that an accident might bring her across some of her unknown -relations--some of the many men and women who had long ago broken off -all connection with Richard Rebell and his belongings; for these people -Richard Rebell's daughter felt a passion of dislike and distaste. - -Barbara also shrank from meeting James Berwick in that world from which -she herself had always lived apart, while belonging to it by birth and -breeding; she found it painful to imagine him set against another -background than that where she had hitherto seen him, and she felt as if -their singular intimacy must suffer, when once the solitude with which -it had become encompassed was destroyed. - -That afternoon there had occurred in Mrs. Turke's sitting-room a curious -little scene. Barbara and Berwick had gone in there after lunch, and -Berwick had amused both Mrs. Rebell and his old nurse by telling them -something of the elaborate preparations which were being made at -Halnakeham Castle for the great ball. Suddenly the housekeeper had -suggested, with one of her half-sly, half-jovial looks, that Mrs. Rebell -should, there and then, go and put on her ball-dress--the beautiful gown -which had arrived the day before from Paris, and which had already been -tried on by her in Madame Sampiero's presence. - -For a moment, Barbara had not wholly understood what was being required -of her, and Mrs. Turke mistook the reason for her hesitation: "La, -ma'am, you need not be afraid that your shoulders won't bear -daylight--why, they're milky white, and as dimpled as a baby's, Mr. -James!" And then, understanding at last the old woman's preposterous -suggestion, and meeting the sudden flame in Berwick's half-abashed, -wholly pleading eyes, Barbara had felt inexplicably humiliated--stripped -of her feminine dignity. True, Berwick had at once altered his attitude -and had affected to treat Mrs. Turke's notion as a poor joke, quickly -speaking of some matter which he knew would be of absorbing interest to -his old nurse. - -But even so Mrs. Rebell, sitting there in the darkness, felt herself -flush painfully as she remembered the old housekeeper's shrewd, -appraising look, and as she again saw Berwick's ardent eyes meeting and -falling before her own shrinking glance. - - * * * * * - -"I don't know that we shall have a really pleasant evening"--Mrs. -Boringdon's gentle, smooth voice struck across the trend of Barbara's -thoughts. "It is certain to be a terrible crush--the Duke and Duchess -seem to have asked everybody. Even Doctor McKirdy is coming! I suppose -he will drive over in solitary state in one of the other Priory -carriages?" - -Mrs. Rebell stiffened into attention: "No," she said, rather distantly, -"Doctor McKirdy is going to the Castle with a certain Doctor Robertson -who lives at Halnakeham." Here Oliver interposed--"Robertson is one of -the Halnakeham doctors, and, like McKirdy himself, a bachelor and a -Scotchman; he is, therefore, the only medical man hereabouts whom our -friend honours with his intimate acquaintance." - -And then again silence fell upon the group of ill-assorted fellow -travellers. - - * * * * * - -One of the long low rooms on the ground floor of the Castle, a portion -of the kitchens and commons in the old days when Halnakeham was a Saxon -stronghold, was now turned into a cloak-room and dressing-room. There it -was that Lucy and Mrs. Boringdon--animated by very different -feelings--watched, with discreet curiosity, their companion emerging -from the long black cloak which concealed her gown as effectually as if -it had been a domino. - -Some eyes, especially when they are gazing at a human being, only obtain -a general agreeable or disagreeable impression, while others have a -natural gift for detail. To Lucy Kemp, the sight of Mrs. Rebell, -standing rather rigidly upright before a long mirror set into the stone -wall, presented a quite unexpected vision of charm and feminine -distinction. But, even after having seen Barbara for a whole evening, -the girl could not have described in detail, as Mrs. Boringdon could -have done after the first quick enveloping glance, the dress which -certainly enhanced and intensified the wearer's rather fragile beauty. -The older and keener eyes at once took note of the white silk skirt, -draped with festoons of lace caught up at intervals with knots of dark -green velvet and twists of black tulle--of the swathed bodice encrusted -with sprays of green gems, from which emerged the white, dimpled -shoulders which had been so much admired by Mrs. Turke, and which -Barbara had inherited from her lovely mother. - -Gazing at the figure before her with an appreciation of its singular -charm far more envious than that bestowed on it by Lucy Kemp, Mrs. -Boringdon was speculating as to the emeralds--might they not, after all, -be only fine old paste?--which formed the _leit motif_ of the costume. - -"Paris?" Mrs. Boringdon's suave voice uttered the word--the -question--with respect. - -Barbara started: "Yes, Peters. My god-mother has gone to him for years. -He once made her a gown very like this, in fact trimmed with this same -lace,"--Mrs. Rebell hesitated--"and of the same general colouring. I am -so glad you like it: I do think it really very pretty!" - -And then, suddenly looking up and seeing the vision of herself and her -dress in the mirror, again the memory of that little scene in Mrs. -Turke's sitting-room came over Barbara in a flash of humiliation. Now, -in a moment, she would see Berwick--Berwick would see her, and a vivid -blush covered her face and neck with flaming colour. - -"I hope you don't think the bodice is--is--cut oddly off the shoulders?" -she said, rather appealingly. - -"Oh! no--quite in the French way, of course, but very becoming to you." -Mrs. Boringdon spoke amiably, but her mind was condemning Madame -Sampiero for lending fine old lace and priceless jewels to one so -situated as was Barbara Rebell. It was such a mistake--such ill-judged -kindness! No wonder the woman before her had reddened when admitting, as -she had just tacitly done, that the splendid gems encrusted on her -bodice were only borrowed plumes. - -"You will have to be careful when dancing," she said, rather coldly, "or -some of those beautiful stones may become loosened and drop out of their -setting." - -Barbara looked at her and answered quickly--"I do not mean to dance -to-night,"--but she felt the touch of critical enmity in the older -woman's voice, and it added to her depression. Instinctively she turned -for a word of comfort to Lucy Kemp. - -In her white tulle skirt and plain satin bodice, the girl looked very -fresh and pretty: she was smiling--the very sight of the lovely frock -before her had given her a joyous thrill of anticipation. Lucy had never -been to a great ball, and she was beginning to look forward to the -experience. "Oh! but you must dance to-night, mother says that at such a -ball as this everybody dances!" The other shook her head, but it pleased -her to think that she had been instrumental in bringing this pretty, -kind young creature to a place which, whatever it had in store for -her--Barbara--could only give Lucy unclouded delight. - - * * * * * - -Walking with stately steps up the great staircase of Halnakeham Castle, -Mrs. Boringdon became at once conscious that her party had arrived most -unfashionably early, and she felt annoyed with Mrs. Rebell for having -brought about so regrettable a _contretemps_. While apparently gazing -straight before her, she noticed that her present fellow-guests were in -no sense representative of the county; they evidently consisted of folk, -who, like Barbara, had known no better, and had taken the ducal -invitation as literally meaning that the Duchess expected her guests to -arrive at half-past nine! - -Mrs. Boringdon accordingly made her progress as slow as she could, while -Lucy, just behind her, looked about and enjoyed the animated scene. The -girl felt happier than she had done for a long time; Oliver's manner had -again become full of affectionate intimacy, and she had experienced an -instinctive sense of relief in witnessing Mrs. Rebell's manner to him. A -woman, even one so young as Lucy Kemp, does not mistake a rival's manner -to the man she loves. - -At last, thanks to a little manoeuvre on the part of the older lady, she -and Lucy, with, of course, her son, became separated from Mrs. Rebell. -Barbara was soon well in front, speeding up the staircase with the light -sliding gait Oliver so much admired, and forming part of, though in no -sense merged in, the stream of rather awe-struck folk about her. - -The kindly Duchess, standing a little in front of a brilliant, smiling -group of men and women, stood receiving her guests on the landing which -formed a vestibule to the long gallery leading to the ball-room. There -came a moment when Barbara Rebell--so Boringdon felt--passed out of the -orbit of those with whom she had just had the silent drive, and became -absorbed into that stationary little island of people at the top of the -staircase. More, as he and his mother shook hands with the Duchess, he -saw that the woman who now filled his heart and mind to the exclusion of -almost everything else, was standing rather in the background, between -James Berwick and an old gentleman whom he, Oliver Boringdon, had long -known and always disliked, a certain Septimus Daman who knew everyone -and was asked everywhere. - -Down on Mr. Daman--for he was very short and stout--Mrs. Rebell was now -gazing with her whole soul in her eyes; and to-night old Septimus found -that his one-time friendship with poor forgotten Richard Rebell -conferred the pleasant privilege of soft looks and kindly words from one -of the most attractive women present. To do him justice, virtue was in -this case rewarded, for Septimus Daman had ever been one of the few who -had remained actively faithful to the Rebells in their sad disgrace, and -when Barbara was a little girl he had brought her many a pretty toy on -his frequent visits to his friends in their exile. - -But of all this Boringdon could know nothing, and, like most men, he -felt unreasonably annoyed when the woman whom he found so charming -charmed others beside himself. That Mrs. Rebell should exert her powers -of pleasing on Madame Sampiero and on old Doctor McKirdy had seemed -reasonable enough,--especially when she had done so on his behalf,--but -here, at Halnakeham Castle, he could have wished her to be, as Lucy -evidently was, rather over-awed by the occasion, and content to remain -under his mother's wing. In his heart, he even found fault with -Barbara's magnificent dress. It looked different, so he told himself, -from those worn by the other women present: and as he walked down the -long gallery--every step taking him, as he was acutely conscious it did, -further away from her in whom he now found something to condemn--his -eyes rested on Lucy's simple frock with gloomy approval. - -"Mrs. Rebell's gown?" he said with a start, "no, I can't agree with -you--Frankly, I don't like it! Oh! yes, it may have come from Paris, and -I dare say it's very elaborate, but I never like anything that makes a -lady look conspicuous!" - -So, out of the soreness of his heart, Oliver instructed Lucy as to the -whole duty of woman. - - * * * * * - -To the Duchess, this especial group of guests was full of interest, -and--if only Mrs. Boringdon had known it--she felt quite grateful to -them all for coming so early! On becoming aware of Mrs. Rebell's -approach, she was woman enough to feel a moment's keen regret that -Arabella Berwick was not there to see the person whom she had called -_gauche_ and insignificant, coming up the red-carpeted staircase. Even -the Duke had been impressed and interested, but rather cross with -himself for not knowing who it was, for he prided himself on knowing -everybody in the neighbourhood. - -"Who's this coming up alone?" he asked, touching his wife's elbow. - -"Poor Richard Rebell's daughter--I told you all about her the other day. -Barbara Sampiero seems to be going to adopt her; don't you see she's -wearing the Rebell emeralds? Remember that you saw and spoke to her at -Whiteways!" - -"Bless me, so I did to be sure! She looked uncommonly well then, but -nothing to what she does now, eh?" - -And so it was that Barbara successfully ran the gauntlet of both kind -and indifferent eyes, and finally found herself absorbed into the group -of people standing behind her host and hostess. - -Then the Duchess passed on to Mrs. Boringdon and her son, treating them -with peculiar graciousness simply because for the moment she could not -remember who they were or anything about them! She felt sure she had -seen this tall dark man before--probably in London. He looked rather -cross and very stiff. A civil word was said to Lucy and an apology -tendered for the mistake made about the invitation. "Let me see," the -speaker was thinking, "this pretty little girl is to marry Squire -Laxton's soldier cousin, isn't she? Pen must be told to dance with her." - - * * * * * - -An hour later; not eleven o'clock, and yet, to the Duchess's infinite -relief, every guest--with the important exception of the Fletchings -party--had arrived. She was now free to rest her tired right hand, and -to look after the pleasure of those among her guests who might feel shy -or forlorn. But, as the kind hostess filled up one of the narrow side -doors into the ball-room, she saw that everything seemed to be going -well. Even Louise Marshall, to whom the Duchess had spoken very -seriously just before dinner, appeared on the whole to be leaving James -Berwick alone, and to have regained something of her power of judicious -flirtation. She looked very lovely; it was pleasant to have something so -decorative, even if so foolish, about! Too bad of Lord Bosworth to be so -late, but then he was privileged, and a cordon of intelligent heralds -had been established to announce his approach; once the Fletchings -carriages drew up at the great doors, the Duchess would again take up -her stand at the top of the staircase. - -Lucy Kemp was thoroughly enjoying herself. Had she cared to do so she -could have danced every dance twice over--in fact, she would willingly -have spared some of the attention she received from the young men of the -neighbourhood, the sons of the local squires and clergy, who all liked -her, and were glad to dance with her. - -Oliver seemed to have gone back to his old self. He and Lucy--though -standing close to Mrs. Boringdon and an old lady with whom she had -settled down for a long talk--were practically alone. Both felt as if -they were meeting for the first time after a long accidental absence, -and so had much to say to one another. Mrs. Rebell's name was not once -mentioned,--why indeed should it have been? so Lucy asked herself when, -later, during the days that followed, she went over every word of that -long, intermittent conversation. Their talk was all about Oliver's own -affairs--especially they discussed in all its bearings that important -by-election which was surely coming on. - -Then something occurred which completed, and, as it were, rounded off -Lucy's joy and contentment. James Berwick made his way across the vast -room, now full of spinning couples, to the recess where they were both -standing, and at once began talking earnestly to Oliver, tacitly -including the girl by his side in the conversation. At the end of the -eager, intimate discussion, he turned abruptly to Lucy and asked her to -dance with him, and she, flushing with pleasure, perceived that -Boringdon was greatly pleased and rather surprised by his friend's -action. As for herself, she felt far more flattered than when the same -civility--for so Lucy, in her humility, considered it--had been paid her -earlier in the evening by the hero of the day, shy Lord Pendragon -himself. That Berwick could not dance at all well made the compliment -all the greater! - - * * * * * - -And Barbara Rebell? Barbara was not enjoying herself at all. It has -become a truism to say that solitude in a crowd is the most trying of -all ordeals. In one sense, Mrs. Rebell was not left a moment solitary, -for both the Duke and the Duchess took especial pains to introduce her -to those notabilities of the neighbourhood whom they knew Madame -Sampiero was so eager, so pathetically anxious, that her god-daughter -should know and impress favourably. But, as the evening went on, she -felt more and more that she had no real link with these happy people -about her. Even when listening, with moved heart, to old Mr. Daman's -reminiscences of those far-off days at St. Germains, when his coming had -meant a delightful holiday for the lonely little English girl to whom he -was so kind, she felt curiously, nay horribly, alone. - -With a feeling of bewildered pain, she gradually became aware that James -Berwick, without appearing to do so, avoided finding himself in her -company. She saw him talking eagerly, first to this woman, and then to -that; at one moment bending over the armchair of an important dowager, -and then dancing--yes, actually dancing--with Lucy Kemp. She also could -not help observing that he was very often in the neighbourhood of the -woman who, Barbara acknowledged to herself, was the beauty of the ball, -a certain Mrs. Marshall, whose radiant fairness was enhanced by a black -tulle and jet gown, and who was--so Mr. Daman informed her with a -chuckle--but a newly-made widow. And in truth something seemed to hold -Berwick, as if by magic, to the floor of the ball-room. He did not -wander off, as did everybody else, either alone or in company, to any of -the pretty side-rooms which had been arranged for sitting out, or into -the long, book-lined gallery; and yet Mrs. Rebell had now and again -caught his glance fixed on her, his eyes studiously emptied of -expression. To avoid that strange alien gaze, she had retreated more -than once into the gallery, but the ball-room seemed to draw her also, -or else her companions--the shadow-like men and women who seemed to be -brought up to her in an endless procession, and to whom she heard -herself saying she hardly knew what--were in a conspiracy to force her -back to where she could not help seeing Berwick. - -Oh! how ardently Barbara wished that the evening would draw to a close. -It was good to remember that Mrs. Boringdon and Lucy had both expressed -a strong desire to leave early. Soon her martyrdom, for so in truth it -was, would cease, and so also, with this experience--this sudden light -thrown down into the depths of her own heart--would cease her intimacy -with James Berwick. - -The anguish she felt herself enduring frightened her. What right had -this man, who was after all but a friend and a friend of short standing, -to make her feel this intolerable pain, and, what was to such a nature -as hers more bitter, such humiliation? There assailed her that instinct -of self-preservation which makes itself felt in certain natures, even in -the rarefied atmosphere of exalted passion. She must, after to-night, -save herself from the possible repetition of such feelings as those -which now possessed her. She told herself that those past afternoons and -evenings of close, often wordless, communion and intimacy yet gave her -no lien on James Berwick's heart, no right even to his attention. - -Sitting there, with Mr. Daman babbling in her ear, mocking ghosts, evil -memories, crowded round poor Barbara. She remembered the first time--the -only time that really mattered--when she had been told, she herself -would never have suspected or discovered it, of Pedro Rebell's -infidelity, of his connection with one of their own coloured people, and -the passion of outraged pride and disgust which had possessed her, -wedded to a sense of awful loneliness. Even to herself it seemed amazing -that she should be suffering now much as she had suffered during that -short West Indian night five years ago. Nay, she was now suffering more, -for then there had not been added to her other miseries that feeling of -soreness and sense of personal loss. - - * * * * * - -"Are you enjoying yourself, Doctor McKirdy?" His hostess was smiling -into the old Scotchman's face. She had seen with what troubled interest -his eyes followed Mrs. Rebell and James Berwick--the Duchess would have -given much to have been able to ask the doctor what he really thought -about--well, about many things,--but her courage failed her. As he -hesitated she bent forward and whispered, "Don't say that it's a -splendid sight; you and I know what it is--a perfect _clanjamfray_! -Confess that it is!" and as Doctor McKirdy's ugly face became filled -with the spirit of laughter, the Duchess added, "You see I didn't have a -Scotch mother for nothing!" - -And Mrs. Boringdon, watching the little colloquy with a good deal of -wonderment, marvelled that her Grace could demean herself to laugh and -joke with such an insufferable nobody as she considered Doctor McKirdy -to be! - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - "Que vous me coûtez cher, ô mon coeur, pour vos plaisirs!" - - COMTESSE DIANE. - - -"Will you please introduce me to the lady with whom Mr. Daman has been -talking all the evening? I have something I very much want to ask her, -and I don't wish to say it before that horrid old man, so will you take -him aside while I speak to her?" - -Louise Marshall was standing before James Berwick. She looked beautiful, -animated, good-humoured as he had not seen her look for a very long -time, and the plaintive, rather sulky tone in which she had lately -always addressed him was gone. There are women on whom the presence of a -crowd, the atmosphere of violent admiration, have an extraordinary tonic -effect. To-night, for the first time since she had become a widow, Mrs. -Marshall felt that life, even without James Berwick, might conceivably -be worth living; but unfortunately for himself, the man to whom she had -just addressed what he felt to be so disquieting a request, did not -divine her thoughts. Instead, suspicions--each one more hateful than the -other--darted through his mind, and so, for only answer to her words he -looked at her uncertainly, saying at last, "You mean Mrs. Rebell?" - -She bent her head; they were standing close to the band, and it was -difficult to hear, but he realized that she had some purpose in her -mind, and there shone the same eager good-tempered smile on the face -which others thought so lovely. - -"Very well," he said, "I will take you across to her," and slowly they -skirted the walls of the great room, now filled with movement, music, -and colour. - - * * * * * - -Up to the last moment, Berwick had seriously thought of escaping the -ordeal of this evening. The mere presence of Louise Marshall in his -neighbourhood induced in him a sense of repulsion and of self-reproach -with which he hardly knew how to cope in his present state of body and -mind. And now had come the last day. Escape was in sight; not with his -good will would he ever again find himself under the same roof with -her--indeed, in any case he was actually going back to Chillingworth -that very night. Wisdom had counselled him to avoid the ball, but the -knowledge that Mrs. Rebell would be there had made him throw wisdom to -the winds. Why spend hours in solitude at Chillingworth while he might -be looking at Barbara--talking to Barbara--listening to Barbara? - -But when it came to the point Berwick found that he had over-estimated -the robustness of his own conscience. From the moment he had seen Mrs. -Rebell coming up the broad staircase of Halnakeham Castle, he had -realised his folly in not following the first and wisest of his -instincts. Although the two women were entirely different in colouring, -in general expression, indeed in everything except in age, there seemed -to-night, at least to his unhappy, memory-haunted eyes, something about -Barbara which recalled Mrs. Marshall, while in Mrs. Marshall there -seemed, now and again, something of Barbara. So strong was this -impression that at last the resemblance became to Berwick an acute -obsession--in each woman he saw the other, and as the evening went on, -he avoided as far as possible the company of both. - -Now it had become his hateful business to serve as a link between them. - - * * * * * - -For a moment Mrs. Marshall looked at Barbara, then smilingly shook her -head. "A string band would have been so much nicer, don't you think so, -but the Duke believes in encouraging local talent. I wonder if you would -mind coming out here for a moment--it is so much quieter in there--and I -want to ask you to do me such a favour!" - -Even as she spoke, she led the way from the ball-room into one of the -book-lined embrasures of the long, now almost deserted, gallery, and -Barbara, wondering, followed her. - -Louise Marshall put on her prettiest manner. "I do hope you won't think -me rude," she said, "but I am so very anxious to know if your beautiful -gown came from Adolphe Peters? I do not know if you have noticed it, but -of course I saw it at once,--there's a certain family likeness between -my frock and yours! They say, you know, that Peters can only think out -one really good original design every season--but then, when he has -thought it out, how good it is!" - -Mrs. Marshall spoke with a kind of sacred enthusiasm. To her, dress had -always been, everything considered, the greatest and most absorbing -interest of life. - -After having received the word of assent she sought, she hurried on, "Of -course, I felt quite sure of it! It is easy to see that he has followed -out the same general idea--la ligne, as he calls it--in my frock as in -yours. Several times this evening, I couldn't help thinking how awful it -would have been if our two gowns had been exactly alike! I am probably -going to India very soon"--Mrs. Marshall lowered her voice, for she had -no wish that Berwick, who was standing a few paces off, his miserable -eyes fixed on the two women while he talked to Septimus Daman, should -thus learn the great news,--"but I shall be in Paris for a few days, and -I have been wondering if you would mind my asking Peters to make me a -gown exactly like yours, only of grey silk instead of white, and with -mauve velvet bows and white tulle instead of green and black--that -mauve," she added eagerly, "which is almost pale blue, while yet quite -mourning! Well, would you mind my telling him that I have seen your -dress?" - -"No, of course not," said Barbara with some wonderment. "But I think -that you should say that the gown in question was that made to the order -of Madame Sampiero; he won't remember my name." - -"Thanks so much! Madame Sampiero? Oh! yes, I know--I quite understand. -Are you a niece of hers? Oh! only a god-daughter, that's a comfort, for -then you need never be afraid of becoming like her,"--a look of very -real fear came over the lovely, mindless face,--"I've often heard about -her, and the awful state she's in! Isn't it a frightful thing? Do you -think people are punished for the wicked things they do,--I mean, of -course, in this life?" - -Barbara stared at her, this time both amazed and angered. "Yes," she -said, slowly, "I am afraid one cannot live long in this world and not -believe that, but--but----" - -Mrs. Marshall, however, gave her no time to speak, and indeed Barbara -would have found it difficult to put into words what she wished to -convey concerning the courage, aye, the essential nobility, of the poor -paralysed woman whom she had come to love so dearly. - -"I wish you had been staying here during the last few days, I'm sure we -should have become great friends." The speaker took a last long -considering look at Barbara's bodice. "Your black tulle is dodged in and -out so cleverly," she said, with a touch of regret, "mine is not twisted -half so well, it looks more lumpy"--without any change of tone she -added, "Since you are Madame Sampiero's god-daughter, I suppose you have -known James Berwick quite a long time, as he is Lord Bosworth's nephew." - -"But I have never seen, and do not know, Lord Bosworth," Barbara spoke -rather stiffly. - -"How very strange! But you know he is expected here to-night. He's a -dear, splendid old thing, always particularly nice to _me_. But there he -is!--there they all are--the whole Fletchings party,--coming in now!" - -Barbara turned eagerly round. She was intensely desirous of seeing Lord -Bosworth, and she fixed her eyes, with ardent curiosity, on the group of -figures slowly advancing down the gallery. - -Slightly in front of the others came the Duchess, and by her side paced -a tall, large-framed man; now he was bending towards his companion, -listening to what she was telling him with amused interest. The Duke and -Arabella Berwick walked just behind them, and some half-dozen men and -women ended the little cortége. - -Men wear Court dress with a difference. To Lord Bosworth, the velvet -coat, the knee-breeches, and silk stockings, lent an almost majestic -dignity of deportment. The short stout Duke, trotting just behind him, -looked insignificant, over-shadowed by the larger figure--indeed, even -the Garter gracing the ducal leg seemed of no account when seen in -contrast with the red riband of the Bath crossing Lord Bosworth's -stalwart chest. - -As the procession came nearer, Barbara saw that the man in whom she took -so great an interest still looked full of the pride of life, and just -now his large powerful face was lighted up by a broad smile. His curling -grey hair had receded, leaving a large expanse of broad forehead, and -the shaggy eyebrows, which were darker than his hair, overhung two -singularly shrewd grey eyes. Thanks to the many months of each year now -spent by him in the country--thanks also to the excellent care taken of -him by his niece--Lord Bosworth's face was ruddy with the glow so easily -mistaken for that of health. Of the many who looked on him that night, -marvelling at the old statesman's air of robust power, and inclined -perhaps to criticise his long retirement from public affairs--for he had -been one of the most successful, and therefore one of the most popular, -Foreign Ministers of his generation--only two people--that is he himself -and a certain famous doctor who had come to the ball as member of a -house-party--were aware that Lord Bosworth would in all probability -never see old age, in the sense that many of his Parliamentary -contemporaries and former colleagues might hope to do. - -And now, as Barbara Rebell saw him walking down the gallery, talking -with mellow sonorous utterances, and now and again laughing heartily at -the remarks of the Duchess, there swept over her a sudden rush of revolt -and indignation. She contrasted the fine, vigorous figure, advancing -towards her, with that of the paralysed woman, whom she had left -to-night lying stretched out in that awful immobility; and she recalled -Madame Sampiero's last muttered words to herself--"I think you will see -Lord Bosworth to-night. I should like you to have word with him--you -will tell me how he looks--how he seems----" - -As the Duchess and her honoured guest drew close to the embrasure where -Barbara and Mrs. Marshall were standing, Lord Bosworth's acute -eyes--those eyes which had been early trained to allow nothing of -interest, still less nothing of an agreeable nature, to escape -them--became focussed on the charming group formed by the two women, the -one as dark as the other was fair, who stood together against the soft -deep background made by the backs of the Halnakeham Elzevirs. - -Lord Bosworth bent his head, and asked the Duchess a question--then in a -moment the whole expression of the powerful, still handsome face -altered, the smile faded from his lips, and a look of extreme gravity, -almost of suffering, came over the firm mouth and square chin. The -Duchess stayed her steps, and Barbara heard distinctly the -eager--"Certainly, I shall be delighted! I have been most anxious to -meet her. Yes--once, when she was a child, long ago, in France." - -A moment later the formal group had broken up; Barbara's name was -uttered, she felt her right hand taken in a strong grasp, and -unceremoniously Lord Bosworth turned away with her. Still holding her -hand, he led her aside and, looking down at her with a moved expression -on his face, "I have been wishing much to see you," he said, "but, as -you perhaps may know, I am not allowed to come to Chancton. I was -attached, most truly so, to both your parents." He hesitated, and added -in a lower tone, "Barbara,--that is your name, is it not?--to me the -most beautiful, the noblest of women's names!" - -Meanwhile, much by-play was going on around them, but of it all Mrs. -Rebell was quite unconscious. Even Berwick was for the moment forgotten, -and she did not see Arabella's mingled look of quick interest and slowly -gathering surprise as Miss Berwick realised with whom her uncle had -turned aside. - -Still less was Barbara aware that the Duchess was speaking rather -urgently to Mrs. Marshall. "There is no one in my sitting-room," she was -saying, "and you will never have such a good opportunity again to-night. -Do take him there now! I am sure, Louise, you will be acting wisely as -well as rightly, but do not be too long, for everyone wants to see -you,--even in the last few moments several people have come up and asked -who you were, and wanted to be introduced to you. I have never seen you -looking better than you look to-night." There was a commanding as well -as a caressing quality in the kind voice. - -Then the Duchess looked round, and in answer to her glance, Berwick, ill -at ease and looking haggard, came forward. He also had been watching his -uncle and Mrs. Rebell, wondering what they could have to say to one -another that seemed to move Barbara so much; but he was not given much -time for that or any other thought. Timidly, with more grace of manner -than she usually showed, Louise Marshall turned towards him. "The -Duchess," she said, nervously, "wants us to go into her sitting-room--I -have something to say to you there." - -For a moment, the man addressed looked round, as if seeking a way of -escape: then he realised that the moment he had so dreaded, and which he -had up to the present instant so successfully evaded, had come, and must -be both faced and endured. A feeling of rage came over him--a -self-scourging for his own exceeding folly in being here to-night. But -without making any answer, he followed her down the gallery, only -Arabella Berwick and the Duchess having overheard Mrs. Marshall's words, -and witnessed their result. - - * * * * * - -In matters of feeling and emotion, as in everything else, it is the -unexpected which generally happens. When at last James Berwick found -himself alone with Mrs. Marshall in the small, dimly-lighted room which -had but a few hours before seen the interview between the Duchess and -his sister, his companion's words--even her action, or lack of -action--took him entirely by surprise. He had expected, and was ashamed -for so expecting, that the woman who had compelled him to follow her to -this solitary place, would turn and fling herself into his arms with a -cry of "Jimmy!"--the name which she herself had invented for him, and -which he had always thought grotesque--on her lips. - -While walking quickly down the long corridors which led from the more -modern side of the Castle to this older portion, he had strung himself -up to meet any affectionate demonstration with good-humour and -philosophy, for, whatever else was not sure, this he was determined -should be the last meeting between them, even if he had to give up half -his friends and all his acquaintances in consequence. - -But Mrs. Marshall's behaviour was quite different from that which he had -expected. After he had shut the door of the boudoir, she walked away -from him, and sitting down began to play with the fringe of a table -cover, while he stood moodily staring down at her. - -"Must you stand?" she asked at last, in the plaintive tone which he so -much disliked. - -"Oh! no, not if you wish me to sit down," and he sat down, fiercely -waiting till it should be her pleasure to begin. - -How could he have allowed himself to be so entrapped? He had heard it -asserted that women never stood by one another--well, in that case the -Duchess was an exception! He ground his teeth with anger at the thought -of the trick which had been played him. But stay--now, at last, Mrs. -Marshall was speaking-- - -"Albinia has been talking to me. She has been telling me things which I -did not really know before,--I mean about your position, and how -important it is to you that you should remain free. You remember our -talk last year?" - -Berwick bent his head, but into his strained face there came no sign of -the inward wincing which her words brought with them. Still, he began -unconsciously to revise his opinion of the Duchess; she had meant well -by him after all, but he wished she had kept out of his affairs, and -left him to manage them himself-- - -Mrs. Marshall was again speaking: "I could not understand what you meant -by what you said then, it seemed so unkind! But now, of course, I -realise that you were right--in fact I've brought you here to-night to -tell you that I do understand." - -There was a long pause. Berwick was at an utter loss for words, and -every moment he expected the woman before him to make some more direct -allusion to the condition under which he held his fortune. He felt a -kind of helpless rage to think of his affairs being thus discussed, even -by one so good-natured and well-meaning as had evidently been, in this -matter, the Duchess of Appleby and Kendal. But what did all this -preamble signify? - -"I am glad you do understand," he said at last in a hoarse voice which -he scarcely recognised as his own. "I know I must have seemed a great -brute." - -"If you had only trusted me more," she said plaintively. "Of course I -should have understood at once! I should have known that what I could -offer was not enough--that there was no comparison----" - -Berwick made a sudden movement. Was it really necessary that he should -listen to this? Was it part of his punishment that he should endure such -unforgettable abasement? But, alas for him! Louise Marshall was in a -sense enjoying both the scene and the situation. While she was speaking, -there came into the still air of the room the sound of distant melody, -and she felt as if she were looking on at a touching last act in some -sentimental play. Also there was, after all, something uplifting in the -sensation--to her a novel one--of doing a noble action, for so had the -Duchess, with innocent cunning, represented her renunciation of James -Berwick. - -This frivolous, egoistical woman, ever guided by her instincts, never by -her heart or conscience, thoroughly understood, as many shrewd and -clever women fail to do, the value of money. From the plane whence Mrs. -Marshall took her survey of life, the gratification of that instinct -which she called love had always been a luxury, and the possession of -wealth with which to gratify all other instincts an absolute necessity -of existence. The contempt which most women, even those themselves -ignoble, naturally feel for a man whom they suspect of putting material -possessions before the deepest feelings of the heart, would to her have -savoured of gross hypocrisy. - -The Duchess--clever woman as she was, and dealing, in this case, with -one whose intellect she despised--would have been surprised indeed had -she known that what had really impressed and influenced Louise Marshall -during their painful talk that day, had been the short statement, thrown -in as an after-thought, of Berwick's financial position and of what he -would lose if he married again. That, so Mrs. Marshall at once told -herself, made all the difference. To her mind it absolutely justified -James Berwick in rejecting the offer practically made by her within a -few weeks of her husband's death, for what were her few thousands a year -compared to the huge income which he would lose on a second marriage? -She was, however, inclined to consider that he had shown false delicacy -in not at once telling her the circumstances of the case. Then, at any -rate, they might have sorrowed together over the inscrutable dictates of -Providence. But instead of taking that sincere and manly course, -Berwick, during that interview which even she shrank from recalling, had -actually implied that his distaste to her was personal, his horror of -marriage a singular idiosyncracy! Now it behoved her to beat a dignified -retreat. And so, "As things are----" - -Berwick began to realise that the woman before him had prepared what she -wished to say, nay more, that she had probably rehearsed the present -scene-- - -"As things are, Jimmy, I think it will be best for us to part, and so I -have made up my mind to go to India with the Thorntons." She hurried -over the words, honestly afraid of provoking in herself emotion of a -disfiguring nature, for the thought of her unselfishness naturally -brought the tears to her eyes. "That's all," she said in abrupt -conclusion, "and now I think we had better go back to the ball-room." - -She gave Berwick a quick, furtive look, and suddenly felt sorry for him. -How he must have cared after all! For, as he stood opening the door for -her to pass through, his face had turned ashen, and his blue eyes were -sunken. So might a man look who, suddenly relieved of an intolerable -weight, is, for a moment, afraid to move or to speak, lest the burden -should again descend upon his shrinking shoulders. - - * * * * * - -When once more in the ball-room, Berwick made -his way straight to his sister. Even before he stood by her, the -expression on his face had aroused her quick anxious attention. But -Arabella had learnt to spare her brother feminine comment. - -"Have you yet spoken to Mrs. Boringdon?" he asked her, rather sharply. - -"No, I have not even seen her; do you wish me to speak to her? I think -she must know many of the people here. Where is she?" - -"Over there, sitting with that old lady. I should be glad if you would -tell her that we--that is, that you--are going to drive Mrs. Rebell back -to Chancton to-night. The Boringdons have to leave early, and it would -of course be absurd for Mrs. Rebell to go away just when you have -arrived, and when the Duke has arranged for her to sit at supper next to -Monsieur Parisot." - -Now Monsieur Parisot was the French Ambassador. - -"Of course, if you really wish it, it can be managed." Miss Berwick -spoke hesitatingly; in these little matters she did not like to have her -hand forced. "But, James, it will not be very convenient." And she -looked at her brother with puzzled eyes. - -Was it possible, after all, that Albinia had been right and she wrong? -If so, why that obedient following of Louise Marshall out of the gallery -half an hour before, and why this strange look on his face now? Miss -Berwick had just spoken to Barbara Rebell, but her eyes were still -holden; indeed, her feeling as to Madame Sampiero's god-daughter, or -rather as to her beautiful gown and superb jewels, had not been unlike -that of Mrs. Boringdon, and would have translated itself into the homely -phrase, "Fine feathers make fine birds." Arabella did not credit, for -one moment, the Duchess's belief that the mistress of Chancton Priory -intended to make the daughter of Richard Rebell her heiress. Miss -Berwick had persuaded herself that Chancton would pass in due course -into her brother's possession, and she knew that there had been some -such proposal years before, in the heyday of Lord Bosworth's intimacy -with Madame Sampiero. This being so, it surely seemed a pity that Mrs. -Rebell should now be treated in a way that might ultimately cause -disappointment. - -"I do wish it, and it will be quite convenient!" Berwick's tone was very -imperious. "I myself am going back to Chillingworth to-night. I offered -long ago to leave here to-day, for they have every attic full. I have of -course arranged for an extra carriage, so you will be put to no -inconvenience,"--but his bright blue eyes, now full of strange fire, -fell before his sister's challenging glance, and the altered accent with -which she observed, "Oh! of course if you and Mrs. Rebell have arranged -to go back together----" - -Berwick's hand closed on his sister's arm and held it for a moment in a -tight, to her a painful, grip. - -"You have no right to say, or even to think, such a thing! The -arrangement, such as it is, was made by me, Mrs. Rebell knows nothing of -it; she is quite willing, and even eager, to go back now with the -Boringdons. The other proposal must come from you----" he hesitated, -then, more quietly, muttered, "I don't often ask you to oblige me." - -Arabella gave in at once, but with a strange mingling of -feelings,--relief that she had been wrong as to Louise Marshall's -hold on her brother; a certain pique that in this matter the Duchess -had understood James better than she had herself; and, above all, -there was a sensation of bewildered surprise that such a man as -Berwick, one so intelligent, so eagerly absorbed in public affairs, -should require this--this--Arabella did not know how to qualify, how -to describe, even to herself, her brother's passion for romance, his -craving for sentimental adventure. Well, if it was so, better far -that he should find what he sought, that he should follow his -will-of-the-wisp in their own neighbourhood, and, for the moment, -with so colourless--so the sister seeking for another word, could -only find that of respectable--yes, so respectable a woman as was this -Mrs. Rebell! - -Miss Berwick, on her way to Mrs. Boringdon, allowed her eyes to sweep -over the great ball-room. Barbara was standing talking to Mr. O'Flaherty -whom Lord Bosworth had just introduced to her. "She certainly looks -intelligent," said Arabella to herself, "and quite, yes quite, a lady. -Perhaps my first impression of her was wrong after all. But how foolish, -how wrong of poor Barbara Sampiero to let her wear those emeralds!" Yet -perhaps the jewels played their part in modifying her view of Barbara -Rebell. The wearing of fine gems is a great test of a woman's -refinement. - -Then Miss Berwick's gaze softened as it became fixed on Barbara's -companion. Thank Heaven, all men were not like James, or all women like -Louise Marshall. Daniel O'Flaherty had the steadfast, pre-occupied look -which soon becomes the mark of those men who are architects of their own -fortunes; such men can find time for a great passion, but none for what -the French happily describe as _passionettes_. As for Barbara Rebell, -there was a look of pride and reserve as well as of intelligence in her -dark eyes and pale face. "If James likes to flirt with her, and -Dan,"--her thought lingered over the homely name,--"likes to talk to -her, we must see about having her to Fletchings!" - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - "Friendship, I fancy, means one heart between two." - - GEORGE MEREDITH. - "I will hold your hand so long as all may, - Or so very little longer." - - ROBERT BROWNING. - - -Barbara Rebell, wrapped in her black domino-like cloak, bent forward and -looked out of the carriage window. - -There was something fantastic, magnificent, almost unreal in the scene -she saw. The brougham in which she sat by Berwick's side was gliding -quietly and smoothly between pillars of fire. The glare lighted up the -grey castle walls, and gave added depth to the forked shadows lying -across the roadway. Already the loud shouts, the sound of wheels and -trampling horses filling the courtyard, lay far behind. In a few moments -they would be under the tower, through the iron gates, now opened wide -to speed the parting guests, and driving down the steep streets of -sleeping Halnakeham town--so into the still darkness of the country -lanes. - -Suddenly, to the left of the Gate Tower under which they were about to -pass, there quickened into brightness a bengal light, making vividly -green the stretch of grass, and lending spurious life to the fearsome -dragons and stately peacocks which were the pride of the Halnakeham -topiarist. - -Barbara clasped her hands in almost childish pleasure. - -"Oh! how beautiful!"--she turned, sure of sympathy, to the silent man by -her side, and then reddened as she met his amused smile, and yet it was -a very kind and even tender smile, for he also felt absurdly -light-hearted and content. - -Till the last moment, Berwick had trembled lest his scheme should -miscarry. Well, Providence, recognising his excellent intentions, and -realising how good an influence such a woman as Mrs. Rebell could not -but exercise on such a man as himself, had been kind. He felt as -exultant as does a schoolboy who has secured a longed-for treat, and it -was a boy's expression which rose to his mind concerning his -sister--"Arabella behaved like a brick!" - -Looking back, he could still see the group of people standing in the -square entrance hall of the castle, himself gradually marshalling -Arabella's guests into the Fletchings omnibus and the Fletchings -carriage. Again he felt the thrill with which at last he had heard his -sister's clear voice say the words, "Now, Mrs. Rebell, will you please -get in there, and kindly drop my brother at Chillingworth on your way -back to Chancton?" - -The whole thing had been over in a moment. He himself had placed -Barbara, bewildered but submissive, in the little brougham which he had -bought that last spring in Paris, and which was supposed to be the -_dernier cri_ in coachbuilding luxury; and then, taking the place beside -her, had found himself at last alone with her. - -The old Adam in Berwick also rejoiced in having, very literally, stolen -a march on Madame Sampiero and Doctor McKirdy. These two good people had -gone to some trouble to prevent his being with Mrs. Rebell on the way to -the ball, but in the matter of her return they had proved powerless. And -yet, now that he came to think of it, what right had they to interfere? -Who could be more delicately careful of Barbara than he would ever -be?--so Berwick, sitting there, feeling her dear nearness in each fibre -of his being, asked himself with indignation. He had made every -arrangement to prevent even the most harmless village gossip. Fools all -of them, and evil-minded, not to divine the respect, the high honour in -which he held the woman now by his side! But he meant to be with her -every moment that was possible, and 'ware those who tried to thwart this -wholly honourable intention! - -Thinking these thoughts, and for the moment well satisfied, he turned -his head and looked at Barbara Rebell. Her lips were smiling, and she -looked absorbed in some happy vision. The long night had left no trace -of fatigue on her flushed face and shining eyes. Berwick, with a pang of -mingled pain and pleasure, realised how much younger she was than -himself. - -"You must be tired. Would you like to go to sleep?" his voice shook with -tenderness, but he put a strong restraint on himself. He was bound by -every code of honour to treat her to-night as he would have done any -stranger confided by his sister to his care. - -Barbara started slightly, and shook her head. She had been living again -the last three hours of the ball. How delightful and how unexpected it -had all been! She had enjoyed intensely her long talk with the French -Ambassador. He also had spent his childhood, and part of his youth at -St. Germains, the stately forest town where the brighter days of her -parents' exile had been passed. It is well sometimes to meet with one -who can say, "I too have been in Arcadia." Even Monsieur Parisot's -little compliments on her good French had reminded Barbara of the sweet -hypocrisies which make life in France so agreeable to the humble-minded, -and especially to the very young. - -Lord Bosworth had surely been the magician, for it was after his arrival -that everything had changed from grey to rose-colour. It was then that -James Berwick had again become to her what he always was in manner, and -the uncle and nephew had vied with one another in amusing and -interesting her. And then had come this delightful conclusion, the drive -back in this fairy chariot! - -"This is a very pretty, curious little carriage," her eyes met his -frankly; "I feel like Cinderella going to, not coming back from, the -ball!" - -Berwick allowed himself to look his fill. The brougham was lined with -some sort of white watered silk, and never would Barbara have a kinder -background, or one which harmonised more exquisitely with her rather -pale, dark beauty. Women were then wearing their hair cut straight -across the forehead, and dressed in elaborate plaits about the nape of -the neck; Barbara's short curls seemed to ally her with a more refined, -a less sophisticated age,--one when innocence and archness were -compatible with instinctive dignity. - -And yet, such being the nature of man, Berwick would have been better -pleased had she not been now so completely, so happily at her ease. He -felt that between them there lay--not the drawn sword which played so -strange and symbolical a part in mediæval marriage by procuration--but a -sheaf of lilies. Berwick would have preferred the sword. - -His had been the mood which seeks an extreme of purity in the woman -beloved. Till now he had been glad to worship on his knees, and where -she walked had been holy ground. But now he craved for some of the -tenderness Barbara lavished on Madame Sampiero. Could she not even spare -him the warmth of feeling shown by her when speaking of Grace and Andrew -Johnstone? Since that last interview with Mrs. Marshall he had felt -free--free as he had not felt for over a year. Was he to have no profit -of his freedom? - -"It is you who look tired, Mr. Berwick; I'm afraid you stayed on for my -sake?" - -Barbara was looking at him with real concern. How unlike himself he had -been all that evening! Perhaps, when she had been stupidly annoyed at -his supposed neglect of her, he had really been suffering. His face -looked strained and thin in the bright light thrown by a cunning little -arrangement of mirrors. She felt a pang of fear. How would she be able -to bear it if he fell ill, away from her, in that large bare house which -seemed so little his home? - -It was well perhaps that Berwick could not see just then into her heart, -and yet it was still an ignorant and innocent heart. The youngest girl -present at the Halnakeham Castle ball could probably have taught Mrs. -Rebell more than she now knew of the ways of men--almost, it might be -said, of the ways of love. Her father had had the manhood crushed out of -him by his great misfortune. Barbara, as child and girl, had -reverenced--not the chill automaton, caring only for the English papers -and a little mild play, which Richard Rebell had become in middle -life,--but the attractive early image of him sedulously presented to her -by her mother. She had had no brothers to bring young people to the many -homes of her girlhood. Then, across her horizon, had come the baleful -figure of Pedro Rebell, but at no time, after her marriage, had she made -the mistake of regarding him as a normal man. No, her first real -knowledge of the average Englishman had been during those weeks of -convalescence, spent at the Government House of Santa Maria, when she -had been slowly struggling back into a wish to live. There she had -known, and had shrunk from the knowledge, that all those about her were -aware of what sort of life she had been compelled to lead on her -husband's plantation. Every step of Mr. Johnstone's negotiations with -Pedro Rebell was followed by her new friends with intense sympathy, and -when at last the planter had been half persuaded, half bribed into -signing a document binding him not to molest his wife, her only longing -had been to go away, and never to see any of the people connected with -the island again. - -What could Barbara Rebell know of men--of such men as James Berwick and -Oliver Boringdon? She dowered them with virtues and qualities, with -unselfish impulses and powers of self-restraint, which would have -brought a Galahad to shame. She knew enough of a certain side of life to -recognise and shrink from such coarseness as was not the saving grace of -Mrs. Turke. She realised that that type of mind must see evil in even -the most innocent tie between a man and a woman, but on such minds she -preferred not to dwell. She knew how close had been the affection -between her mother and Madame Sampiero. Why should not some such -feeling, close and yet sexless, link her to James Berwick, to whom she -had experienced,--so much she had perforce to acknowledge to herself,--a -curious, intimate attraction from the first time they had met? - -So it was that to-night she looked at him with concern, and spoke with a -new note of anxiety in her voice, "I should have been quite content to -go back with the Boringdons--I fear you stayed on for my sake." - -"But I should not have been at all content if you had gone back with the -Boringdons! Why should I not stay on for your sake?" he was smiling at -her. She looked at him rather puzzled. When they were alone, they two, -with no third influence between them, Barbara always felt completely -happy and at ease. His presence brought security. - -"Only if you were tired," she said rather lamely, and then again with -that new anxiety, "Old Mr. Daman said to someone before me, 'James -Berwick's looking rather fagged to-night'----" - -"Let us talk of you, not of me," he said rather hastily. Heavens! what -might she not have heard during this evening concerning him and his -affairs? He lowered for a moment the window to his right and looked out -into the starless moonless night, or rather early morning. - -"We are now on the brow of Whiteways. I wish it were daylight, for then -you would see the finest view in Sussex." - -"But I have seen the view. I was at the meet, and thanks to your -kindness, for I rode Saucebox. Mr. Berwick, I do not think I have ever -thanked you sufficiently for Saucebox!" - -He turned to her with a quick movement. "I do not think there should -ever be a question of thanks between you and me. We are--at least I hope -so--too good friends for that." And with a certain gravity he added, "Do -you not believe friendship possible between a man and woman?" He waited -a moment, then hurried on, "Listen! I offer you my friendship; I have -never done so, in the sense I do now, to any other woman. Shall I tell -you who has been my best, indeed my only, woman friend? only my sister, -only Arabella. I owe her more than one debt of very sincere gratitude. -You will not grudge her place in my--" again he hesitated,--"in my -heart." - -Barbara smiled tremulously. What a strange question to ask her! She felt -a little afraid of Miss Berwick, and yet how friendly and gracious had -been her manner to-night. - -"Tell me," he said urgently, "you do not mind my saying this to you? I -only wish to seal an existent compact. Ever since we met, have we not -been close friends, you and I? I take it we are both singularly placed," -he bent down and tried to look into her downcast eyes, "I am very -solitary, and you have only Madame Sampiero--is not that so?" - -Barbara bent her head. She felt that Berwick's low, ardent voice was -slowly opening the gates of paradise, and drawing her through into that -enchanted garden where every longing of the heart may be safely and -innocently satisfied. - -The carriage was going slowly down the steep hill leading from Whiteways -to Chillingworth, and Berwick knew that he would soon have to leave her. -His voice dropped to a lower key--he ventured, for a moment, to take her -ringless left hand and hold it tightly: "I ask but little--nothing you -do not think it right to give. But your friendship would mean much to -me--would protect me from evil impulses of which, thank God, you can -know nothing. Even to-night I suffered from misdeeds--to put it plainly, -from past sins I should not have been even tempted to commit had I known -you when I committed them." - -His words--his confession--moved Barbara to the soul. "I am your -friend," she spoke with a certain difficulty, and yet with solemnity. -She looked up, and he saw that her eyes were full of tears. - -The carriage stopped, and they both, or perhaps it was only Berwick, -came down again to the everyday world where friendship between a man and -a woman is regarded as so dangerous a thing by the prudent. - -"Good-night! Thank you for bringing me." He added a word or two as to -the carriage and the Priory stables--his coachman was a Chancton -man--and then he was gone, leaving Barbara to go on alone, happy, -content with life, as she had never thought it possible to be. - - * * * * * - -James Berwick, making his way quickly up the steep path leading from the -wall built round Chillingworth Park to the high plateau on which stood -the house, felt less content and very much less happy. Had he not been -rather too quixotic in this matter of leaving Barbara to go on her way -alone? Why should he not have prolonged those exquisite moments? What -harm could it have done had he given himself the pleasure of -accompanying his friend to the Priory, and then driving back to -Chillingworth by himself? Perhaps there had been something pusillanimous -in his fear of idle gossip. Oh! why had he behaved in this matter so -much better than there was any occasion to do? - -So our good deeds rise up and smite us, and seldom are we allowed the -consolation of knowing what alternative action on our part might have -brought about. - -Thus it was an ill-satisfied and restless man who let himself in by a -small side-door into the huge silent house. He had given orders that no -one should sit up, and in such a matter disobedience on the part of a -servant would have meant dismissal. Yet Berwick was an indulgent master, -and when he walked into the comparatively small room which he always -used when at Chillingworth, the only apartment in the house which in any -way betrayed its owner's tastes and idiosyncrasies, he became aware that -his comfort, or what it had been thought would be his comfort, had been -studied; for a tray, laden with food and various decanters of wines and -spirits, stood on a table, and the remains of what had been a large fire -still burned in the grate. - -He stifled an exclamation of disgust. How hot, how airless the room was! -He walked over to the high window, pulled back the curtains and threw it -open. It was still intensely dark, but along the horizon, above the -place where he knew the sea to be, was a shaft of dim light--perhaps the -first faint precursor of the dawn. Leaving the window open he came back -to the fireplace and flung himself down in a chair, and there came over -him a feeling of great depression and of peculiar loneliness. - -Soon his longing for Barbara's soothing intimate presence became -intolerably intense. For the first time since they had come to know one -another well, Berwick deliberately tried to analyse his feeling towards -her. He was not in love with Barbara Rebell--of that he assured himself -with a certain fierceness. He thought of what he had said to her -to-night. In a sense he had told her the exact truth. He had never -offered any other women the friendship he had asked her to accept. He -had always asked for less--or more--but then, looking back, he could -tell himself that there was no one woman who had ever roused in him the -peculiar sentiment that he felt for Mrs. Rebell. The feeling he now -experienced was more akin, though far deeper and tenderer in texture, to -the fleeting fancy he had had for that pretty _débutante_ whom Arabella -had so greatly feared. But, whereas he had borne the girl's defection, -when it had come, with easy philosophy, he knew that his relation to -Barbara was such that any defection there would rouse in him those -primeval instincts which lead every day to such sordid tragedies in that -class where the passion of love is often the only thing in life bringing -hope of release and forgetfulness from ignoble and material cares. - -Berwick had many faults, but personal vanity was not one of them. He -considered Oliver Boringdon more a man to attract women than he was -himself, and he had thought his friend lamentably backward in making use -of his opportunities. Now, the knowledge that Boringdon was daily in -Mrs. Rebell's company was distinctly disturbing. Was Barbara the type of -woman--Berwick knew there were many such--who make a cult of sentimental -friendships? Then he felt deeply ashamed of the thought, and in his -heart he begged her forgiveness. - -A Frenchman, once speaking to him of an acquaintance whose unhappy -passion for a celebrated beauty was being much discussed, had observed, -"Il l'a dans la peau! Dans ces cas-là il n'y a rien à faire!" He had -thought the expression curiously apt, and he remembered it to-night. -More than once during the last few days he had found himself planning -his immediate future entirely by the light, as it were, of Chancton -Priory. By every post he was refusing invitations, and avoiding coming -political engagements. But there was one great exception. Even while -speaking to Arabella at the ball, he had been wondering whether he could -persuade her to secure Mrs. Rebell's inclusion in a very small and -entirely political house-party in Scotland, the occasion of which was a -series of important political meetings, and to which both brother and -sister had been for some time pledged. It would be good to be away with -Barbara, among strangers, far from Chancton and from Chillingworth. - -Berwick hated Chillingworth. When there he felt himself to be the -unwelcome guest of the man who had built the huge place, and whose -personality it seemed to express and to perpetuate, as houses so often -do the personality of their builders. The creator of Chillingworth had -been an acute early Victorian manufacturer, a worthy man according to -his lights, and a pillar of the Manchester School. He had taken fortune -at the flood, and his late marriage to a woman of slightly better birth -and breeding than his own had produced the sickly, refined daughter whom -Berwick had married. - -Chillingworth seemed plastered with money. Every room bore evidence of -lavish expenditure; money spent on furniture, on pictures, on useless -ornaments, during a period of our history when beauty seemed wholly in -eclipse; and this was all the more pitiable because the house was -gloriously placed on a spur of the down, and the views from its windows -rivalled those of Chancton Priory. - -Even had Berwick wished to do so, he could not have made any serious -alterations to the place, for the trustees of his marriage settlement -were the very people, distant relatives of his wife's, whose children -would benefit were he to forfeit his life interest in her fortune. To -these people Chillingworth spelt perfection, and was a treasure-house of -beautiful, because costly, objects of art. Occasionally, perhaps once in -two years, its present owner would fill the great mansion for a few -weeks with men and women--political acquaintances and their wives--to -whom an invitation to James Berwick's Sussex estate gave pleasure, but -otherwise he was little there, and the neighbourhood had long since left -off wondering and exclaiming at his preference for Chancton Priory. - - * * * * * - -"If Miss Berwick sends over for a carriage, the French brougham which -was used last night is not to go." - -"Very good, Sir." And then, after a short pause, "Anything wrong with -the carriage, Sir?" - -"No. By the way, it may be required at Chancton. I have told Madame -Sampiero that she may have the use of it for the lady who is staying -there. Where's Dean?" - -Berwick, haggard-looking, and evidently in a mood which his servants -knew and dreaded, was looking sharply round the stable yard. If he, the -master, was up and about by nine o'clock, the morning after the -Halnakeham Castle ball, then surely his coachman could be the same. - -"Dean's in trouble, Sir. He will be sending to ask if you can spare him -to-day. Wife was taken ill last night, babby dead." - -The laconic words struck Berwick with a curious chill, and served to -rouse him from his self-absorption. He was fond of Dean. The man had -been with him for many years. They were the same age,--Berwick could -remember him as a stolid Chancton child--and he had only been married -about a year, after one of those long, faithful engagements common in -those parts. Heavens! If Dean felt for his wife a tenth of what he, -Berwick, felt for Barbara Rebell, what must not the man have gone -through that night--that early morning? - -Muttering some expression of concern, he turned and went off into the -house, there to consult with the housekeeper as to the sending of -practical relief to the stricken household, and to write a note telling -Dean he could be absent for as long as he wished. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - "Men may have rounded Seraglio Point: they have not yet doubled - Cape Turk." - - GEORGE MEREDITH. - - -Miss Vipen's cottage was exactly opposite the Chancton Post Office. Even -in winter it was a pretty, cheerful-looking little house closely covered -with evergreen creepers, the path up to the porch guarded by four lemon -trees cut into fantastic shapes. - -From her sitting-room window, the old lady could see all that went on in -the main street of Chancton village, and take note of the coming and -going both of familiars and of strangers, thus providing herself with -the material whereby she wove the web of the destinies of those about -her. - -They who exist only to sow spite and malice should always live in the -country. A town finds them at a disadvantage, for there those about them -have too much to do to find more than a very passing amusement in their -conversation. But in a country neighbourhood, such a woman as Miss Vipen -is a godsend, partly because, in addition to being a centre of gossip, -she is often the source of authentic news. People tell her things they -would be ashamed to tell each other, and, with the strange lack of -imagination or excess of vanity which afflicts most of us in certain -circumstances, each member of the large circle formed about such a -woman, and with whom she is often actually popular, believes himself or -herself exempt from her biting tongue. - -Here, in Chancton, each and all admired Miss Vipen's easy kindness,--a -quality which so often accompanies evil speaking. Yet another thing was -accounted to her for righteousness. She never mentioned the mistress of -the Priory,--never spoke either good or evil of Madame Sampiero, of the -one human being who had for long years provided even the staid and -prudent with legitimate subjects of scandal and gossip. - -As a matter of fact, Miss Vipen owed her cottage, her income, her very -position in Chancton, to the mistress of the Priory. Her father had been -land-agent to Madame Sampiero's father. The two women had been girls -together, and when finally the arrangements had been made which provided -for Miss Vipen's later life and for what she cared for so much more, the -keeping up of her adequate position in the neighbourhood where she had -spent her whole existence, her old friend had said to her: "I only ask -one thing. I beg you, Martha, never to speak of me again, kindly or -unkindly, in love or in anger!"--and Miss Vipen had faithfully kept her -side of the bargain. - -Only two people in Chancton had the moral courage steadily to avoid her -dangerous company. The one was Doctor McKirdy, who, as a young man, and -when still a stranger to the place, had extracted from her a written -apology for something she had said of him which identified him too -closely for his taste with the physiologists who were then beginning to -be much discussed. The other was General Kemp. Making one day sudden -irruption into her sitting-room, he had overheard a remark made by her -concerning his own daughter and Captain Laxton; at once he had turned on -his heel, and, after giving his wife a short sketch of what would have -happened to Miss Vipen had she worn breeches instead of petticoats, he -had declared it to be his intention never willingly to meet her again. - -Malice, to be effective, however vulgar in its essence, should on the -whole be refined in its expression. There were certain people, notably -poor Mrs. Sampson, the rector's wife, to whom Miss Vipen felt she could -say anything, sure of a fascinated, even if a fearful, listener. With -others she was more careful, and to Mrs. Boringdon she had soon become a -valuable ally, and a precious source of information. - - * * * * * - -This was the woman from whose company and conversation Oliver Boringdon, -two days after the Halnakeham Castle ball, came straight down the -village street to Chancton Grange. He had been to see Miss Vipen on a -matter of business connected with a slight leakage in her roof, but the -hawk-eyed old lady, as was her wont, had in a very few moments planted -an envenomed dart in his mind and brain. - -Partly perhaps because he knew her to be so intensely disliked by Doctor -McKirdy, and partly because she was one of the very few people who never -tried to extract from him information concerning Madame Sampiero and the -Priory, Oliver actually liked Miss Vipen. She was an intelligent woman, -and her kindnesses to the village people were intelligent kindnesses. -She would lend books and papers to the sick and ailing, and more than -once he had come across traces of her good deeds among the poor of the -place,--men and women with whom she had life-long links of familiarity -and interest. She was aware that Boringdon liked her, and she took -trouble to keep his good opinion. So it was that to-day her few -remarks--said more, or so it seemed, in pity than in anger, had been -carefully chosen--and only amounted to the regrettable fact that James -Berwick's frequent visits to the Priory, and the long hours he was said -to spend alone with Mrs. Rebell, were causing unpleasant remark both in -the village and in the neighbourhood. - -Boringdon had listened in absolute silence, then, taking up his hat and -stick, had gone, leaving his hostess rather uncomfortable. But Miss -Vipen's words had met with unquestioning belief, and they had made her -listener's smouldering jealousy and unhappiness--for in these days -Oliver was very jealous and wretchedly unhappy--burst into flame. - -Since the ball the young man had seen practically nothing of Barbara, -although she had been present at each of his daily interviews with -Madame Sampiero; and when one day, late in the afternoon, he had gone -contrary to his custom, to the Priory, the admirably trained McGregor -had informed him that Mrs. Rebell was "not at home," although Boringdon -had seen her shadow and that of Berwick cast on the blind of the blue -drawing-room. - -James Berwick's attitude towards women had always been inexplicable to -Oliver, for he was entirely out of sympathy with his friend's interest -in Woman _qua_ Woman. In no circumstances would the younger man have -been capable of imagining the peculiar relationship which had sprung up -between these two people, to each of whom--and it was an aggravating -circumstance--he felt himself bound by so close a tie. - -During the last two days his jealousy and suspicion of Berwick's motives -had almost prompted him to say something to Mrs. Rebell, but there was -that in Barbara which made it very difficult to approach such a subject -with her. Also, even if lacking in a sense of humour, Boringdon was yet -dimly aware that she might well retort with a _tu quoque_ argument which -he would find it difficult to meet. For there had been one fortnight in -which, looking back, he was obliged to admit to himself that he had -spent far more time in Mrs. Rebell's company than he could accuse -Berwick of now doing. He and she had walked together, ridden together, -and talked together of everything under heaven and earth. Even--fool -that he had been--he had told her much of Berwick, and all to that -dangerous sentimentalist's advantage. - -Then there had come a sudden change over his own and Mrs. Rebell's -pleasant and profitable relationship. Saucebox had kicked herself in the -stable, and had gone back, in disgrace, to Chillingworth, so the rides -had perforce come to an end. Little by little, or so it now seemed to -Oliver, he had been shepherded into only going over to the Priory in the -morning--made to feel that at other times he was not welcome. - -The young man remembered well the first time he had come over to the -Priory to find Berwick installed, almost as master, in the great hall, -and Barbara listening to this new acquaintance as she had hitherto only -listened to him, to Boringdon himself. And yet what was there to be -done? Madame Sampiero's attitude filled him with indignation; surely it -was her duty to save her god-daughter from the snares of such a fowler -as she must know Berwick to be? - -Boringdon had long been aware of the type of feminine companionship his -friend was always seeking, and dimly he understood that hitherto the -pursuit had been unavailing. But now?--Mrs. Rebell, so Boringdon, with -something like agony, acknowledged to himself, fulfilled all the -conditions of Berwick's ideal; and a nobler, more unselfish feeling than -mere personal instinct stirred him to revolt, while he was also swayed -by an anger born of keen jealousy, dignified by him with a hundred -names, of which the most comfortable to his self-esteem and conscience -was care for Mrs. Rebell's reputation. - -At certain moments he reminded himself how much Berwick had been at the -Priory before Mrs. Rebell's arrival, but even so, such a man's constant -presence there was terribly dangerous! Some kind, wholly disinterested -woman must tell Barbara that in England Berwick's conduct would surely -compromise her, whatever might be the case at Santa Maria or on the -Continent. - - * * * * * - -Casting about in his mind, Boringdon could think of but one person in -the neighbourhood who was fitted to undertake so delicate a task, and -who would, so he told himself, understand his own personal share in the -matter; this person was Mrs. Kemp. To the Grange he accordingly made his -way, after having listened in silence to Miss Vipen's softly uttered -remarks. - -From the first fortune favoured him, for Mrs. Kemp was alone. The -General and Lucy were gone to Halnakeham for the afternoon; and -Boringdon, coming in out of the late November air full of suppressed -excitement and ill at ease, felt soothed by the look of warmth and -comfort with which Lucy's mother always managed to surround herself. - -To Oliver's own mother, to Mrs. Boringdon, an appearance of comfort, -even of luxury, was all-important when guests were expected at Chancton -Cottage. Then everything was suitably lavish, and even luxurious. But -when the young man and his mother were alone, fires were allowed to burn -low, the food, poor in quality, was also limited as to quantity, and it -was well for Oliver that he cared as little as on the whole he did for -creature comforts. In Mrs. Boringdon's mind the page boy was set against -the sweets at luncheon and the cakes at tea which Oliver would have -enjoyed, but then in the country a man-servant was essential--an -essential portion of her own and her son's dignity. - -It was now four o'clock. At home Boringdon would have had to wait -another hour for tea, and so would any passing guest who could be -regarded as an intimate friend, but here, at the Grange, it appeared as -if by magic a few minutes after the visitor had sat down opposite Mrs. -Kemp, and Oliver soon felt heartened up to approach what even he felt to -be a rather difficult subject. - -The kind woman whose aid he was about to invoke made it easy for him to -begin, for she was very cordial; thanks to Boringdon, Lucy had -thoroughly enjoyed the ball at Halnakeham Castle, and the mother felt -grateful for even this small mercy. During the last two days she had -reminded herself more than once that affairs of the heart, when not -interfered with unduly, have an odd way of coming right. - -"I need not ask," he said, rather awkwardly, "if Lucy is no worse for -the ball." - -Mrs. Kemp was not sure whether she liked to hear Boringdon call her -daughter Lucy; he had only begun doing so lately, and she had not -thought it necessary to mention it to the General. There was still a -certain coolness between Oliver and Lucy's father--they avoided each -other's company. - -He went on without waiting for an answer: "Mrs. Rebell seems to have -found it a trying experience, and yet she did not dance at all. I went -to the Priory this morning, and she was too tired to come down." - -"But then she came back so much later than you all did. I understand -that she stayed on with the Fletchings party, and I heard some of their -carriages going through the village at four o'clock in the morning!" - -Boringdon looked at her with quick suspicion. He had just learnt from -Miss Vipen of Berwick's solitary drive with Mrs. Rebell. But the remark -Mrs. Kemp had just made was wholly innocent in intention; she never -dealt in innuendoes. - -"I wish," he said, impulsively, "that you would get to know Mrs. Rebell! -Everyone else in the neighbourhood has called on her; have you any -reason for not doing so?" - -She hesitated, then said slowly, "No. No real reason, except, of course, -that we have never received, during all the years we have been here, any -mark of attention or civility from Madame Sampiero, whose tenants after -all we are. Also I fancied, from something that Doctor McKirdy said, -that Mrs. Rebell did not wish to make many acquaintances in the -neighbourhood." - -"It's a great pity, for she must feel very lonely, and I'm sure it would -be much to her to have such friends as yourself, and as--as Lucy." - -The mother's heart hardened; Mrs. Kemp was no gossip, but she knew how -much time Oliver had spent at the Priory during the fortnight Mrs. -Boringdon had been away. - -"Yes, she must be rather lonely," and then she could not help adding, -"but you are a great deal over there, are you not?" - -His answer made her feel ashamed of what she had said. "I am over there -most days, but she cannot make a companion, a friend, of a man, as she -could of you or of Lucy." Now surely was his opportunity for saying what -he had come to say, but he found the task he had set himself demanded a -bluntness, a crudity of speech, that was almost intolerable to him. - -"Mrs. Kemp, may I speak frankly to you?" - -There was a strong note of appeal in the speaker's voice. Mrs. Kemp gave -him a quick, anxious look, and took her knitting off the table. -"Certainly, frankness is always best," she said, then wondered with -beating heart what he was about to tell her. She had felt, during the -last few minutes, that Boringdon was only marking time. He was once more -on his old terms of friendship with Lucy, indeed, the girl had lunched -at Chancton Cottage that very day. But his next words shattered Mrs. -Kemp's dream, and that most rudely. - -"I want you to call on Mrs. Rebell," he was saying in a low eager tone, -"and to come really to know her, because--well, because I fear she is in -some danger. It isn't a matter one wants to discuss, but James Berwick -is constantly at the Priory, and his visits there are already being -talked about in the neighbourhood. She is, as you know, a friend of my -sister, and I feel a certain responsibility in the matter. Someone ought -to put her on her guard." - -Mrs. Kemp put down her work and looked at him with a steady, -disconcerting look of surprise. He no longer felt sure, as he had done a -moment ago, of her sympathy, but he met her glance with a dogged -courage. He cared so little what she thought; the great point was to -enlist her help. Boringdon had known her do really quixotic things with -reference to certain village matters and scandals--and always with -healing results. - -It is fortunate that we cannot see into each other's minds. What would -Oliver have felt had he become aware of the feeling, half of dislike, -half of pity, with which he was being regarded at that moment by the -woman to whom he had made his appeal? Mrs. Kemp withdrew her eyes from -his face; it was possible,--just possible,--that it was as he said, and -that he was animated by worthy and impersonal motives. Berwick was not a -man with an absolutely good reputation as regarded women; his position, -too, was a singular one,--of so much even Mrs. Kemp was aware. - -"As you have spoken frankly to me, so will I speak frankly to you," she -said. "I have never known any good come from interfering,--or rather I -have never known any good come from speaking, in such a case, to the -woman. The person to reach is Mr. Berwick. If he is indeed compromising -Mrs. Rebell, he is doing a very wrong and treacherous thing, not only to -her, but to Madame Sampiero, who has always been, so I understand, -especially kind to him. Still, you must remember that, long before this -lady came here, he was constantly at the Priory. Also, may I say that, -if your information as to the gossip about them comes from Miss Vipen, -its source is tainted? I never believe a word she says about anything or -anybody!" - -"Miss Vipen did certainly say something--she had heard----" - -"What had she heard?" - -"That Berwick drove back with her"--Mrs. Kemp noticed the use of the -pronoun--"alone, the night of the ball, and that they sat up, talking, -till morning, in the hall of the Priory. No wonder Mrs. Rebell still -feels tired!" The speaker had gone grey in the lamplight. - -"Well, that story is false, vilely false! I do not know how, or with -whom, Mrs. Rebell came home; but by an odd chance I do happen to know -that Mr. Berwick went straight from Halnakeham to Chillingworth, and -that he was there in the morning. His coachman's wife, who is staying -here in Chancton with her parents, was taken ill that night. I was there -by six the next morning--perhaps you know that the poor baby died--and -the man told me that he had driven his master home, and that he would -send him over a message asking leave to stay with his wife. Mr. Berwick -is a very good master, they seem all devoted to him----" Then, struck by -his look, "Surely you believe me? Do you put Miss Vipen's piece of -spiteful gossip against what I tell you?" - -Boringdon hesitated. "I don't know what to believe," he said. "James -Berwick, when conducting an intrigue, is capable of--of----" - -"If you think so ill of Mrs. Rebell as that----!" - -"But I don't!" he cried hastily, "indeed I don't! It is Berwick, only -Berwick, that I blame in this matter. I think Mrs. Rebell is wholly -innocent! I feel for her the greatest respect! She is incapable, I feel -sure, of a wrong thought,"--he spoke with growing agitation. "But think -of the whole circumstances--of Madame Sampiero's past life, of Mrs. -Rebell's present position! Can you wonder that I feel sure your -friendship, even your countenance, might make a great difference? But -pray,"--he got up, and looked at Mrs. Kemp very earnestly,--"pray do not -suppose I think ill of Mrs. Rebell! Were it so, should I suggest that -you--that Lucy--should make a friend of her?" and wringing her hand he -left the room, eager to escape before the return of General Kemp and his -daughter. - - * * * * * - -There are times when the presence of even the best-loved and most -trusted grown-up son or daughter could be well spared by father and -mother. Mrs. Kemp, during the evening which followed Oliver's afternoon -call, thought constantly of the conversation she had held with him, and -she longed to tell her husband what had passed. Men were such strange, -such inexplicable beings! Doubtless Tom would be able to reassure her as -to Oliver Boringdon's interest in this Mrs. Rebell, whose charm had won -over Lucy too, for the girl spoke with enthusiasm of the beauty and of -the kindness of Madame Sampiero's god-daughter. But nothing could be -said in the presence of Lucy, who had regained, during the last day or -two, her old lightness of heart and manner, and who showed no wish to go -early to bed. - -At last Mrs. Kemp went up alone, and when, an hour later, the General -followed her, and she had the longed-for opportunity of telling her -tale, her listener proved most irritatingly quiescent. He went in and -out of his dressing-room, saying "Yes," and "That's it, is it?" at -suitable intervals. Still, when she stopped speaking, he would suddenly -appear in some leisurely state of _déshabillé_ and his wife would feel -encouraged, to go on, and even to ask for his opinion and advice. - -"And now, Tom, what do you _really_ think of the whole matter?" - -General Kemp came and stood before the fire. He wore his -dressing-gown,--a sure sign that he was ready for discussion, if -discussion should prove necessary. - -"Well, Mary, what I _really_ think can be put in a very few words." He -advanced till he stood at the foot of the large four-poster, and, with a -twinkle in his eye, declaimed the lines:-- - - "'And it was you, my _Berwick_, you! - The friend in whom my soul confided! - Who dared to gaze on her--to do, - I may say, much the same as I did!'" - -"Oh! Tom, you should not make fun of such a serious matter," but Mrs. -Kemp could not help smiling--the lines were indeed apt. - -"Well, my dear, what else is there to say? I can't say I should be sorry -if Boringdon were to burn his wings a bit! I hate your fellow who is -always trying to set the world straight. To take his information from -Miss Vipen too--!" The General had also heard of Oliver's renewed -interest in the Priory, and his wife's talk had not surprised him quite -as much as she, in the innocence of her heart, expected it to do. -"Berwick, from what you tell me, and from what I hear," he added in a -low voice, "knows what he's after, and that's more than your friend -Boringdon seems to do! I hate a man who goes dangling after a woman for -her good; that's what he told you, I take it?" - -"Well, something rather like it; but I think better of him than you do, -Tom." - -"They generally get caught at last." General Kemp gave a quick, short -sigh: "and then comes--unless the chap's as clever as Boringdon -doubtless means to be--pretty heavy punishment, eh, Mary?" - -And he went off back into his dressing-room, and Mrs. Kemp, turning on -her side, wet her pillow with sudden bitter tears. - - * * * * * - -Some days later Lucy and her mother called at the Priory, only to be -informed that Mrs. Rebell was at Fletchings, staying there as the guest -of Lord Bosworth and Miss Berwick till the following Saturday. This -then,--so thought Mrs. Kemp with a quick revulsion of feeling,--was why -Boringdon now found time hang so heavy on his hands, and why he had -been, of late, so often at the Grange. Life, even at Chancton, was full -of inexplicable cross currents,--of deep pools and eddies more likely to -bring shipwreck than safe haven to the creature whom she loved so -dearly, and for whom she felt that responsibility which only mothers -know. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - "But as we walked we turned aside - Into a narrow tortuous lane - Where baffling paths the roads divide - And jealous brambles prick to pain: - Then first I saw, with quick surprise, - The strange new look in friendship's eyes. - - "And now, in one stupendous dream, - We wander through the purple glades, - Which love has tinted with the gleam - Of wonderful, enchanting shades: - But I--would give it all away - For those dear hours of friendship's day." - - ELEANOR ESHER. - - -Mrs. Rebell had now been at Fletchings five days. It was Saturday -night--in three days more she would be back at Chancton. - -Standing before her dressing-table, she found herself counting the last -hours of a holiday which had proved more enchanting than she had thought -possible. How sorry she would be to leave the curious pretty room in -which she found herself! This room, and that next door now turned into a -dressing-room, had been fitted up when the wonders of China were first -becoming known to the Western world. It was instinct with the strange -charm so often found in those old English country houses where -Christendom and Goblindom fight for mastery. - -The greatest poet of his time had spent at Fletchings the honeymoon -which formed a beginning to the most disastrous of marriage tragedies; -and Septimus Daman, now Barbara's fellow guest, had managed to convey to -her his belief that the rooms which she now occupied had been those set -aside for the hapless pair. Was it here, so Barbara wondered--here, or -perhaps sitting at the lacquer table in the dressing-room--that the -bride had written the formal, yet wholly contented, letter to her -parents, with its concluding sentence: "I cannot tell you any more for -Lord Byron is looking over my shoulder!"--playful, intimate words, -written by the proud, headstrong girl who was to lead a later life of -such harsh bitterness. - -Barbara felt a vague retrospective pity for the long-dead writer of -these words. How far superior is friendship to what people call love! -Every day she was proving the truth of this, her own, and--yes, her -friend's--discovery. - -After those five perfect days, it seemed strange to remember that she -had wondered if she were acting rightly in accepting Miss Berwick's -invitation. There had not been much time for thought. The note had come -only two days after the ball at Halnakeham Castle, and, as she held it -in her hand, before telling any of those about her of its contents, -there had swept over Barbara Rebell a foreboding memory. Was she about -to expose herself to a repetition of what she had gone through during -those first hours at the ball? Was she to see Berwick avoiding her -company,--gazing at her, when he looked her way, with alien eyes? - -But then Berwick himself had come, full of eagerness, and with his -abrupt first words--"Has Arabella written? That's right!--I think you -will like it. My uncle wants me to be over there in order to see -something of Daniel O'Flaherty, and we are also to have old Septimus -Daman; he always spends part of November at Fletchings"--her fears, her -scruples had vanished. - -Just before leaving the Priory, Barbara's heart had again misgiven her. -Madame Sampiero, looking at her with the wide-open, dark-blue eyes which -could express so many shades of feeling, had murmured, "Do not be too -long away, child. Remember what befell the poor Beast when Beauty stayed -away too long!" How could she have had the heart to write, on the second -day of her visit, "They want me to stay on till Tuesday"? - -And now it was Saturday night. In a few days she would again take up the -life which till so very lately had seemed to fulfil each aspiration, to -content every longing of her heart. Now, she found herself dreading her -god-mother's glances of uneasy, questioning tenderness; Mrs. Turke's -eager interest in Berwick's comings and goings; most of all, and for -reasons of which her mind avoided the analysis, Barbara shrank from the -return to the long mornings--they had become very long of late--spent by -Boringdon at the Priory. - -In contrast to all that awaited Mrs. Rebell at Chancton, how happy these -few days at Fletchings had been! With the possible exception of Daniel -O'Flaherty--and, after all, both he and Arabella knew better--the six -people gathered there under Lord Bosworth's roof, were linked in close -bonds of old and new friendship, of old and new association. - -Barbara could tell herself in all honesty that she did not seem to see -very much of James Berwick, and yet, in truth, they were much together, -he encompassing her with a depth of voiceless tenderness, and a devotion -so unobtrusive that it seemed to lack every gross element of self. Then -again, her host had been especially kind. To Lord Bosworth she had been -"Barbara" from the first, and during that week he had talked much to her -of that wide world in which he himself had played so noted and agreeable -a part; of her own parents as they had been during the unshadowed years -of their life; of present politics which he had soon discovered -interested her in a singular degree. One day he had exclaimed--and had -been surprised to see the vivid blush his words called forth--"Why, we -shall make a politician of you yet!" During those days, however,--and -the omission pained her,--Lord Bosworth made no allusion to Madame -Sampiero. - -Perhaps, of all those at Fletchings, the most contented of the party was -Septimus Daman. Because he seemed to each of the others the odd man out, -they were all particularly kind to him, and eager that he should not -feel himself neglected. The old man did not, however, burden his -fellow-guests with much on his company, for he was busily engaged in -writing his recollections, and he rarely made his appearance downstairs -before the afternoon. - - * * * * * - -To-day, quite suddenly and for no apparent reason, Berwick's mood had -changed. Arabella was the first to become aware of it; she knew of old -the danger signals. The day had been spent by him and by O'Flaherty at -Laxgrove, where Squire Laxton was as proud of his coverts as of his -hounds. The two men came in wet and tired, and Berwick, after a long -fruitless search for his sister and Mrs. Rebell, at last found them -sitting together where Arabella so seldom entertained a guest--in the -powder closet. - -"I have been looking for you everywhere!" he exclaimed. "Daman is -wandering about downstairs, evidently afraid to pour himself out a cup -of tea and O'Flaherty has disappeared,--tealess,--to his room!" - -While he was speaking, gazing at his sister and her friend with an -accusing glance, Barbara went out, and for a moment the other two stayed -on alone together. - -Arabella rose and faced her brother. Her own nerves were not wholly -under control. Neither her conscience nor her heart was really at ease. - -"I don't know, James, and I don't inquire, what your relations to Mrs. -Rebell may be! But this I do know--you will not advance your friendship -with her by being savage to me. Besides, it is so absurd! However -delightful she finds your company, she may yet prefer to be occasionally -with me. I have been doing--I am doing--all I can for you." - -"What do you mean?" - -Berwick's steady, angry gaze disconcerted his sister, but she was -mentally adroit, and determined not to fear him in his present mood. - -"You know best what I ought to mean!" she cried. "You apparently take -pleasure in Mrs. Rebell's company, and it was to please you that I asked -her to come here. I mean nothing else. But I should like to add that, -now I know her, I have grown to like, and even to respect her." -Berwick's face softened, but again he looked at her in the way she -dreaded as she added, "I do not think you should act so as to make those -about you aware that you so greatly prefer her company to that of our -other guests. I am sure Mr. O'Flaherty has noticed it. Perhaps I ought -to add that I am speaking entirely for her sake." - - * * * * * - -On leaving Miss Berwick and her brother, Mrs. Rebell went up to her -room. There she sat down and fulfilled a neglected duty,--the writing of -a long letter to Grace Johnstone. She did not find the task an easy one. -She knew that her friend would expect to be told much of the occupants -of Chancton Cottage, and especially of Oliver. The writer was well aware -how letters were treasured at Santa Maria, and, till the last fortnight -she had written to the woman who had been so good a friend to her by -every mail. Suddenly she bethought herself of the ball. Why, here was a -subject all ready to her pen! But Barbara was no polite letter-writer, -and she found the description difficult; especially did her references -to Oliver and to his mother seem hypocritical. During those hours at -Halnakeham Castle she had been scarcely aware of the young man's -existence, while Mrs. Boringdon she actually disliked. - -One reason why Barbara had been glad to come to Fletchings had been that -it meant escape from Boringdon's constant presence at the Priory, and -the daily morning walk with him to the home farm. She had come to resent -Oliver's assumption of--was it brotherly?--interest in what she did and -left undone. The thought that in three days she would again be subject -to his well-meant criticism and eager, intimate advice certainly added -another and a curiously acute touch of discomfort to her return to -Chancton. - - * * * * * - -For the first time since Mrs. Rebell's stay at Fletchings, dinner, -served in a blue and white octagon room which seemed to have been -designed to serve as background to Miss Berwick's fair, delicate type of -beauty, passed almost silently and rather dully. Berwick and O'Flaherty, -tired after their long day in the open air, scarcely spoke; Mr. Daman -alone seemed entirely at ease, and he babbled away happily, trying to -extract material for his recollections from Lord Bosworth's better -garnished memory. - -And so it was with a sense of relief that Barbara followed her hostess -out of the room. During the last few days the two women had become, in a -sense, intimate. Each liked the other better than either would have -thought possible a week before. They had one subject in common of which -neither ever tired, and yet how surprised they both would have been to -learn how constantly their talk drifted to the political past, the -uneventful present, the brilliant nebulous future, of James Berwick! - -Arabella led the way up to the music gallery, and there, very soon, the -two younger men joined them. - -Miss Berwick was sitting at an inlaid spinet, playing an old-fashioned, -jingling selection of Irish melodies, and O'Flaherty, taking up his -stand by the fire-place, was able to look down at the player without -seeming to do so. - -Listening to the woman he had loved making music for him, Daniel -O'Flaherty's mind went back, setting out on a sentimental excursion, -dolorous as such are apt to be, into the past. No other woman's lips had -touched his since their last interview, thirteen years before; and yet, -standing there, his arm on the mantel-piece, his right hand concealing -his large rather stern mouth, he told himself that his love for Arabella -Berwick had burned itself out, and that he could now look at her quite -dispassionately. - -Still, love may go, and interest,--even a certain kind of -sentiment,--may remain. What else had brought him to Fletchings? Above -all, what else had made him stay on there, as he was now doing? -O'Flaherty still felt an odd closeness of heart,--aye, even of body,-- - -Miss Berwick, to this woman whom others found so unapproachable. The -years which had gone by, the long separation, had not made them -strangers. After she had left him, as he thought so cruelly, he had made -up his mind to put away all thought of her. He had believed it certain -that she would marry--indeed, during that last interview she had told -him that she intended to do so--and thinking of this, to a man so -callous and incredible a statement, his heart had hardened, not only to -her, but in a sense to all women. - -Then time had gone on, and Lord Bosworth's niece had remained -unmarried--wholly devoted, so said rumour, to her brother, but living -with her uncle instead of with James Berwick because of her filial -affection and gratitude to the older man. That O'Flaherty had known not -to be true, for no special tie bound Arabella to her uncle. The -arrangement was probably one of convenience on either side. - -And now, during these last few days? O'Flaherty acknowledged that Miss -Berwick's manner to him had been perfect--courteous and kind, nay, even -deferential, and then sometimes a look, a word, would subtly acknowledge -his claim on her special attention, while putting forward none of her -own. How could he help being flattered? From where he now sat, he could -see, without seeming to observe too closely, the delicate, cameo-like -profile, the masses of flaxen hair, less bright in tint than when he had -first admired what was still Arabella's greatest beauty. - -The barrister was under no illusion as to why he had received this -invitation to Lord Bosworth's country house. His present host, and of -course his hostess, wished him not merely to be on James Berwick's side -in the coming political struggle, for that he was already, but to ally -himself in a special sense with this future Cabinet-Minister, and to -join the inner circle of his friends and supporters. Neither of them yet -understood that in politics all O'Flaherty cared for supremely was his -own country, in spite of the fact that he had always sat for an English -constituency, and had never identified himself, in any direct sense, -with the Irish party. Whatever his future relations to Miss Berwick -might be, his attitude to her brother must be influenced by Berwick's -attitude to Ireland and Irish affairs. Perhaps it would be more honest, -so he told himself to-night, to let Arabella know this fact, for during -the last few days he had avoided any political discussion with his host -or his hostess. - -Daniel O'Flaherty had watched James Berwick's career with painful -interest. During his brief, passionate intimacy with the sister, the -young Irishman had disliked the brother intensely. He had despised him -for squandering,--as for a while Berwick had seemed to do,--his many -brilliant gifts. Perhaps O'Flaherty had also been jealous of those -advantages which came to the younger man by the mere fact of his name, -and of his relationship to Lord Bosworth. - -Then, with the passing of years, the barrister had become, as the -successful are apt to do, more indulgent, perhaps more understanding, in -his view of the other's character and ambitions. Also nothing succeeds -like success, and James Berwick had himself by no means lagged behind. -To O'Flaherty there had been nothing untoward in Berwick's marriage. He -had regarded it as one of those strokes of amazing luck which seem to -pursue certain men; and though a trifling circumstance had made the -barrister vividly aware of the young politician's conditional tenure of -his dead wife's fortune, the man who had fought his way to eminence -naturally regarded the other as belonging to that class which seems in -this country sufficiently wealthy, with the garnered wealth of the past, -to consider the possession of a larger or of a lesser income as of -comparatively small account. - -Daniel O'Flaherty was an Irishman, a lonely man, and a Roman -Catholic--thus traditionally interested in romance. And so, during these -days at Fletchings, he had become aware, almost in spite of himself, of -Berwick's evident attraction to Mrs. Rebell--to the gentle, intelligent -woman whom he, O'Flaherty, naturally regarded as Arabella's widowed -friend. It amused him to see the course of true love running smooth. -What amazing good fortune seemed to pursue James Berwick! - -True, the shrewder half of O'Flaherty's mind warned him that Miss -Berwick's action in deliberately throwing her brother with so charming a -woman as Barbara was an odd, an almost unaccountable move on her part. -But there was no getting over the fact that she was doing this, and most -deliberately. - -Well, all that money could do for Berwick had surely been accomplished. -The barrister, watching the two--this man and woman wandering in a -paradise of their own making--felt that Berwick was indeed to be envied, -even if he was on the eve of forfeiting the huge income which had for so -many years given him an almost unfair prestige and power among his -fellows. Still, now and again,--to-night for instance, when he became -aware that Berwick and Mrs. Rebell had retreated together to the further -end of the long, bare room,--he wondered if Arabella was acting -sentiently, if she really wished her brother to marry again. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Rebell and the man she called her friend stood together, half -concealed by the organ which gave the gallery its name. They were -practically alone, for the long room was only lighted by the candles -which threw a wavering light on Arabella's music-book. For the first -time since she had arrived at Fletchings, Barbara felt ill at ease with -her companion. Twice during dinner she had looked up and seen Berwick's -eyes fixed on her, or so she thought, coldly and accusingly. What had -she done? For what must she ask forgiveness? - -"Where were you before dinner?" he said at last, in a low -voice. "I looked for you everywhere. I found you, and then you -disappeared--utterly! We were close to the Priory to-day, and I went in -for a moment, thinking you would like to have news of Madame Sampiero. -By the way, McGregor gave me some letters for you." - -He put two envelopes down on the ledge of a prie-dieu behind which -Barbara was standing, and which formed a slight barrier between them. -She took the letters in her hand, and then, partly because of the dim -light, put them back again on the prie-dieu. One note, unstamped, was -from Oliver Boringdon,--she knew the handwriting, and so did Berwick. -Barbara was to have gone back to-day; doubtless this note concerned -some village matter which the writer was unwilling to mention to -Doctor McKirdy. The other envelope bore the peculiar blue West Indian -stamp. Why had not McGregor kept these letters till Tuesday? For the -moment Barbara wanted to forget Boringdon and his rather morbid -susceptibilities--to forget, till her next letter to the Johnstones, -Santa Maria. - -"Won't you read your letters?" Berwick was looking straight across at -her with a singular expression--was it of appeal or of command?--in his -eyes. - -"Why should I--now?" But a moment later she changed her mind, "Yes, of -course I will; Mr. Boringdon may have sent some message to my god-mother -which ought to be seen to at once----" She opened the note, glanced -through it, then put it down on the ledge of the prie-dieu. - -Berwick had turned away while she read Boringdon's note, but now he was -again staring at her with those strange, appealing eyes which seemed to -shine in the dim light. - -Reluctantly, as if in spite of herself, Barbara stretched out her hand -and took up the other letter. Yes, it was, as she thought, from Andrew -Johnstone--a bare word of kindly acknowledgment for the return of the -fifty pounds which he had lent her. - -She looked round, still holding the letter in her hand, but they were -far from the fire-- - -Berwick's face became set. Ah! no, that should not be. - -"Mrs. Rebell--?" - -He had not called her so, to herself, since the drive back from -Halnakeham Castle, and she had not noticed his avoidance of her name; -but now, the formal mode of address fell strangely on her ears. - -"Yes?" - -"May I read these two letters?" He added, almost inaudibly, "You cannot -think more ill of me than I do of myself." - -Barbara suddenly felt as if she were taking part in an unreal scene, a -dream colloquy, and yet she knew this was no dream. What had happened, -what evil magic had so transformed her friend? That maternal instinct -which slumbers lightly in the depths of every woman's heart, woke into -life; she did not stay to diagnose the disease of which this strange -request was a symptom: "Do read them," she said, and tried to speak -indifferently, "I do not think ill of you--far from it, as Doctor -McKirdy would say." - -She put Johnstone's letter down by the other, but Berwick left them -lying there; he still looked at her with a probing, suspicious look, and -she began to be desperately afraid. At Santa Maria she had once met a -miserable white man, the overseer of a neighbouring plantation, who was -said to have suddenly gone "fantee"--so had that man looked at her, as -Berwick was doing now, dumbly. Was this what he had meant when he had -spoken to her in the carriage of ungovernable impulses--of actions of -which he had afterwards felt bitterly ashamed? - -Very slowly, still looking at her, he at last took up the two letters. -Then, with a sudden movement, and without having looked at it, he put -Boringdon's back on the ledge of the prie-dieu. "No," he said roughly, -"not that one--I do not think he ought to write to you, but no matter!" -Barbara felt herself trembling. She was beginning to understand. -Berwick's hands fingered nervously the West Indian letter; at last he -held it out to her, still folded, in his hand. "Here it is--take it--I -won't read it!" - -"Oh! but do," she said. "It is from Mr. Johnstone, saying that he has -received the money you so kindly arranged to send back for me." - -But Barbara's words came too late. - -"Mr. Johnstone?" Berwick repeated the name, then laughed harshly. "Fool -that I was not to think of him! But all to-day, since McGregor gave me -that letter, I have been in hell. Of course you know what I -believed"--Barbara's lips quivered, and her look of suffering ought to -have disarmed the man who was staring at her so insistently, but he -was still possessed by a jealous devil. "Tell me"--and, leaning over -the prie-dieu, he grasped her hands--"We may as well have it out now. -Do you hear from him--from your husband, I mean? Do you write to -him--sometimes?" - -She shook her head, and Berwick, at last free to see the agony and -surrender in the face into which he was looking down, and to which he -suddenly felt his lips so near, was swept by an irresistible rush and -mingling of feelings--remorse and fierce relief, shame and exultant joy. - -"I think we ought to go downstairs,"--Arabella's clear voice broke into -and echoed through the silent room. - -Berwick straightened himself slowly. Before releasing Barbara's hands he -kissed first one and then the other. As he did so, passion seemed to -melt into tenderness. How fragile, how childish he had thought the -fingers resting on his arm that first evening of their acquaintance! He -remembered also the fluttering, the trembling of her ringless left hand -when for a moment he had covered it with his own during that drive from -Halnakeham to Chillingworth, when he had made so much--or was it so -little?--of his opportunity. - -The two walked down the gallery, towards O'Flaherty, who was still -standing by the wood fire, and Arabella, who was putting out the candles -with the rather disdainful thoroughness and care she gave to small -household matters. Lord Bosworth's servants were old, like himself, and -grew unmindful of their duties. - -Berwick suddenly left Mrs. Rebell's side, but not till he had reached -the door did he turn round and say, "I am not coming down, for I have -work to do, so good-night!" A moment after, he was gone, with no more -formal leave-taking. - - * * * * * - -That night Barbara cried herself to sleep, but to her tears brought no -relief--rather an added shame for the weakness which made them flow so -bitterly. She felt overwhelmed by a great calamity--face to face with a -situation out of which she must herself, unaided, find an issue. - -She had asked so little of the shattered broken life which remained to -her--only quietude and the placid enjoyment of a friendship which had -come to her unsought, and in which there could be no danger, whatever -Madame Sampiero or Mrs. Turke might think. Did not the feeling which -bound her to James Berwick enjoy the tacit approval of such a woman as -was Arabella Berwick? What else had made Miss Berwick say to her, as she -had done, that her brother could never marry? Surely the words had been -uttered with intention, to show Mrs. Rebell how desirable it was that he -should have--friends? - -Till to-night, love, to Barbara Rebell, had borne but two faces. The -one, that of the radiant shadow-like figure, half cupid half angel, of -her childhood and girlhood, was he who had played his happy part in the -love affair of her father and mother, binding them the one to the other -as she, Barbara, had seen them bound. It was this love--noble, selfless, -unmaterial in its essence, or so she had thought--that lighted up Madame -Sampiero's face when she spoke, as she sometimes did speak, in the same -quivering breath, of Lord Bosworth and her little Julia. - -Love's other face, that which she shuddered to know existed, had been -revealed to her by Pedro Rebell. It was base, sensual, cunning, -volatile, inconstant in its very essence, and yet, as Barbara knew, love -after all--capable, for a fleeting moment, of ennobling those under its -influence. Such, for instance, was love as understood by the coloured -people, among whom she had spent these last years of her life, and with -whose elementary joys and sorrows she had perforce sympathised. - -Now, to-night, she realised that love could come in yet a third -guise--nay, for the first time she saw that perhaps this was the only -true love of them all, and that her first vision of the passion had been -but its shadow. Some such feeling as that which now, she felt with -terror, possessed her body as well as her soul, must have made her -mother cling as she had clung, in no joyless way, to sombre, disgraced -Richard Rebell. - -Love again--warm, tender, passionate love--had linked together Lord -Bosworth and Barbara Sampiero for so many years, and had found -expression in their child. Thinking of those last two, Barbara lay and -trembled. Bitter words of condemnation uttered by her father leapt from -the storehouse of memory, as did the fact that her mother had once -implied to her that but for Madame Sampiero, but for something--was it -something wrong, or merely selfish and unwise which she had -done?--Barbara's father might have returned in time to England and made -some attempt to rehabilitate himself. - - * * * * * - -The maid who brought in her cup of tea in the morning laid a parcel down -on Barbara's bed. It was a book wrapped in brown paper, and fully -addressed to her with the superscription:-- - - "DEAR MRS. REBELL,--Here is the book I promised to send you. - - "Yours truly, - "JAMES BERWICK." - -Some instinct made her wait till she was alone. Then, opening -the parcel, she saw that, with the volume of Jacobite songs -Berwick had indeed promised to give her, was a large envelope -marked "private." From it she drew out slowly some twenty sheets -or more, closely covered with the as yet unfamiliar writing of -the man she loved. To the end of her life Barbara could have -repeated portions of this, her first love letter, by heart, and -yet, before going downstairs, she burnt each separate sheet. - -Over the last she hesitated. Indeed, she cut out the three -words, "my heart's darling." But the little gilt scissors had -belonged to her mother--how would her mother have judged what -she was now doing?--and the slip of paper went into the fire -with the rest. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - "He smarteth most who hides his smart - And sues for no compassion." - - RALEIGH. - - -"Would you mind taking me with you to church this morning? Miss Berwick -tells me that her uncle won't be shocked." - -When Mrs. Rebell made her request, Daniel O'Flaherty was walking up and -down the small hall, waiting for the carriage in which he was to drive -that Sunday morning to the nearest Roman Catholic chapel. He had shared -with the two ladies a comparatively early breakfast, for the service he -was to attend took place at ten. - -"Yes, of course," he said, rather awkwardly, "I shall be very glad of -your company, but I'm afraid you won't be comfortable, for Mass is said, -it seems, in a little mission room." O'Flaherty had a vividly unpleasant -recollection of the last time he had taken "a smart lady" to church. She -had apparently expected to find a Notre Dame or Sistine Chapel in the -wilds of Herefordshire, and she had been very much annoyed with the -inartistic furnishings of the iron chapel. So it was that Mrs. Rebell's -request fell disagreeably on his ear. - - * * * * * - -Barbara's whole soul was possessed with the desire of putting off the -meeting with Berwick. How could she greet him before his sister? how -could she behave as if last night--as if his soul-stirring, ardent -letter, had not been? Berwick had written, among a hundred other -contradictory things, "Everything shall go on as before. I will school -myself to be content with the least you can give me." But even she knew -that that was impossible, and she blessed the chance which had now come -to her of escaping for a few hours the necessity of playing a part -before Lord Bosworth and Arabella. - -So absorbed was Barbara in her thoughts that she scarcely noticed Mr. -Daman, when she crossed him on the broad staircase on her way to her -room to get ready for her expedition. The old man, however, had seen the -light from a large window beat straight on her absorbed face. For the -first time Barbara reminded him of her father, of Richard Rebell, and -the reminiscence was not pleasing. Pretty women, he said to himself -rather crossly, should study their looks; they owed it to those about -them. They ought not to get up too early in the morning and go racing -upstairs! Why, it was now only half-past nine, and Mrs. Rebell had -evidently already breakfasted. He himself was up at this unwonted hour -because it was Sunday, and on Sunday everything should be done to spare -the servants in a country house. Septimus Daman lived up to his own -moral code much more completely than many of those who regarded him as a -selfish old worldling could pretend to do. Still, he did not like to be -baulked of innocent pleasures, and not least among them was that of -having his tea poured out for him on Sunday morning by a pretty woman. - -"Then you've breakfasted too?" Failing Barbara, Mr. Daman would have -liked the company of Daniel O'Flaherty. "Oh, I forgot! of course you're -going to your church"--a note of commiseration crept into the thin -voice; the old Queen's Messenger belonged to a generation when an -Irishman's religion was still the greatest of his disabilities. - -"Yes, and I'm taking Mrs. Rebell with me." Septimus Daman's vested -interest in Barbara amused the barrister. - -"Are you indeed?" Old Septimus always went to church on Sunday, but he -liked to have the duty sweetened by the presence of youth and beauty in -the pew. "You never saw her mother, did you?" - -"No. The Rebell Case took place some years before I came to London." It -was not the first time Mr. Daman had asked the question, but O'Flaherty -answered very patiently, and even added--also not for the first -time--"She must have been an exceptionally beautiful and charming -woman." - -"Perfection, absolute perfection! Her daughter isn't a patch on her as -to looks. I remember now the first time I saw Mrs. Richard Rebell I -thought her the loveliest creature I'd ever set eyes upon. Her name was -Adela Oglander, and people expected her to do uncommonly well for -herself. Awful to think what she did do, eh? But Richard Rebell was a -very taking fellow in those days. When I was a young man women were -content to look--well, as Mrs. Richard Rebell looked! One doesn't see -such pretty women now," Mr. Daman sighed, "I suppose our Mrs. Barbara -lost her complexion in the West Indies. Those climates, so I've always -understood, are damnation to the skin. Not that hers has roughened--eh, -what? And she can still blush--a great thing that, almost a lost art!" -he chuckled. "From what Bosworth tells me she had an awful time with the -brute she married." - -"Was he in the Army?" - -O'Flaherty was vaguely interested. He and Mrs. Rebell had had a -good deal of desultory talk, but she never alluded to her married -life. Those years--he roughly guessed them to be from twenty to -seven-and-twenty--seemed dropped out of her memory. - -"Not that I ever heard of. He's always been a sugar planter, a -descendant of a Rebell younger son who went out to the West Indies to -make his fortune a hundred years ago. Poor Barbara Sampiero told me -about it at the time of the marriage." - -"And how long has Mrs. Rebell been a widow?" - -"She's not a widow. Whatever gave you such an idea?" The old man shot a -sudden shrewd look at the barrister; O'Flaherty's face expressed -surprise, yes, and profound annoyance. Dear, dear, this was distinctly -interesting! - -Mr. Daman lowered his voice to a whisper, "Her husband's very much -alive, but he's signed, so Bosworth tells me, some kind of document -promising to leave her alone. Of course he keeps her fortune, such as it -is, for she was married before this act which makes women, I understand, -so very independent of their lords and masters. But that's rather a good -thing, for it takes away his only reason for molesting her. Still, -there'll be trouble with him, if, as I'm told, Madame Sampiero intends -to leave her well off. Good Lord, what a business we all had with -Napoleone Sampiero! He was a regular leech. Strange, isn't it, that both -these poor dear women--each, observe, a Barbara Rebell--should make such -a mess of their lives? However, in this case there's no _Bosworth_ to -complicate matters!" - -O'Flaherty wheeled round, and looked hard at the old man, but Septimus -Daman had spoken with no after-thought in his mind. He had come to the -stage of life when old people are curiously unobservant, or perhaps it -should be said, no longer capable of realising the proximity of passion. - - * * * * * - -Condemnation of James Berwick, who, it seemed to O'Flaherty, should -remember the fact that he was under his sister's roof, and a certain -pity for, and shrinking from Mrs. Rebell, the woman now sitting so -silently by his side in the victoria, filled the barrister's mind. He -was also aware of experiencing that species of bewilderment which brings -with it the mortifying conviction that one has been excessively, -inexcusably blind. O'Flaherty cast his mind back over the last week. -That which he in his simplicity had taken for love,--love capable of -inducing such a man as Berwick to make a great sacrifice,--was doubtless -but the preliminary to one of those brief intrigues of which he heard so -much in the world in which he now lived. - -And Mrs. Rebell? He had really liked her--unconsciously thought the -better of Arabella for having such a woman, one so gentle, kindly, -unassuming, for her friend. He knew the tragic story of Richard Rebell, -of his banishment from the pleasant world in which he had held so -prominent a place; and Barbara had been the more interesting, the more -worthy of respect in his eyes because she was in no sense ashamed of her -parentage. Was it possible that she was one of those women--he had -sometimes heard of them--who are said to possess every feminine virtue -save that on which, as he, the Irish farmer's son, absolutely believed, -all the others really depend? - -O'Flaherty had seen a great deal of Mrs. Rebell; they had had more than -one long talk together. Never had he met a woman who seemed to him more -pure-minded in the very essence of her. And yet--well, the Irishman had -seen--as indeed who could help seeing, save that self-centred and _naif_ -egoist, Septimus Daman?--that Barbara loved Berwick. The sight of these -two, so absorbed in one another, had deeply moved the one who looked on, -and quickened his own feeling for Arabella into life. - -The barrister had envied Berwick the devotion of such a woman, thinking -a fabulous fortune well forfeited in the winning of Barbara Rebell as -companion on that mysterious, dangerous journey which men call life. -Realising the kind of intimate sympathy which seemed to bind these two, -O'Flaherty had recalled the phrase, "a marriage of true minds," and he -had thought of all it would mean to Berwick, even as regarded his public -career, to have so conciliatory, so charming a creature by his side. -Arabella Berwick, in spite of her many fine qualities and intellectual -gifts, possessed neither the tact nor the self-effacement so essential -to the fulfilment of the _rôle_ of statesman's wife or sister. - -And now O'Flaherty learned that all the time he had been thinking these -things, Mrs. Rebell was well aware that there could be nothing permanent -or avowable in her tie with Berwick; while Berwick, on his side, was -playing the most delightful and absorbing of the great human games with -dice so loaded that, come what might, he was bound to win. The barrister -told himself that he had indeed been simple-minded to suppose that such -a man as Arabella's brother would sacrifice to love the wealth which -gave him an absolute and preeminent position among those he wished to -lead. "A marriage of true minds?"--an ugly look came over the plain, -strong face of the man sitting by Mrs. Rebell, and she, catching that -look, wondered what hateful thought, or sudden physical discomfort, had -brought it there. - -But, when once he found himself kneeling in the humble little iron -chapel, long habit acted on Daniel O'Flaherty's mind, cleared it of -sordid images, made him think more charitable thoughts of the woman who -crouched rather than knelt by his side, in what seemed a position of -almost painful abasement. Poor Barbara Rebell! Mingling with the prayers -he knew by heart, and which were, after all, one long supplication for -mercy and forgiveness, came the slow conviction that she might not be -deserving of so much condemnation as he had at first assumed. Perhaps -she had come here, with him, to-day, to be out of the way of temptation, -and not, as he had unkindly suspected, to satisfy an idle and not very -healthy curiosity. - -Busy as he had been last night in the music gallery with thoughts of his -own self and Arabella, O'Flaherty had yet been aware that an eager -colloquy was going on by the organ. He had heard Berwick's voice become -urgent and imperious, and he had put down the other man's rather -dramatic disappearance, and Mrs. Rebell's extreme quietude during the -rest of the evening, to some lovers' quarrel between these two, who up -to that time had required no such artificial stimulus to their passion. -Perhaps what had taken place between them had been more tragic, for Mrs. -Rebell looked to-day very unlike her gentle, composed self. - -Barbara had risen from her knees, and sat apparently listening to the -little sermon. The expression of her face suddenly recalled to Daniel -O'Flaherty an evening in his life--that which had followed his parting -from Arabella Berwick. He had been taken by friends to the play, and on -leaving the theatre had found that his mind had retained absolutely -nothing of what had gone on before him on the stage. Not to save his -life could he have recalled a single scene, or even the most telling of -the speeches to which he had been listening the last three hours. -Doubtless he had then looked as Barbara looked now; and a feeling of -great concern and infinite pity took the place of that which had filled -his mind during the drive from Fletchings. But this new-born charity did -not extend to Berwick; for him, O'Flaherty still felt nothing but -condemnation. - -They waited till the small congregation had streamed out, and then -walked slowly down the little aisle. "You don't look fit to walk back. I -expect I can easily get a carriage if you will wait a little while." - -But Barbara answered with nervous decision, "I would much rather walk, -in fact, I was about to ask you if you would mind going round by -Chancton; it is scarcely out of our way, and I want to see Madame -Sampiero." - - * * * * * - -"I beg you to send for me--to-day--home again. I am tired of being away -from you! Oh! do not refuse, Marraine, to do as I ask----" - -Barbara was kneeling by Madame Sampiero's couch, holding the stiff, -trembling hands, gazing imploringly into the set face and the wide open -eyes, now fixed on her with rather sad speculation and questioning. - -"Why should I refuse? Have I not missed you? Ask McKirdy if we have not -all missed you, child?" - -The muffled tones were even less clear than usual, but Barbara gave a -sigh, almost a sob, of relief. "You must insist on my coming back, at -once,--at once, Marraine--or they will want to keep me! Some people are -coming over to lunch to-morrow, and Miss Berwick will wish me to be -there." - -"Why go back at all?" - -"I must go back. Someone is waiting for me outside." Madame Sampiero's -eyelids flickered--"Oh, no, no! Marraine, not Mr. Berwick, but a Mr. -O'Flaherty. Besides, they would all be so surprised if I were not to -come back now. Send for me this afternoon." - -She bent over and kissed her god-mother's hands. "How nice it is to be -home again!" and her voice trembled, "What, darling Marraine? Was Lord -Bosworth kind? Yes, indeed--more than good and kind! I have been very -happy--very, very happy!" and then she turned away to hide the tears -rushing to her eyes. - - * * * * * - -While waiting for Mrs. Rebell, Daniel O'Flaherty looked with great -interest at the splendid old house before which he was pacing up and -down. This, then, was Chancton Priory, the place belonging to the woman -who some said had made, and others said had marred, Lord Bosworth's -life. - -The story had been widely known and discussed. Madame Sampiero had made -a desperate and an unsuccessful effort to break her marriage to the -Corsican adventurer whom she had married in a moment of headstrong, -girlish folly; and the world, hers and Lord Bosworth's, had been loud in -its sympathy. But for the fact that the ceremony had been solemnised -according to French law, she would easily have obtained release. - -For a while, all had gone fairly well. Each lived his and her own life; -Madame Sampiero had acted as hostess to Lord Bosworth's friends, both at -Chancton, and in her London house, for she was a wealthy woman, and all, -save the very strait-laced, had condoned a situation which permitted the -exercise of tolerant charity. - -Then had come the sudden appearance on the scene of a child, of the -little Julia concerning whose parentage scarcely any mystery was made, -and the consequent withdrawal of that feminine countenance and support -without which social life and influence are impossible in such a country -as England. - -O'Flaherty looked up at the mullioned windows sunk back in the grey -stone; behind which of them lay the paralysed woman, now bereft of -lover, of child, of the company of friends, of everything which made -life worth living to such as she? Septimus Daman had talked of Madame -Sampiero again and again during the last few days, and had apparently -rejoiced in the thought that Mrs. Rebell was so devoted to the mistress -of Chancton Priory. What a strange life the two women must lead here! -The barrister looked round him consideringly. November is the sad month -of our country year. Even the great cedars added to the stately -melancholy of the deserted lawns, and leafless beeches. - -Now, at last Mrs. Rebell was coming towards him from the porch; he saw -that she looked, if not happier, more at peace than she had done before -going into the Priory, yet her eyelids were swollen, and if victorious -she seemed one whose victory has cost her dear. - -As she led the way down the broad grass drive, she began to talk of -indifferent matters, making what O'Flaherty felt was rather a pitiful, -and yet a gallant attempt to speak of things which might interest him. - -Suddenly they touched on politics, "My father," Barbara's face softened, -became less mask-like, "cared so much about English politics. As a young -man he actually stood for Parliament, for in those days Halnakeham had a -member, but he was defeated. I have sometimes thought, since I have -heard Mr. Berwick and Mr. Boringdon talk--I don't know if you have met -Mr. Boringdon--how different everything might have been if my poor -father had been elected. He only lost the seat by thirty votes." - -When she mentioned Berwick, the colour had flooded her face, and -O'Flaherty had looked away. "Oh yes, I've met Oliver Boringdon," he said -quickly, and to give her time to recover herself he went on, "I remember -him in the House. But I had the luck to get in again, and he was thrown -out, at the last General Election. The two friends are an interesting -contrast. I regard James Berwick as the typical Parliament man; not so -Mr. Boringdon, who is much more the permanent official, the plodding -civil servant--that was what he was originally, you know--and Berwick -did him a bad turn in taking him away from that career and putting him -into Parliament." - -"But you do think well of Mr. Berwick? I mean, do you consider, as does -his sister, that he has a great future before him?" - -She looked at her companion in undisguised anxiety, and O'Flaherty felt -rather touched by the confidence Barbara evidently reposed in his -judgment. - -"I think," he said--and he offered up a mental prayer that he might so -speak as to help, not hinder, the woman by his side--"that James -Berwick's future will depend on the way he shapes his life. Do not think -me priggish--but the one thing that seems to me sure is that character -still tells more than ability in English public life. Character and -ability together are apt to prove irresistible." - -"But what," asked Barbara in a low voice, "do you exactly mean by -character?" - -"I mean something which Oliver Boringdon possesses to a supreme -degree--a number of qualities which together make it positively more -difficult for a man to go wrong than to go right, especially in any -matter affecting his honour or probity." - -"Then--surely you regard Mr. Berwick as a man of character?" - -O'Flaherty hesitated. The conversation was taking a strange turn, but he -made up his mind to tell her the truth as far as he saw it. "I think," -he said deliberately, "that it is very difficult for a man of great -ability to be also a man of flawless character. He is probably tempted -in a thousand ways which pass the less gifted nature by; on the other -hand, his fate is much more in his own control. Berwick has come very -well out of ordeals partly brought about by his own desire to succeed. -Take his rather singular marriage."--the speaker looked straight before -him--"Of course I well remember that episode in his life. Men marry -every day for money, but Berwick conducted himself with propriety and -dignity under extremely trying circumstances." - -"Did you ever see her?"--there was a painful catch in Barbara's -voice--"she was a friend, was she not, of Miss Berwick?" - -"Hardly a friend--rather a worshipping acquaintance. No, I never saw -Mrs. James Berwick. She was rather an invalid both before and after the -marriage. I think she did a very wrong thing by her husband--one that -may even yet have evil consequences. You are doubtless aware that in the -event of Berwick's making a second marriage he loses the immense fortune -his wife left to him." - -"That, then, was what Miss Berwick meant when she said he could never -marry." Barbara seemed to be speaking to herself, but the words fell on -O'Flaherty's ear with an unpleasing significance. His mind made a sudden -leap. Could Arabella be planning--oh! what a horrible suspicion -concerning the woman he had once loved! But it came back again and again -during the hour which followed. Had he not himself thought Miss Berwick -was doing all in her power to throw her brother and Mrs. Rebell -together? - -He went on speaking, as if impelled to say what he really thought. -"Well, such a thing as that is enough to test a man's character. From -being a poor man, practically dependent on his uncle, Berwick became the -owner of almost unlimited money, to the possession of which, however, -was attached a clause which meant that in his case none of the normal -conditions of a man's life could be fulfilled--no wife, no child, -friendship with women perpetually open, as I know Berwick's more than -once has been, to misconstruction." - -"And yet other men--?" Barbara looked at him deprecatingly, "You -yourself, Mr. O'Flaherty"--then she cried, "Forgive me! I have no right -to say that to you!" - -"Nay," he said, "I give you for the moment every right to say, to ask, -what you like! I have no wife, no child, no home, Mrs. Rebell, because -the woman I loved rejected me; and also because, though I have tried to -like other women, I have failed. You see, it was not that I had made a -mistake, such as men make every day, for she loved me too--that makes -all the difference. She was in a different position to my own; I was -very poor, and there was the further bar of my religion, even of my -nationality"--he spoke with a certain difficulty. "At the time she acted -as she thought best for both our sakes. But, whatever my personal -experiences or motives for remaining unmarried may be, I have no -doubt,--no doubt at all,--as to the general question. To my mind, James -Berwick's friends must regret that he has never, apparently, been -tempted to make the great sacrifice; and for my part, I hope the day -will come when he will meet with a woman for whom he will think his -fortune well lost, whom he will long to make his wife in a sense that -the poor creature he married never was, and in whom he will see the -future mother of his children." He paused, then added in a low voice, -"In no other tie can such a man as he find permanent solace and -satisfaction. If report speaks truly, he has more than once tried an -alternative experiment." - -He dared not look at her. They walked on in absolute silence. - -At last she spoke, "Please say nothing of our walk round by Chancton -Priory." And when, some hours later, there came a letter from Doctor -McKirdy declaring that Madame Sampiero was not well, and longed for Mrs. -Rebell's presence, Daniel O'Flaherty thought he understood. A pang of -miserable self-reproach struck his heart and conscience. What right had -he to have put this woman to the torture--to take on himself the part of -Providence? - -After they had all seen Barbara off, after he had noted her very quiet -but determined rejection of Berwick's company on the way to Chancton -Priory, Daniel O'Flaherty was in no mood to go for the walk to which -Miss Berwick had been looking forward all that afternoon. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - "Look in my face: my name is Might-have-been, - And I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell." - - DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. - - -The days following Barbara's return to Chancton Priory went slowly by, -and she received no sign, no word from Berwick. She had felt quite sure -that he would come--if not that same evening of her leaving Fletchings, -then the next morning; if not in the morning, then in the afternoon. - -During those days she went through every phase of feeling. She learnt -the lesson most human beings learn at some time of their lives--how to -listen without appearing to do so for the sounds denoting arrival, how -to hunger for the sound of a voice which to the listener brings -happiness, however indifferently these same accents fall on the ears of -others. She schooled herself not to flinch when the days went by -bringing no successor to that letter in which Berwick had promised her -so much more than she had ever asked of him. - -Even in the midst of her restless self-questioning and unhappiness, she -was touched and pleased at the gladness with which she had been welcomed -home again by Madame Sampiero, and even by Doctor McKirdy. It seemed -strange that neither of them spoke of the man who now so wholly occupied -her thoughts; no one, with the exception perhaps of his old nurse, noted -Berwick's absence, or seemed to find it untoward. Barbara had at first -been nervously afraid that Madame Sampiero would make some allusion to -the few moments they had spent together that Sunday morning, that she -would perhaps ask her what had induced her eager wish to leave -Fletchings; but no such word was said, and Barbara could not even -discover whether Doctor McKirdy was aware that her sudden return to the -Priory had been entirely voluntary. - -And then, as the short winter days seemed to drag themselves along, Mrs. -Rebell, almost in spite of herself, again began to see a great deal of -Oliver Boringdon. There was something in his matter-of-fact eagerness -for her society which soothed her sore heart; her manner to him became -very gracious, more what it had been before Berwick had come into her -life; and again she found herself taking the young man's part with -Madame Sampiero and the old Scotchman. Boringdon soon felt as happy as -it was in his nature to be. He told himself he had been a jealous fool, -for Barbara spoke very little of her visit to Fletchings, and not at all -of Berwick; perhaps she had seen him when there at a disadvantage. - -As Oliver happened to know, Berwick had left Sussex; he was now in -London, and doubtless they would none of them see anything of him till -Easter. The young man took the trouble to go down to the Grange and tell -Mrs. Kemp that he had been mistaken in that matter of which he had -spoken to her. He begged her, rather shamefacedly, to forget what he had -said. Lucy's mother heard him in silence, but she did not repeat her -call on Mrs. Rebell. So it was that during those days which were so full -of dull wretchedness and suspense to Barbara Rebell, Oliver Boringdon -also went through a mental crisis of his own, the upshot of which was -that he wrote a long and explicit letter to Andrew Johnstone. - -They were both men to whom ambiguous situations were utterly alien. -Boringdon told himself that Johnstone might not understand, or might -understand and not approve, his personal reason for interference; but -Johnstone would certainly agree that Mrs. Rebell's present position was -intolerable from every point of view, and that some effort should be -made to set her legally free from such a man as was this Pedro Rebell. -Once Barbara was free,--Oliver thrust back the leaping rapture of the -thought-- - -After much deliberation he had added, as a postscript: "I have no -objection to your showing this letter to Grace." - -Doctor McKirdy watched Mrs. Rebell very narrowly during these same early -December days, and as he did so he became full of wrath against James -Berwick. He and Madame Sampiero had few secrets from one another. The -old Scotchman had heard of Barbara's sudden Sunday morning appearance at -the Priory, and of her appeal--was it for protection against herself? He -made up his mind that she and Berwick must have had, if not a quarrel, -then one of those encounters which leave deeper marks on the combatants -than mere quarrels are apt to do. - -More than once the rough old fellow was strongly tempted to say to her: -"If you wish to make yourself ill, you are just going the way to do it!" -but Mrs. Rebell's determination to go on as usual, to allow no one to -divine the state of her mind, aroused his unwilling admiration, nay -more, his sympathy. He had known, so he told himself, what it was to -feel as Barbara felt now, but in his case jealousy, an agony of -jealousy, had been added to his other torments, and shame too for the -futility of it all. - - * * * * * - -Nine days after Barbara had left Fletchings she received a letter from -Berwick. It bore the London postmark, but was dated the evening of the -day they had parted,--of that day when she had successfully eluded his -desire, his determination, to see her alone. - -A certain savagery of anger, hurt pride, over-mastering passion breathed -in the few lines of the short note which began abruptly, "I have no wish -to force my presence on you," and ended "Under the circumstances perhaps -it were better that we should not meet for a while." Something had been -added, and then erased; most women would have tried to find out what -that hasty scrawl concealed, but if it hid some kinder sentiment the -writer, before despatching his missive, had repented, and to Barbara the -fact that he did not wish her to read what he had added was enough to -prevent her trying to do so. - -With deep trouble and self-reproach she told herself that perhaps she -had been wrong in taking to flight--nay, more, that she had surely owed -Berwick an explanation. No wonder he was hurt and angry! And he would -never know, that was the pity of it, that it was of herself she had been -afraid-- - -Then those about her suddenly began to tell Mrs. Rebell that which would -have made such a difference before the arrival of Berwick's letter. "I -suppose you know that James Berwick is in London? He was sent for -suddenly," and Boringdon mentioned the name of the statesman who had -been Prime Minister when Berwick held office. - -"Has he been gone long?"--Barbara's voice sounded indifferent. - -"Yes, he seems to have had a wire on a Sunday, on the day you came back -from Fletchings." - -And Boringdon had never told her this all-important fact! Barbara felt a -sudden secret resentment against the young man. So it had lain with him -to spare her those days of utter wretchedness; of perpetually waiting -for one whom she believed to be in the near neighbourhood; nay more, -those moments of sick anxiety, for at times she had feared that Berwick -might be ill, physically unable to leave Fletchings or Chillingworth. -But this most unreasonable resentment against Oliver she kept in her own -heart. - -The next to speak to her of Berwick had been Mrs. Turke. "So our Mr. -Berwick's in London? But he'll be back soon, for he hasn't taken Dean -with him. Sometimes months go by without our seeing the dear lad, and -then all in a minute he's here again. That's the way with gentlemen; you -never know when you have 'em!" And she had given Barbara a quick, -meaning look, as if the remark had a double application. - - * * * * * - -Then came a day, the 8th of December, which Mrs. Rebell became aware was -not like other days. For the first time since she had been at the Priory -Madame Sampiero inquired as to the day of the month. Doctor McKirdy was -more odd, more abrupt even than usual, and she saw him turn Boringdon -unceremoniously from the door with the snarling intimation that Madame -Sampiero did not wish to-day to be troubled with business matters. Mrs. -Turke also was more mysterious, less talkative than usual; she went -about her own quarters sighing and muttering to herself. - -A sudden suspicion came into Barbara's heart; could it be that James -Berwick was coming back, that they expected him to-day, and that none of -them liked to tell her? If so, how wise of McKirdy to have sent away -Oliver Boringdon! But then cold reason declared that if such was indeed -the case, to make so great a mystery of the matter would be an insult to -her, surely the last thing that any of them, with the exception perhaps -of the old housekeeper, would dare to do? - -Still, when at last, late in the morning, she was sent for by Doctor -McKirdy, and informed curtly that someone was waiting for her in the -grass walk, she made no doubt of who it could be. In her passion of -relief, in her desire to bear herself well, to return, if it might be -possible, to the old ideal terms on which she and Berwick had been -before he had been seized with what she to herself now characterised as -a passing madness, Barbara hardly noticed how moved, how unlike himself -the old Scotchman seemed to be, and how, again and again, he opened his -lips as if to tell her something which native prudence thrust back into -his heart. - -So great, so overwhelming was Barbara's disappointment when she saw that -the man leaning on the iron gate leading to the now leafless rosery was -Lord Bosworth, and not James Berwick, that she had much ado to prevent -herself from bursting into tears. But she saw the massive figure before -she herself was seen, and so was able to make a determined effort to -conceal both her bitter deception, and also her great surprise at -finding him there. - -"As you are doubtless aware," Lord Bosworth began abruptly, "I come here -three or four times a year, and McKirdy is good enough to arrange that -on those occasions I can visit my child's grave without fear of -interruption. I ventured to ask that you might be told that I wished to -see you here, because I have a request to make you--" - -He hesitated, and with eyes cast down began tracing with the heavy stick -he bore in his hand imaginary geometrical patterns on the turf. - -"If my daughter Julia had lived, she would have been seventeen to-day, -and so it seemed to me--perhaps I was wrong--to be a good opportunity to -make another effort to soften Barbara's heart." He put his hand on Mrs. -Rebell's shoulder, and smiled rather strangely as he quickly added, "You -understand? I mean my own poor Barbara's heart, not that of this kind -young Barbara, who I am hoping will intercede for me, on whom I am -counting to help me in this matter. I do not know how far I should be -justified in letting her know what is undoubtedly the truth, namely, -that I have not very long to live. McKirdy absolutely refuses to tell -her; but perhaps, if she knew this fact, it would alter her feeling, and -make her more willing to consider the question of--of--our marriage." - -And then, as Barbara started and looked at him attentively, he went on -slowly, and with a quiet dignity which moved his listener deeply: "Of -course you know our story? Sometimes I think there is no one in the -whole world who does not know it. There were years, especially after the -birth of our little Julia, when I think I may say we both had marriage -on the brain. And then, when at last Barbara was free, when Napoleone -Sampiero"--his face contracted when he uttered the name--"was dead, she -would not hear of it. She seemed to think--perhaps at the time it was -natural she should do so--that the death of our poor child had been a -judgment on us both. But now, after all these years, I think she might -do as I ask. I even think--perhaps you might put that to her--that she -owes me something. No husband was ever more devoted to a wife than I -have been to her. Now, and Heaven knows how many years it is since we -last met, I think of her constantly. She is there!--there!" He struck -his breast, then went on more calmly: "My niece knows my wishes, there -would be no trouble with her; and as for my nephew, James Berwick, you -know how attached he has always been to Barbara. Why, I'm told he's much -more here now than he is at Chillingworth!" - -He turned abruptly, and they walked slowly, side by side, down the broad -grass path till there came a spot where it became merged in the road -under the beeches. Here he stopped her. - -"You are surely not going to walk back all the way alone!" she cried, -for she saw with emotion that he looked older even in the few days which -had elapsed since he had bade her good-bye at Fletchings. - -"No, the carriage is waiting for me down there. I only walked up through -the park. Then I have your promise to speak to Madame Sampiero?" he held -her hand, and looked down with peculiar earnestness into her face. As -she bent her head, he added, "You'll let me have word when you can? Of -course, if she's still of the same mind, I'll not trouble her." He -walked on, and then turned suddenly back and grasped Barbara's hand once -more. "Better not use the health argument," he said, "doctors do make -mistakes--an old friend of mine married his cook on, as he thought, his -death-bed, and then got quite well again!" He smiled at her rather -deprecatingly, "I know my cause is in good hands," and she watched him -walk with heavy, deliberate steps down the leaf-strewn way. - -For the first time Barbara drew the parallel those about her had so -often drawn. Was James Berwick capable of such constancy, of such long -devotion as his uncle had shown? Something whispered yes; but even if -so, how would that affect her, how would that make her conduct less -reprehensible, were she ever to fall short of what had been her own -mother's standard? - - * * * * * - -Before her interview with Lord Bosworth, it had seemed to Barbara that -she constantly spent long hours alone with her god-mother; but, after -that memorable eighth of December, she felt as if those about Madame -Sampiero had entered into a conspiracy to prevent her being ever left -alone with her god-mother for more than a very few moments at a time. -Doctor McKirdy suddenly decided to have his house repapered, and he -accordingly moved himself bodily over to the Priory, where Barbara could -not complain of his constant presence in "Madam's" room, for he always -found something to amuse or interest his patient. - -Twice he spoke to Barbara of Lord Bosworth, each time with strange -bitterness and dislike. "No doubt his lordship was after seeing Madam?" -and, as Barbara hesitated: "Fine I knew it!--but he might just as well -go and kill her outright. I've had to tell him so again and again"-- - -Barbara kept her own counsel, but she could not resist the question, -"Then he comes often?" - -"Often?--that he does not! He's never been one to put himself out, he's -far too high! He just sends for me over to Fletchings, and I just go, -though I've felt more than once minded to tell him that I'm not his -servant. Madam's determined that he shall never see her as she is now, -and who can blame her? Not I, certainly! Besides, he hasn't a bit of -right to insist on such a thing." And he looked fiercely at Barbara as -he spoke, as if daring her to contradict him. - -"I think he has a right," she said in a low tone--then with more -courage, "Of course he has a right, Doctor McKirdy! I'm sure if my -god-mother could see Lord Bosworth, could hear him----" her voice broke, -and she bit her lip, sorry at having said so much. - -But the interview with Madame Sampiero's old friend, and the little -encounters with Doctor McKirdy, did Barbara good. They forced her to -think of something else than of herself, of another man than James -Berwick; and at last she made up her mind that she would tell her -god-mother she wished to speak to her without this dread of constant, -futile interruption. At once her wish was granted, for the paralysed -mistress of the Priory could always ensure privacy when she chose. - -But, alas for Barbara, the result of the painful talk was not what she -had perhaps been vain enough to think herself capable of achieving on -behalf of Lord Bosworth: indeed, for a moment she had been really -frightened, on the point of calling Doctor McKirdy, so terrible, so -physically injurious had been Madame Sampiero's agitation. - -"I cannot see him! He must not see me in this state--he should not ask -it of me." Such, Mrs. Rebell had divined, were the words her god-mother -struggled over and over again to utter. "Marriage?"--a lightning flash -of horror, revolt, bitter sarcasm, had illumined for a moment the -paralysed woman's face. Then, softening, she had added words signifying -that she was not angry, that she forgave--Barbara! - -Very sadly, with a heart full of pain at the disappointment she knew she -was about to inflict, Mrs. Rebell wrote to Lord Bosworth. She softened -the refusal she had to convey by telling, with tenderness and -simplicity, how much the man to whom she was writing seemed to be ever -in her god-mother's thoughts, how often Madame Sampiero spoke of him, -how eagerly she had cross-questioned her god-daughter as to the days -Barbara had spent at Fletchings and her conversations with her host. - -Mrs. Rebell wrote this difficult letter in the drawing-room, sitting at -the beautiful bureau which had been the gift of the man to whom she was -writing, and which even now contained hundreds of his letters. Suddenly, -and while she was hesitating as to how she should sign herself, James -Berwick walked, unannounced, into the room, coming so quietly that for a -moment he stood looking at Barbara before she herself became aware that -he was there. So had Barbara looked, on that first evening he had seen -her; but then he had been outside the window and gazing at the woman -bending over the bureau with cool, critical eyes. - -Now, he was aware of nothing, save that the hunger of his eyes was -appeased, and that he had come to eat humble pie and make his peace, for -in his case that prescription which is said to be so excellent for -lovers--absence--had only made him feel, more than he had done before, -that he could not and would not live without her. - - * * * * * - -An hour later Berwick was gone, as Barbara believed in all sincerity, -for ever. He knew better, but even he felt inclined to try another dose -of that absence, of that absorption in the business that he loved, to -compel forgetfulness. It was clear--so he told himself when rushing back -to Chillingworth through the December night air--it was clear that what -this woman wanted was a stone image, not a man, for her friend! - -For a while, perhaps for half the time he had been with her, standing by -the mantel-piece while she sat two or three yards off, there had been a -truce of God. Berwick had thought out a certain line of action, and he -tried to be, as some hidden instinct told him she wished to see him, -once more the tender, self-less, sexless friend. He even brought his -lips to mutter something like a prayer for forgiveness, and the tears -came into her eyes as with uplifted hand she checked the words. Poor -Barbara! She was so divinely happy, for his mere presence satisfied her -heart. She had never known him quite so gentle, quite so submissive, as -to-day. So glad had she been to see him that for a moment she had felt -tempted to show him how welcome he was! But he had chosen,--and she was -deeply grateful to him for this--to behave as if he had only parted from -her the day before. Fletchings, all that happened there, was to be as if -it had not been--as if the scene in the music gallery had been blotted -out from their memories. - -Then came an allusion on his part to his forthcoming visit to Scotland, -and to the invitation which he knew his sister had been at some pains to -procure for Mrs. Rebell, and which Barbara would receive the next -morning. - -"I cannot accept it; it is very kind of Miss Berwick, but how could I -leave my god-mother again so soon?" - -"Is that the only reason?" he said, and she heard with beating heart the -under-current of anger, of suppressed feeling in his voice. "If so, I am -sure I can make it all right. It would only be ten days, and Madame -Sampiero would like you to meet the people who will be there. But -perhaps"--he came nearer and stood glowering down at her--"perhaps that -is not your only reason!" - -And Barbara, looking up at him with beseeching eyes, shook her head. - -"Do you mean"--Berwick spoke so quietly that his tone deceived her, and -made her think him in amicable agreement with herself--"Do you mean that -you do not wish to find yourself again under the same roof with me? Did -what happened at Fletchings make that difference?" - -She hesitated most painfully. "I have been very unhappy," she whispered -at last, "I know we have both regretted----" - -"By God, I have regretted nothing--excepting your coldness!" He grasped -her hands not over-gently, and the look came into his eyes which had -come there in the music room at Fletchings. "Do you wish us to go back -to coldly-measured friendship?" Then he bent down and gathered her into -his arms, even now not daring to kiss her. "Tell me," he said with -sudden gentleness, "am I--am I--disagreeable to you, my dearest? I shall -not be angry if you say yes." And Barbara, lying trembling, and as he -thought inertly, unresponsively, in his arms, found the courage to -answer, "I do care--but not as you wish me to do. Why cannot we go back -to where we were?" - -On hearing the whispered words he quickly released her, and, turning, -made his way to the door. Barbara, for an agonised moment, nearly called -out to him to come back and learn from her arms--her lips--how untrue -were the words which were driving him away. - -But in a moment, or so it seemed to her, he had thrust her from him and -had gone, hastening down the great hall, and out through the porch into -the air. - - * * * * * - -By the morning she had taught herself to think it was better he should -never come back, for never would she find the strength to send him away -again as she had done last night. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - - "Nay, but the maddest gambler throws his heart." - - GEORGE MEREDITH. - - "L'orgueil, remède souverain, qui n'est pas à l'usage des âmes - tendres." - - STENDHAL. - - -The pretty Breton legend setting forth that, during the night, angels -take sanctuary from evil spirits in the neighbourhood of sleeping -maidens, often came to Mrs. Kemp's mind when she said good-night to -Lucy. There was something very virginal, very peaceful and bright, in -the girl's room, of which the window overlooked the paddock of the -Grange, the walled kitchen garden of the Priory, and beyond that a -splendid stretch of meadow land and beechwood. - -Small low-shelved mahogany bookshelves, put together at a time of the -world's history when women's hands were considered too fragile and -delicate to hold heavy volumes, made squares of dark colour against the -blue walls. Lucy Kemp had always been a reader, both as child and as -girl. Here were all her old books, from that familiar and yet rather -ill-assorted trio, "The Fairchild Family," "The Swiss Family Robinson," -and "The Little Duke," to "Queechy," "Wives and Daughters," and "The -Heir of Redclyffe," for their owner's upbringing had been essentially -old-fashioned. - -Lucy lay back in the dreamless sleep of girlhood. It was a cold January -morning, and the embers of last night's fire still slumbered in the -grate. Suddenly there broke on the intense stillness the rhythmical -sound of pebbles being thrown with careful, sure aim against the window, -open some inches from the top. The sleeper stirred uneasily, but she -slept on till a small stone, aimed higher than most of those which had -preceded it, fell into the room. Then Lucy Kemp woke with a great start -and sat up in bed listening. - -Yes, there could be no doubt about it, someone was standing in the -paddock below trying to attract her attention! She got up, wrapped -something round her, and then lifted the window-sash. In the dim light -she saw a man standing just below, and Boringdon's hoarse, quick tones -floated up to her. - -"Lucy--Miss Kemp! Would you ask your mother if she could come to the -Priory as soon as possible? There's been an accident there--a fire--and -I fear Mrs. Rebell has been badly burnt." - -His voice filled Lucy with varying feelings--joy that he had -instinctively turned to the Grange for help, horror and concern at what -he had come to tell. - -"Mother's away," she cried in a troubled tone. "She and father have gone -over to Berechurch for three nights. Should I be of any use? I shouldn't -be a moment getting ready." - -In less than ten minutes she joined him, and together they hastened -through a seldom opened door giving access from the garden of the Grange -into the Priory Park. Soon Oliver was hurrying her up the path, walking -so quickly that she could scarcely keep up with him, towards the great -silent mass of building the top windows of which, those which lay half -hidden by the Tudor stone balcony, were now strangely lit up, forming a -coronal of light to the house beneath. - -"What happened?" she asked breathlessly. - -"It's impossible to say what happened," Boringdon spoke in sharp -preoccupied tones, "Mrs. Rebell seems to have been reading in bed and to -have set fire to a curtain. She behaved, as she always does, with great -good sense, and she and McGregor--heaven knows how--managed to put out -the flames; not, however, before the fire had spread into the -sitting-room next her bedroom. McKirdy, it seems, has always insisted -that there should be buckets of water ready on every landing." Oliver -would have scorned to defraud his enemy of his due. "When the whole -thing was over, then they all--that stupid old Mrs. Turke and the -maids--saw that she was badly burnt!" - -The speaker's voice altered; he paused for a moment, and then continued, -"They sent for McKirdy, who, as bad luck would have it, went back to his -own house last week, and found him away, for he's been helping that -Scotch doctor at Halnakeham with a bad case. Then they came on to me. -Even now they're like a pack of frightened sheep! Madame Sampiero knows -nothing of what has happened, and Mrs. Rebell is extremely anxious that -her god-mother should not be agitated--why, she actually wanted to go -down herself to tell her that everything was all right." - -Lucy listened in silence. How Oliver cared, how dreadfully he cared! was -the thought which would thrust itself into the girl's mind. "Is Mrs. -Rebell very badly hurt?" she asked. "Oh! I wish that mother was here. -Have you sent for another doctor?" - -"I don't know how far she is hurt," he muttered, "her arm and shoulder, -some of her hair--" then, more firmly, "No, she won't let me send for -anyone but McKirdy. Besides, by the time we could get a man over from -Halnakeham, he would certainly be back. But it will be everything to her -to have you there, if only to keep order among the frightened, -hysterical women." - - * * * * * - -Lucy had never before been inside Chancton Priory; and now, filled -though she was by very varying emotions, she yet gazed about her, when -passing through into the great hall, with feelings of deep interest and -curiosity: it looked vast, cavernous, awe-inspiring in the early morning -light. - -A moment later they were hastening up the corner staircase. At the first -landing, they were stopped by Madame Sampiero's French maid, who put a -claw-like hand on Boringdon's arm--"Do come in and see my mistress, Sir. -She divines something, and we cannot calm her." - -Boringdon hesitated, then he turned to Lucy. - -"I must go," he said, "I promised I would. You go on straight upstairs, -as far as you can go; once there you will be sure to find someone to -show you the way to the room where we have put Mrs. Rebell." And the -girl went on alone, groping her way up the dark, to her they seemed the -interminable, stairs. - -An amazing figure--Mrs. Turke in _déshabillé_--awaited Lucy on the top -landing, and greeted her with considerable circumstance. - -"The young lady from the Grange, I do declare! A sad day for your first -visit to the Priory, missy! But la, never mind. I've often seen you, you -and your dear papa, and I read all about him in a book I've got. What a -brave gentleman! But reading about it gave me the shivers, that it -did--I would like to see that Victoria Cross of his! So Mr. Boringdon -thinks you may be of use to Mrs. Rebell? Well, miss, I'll take you in to -her. But she's made us all go away and leave her--she says she'd rather -be alone to wait for the doctor." - -Mrs. Turke preceded Lucy down the passage, and finally opened the door -of a pretty, old-fashioned bedroom; the girl went in timidly and then -gave a sigh of relief; the woman whom Oliver Boringdon had described as -having been "badly burnt" was sitting up in a large armchair. She was -wrapped in some kind of ample white dressing-gown, and a large piece of -wadding had been clumsily attached to her left arm, concealing the left -side of her face and hair. - -Mrs. Rebell's eyes were fixed eagerly on the door through which Lucy had -just come in. She did not show any surprise at seeing the girl, but at -once began talking to her eagerly; and as she did so Lucy saw that she -was shivering, for the room was very cold. A fire was laid in the grate, -but evidently no one had thought of lighting it. Three candles, placed -on the narrow mantel-piece, threw a bright light on as much of Barbara's -face as Lucy could see. Her cheeks were red, her dark eyes bright, with -excitement. - -"It is kind of you to have come," she said. "Mr. Boringdon told me he -would fetch your mother. I suppose Doctor McKirdy will be here soon? Has -Mr. Boringdon gone to fetch him?" - -"No," Lucy looked at her doubtfully; was it possible that anyone who -looked as Mrs. Rebell did now, so excited, so--so strangely beautiful, -could be really hurt, in pain? "He has gone to tell Madame Sampiero that -all danger is over, that there is nothing more to fear." - -A look of great anxiety crossed Barbara's face. "My god-mother is very -brave. I do not think she will give much thought to the fire, but I hope -he will tell her that I am not really hurt. Perhaps, after Doctor -McKirdy has come, I can go down, and show her that there is really -nothing the matter." - -As she spoke, she winced. "Are you much hurt?" asked Lucy in a low -voice, and her shrinking eyes again glanced at the sheet of wadding -which wholly concealed Mrs. Rebell's arm, left breast, and one side of -her head. - -Barbara looked at her rather piteously. "I don't know," she said; "It -hurt dreadfully at first, but now I feel nothing, only a slight pricking -sensation." She repeated, "It hurt dreadfully till they fetched Mr. -Boringdon, and then he found--I don't know where or how--the oil and -wadding, which he made poor old Mrs. Turke put on. He was so good and -kind!" She smiled at the girl, a friendly smile, and the look in her -eyes brought a burning blush to Lucy's cheeks. - -There was a pause; then Lucy, having taken off her hat and jacket, -lighted the fire. - -"Miss Kemp," Barbara's voice sank to a whisper, "I want you to do -something for me. That fire which you have so kindly lighted has made me -think of it. Will you go into my room, two doors from here, and bring me -a packet of letters you will find in my dressing-table drawer? The -drawer is locked, but the key is in my purse. When you have brought it, -I want you to burn the letters, here, before me," and as Lucy was -turning to obey her, she added, "Take one of the candles. Mr. Boringdon -said the two rooms were to be left exactly as they are, and everything -must be dripping with water, and in fearful confusion." - -Lucy never forgot her little expedition down the dark passage, and the -strange scene which met her eyes in the two rooms which had evidently -been, till that night, as neat, as delicately clean, as was her own at -the Grange. Well was it for poor Barbara that she had so few personal -treasures. But the dressing-table had escaped injury save from the -water, which in the bedroom had actually done more harm than the fire. - -When she got back into the room where Mrs. Rebell was sitting, it seemed -to Lucy that Barbara had changed in the short interval--that she looked, -not well, as she had done when Lucy had first seen her half an hour -before, but very, very ill. The colour now lay in patches on her cheek, -and she watched with growing feverishness the burning of the few -letters, from each of which, as she put it in the bright crackling fire, -Lucy averted her eyes, a fact which Mrs. Rebell, in spite of her -increasing dizziness and pain, saw and was grateful for. - -"Miss Kemp," the speaker's voice was very low, "come here, close to me. -Someone may come in, and I am feeling so strange----Perhaps I may forget -what I want to tell you. You know Mr. Berwick?" Lucy was kneeling down -by the arm-chair, and Barbara put her right hand on the girl's slight -shoulder--"But of course you do, I was forgetting the ball----Why, he -danced with you. If I die, only if I die, promise me----" an agonised -look came into the dark eyes-- - -"I promise," said Lucy steadily; "only if you die----" - -"If I die, you are to tell him that I cared as he wished me to -care,--that when I sent him away, and in the letters I have written to -him since, I said what was not true----" - -Lucy felt the burning hand laid on her shoulder press more heavily: "No -one else must ever know, but you promise that you will tell him----" - -"I promise," said Lucy again. "I will tell him exactly what you have -told me, and no one else shall ever know." - -A slight noise made her look round. Doctor McKirdy stood in the doorway. -He was bare-headed, but he still wore the great coat in which he had -driven from Halnakeham. He was pale, his plain face set in a watchful, -alert grimace, as his eyes took in every detail of the scene, of the -room before him. - -Barbara gave a cry--or was it a moan?--of relief. He turned and slipped -the bolt in the door. "Time for talking secrets will come next week," -then he took off his great coat, washed his hands--with a gruff word of -commendation at the fact that there were water, soap, a towel, in what -had been a disused room--turned up his sleeves, and bade Lucy stand -aside. - -"Now," he said, quickly, "would ye rather go away, Miss Lucy? If yes, -there's the door!" - -"Can I help you?" Lucy was very pale; she felt sick, a little faint. - -"If ye were ye're mother, I should say _yes_----" - -"Then I'll stay," said Lucy. - -"'Twould be an ill thing if such a brave pair had produced a -chicken-livered lass, eh?" - -He did not speak again till everything there was to see had been seen, -till everything there was to do had been done; it seemed a very long -business to Lucy, and by the time the doctor had finished tears were -rolling down her face. How could she have thought that perhaps Mrs. -Rebell was not much hurt after all? "Now ye're just to have a good sip -of that brandy ye've been giving Mrs. Rebell. I'm well pleased with ye -both!" And when Lucy shook her head, he gave her such a look that she -hastened to obey him, and suddenly felt a flash of sympathy for -drunkards. How wonderful that a few spoonfuls of this horrid stuff -should check her wish to cry, and make her feel sensible again! - -As Doctor McKirdy unceremoniously signified that he could dispense with -her presence, as he unlocked the door for her to pass through, something -in Lucy's face made him follow her, unwillingly, into the passage. "What -is it?" he said sharply. - -"Oh, Doctor McKirdy! Do you think she will die?" - -"Die? Are ye mad, my poor lass? There's no question of such a thing. -She's more likely to die o' cold than anything else! Now go downstairs -and send your fine friend Mr. Boringdon and McGregor this way. We've got -to move her to the Queen's Room. There have been big fires there all -this week--regard for the furniture, the apple of Mrs. Turke's eye, I -said they were to get it ready--but we shall have a business getting her -down there." - - * * * * * - -The long, painful progress down the winding staircase was safely over. -Barbara was comfortably settled in the great square canopied bed, where, -if tradition could be believed, Queen Elizabeth and her less magnificent -successor had both, at intervals of fifty years, reposed. Madame -Sampiero's Scotch attendant was installed as nurse, and there was -nothing left for Lucy Kemp to do but to go home to her solitary -breakfast at the Grange. Boringdon, after having done his part, and a -very useful one, in lifting and carrying Mrs. Rebell down the two -flights, had retreated into the broad corridor, and was walking up and -down waiting--he himself hardly knew for what. - -But Doctor McKirdy had quite made up his mind as to the next thing to be -done. "Now then, you must just take Miss Kemp home again, and I charge -you to see that she has a good breakfast! Take her down through the -Park. The village will be a buzzing wasps' nest by this time; half of -them seem to think--so Mrs. Turke's just told me--that we're all burnt -to cinders! You just stay with the poor lass as long as you can, and -don't let Miss Vipen or any other havering woman get at her to be asking -her useless questions. If I want you I'll send to the Grange." - -And so it was to Doctor McKirdy that Lucy owed the happy, peaceful hours -spent by her that morning. Boringdon had dreaded the going back to the -Cottage, to his mother's excited questionings and reflections, to her -annoyance that he had gone to the Grange, rather than to her, for help. -He knew he would have to tell her everything. She was not a woman from -whom it was possible to conceal very much, and in the long run she -always got at the truth, but just now it was much to be able to put off -his return home. - -Dear Lucy! How good, how sensible, how _quiet_ she had been! She -stumbled over the porch flag-stone, and he drew her arm through his. So -together they walked down to the Grange. Oliver had never before -breakfasted with the Kemps; how comfortable, how homely everything was! -The eggs and bacon seemed crisper and fresher, also better, than those -ever eaten at the Cottage; the tea poured out by Lucy was certainly -infinitely nicer--not for a moment would Oliver have admitted that this -was owing to the fact of its being a shilling a pound dearer than that -made by his mother! - -Each tacitly agreed not to speak of all that had just happened at the -Priory. They talked of all sorts of other things. Lucy heard with -startled interest that Oliver was thinking very seriously of giving up -his land agency, and of going back, if it were in any way possible, to -London. What had become the great central desire of his life must never -be mentioned to any human being, not even to his dear friend Lucy, till -its realisation was possible--legally possible. But even to talk of his -plans, as he was now doing, was a comfort; his present listener, unlike -his mother, always seemed to understand his point of view, and to -realise why he had altered his mind without his being compelled to go -into tiresome explanations. - -After to-day Lucy and Mrs. Rebell would surely become friends. Even -within the last few days Barbara had said to him, "I should like to -see more of Miss Kemp. It was a pity she and her mother called when I -was away." He liked to think of these two in juxtaposition. If the -thought of life without Barbara was intolerable, not indeed to be -considered,--once she was free from that West Indian brute, his great -love must, in the long run, win return,--the thought of existence with -no Lucy Kemp as friend was distinctly painful. He, Barbara, and Lucy, -would all be happy; and then, not yet, but in some years to come, for -she was still so young, his and Barbara's friend would marry some good -honest fellow--not Laxton, no, but such a man as he himself had been -till Mrs. Rebell came to the Priory, one to whom Lucy's fortune would be -useful in promoting a public career. - -At last, about twelve, he reluctantly rose, and Lucy went with him to -the door. Suddenly it struck him that she looked very tired, "Lucy," he -exclaimed--they had just said good-bye, but he still held her -hand--"promise me that you will rest all this afternoon. Perhaps you -would be wiser to go to bed, and then no one--not even Miss Vipen--can -come and trouble you!" He spoke with his usual friendly--one of those -near and dear to Lucy would have described it as priggish--air of -authority. She drew away her hand, and laughed nervously,--but he again -repeated, "Please promise me that you will have a good rest." - -"I promise," said Lucy. - - * * * * * - -"I promise"--Lucy, sleeping restlessly through the winter afternoon and -evening, found herself repeating the two words again and again. What had -she promised? That she would rest. Well, she was fulfilling that -promise. As soon as Oliver had left her, she had gone up, full of -measureless lassitude, to bed. Then she would wake with a start to hear -Mrs. Rebell's imploring voice, "Promise--if I die--" and then, "No one -must know--" - -How would Mr. Berwick take the piteous message? Lucy had always felt -afraid of him, but she had promised-- - -Then came the comforting recollection of Doctor McKirdy's gruff whisper. -Oh no, poor Mrs. Rebell was not going to die, and she, Lucy, would never -have to redeem her promise. But if Mrs. Rebell cared for Mr. Berwick, -would not Oliver be unhappy? - -And Lucy, sitting up in bed, pushed her fair hair off her hot forehead. -The whole thing seemed so unreal! Barbara Rebell was not free to care -for anyone. Of course there were horrid women in the world who cared for -other people than their own husbands, though Lucy had never met any of -them, but she knew they existed. But those were the sort of women who -rouged and were "fast"--not gentle, kindly souls like poor brave Mrs. -Rebell. - -General and Mrs. Kemp, paying a short visit to Anglo-Indian friends who -had taken a house in the neighbourhood, little knew the physical and -mental ordeal to which their absence had exposed their darling. - - * * * * * - -Three days had gone by since the fire. Doctor McKirdy was quite honest -in telling Madame Sampiero that he was pleased and astonished at the -progress Barbara had made, and yet the paralysed woman felt that her old -friend was keeping something back. - -"What is it?" she muttered. "You are not telling me everything, -McKirdy!" - -And so he spoke out: "When a human being has gone through such an -experience as that of the other night, what we doctors have to fear, -quite as much as the actual injury,--which in this case, as I tell you, -is not so very bad, after all,--is shock." He paused, and his listener -made him feel, in some subtle fashion, that she could have well spared -this preamble. "Now, the surprising thing about Mrs. Rebell is that she -is _not_ suffering from shock! Her mind is so full of something else, -perhaps 'twould be more honest to say of someone else, that she has no -thought to spare for that horrid experience of hers. She is concerned, -very much so, about her appearance," the old Scotchman's eyes twinkled. -"There she's as much the woman as any of them! But she has good -nights--better nights, so she confesses, than she had before the fire. -There she lies thinking, not of flames mind you, but of--well, you know -of whom she's thinking! She's wondering if any of us have written and -told Jamie of the affair; she's asking herself how he'll take it, -whether he'll be hurrying back, whether, if he does come, she'll be -informed of it. Then there's Boringdon's fashing himself to bits, -wondering how long it will be before he is allowed to see her, trying to -get news of her in devious ways, even coming to me when all else fails! -Mrs. Kemp's lass is the only sensible one among 'em. I've been thinking -of getting her to come and sit with Mrs. Rebell for a bit, 'twould just -distract her mind----" - -So it was that Lucy Kemp received a note from Doctor McKirdy asking her -to be good enough to come and see Mrs. Rebell, and Mrs. Kemp was struck -with the eagerness with which the girl obeyed the call. - -Lucy's parents had found her still tired and listless when they came -back, cutting short their visit as soon as they heard the news of the -fire, and the part their daughter had played; but with the coming of the -old doctor's summons all Lucy's tiredness had gone--"If you will come up -after you have had your tea," so ran the note, "you might sit with her -an hour. I have ascertained that she would like to see you." - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - "Il n'y a rien de doux comme le retour de joie qui suit le - renoncement de la joie, rien de vif, de profond, de charmant, - comme l'enchantement du désenchanté." - - -Oliver Boringdon held in his hand the West Indian letter which he knew -was an answer to the one he had written to his brother-in-law rather -more than a month before. For nearly a week he had made it his business -to be always at home when the postman called, and this had required on -his part a certain amount of contrivance which was intensely -disagreeable to his straightforward nature. He had missed but one -post--that which had come on the morning of the fire at Chancton Priory. - -Three days had gone by since then, but his nerves were still quivering, -not yet wholly under his own control, and to such a man as Boringdon -this sensation was not only unpleasant, but something to be ashamed of. -The hand holding the large square envelope, addressed in the neat clear -writing of Andrew Johnstone, shook so that the letter fell, still -unopened, on the gravel at Oliver's feet. He stooped and picked it up, -then turned into the garden and so through a large meadow which led -ultimately to the edge of the downs, at this time of the year generally -deserted. Not till he was actually there, with no possibility of sudden -interruption, did he break the seal of his brother-in-law's thick -letter. - -At once he saw with quick disappointment that what had so weighted the -envelope was one of his sister Grace's long letters; her husband's note -only consisted of a few lines:-- - - "Grace insists on your being told more than I feel we are - justified in telling. Still, I believe her information is - substantially correct. There would be very serious difficulties - in the way of what you suggest. By next mail you shall know - more." - -For a moment he felt full of unreasoning anger against Johnstone. He had -asked a perfectly plain question--namely, whether it would not be -possible for Mrs. Rebell to obtain a divorce from the man of whom Grace -had given so terrible an account; and in answer to that question his -brother-in-law merely referred him to Grace and spoke of "serious -difficulties"! Well, whatever these were, they must be surmounted. -Oliver had already made up his mind to resign his post of agent to the -Chancton estate, and he would use his little remaining capital in going -out to Santa Maria, there to do what lay in his power to set Barbara -free. Again he glanced at Johnstone's laconic note, and between the -lines he read considerable disapproval of himself. He set his teeth and -turned to the sheets of paper covered with Grace's large handwriting. - -Then, in a moment, there leapt to his eyes a sentence which brought with -it such a rush of uncontrollable relief that the sensation seemed akin -to pain,--and yet he felt a species of horror that this was so, for the -words which altered his whole outlook on life were these:-- - -"My darling Oliver, Pedro Rebell is dying." - -What matter if Grace went on to qualify that first statement -considerably,--to confess that she only knew of the wretched man's -condition from a not very trustworthy source, but that before next mail -Andrew would go over himself, "though he does not like the idea of doing -so," to see if the report was well founded? "Andrew says," she went on, -"that of course it will be his duty to try and keep him alive." - -Boringdon beat the turf viciously with his stick, and then felt bitterly -ashamed of himself. - -Only one passage in his sister's letter gave definite information-- - - "Is it not odd that a place where they send consumptive people - from home should have so many native cases? Pedro Rebell treats - himself in the most idiotic manner--he is being actually - attended by a witch doctor! I am more glad than I can say that - poor Barbara got safe away before he became suddenly worse. - Andrew confesses that he knew the man was very ill when we moved - her here, but he said nothing, so like him, because he thought - that if Barbara knew she simply wouldn't leave the - plantation----" - -Again Oliver turned to Johnstone's note--"still, I believe that her -information is substantially correct;" it was curious how immensely that -one dry cautious sentence enhanced the value of Grace's long letter. - -Boringdon walked slowly back into the village by the lovely lane--lovely -even in its present leafless bareness--down which Doctor McKirdy had -accompanied Mrs. Rebell the first morning of her stay at the Priory -three months ago. Oliver recalled that first meeting; it had taken place -just where he was now walking, where the lane emerged on the open down. -He remembered his annoyance when Berwick had stared so fixedly at the -old Scotchman's companion. - -James Berwick! The evocation of his friend's peculiar, masterful -personality was not pleasant. But a slight, rather grim smile, came over -Boringdon's lips. The moment Mrs. Rebell became a widow, she would be -labelled "dangerous" in the eyes of James and Arabella Berwick. Oliver -had known something of the Louise Marshall episode, and, without for a -moment instituting any real comparison between the two cases, his mind -unconsciously drew the old moral, "The burnt child dreads the fire." If -it became advisable, but he did not think it at all likely that it -would, he would certainly tell Berwick the news contained in Grace's -letter. - -When passing the Priory gates, he met Lucy Kemp. "Mrs. Rebell must be -much better," she said gladly, "for Doctor McKirdy has asked me to go -and sit with her for an hour." Oliver turned and went with her up to the -porch of the great house, lingered a moment to receive the latest good -but colourless bulletin, and then walked down to the estate office. - -He had not been there many moments when a carriage dashed furiously up -the steep village street, the horses galloping past the window of the -room in which Boringdon sat writing. - - * * * * * - -Doctor McKirdy was waiting in the hall, and, as Lucy came forward rather -timidly, he looked at her not very pleasantly. "You've been a long -while," he said crossly, "a very long while, and who was it came with -you to the door? But I won't trouble ye to answer me, for I heard the -voice--I've heard it more than once this day. I doubt that ye ever were -told, Miss Lucy, of the bachelors' club to which Rabbie Burns belonged -as a youth. Membership was only conferred on the spark who could prove -his allegiance to more than one lass. Your friend Mr. Oliver Boringdon -would ha' been very eligible, I'm thinking!" - -"I don't think you have any right to say such a thing, Doctor McKirdy!" - -"Toots! Toots!" The doctor felt like a lion confronted with an angry -lamb; he saw he had gone too far. Bless us, what a spirit the girl had! -He rather liked her for it. "This way," he said, more amiably; "not so -far up as the other morning, eh? When you're with her, you just chatter -about the things ladies like to talk about--just light nonsense, you -know. No going back to the fire, mind! She doesn't trouble her head much -about it, and I don't want her to begin." - -He opened a door, and Lucy walked through into the beautiful room where -Barbara now lay, in the immense canopied bed, her left shoulder and arm -outlined by a wicker cage-like arrangement. Her hair was concealed by a -white hood, Léonie's handiwork, and, as Lucy drew near, she lifted her -free hand off the embroidered coverlet, and laid it on that of the girl. - -Doctor McKirdy stood by. "Well, I'll tell old Jean she needn't disturb -you for a bit, and now I'll be going home. You'll see me after supper." -He nodded his head, but Barbara, still holding Lucy's gloved hand, was -speaking. "You won't forget the _Scotsman_----" in her eagerness she -moved, and in doing so she suddenly winced. - -"Never fear it! But the one we want to see won't be here till to-morrow -afternoon--the meeting was only last night." He spoke in a very gentle -voice, and then walked quickly to the door. - -"Sit down just there, behind the leaf of the screen, and then I can see -you. I'm afraid I gave you a great fright the other night? How good you -were to me! Doctor McKirdy tells me that it might have been much worse, -and that I shall be all right in a few weeks----" - -Suddenly Barbara lifted her head a little,--"Miss Kemp! Lucy! What is -the matter?" - -"Nothing--nothing at all! Doctor McKirdy made a remark that annoyed me. -It is stupid of me to mind." Poor Lucy tried to smile, but her lips -quivered; she repeated, "It really was nothing, but you know how odd he -is, and--and rude, sometimes?" - -The sound of a carriage coming quickly up through the trees, and then -being driven more carefully round the broad sweep of lawn, and so to the -space before the porch, put an end to a moment of rather painful -silence. Then the bell pealed loudly through the house--a vigorous peal. -"Someone coming to inquire how you are," suggested Lucy diffidently, but -Barbara made no answer, she was listening intently. Would McGregor never -answer that insistent summons? At last they heard the front door being -opened, and then quickly shut again. Now the carriage was driving away, -quite slowly, in very different fashion from that of its arrival. - -Barbara closed her eyes, absurdly disappointed. What reason had she to -suppose that Berwick would hasten back as soon as he heard of the great -danger she had been in? And even if something in her heart assured her -that in this matter her instinct was not at fault, who would have -conveyed the news to him? Not Oliver Boringdon, not Doctor McKirdy? Poor -Barbara was very ignorant of the geography of her own country, but she -knew that Scotland was a long way off, and the most important of the -meetings he had gone there to attend had taken place only the night -before. - -But hark! there came a sound of quick muffled footsteps down the short -corridor. A knock at the door, and Berwick was in the room--Berwick, -haggard, sunken-eyed, bearing on his face, now ravaged with contending -feelings, a look of utter physical fatigue. For a moment he stood -hesitating. McGregor had told him that Miss Kemp was with Mrs. Rebell, -but, as he looked round with a quick searching look, the room seemed to -him to hold only Barbara--he saw nothing but Barbara's little head lying -propped up on a large pillow, her eyes, her lips smiling at him with an -odd look of deprecating tenderness, as if his being there was the most -natural thing in the world, and yet as if she understood the dreadful -night and day he had gone through, and felt grieved to think he was so -tired. - -Very slowly, still held by her eyes, he came forward, and as he sank on -his knees, and laid his cheek on the hand stretched out on the coverlet, -he saw with shuddering pain by what her other hand and arm were -concealed, and he broke into hard, difficult sobs. - -Lucy got up, and almost ran to the door,--she felt a passion of sympathy -and pity for them both. Then she waited in the corridor, wondering what -she ought to do--what Barbara would wish her to do. But that point, as -generally happens in this world, was settled for her. Doctor McKirdy -suddenly loomed in front of her, and even before she saw him, as the -staircase creaked under his heavy footsteps, Lucy heard him muttering -something to himself. - -"Then he's in there, eh? And they've sent you out here?" - -"Nothing of the sort!" said Lucy briefly: "I came out without being -sent." - -"Well, now, you must just go in again, and I'll follow. A fine thing it -would be for the jabbering folk of Chancton to learn of these crazy -comings and goings!" And, as Lucy made no haste to obey him, he added -sharply, "Now you just knock and open the door and walk right in. We -don't want old Jean to be the one to disturb them, eh?" - -Lucy knocked, and opened the door with hesitating fingers. What she then -saw was James Berwick quietly engaged in putting some coal on the fire; -as the girl and Doctor McKirdy came in, he did not look round, but went -on mechanically picking up the little lumps and putting them noiselessly -into the grate. - -"Well now, you've had two visitors, that's quite enough for one -day,"--the doctor spoke very gently. "Here's Miss Kemp come to say -good-bye, and Mr. Berwick no doubt will do himself the pleasure of -taking her to the Grange, for it's a very dark night." He added in an -aside, "I'm always finding you cavaliers, eh, Miss Lucy?" - -Berwick came forward: "Yes, of course I will! By the way, I'm staying -here to-night, so will you dine with me, McKirdy?" - -"Well, no, I don't think I will. By the way, I'll be staying here too, -and you'll do well to have your dinner in your bed, I'm thinking." He -followed Barbara's two visitors to the door: "I can't make out how you -ever did it, man, if it's true the meeting didn't break up till after -twelve----" - -For the first time Berwick laughed. "Come," he said, "where are your -wits? Specials, of course--and if we hadn't had a stupid, an inexcusable -delay at Crewe, I should have been here hours ago!" - -And then, without again looking at Barbara, he followed Lucy out into -the corridor, and down into the hall. - -"Just one moment, Miss Kemp. I must put on my boots. I took them off -before coming upstairs." - -"But I can go home alone perfectly well." - -"No, indeed! I should like to take you. Mrs. Rebell has been telling me -how good you were to her the other night." - -And not another word was said by him or by Lucy till they exchanged a -brief good-night at the Grange gate. - - * * * * * - -The Priory and its inmates settled down to a long period of quietude. -With the possible exception of Lucy Kemp and Oliver Boringdon--who both -called there daily--little or nothing was known in the village save that -Mrs. Rebell was slowly, very slowly, getting better. No Chancton gossip -could discover exactly how much she had been injured, and even Mrs. -Boringdon could learn nothing definite from her son. - -At last there came a day when the mistress of Chancton Cottage thought -she would make a little experiment. "Is it true that Mrs. Rebell is now -allowed to be downstairs?" - -"Yes." - -"Then you are seeing her, I suppose?" - -"Yes, sometimes, for a little while." - -"Parliament met last week, didn't it?" The question sounded rather -irrelevant. - -Oliver looked up: "Yes, mother, of course--on the fifteenth." - -"Then Mr. Berwick won't be able to be here so much. Miss Vipen tells me -that the village people all think he must be in love with Mrs. Rebell!" - -Mrs. Boringdon's words had an effect very different from what she had -intended them to have. They drew from her son neither assent nor denial, -but they confirmed and made real to him certain facts from which he had -shrunk, and which he had tried to persuade himself did not exist. For -five long weeks he had been alive to the knowledge that Berwick was -continually with Barbara--in fact, that he was with her whenever he -chose to be, excepting during those few moments when he, Boringdon, was -grudgingly allowed to have a few minutes' talk, generally in the -presence of some third person, with the invalid. The state of things at -the Priory had made the young man so wretched, so indignant, that more -than once he had felt tempted to attack Doctor McKirdy. What did they -all mean by allowing James Berwick to behave as if he were Mrs. Rebell's -brother instead of a mere acquaintance? - -And so Mrs. Boringdon's words spurred her son to do that which he had -hoped would not be necessary. They showed him that the time had come for -a clear explanation between himself and Berwick. He told himself that -the latter would probably be surprised to learn how his constant visits -to the Priory were regarded; still, the matter could not be to him one -of vital concern, and when once the man who had been for so many years -his friend told him how matters stood, he would surely leave Chancton. - -Boringdon thought he knew only too well James Berwick's peculiar moral -code; certain things he might be trusted not to do. Thus, Oliver had -heard him speak with condemnation of the type of man who makes love to a -happily-married woman, or who takes advantage of his amatory science to -poach on an intimate's preserves. Surely he would withdraw from this -strange sentimental friendship with Barbara Rebell the moment it was -made clear to him that she would soon be free,--free to be wooed and won -by any honest man, and, as a matter of fact, already loved by Boringdon, -his friend of so many years' standing? Accordingly, after a day or two -of painful hesitation, Oliver wrote a note, more formal in its wording -than usual, and asked Berwick for an appointment. - -He received his answer--life is full of such ironies--in Mrs. Rebell's -presence, on the day when she was allowed to take her first drive in the -little French brougham, which, as Boringdon noted with jealous eyes, had -been sent over for her use from Chillingworth. Oliver happened to come -up to the porch of the Priory as Berwick was actually settling her and -the grim Scotchwoman, Jean, into the carriage. Barbara was flushed and -smiling--a happy light in her eyes. "I'm so sorry to be going out just -now," she cried, "Will you come to tea this afternoon, Mr. Boringdon? -Miss Kemp is coming, and I shall be down in the Blue drawing-room for -the first time. To-day is a day of first times!" - -Then Berwick turned round: "I didn't answer your note because I thought -I should almost certainly be seeing you to-day. Would you like to come -over to Chillingworth this evening? Come to dinner, and we can have a -talk afterwards----" - -But Boringdon answered quickly: "Thanks, I won't come to dinner, I'll -turn up about nine." - - * * * * * - -And now Berwick sat waiting for Boringdon in the room where he had spent -the rest of the night after his drive with Barbara from Halnakeham -Castle. - -He was in that delightful state of mind which comes so rarely to -thinking mortals,--when the thinker wishes to look neither backwards nor -forwards. It was worth while to have gone through all he had gone -through, to have won such weeks as had been his! Nay more, he was in the -mood to tell himself that he would be content were life to go on as it -was now for ever and a day, were his relations with Mrs. Rebell to -remain as close, as tender--ay, even as platonic--as they had been -during that strange period of her convalescence. With what emotion, with -what sympathy she had described to him her interview with Lord Bosworth; -there had been such complete comprehension of his attitude, such keen -distress that Madame Sampiero had repulsed him! - -But, deep in Berwick's heart, something told him that Barbara's attitude -to him and to their joint future was changing, and that she was in very -truth on the eve of surrender. Nature, so he assured himself to-night -had triumphed over convention, and, as a still voice also whispered, -proved stronger than conscience. Berwick's own conscience was not ill at -ease, but he experienced many phases of feeling, and went through many -moods. - -Lately he had asked himself boldly whether there was any real reason why -he and Barbara should not repeat, in happier fashion, the example set -them by the two beings for whom they both had so sincere and--yes, it -might be said, reverent--an affection? Those two, Lord Bosworth and -Madame Sampiero, had shown that it was possible to be grandly faithful -to a tie unsanctioned by law, unsanctified by religious faith. Already -Berwick's love for Barbara had purified and elevated his nature; surely -together they might use his vast fortune to better purpose than he had -done alone, for he had long ago discovered how tender, how charitable -were all her impulses. Then, again, he would acknowledge to himself, -with something like impatient amazement, that he loved Barbara too well, -too intimately, to ask her to do violence to her sensitive, rather -scrupulous conscience. She could scarcely be more his own than he felt -her to be now. - -Of the man for whom he was now waiting, Berwick had long ago ceased to -be jealous. He felt ashamed to remember that he had ever been so; nay, -he now understood from Barbara that Boringdon liked Lucy Kemp. Was she -not just the sort of girl whom he would have expected such a man as -Oliver to choose for a wife? As to Barbara Rebell, of course Boringdon -had liked to be with her,--had been perhaps, if all the truth were -known, caught for a moment by her charm, as who could help being? But -Berwick was not in a mood to waste much thought on such speculations, -and no presentiment of what Oliver was coming to say to him to-night -shadowed his exquisite content, or his satisfaction with himself, with -the woman he loved, and with the whole of this delightful world. - -In fact, he thought he knew quite well why Boringdon wished to see him. -The head of the public department in which Oliver had begun his suddenly -interrupted career as a member of the Civil Service, had lately said to -Berwick, "So your friend Boringdon wants to come back to us? I think in -his case an exception might be made!" And Berwick had done what was in -his power to gratify the other's rather inexplicable wish to get once -more into official harness. The Chancton experiment had evidently been a -mistake. Boringdon had not possessed the qualities necessary for such a -post as that of land agent to Madame Sampiero; he had not understood, -or, if he had understood, he had not chosen to take, his friend's hint -to keep on the right side of old McKirdy. Well, it couldn't be helped! -Of course Oliver must feel the telling of his news rather awkward, but -he, Berwick, would meet him half way, and make it clear that, though he -was personally sorry Boringdon was leaving Chancton, he thoroughly -understood his reasons for doing so, and, what was more, sympathised -with them. - - * * * * * - -As it struck nine from the various clocks which had been a special hobby -of the man who had built Chillingworth, Boringdon walked in, and his -first abrupt words confirmed Berwick's belief concerning the subject of -their coming conversation: "I am leaving Chancton, and I felt that I -ought to tell you my determination before speaking to Madame Sampiero. -There seems a chance of my getting back to the old shop!" - -Berwick nodded his head; he pushed a large box of cigars across the -table which stood between them. "I know," he said, "I met Kingdon last -week, and by a word he let fall I gathered that you were thinking of -doing this. Well, of course I'm sorry, but I know you've done your best, -and after all no one could have foreseen how difficult the position -would be! I suppose they will have to go back to the unsatisfactory plan -with McKirdy." But at the back of the speaker's mind was the thought -that, if he was as much at the Priory as he hoped to be, he might -himself be able to look into things rather more-- - -Neither man spoke again for a few moments; then Boringdon got up, and -stood with his back to the fire, "But that," he said, "is not all I have -come to say to you. I am really taking this step because it is my -intention"--he hesitated, and Berwick perceived that a peculiarly dogged -expression had come over the dark, rather narrow face,--"I wish to tell -you that it is my intention," repeated Oliver, "to ask Mrs. Rebell to -become my wife." - -His host looked up at him with frank astonishment, and a good deal of -concern. "But, my dear fellow," he began rather hurriedly, "is it -possible that you don't know?----" - -"I know everything." Boringdon raised his voice, then went on more -calmly, "But I do not suppose that you yourself, Berwick, are aware that -Mrs. Rebell's husband is dying, that there is every chance that in a few -months, or perhaps in a few weeks, she will be a widow--free, that is, -to accept an offer of marriage." - -In one sense Boringdon had certainly succeeded in his object. More than -he was ever destined to know, his words, his revelation, had brought the -man before him sharp up to his bearings. James Berwick was both amazed -and discomfited by this unexpected piece of news, and for the moment it -made him very ill at ease. - -He had been playing with a tortoiseshell paper knife; suddenly it -snapped in two, and, with an oath, he threw the pieces down on the table -and got up from the chair in which he had been lying back. - -"Are you quite sure of your information?" he said slowly. "It's ill -waiting for dead men's shoes." Then he felt ashamed of what he had just -said, and he added, more to give himself time for thought than anything -else: "Have you any reason to suppose that Mrs. Rebell----?" Then he -stopped abruptly, realising that he had been betrayed into making a -remark which to Boringdon must seem an outrage. - -But the other had not apparently taken it in that sense. "No, I have no -reason to suppose that Mrs. Rebell has ever thought of such a thing. I -think far too well of her to suppose it for a moment," Oliver was -speaking very deliberately. "I received the news of the man's state -within a very few days of the fire at the Priory, and it has since been -confirmed. He has, it seems, some kind of bad chest disease, -accelerated, I fancy, by drink. As yet she knows nothing of it. Perhaps -I ought to add that I have no reason to suppose that she will accept the -offer I mean to make her as soon as a decent interval of time has -elapsed. But, on the other hand, I should like to assure you that if she -refuses me I intend to go on asking her. Nothing, short of her marriage -to someone else, will make me give her up." He repeated, and as he did -so Boringdon fixed his eyes on his friend with a peculiar, and what -Berwick felt to be a terrible, look: "Nothing--you understand me, -Berwick--nothing but her _marriage_ to another man." - -The speaker of these strange words took a step forward. For a moment the -two stood opposite one another. The man Barbara loved was a brave man, -but he quailed before the other's eyes. "I have now told you what I came -to say. Of late you seem to have become very intimate with Mrs. Rebell, -and I wish to warn you that the day may come when I shall require your -good offices. Good-night,"--and without offering to shake hands with -Berwick, Boringdon turned on his heel and left the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - "Shall I to Honour or to Love give way? - - * * * * * - - For, as bright day, with black approach of night, - Contending makes a doubtful puzzling light, - So does my Honour and my Love together - Puzzle me so I can decide on neither." - - SPENSER. - - -As time went on, as harsh winter turned into soft spring, Boringdon -tried to assure himself that his conversation with Berwick had achieved -all that he had hoped. - -James Berwick was certainly less often at the Priory, but this was -doubtless owing in a measure to the fact that he had to be constantly in -London, attending to his Parliamentary duties. Even now he was far more -frequently at Chancton than he had been the year before, and Oliver was -still jealous, sometimes intolerably so, for some subtle instinct told -him that he was on a very different footing with Mrs. Rebell from that -on which she stood with Berwick. As to his own relation with the man -with whom his intimacy had once been so close, it had become, since -their conversation, that of mere formal acquaintance. Mrs. Boringdon -felt sure there had been a quarrel, but she was afraid to ask, so -taciturn, so unapproachable, had her son become. - -Oliver had one subject of consolation. To the amazement of those about -her, with the exception perhaps of Doctor McKirdy, the paralysed -mistress of the Priory now caused herself to be moved down each day to -the Blue drawing-room, and this, as Boringdon of course realised, made -it very difficult for James Berwick, when at Chancton, to see much of -Mrs. Rebell alone. - - * * * * * - -And Barbara? To her, as to Berwick, the weeks which had immediately -followed the fire had been a time of deep content and tranquil -happiness. She was well aware that there must come a day of painful -reckoning; but, unlike Berwick, she put off the evil moment of making up -her mind as to what form that reckoning would take. - -She looked back with a kind of shrinking horror to the mental struggle -she had gone through before the accident which had so wholly changed all -the circumstances of her life. Those days when she believed that Berwick -would never return to her were ill to remember. Then had come the fire, -followed by hours of physical pain and terror of death, but now she -looked back on those hours with positive gratitude, for they had surely -brought an experience nothing else could have given her. - -At once, with a resistless, quiet determination which had constrained -those about Barbara into acquiescence, Berwick had established his right -to be with her. The putting on of the coal--that act of service on the -first evening--had been, so Doctor McKirdy later told himself with a -twist of his thin lips, symbolic of what was to be his attitude to the -Queen's Room and its present inmate. Berwick soon came and went as -freely as if he had been the invalid's twin brother, or he a father, and -Barbara his sick child,--with, however, the one significant exception -that both he and she refrained wholly from caress. - -The old Scotchman won a deep and an abiding place in the hearts of the -two over whom he threw, during these days, the ample mantle of his -eccentricity and masterful disposition. He moved over to the Priory, -occupying a room close to Berwick's, and in some odd fashion he made -each member of the large household believe that it was by his order and -wish that Berwick was so often with his patient, concerning the extent -of whose injury many legends grew, for she was only tended by Scotch -Jean, French Léonie, Doctor McKirdy, and--James Berwick. And so it was -that, as often happens with regard to events which none could have -foretold, and which would have been described before they occurred as -clearly impossible, what went on excited, at any rate within the Priory, -no comment. - -The strange situation which had arisen did not pass wholly without -outside remark. Lucy Kemp at first came daily--indeed, sometimes twice a -day--to sit with Barbara and to read to her; and though at those times -Berwick kept out of the Queen's Room, there came a moment in Barbara's -illness when she perceived, with a sad feeling of humiliation, that -Lucy's visits were being curtailed, also that she never came to the -Priory unaccompanied. - -To the girl herself her father's sudden stern objection to her daily -visits to Mrs. Rebell had been inexplicable,--even more so her mother's -refusal to discuss the question. Then a word said before her by Mrs. -Boringdon, a question put to Oliver as to James Berwick's prolonged stay -at Chancton, had partly opened Lucy's eyes. - -"Do you dislike my going to see Mrs. Rebell because Mr. Berwick is -there?" - -With some hesitation Mrs. Kemp answered her: "Yes, my dear, that is the -reason your father does not wish you to go to the Priory so often." - -And then Lucy had turned and asked one of those questions, difficult to -answer truthfully to one who, even if in her parents' eyes a child, was -yet a woman grown: "Mother, I want to ask you something. Is it very -wrong, always wrong, for a woman to like another man better than she -likes her husband? How can she help it if the man to whom she is married -is such a man as Mr. Pedro Rebell seems to be?" - -But Mrs. Kemp answered with unwonted decision and sharpness: "There is a -moment--there is always a moment--when the matter is in a woman's own -hands and conscience. And in any case, Lucy, two wrongs don't make a -right!" - -And with this the girl had to be content, but the question made Mrs. -Kemp more than ever determined to discontinue her daughter's growing -intimacy with poor Barbara. First Oliver Boringdon, and then James -Berwick,--this Mrs. Rebell must indeed be an unfit friend for her little -Lucy! - -To Madame Sampiero, who lay at the other end of the corridor out of -which opened the Queen's Room, the doctor would sometimes declare, "I've -little mind for the part I am playing." But when she answered, with -perplexity and fear in her large blue eyes, "Why then do you play it?" -he would content himself with shrugging his shoulders, and muttering -between his teeth, "Because I'm a sentimental old fool!" - -But, whatever the reason, so well had Doctor McKirdy managed the -extraordinary situation, that not till Mrs. Rebell was promoted to -getting up and coming downstairs, did the long hours spent by Berwick in -her company provoke the kind of gossip which had finally reached the -ears of Mrs. Boringdon. Even then what was repeated had been said in -jest. Was it likely, so the humble gossips of Chancton would have -declared, that such a gentleman as Mr. Berwick would fancy a lady who -was by all accounts half burnt to a cinder! - - * * * * * - -When Madame Sampiero had suddenly made up her mind to be moved -downstairs, Barbara knew that the old Scotchman and her god-mother had -entered into a conspiracy to put an end to what she considered her -innocent, if peculiar, intimacy with James Berwick. There took place in -her heart a silent, but none the less strong, movement of passionate -revolt,--she thought this attempt to check their friendship the more -cruel inasmuch as Berwick had to be away a good deal and could only now -and again snatch a day from London. Still, it was then, not perhaps till -then, that Mrs. Rebell began to foresee the logical outcome of the -situation into which she had allowed herself to drift. - -Every day came his letters,--nearly always more than one together, by -each of the two daily posts,--but he never asked her--significant -omission--to answer them, for had she done so, all Chancton must have -known of the correspondence. And yet all the world might have seen the -letters Barbara cherished, and on which her heart lived from day to day; -they were a diary of the writer's doings, a history of what was going on -in the House, such brief, intimate notes as many a politician writes -daily to his wife. - -A woman is always quicker to perceive certain danger-signals than is a -man. Barbara was aware of the change of attitude in Doctor McKirdy and -in Madame Sampiero long before Berwick noticed it. That these two could -threaten or destroy his intimacy with Mrs. Rebell had never occurred to -him as being possible. On the other hand, he had resented deeply -Boringdon's interference, and, as far as was possible, he put out of his -mind what had been undoubtedly intended as a threat. The reminder that -Pedro Rebell lived had been an outrage; that Barbara's husband was -mortal, nay, on the eve of death, a piece of information which Berwick -could have well spared. For the present he was content, as was -apparently Barbara, to let things drift on as they were. - - * * * * * - -But there came a day when, after a long afternoon spent by them both in -Madame Sampiero's company, Berwick asked Barbara with sudden deep -irritation, "Why is it that we never seem to be alone together? I have -hardly spoken to you since I have been here! Is it impossible for you to -leave Madame Sampiero? Is there no room in the whole of this great house -where we can talk together in peace? I have a thousand things to say to -you!" - -They were on their way to the dining-room, there to be respectfully -chaperoned by McGregor, and Barbara had no answer ready. Suddenly -looking into her downcast face, he understood the unspoken answer to his -imperious questioning, and his eyes flashed wroth. And yet what could he -do? He could not, nay, he would not, ask her to stoop to any kind of -deception, to make secret assignations outside the house. On the other -hand, he no longer felt "on honour" as regarded the woman he loved; even -less was he bound to consider the feelings of Madame Sampiero. - -So it came to pass that Berwick was less often at the Priory; his -letters to Barbara altered in tone, and became those of an ardent, of an -impatient lover. Sometimes Barbara wondered whether he possessed secret -means of his own for knowing all that went on at the Priory, and of -obtaining news of its inmates. Occasionally she would be surprised, even -amused, at his apparent knowledge of little incidents which occurred -during his absences. The source of his information, if it was as she -suspected, must of course be Mrs. Turke! Mrs. Rebell felt a little -afraid of the old woman, of her far-seeing, twinkling eyes, and of her -sly hilarity of manner; she kept as much as possible out of the -housekeeper's way. - -To Boringdon, who came with pertinacious regularity, Barbara gave -scarcely any thought, save perhaps to wonder why Lucy Kemp was so fond -of him. In old days, when he had talked to her of politics, and of -things in which she had begun to take a new and keen interest, she had -liked to listen to him; but now he seemed tongue-tied when in her -presence, and she perceived that he was no longer on good terms with -James Berwick. - -With Madame Sampiero, Barbara's relations also seemed to have become -less affectionate, less intimate, than before the fire, and this -troubled them both. Mrs. Rebell knew herself to be the subject of -anxious thought on the part of her god-mother; for what other reason -than that of protecting her from some imaginary danger had Madame -Sampiero altered the habits of dignified seclusion to which she had -remained rigidly faithful for so many years? She did not see--or was it -that she saw only too well--the force of her own past example on such a -nature as that of her god-daughter? But it was too late now to try and -separate Barbara Rebell from the one human being who made life worth -living, and sometimes the younger woman longed to tell her so. - -At last there came a break in the monotony of a life which was beginning -to tell on Barbara's health and nerves. At the end of one of Berwick's -short, unsatisfactory visits, he mentioned that he would not be able to -come down again for another two or three weeks. - -And when he was gone, after a cold, estranged farewell, uttered perforce -in the presence of Madame Sampiero, Barbara turned her face away to hide -her tears. - -Almost at once her god-mother asked her, "Would you not like to go away, -with Léonie, to Paris for a few days?" She caught with feverish relief -at the proposal; it was good, it was more than kind, of Marraine to -suggest so delightful a plan! But she would prefer, honestly so, to go -alone, not to take the old French servant whom in her heart she well -knew the paralysed woman could ill spare. It would have been a great -pleasure to Barbara to have had the company of Lucy Kemp, but she had -not dared suggest it, being afraid of a refusal. If she could not have -Lucy for a companion, she felt she would rather go alone. And Madame -Sampiero had at last consented to this modification of her plan,--a plan -which had not met with Doctor McKirdy's approval, but as to which his -old friend, as was usually the case, got her own way. - - * * * * * - -And now had come the last night but one before Mrs. Rebell's departure. -She felt excited and pleased at the thought of the little holiday. -Berwick had evidently been told as soon as the household knew of her -coming journey, and yet, when writing, he had only once alluded to it, -and she had felt rather hurt, for to herself it was a matter of much -moment. This journey would be, in a sense, a pilgrimage; Barbara meant -to go to some of the places, within easy reach of Paris, where she and -her parents had spent most of their exile. During the last few days she -had passed much time in discussion with Doctor McKirdy as to what she -was to see, and in helping him to draw up a little plan of the places -she was to go to,--Versailles, St. Germains, Fontainebleau, with all of -which she had cherished associations! The moments went by so quickly -that, for the first time for many weeks, Barbara thought but little of -Berwick, and of her own strange relation to him. - -Now she was on her way to bed. She would have only two more nights in -the Queen's Room, for she had herself insisted that a humbler apartment, -but still one on the same floor as that of Madame Sampiero, should be -found for her, and the change was to take place on her return. She -looked round the beautiful room which had become to her a place of so -many memories, and as she did so a shadow came over her face. Would she -ever again be as happy as she had been in this room, so simply, -childishly content as during those days when she had lain on the great -canopied bed, while those about her ministered to her slightest -wish--when she had been the spoiled darling of Doctor McKirdy, of the -grim Scotch nurse, and last, not least, of James Berwick? - -There came a knock at the door--a hesitating, low knock, very unlike -that of Jean or Léonie. Barbara suddenly felt an odd pang of fear: "Come -in," she cried loudly,--what, after all, had she to be afraid of? - -There was a pause, and then Mrs. Turke, resplendent in the bright yellow -gown in which Barbara Rebell had first seen her, advanced tip-toeing -into the room. "Hush, Ma'am--I don't want anyone to hear us! Will you be -pleased to come down at once to my parlour? There's someone there been -waiting such a time, and most anxious to see you--!" - -Barbara seemed in no hurry to follow the old woman; a look of suffering, -of humiliation, came over her face. Must she and Berwick stoop to this? - -But Mrs. Turke was in an agony of impatience. "He's got to go back this -very night!" she whispered, and the jovial, sly look faded from her -rubicund face. "He's walked all the way from Halnakeham, that he has, in -the pouring rain, and he's wet through, that he is! Am I to tell him -that you won't come down then?" and she pretended to edge towards the -still open door. - -"No," said Barbara irresolutely, "of course I am coming down--" - -Mrs. Turke's account of Berwick's long walk in the rain had done its -work, and yet shame of a very keen quality almost blotted out Mrs. -Rebell's joy at the thought of seeing him, and of seeing him--the first -time for weeks--without fear of interruption. - -As she went quickly down, following Mrs. Turke's ample person, and so -through the stone corridors of what had been the mediæval monastery, -Barbara's heart softened strangely. Had he not made this hurried journey -to bid her good-bye, God-speed? And she had thought he did not care-- - -Mrs. Turke knew her place far too well to risk being present at the -meeting in her parlour. She stopped at the foot of the short flight of -stairs leading up to her own bedroom and Berwick's old nursery, but -Barbara clung to the fat, ring-laden hand: "Do come, Mrs. Turke,--I am -sure Mr. Berwick will want to see you----" - -"Bless you, _no_, Ma'am, that he won't! Why, I declare your hand's -burning! There's nothing to be afraid of, he's a most reasonable -gentleman, he wouldn't hurt a hair of your pretty head!" - -And then, rather to the old housekeeper's surprise, Mrs. Rebell suddenly -let go her hand, and walked forward, alone, down the passage. - -When she reached the door of the room to which she was bound, she -stopped irresolutely. But Berwick had been listening; he flung open the -door, and as she crossed the threshold he bent forward and took her -hands in a tight grip. - -Barbara said nothing, but she looked at him rather sadly, and as she did -so she perceived that he was dressed in a rough shooting suit she had -often seen him wear the autumn before. She understood, without a word, -that it was worn to-night as a half disguise,--he wished no one to know -of this secret visit to the Priory,--and again a feeling of shame, of -humiliation, swept over her. And yet how glad she was to see him, how -infinitely dear he had become to her! - -Suddenly she felt herself being drawn,--nay driven,--into the shelter of -his arms. His lips trembled on her closed eyelids, were pressed on the -slight scar left by the burn on her forehead, and then swiftly sought -and found her soft quivering mouth----. But even then Berwick was very -gentle with her, taking care to bruise neither the soul nor the body of -the creature who was now, at last, completely subject to his will. - -Barbara tried to withdraw herself from his arms, but he still held her -to him with a passion of mute feeling in his eyes; and then, while -looking down at her strangely, as if wishing to see into her very heart, -he suddenly exclaimed "Barbara, this can't go on! What is to happen to -you and to me? As long as they left us alone I was content--ah no, not -content, but submissive. But now? Do you think it is pleasant for me to -do what I have had to do to-night,--to come here like a thief? While I -was waiting for you, I told myself that doubtless you would refuse to -come down. I had no right to ask you to come to me. It is I--I--who -should always come to you----" - -He had released her, and drawn himself away. Now he was speaking with a -tired bitterness which frightened her, and in a moment the desire to -soothe, to comfort him, drove out from her every thought of self. "Of -course I came down,--I will always come when you want me," she smiled at -him with a look of shy, wistful tenderness. - -"Will you? Always? Is that true? Oh! Barbara, if I could only believe -you mean those words, I could find courage to ask you--to say to -you----" - -"What do you want to say to me?" Her voice sank to a whisper; then, -seized with a sudden rush of love, of pity, of self-abnegation, she -added, "Nay, I will tell you! You have come to ask of me what Lord -Bosworth must once have come to ask of Madame Sampiero, and, like her, I -will say, yes,--" she covered her face with her hands. - -And then she listened, very quietly, while Berwick told her, with broken -words of passionate gratitude and endearment, of the plan which he had -scarcely dared to believe he would have courage to propose. She knew he -had a house, an old hunting lodge built by Louis XIII., on the edge of -the Forest of St. Germains. It was a curious solitary pavilion, bought -by his father as a very young man, and dear to Berwick and his sister as -having been the scene,--the speaker's accents became more deeply -tender,--of their parents' honeymoon. Within a drive of this enchanting -spot was the little town of Poissy, where the mail train could be made -to stop and where, the day after to-morrow, he would be waiting-- - -Barbara sat listening. She had raised her head and was staring straight -before her. Berwick looked at her with entreating eyes--"It is close to -Paris! Besides, they know you will be moving about." - -"It is not that," she spoke with difficulty, hardly knowing why she felt -so torn by conflicting feelings of shame and pain. Perhaps it was only -because the evocation of St. Germains brought the presence of her mother -before her. - -She tried to tell herself that she had known that this would--nay, -must--happen. The battle had been fought and lost before to-night. -During the long solitary days Barbara had just lived through, she had -acknowledged that she could not give up Berwick,--rather than that they -must inevitably come to do what Lord Bosworth and Madame Sampiero had -done. And yet this discussion, the unfolding of this plan, filled her -with humiliation and misery. "When I come back," she said, looking at -him, for the first time straight in the eyes, "I shall have to tell my -god-mother--and--and Doctor McKirdy the truth." - -"You will do what you wish. We shall both do exactly what you think -right, my dearest!" Berwick could hardly believe in his own amazing good -fortune, and yet he also felt ill at ease. "Barbara," he said suddenly, -"before I go--and I ought to be going now, for I shall cross to France -to-morrow--I want to tell you something----" - -"Something else?" there was a tone of appeal in her voice. - -"Yes, it will not take long. Perhaps I ought to have begun by doing so. -Some time ago Oliver Boringdon made me a curious confidence. He told me -that, were you ever free to marry, he meant to make you an offer, and if -you refused,--he was good enough to intimate that he thought this quite -possible,--to go on doing so at intervals unless you became the wife of -another man!" - -Barbara looked at him, and then began to laugh helplessly, though the -words had jarred on her horribly. "Oliver Boringdon? You can't have -understood; how dared he say such a thing--about me?" and the tears ran -down her cheeks. - -"Nay, he was right, perhaps, to say what he did. In any case I am sure -you ought to know--it was my duty to tell you." - -"But why?" cried Barbara. "Why?" - -"A sop," he said with sudden sharpness, "to my own conscience." - -But conscience proved an unappeased, upbraiding companion during James -Berwick's four-mile walk to Halnakeham station. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - "They have most power to hurt us whom we love; - We lay our sleeping lives within their arms." - - BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. - - -A short avenue of chestnut trees, now in their scented glory of -rose-pink blossom, hid the square red-brick hunting lodge, still known -by its pre-Revolution name of Le Pavillon du Dauphin, from the broad -solitary roadway skirting the Forest of St. Germains. Under this avenue -James Berwick, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes bent on the -ground, was walking up and down the morning of the day he was expecting -Barbara to join him. - -It was seven o'clock--not early, according to French hours, for now and -again the heavy wheels of a market cart, the jingling of the tiny bells -hung on to the blue worsted-covered harness, the neighing of the horses, -would break on his ear, and serve to remind him that he was in -France--in the land where, if long tradition speaks truly, the thing -that he was about to do would find many more honest apologists than in -his own; in France which had given, close to this very spot, so -magnificent a hospitality to his own Stuart ancestors. All about him lay -the deep, mysterious, unbroken calm of the great forest; every trace of -last summer's merrymakers--if, indeed, such people ever made their way -to this, the further edge of the wooded peninsula,--had been completely -obliterated. What more enchanting spot could be found in the wide world -to form the setting of what he believed would be a life-long romance? - -Like most men, he had always seen something offensive, almost grotesque, -in the preliminaries now usual to conventional marriage. Heavens! what a -lack of imagination had the modern bride and bridegroom! Especially in -England--especially in his own class. Here the mating birds, amid -awakening spring, would sing his own and Barbara's epithalamium. - -And yet Berwick was not happy, as he had thought to be, to-day. Again -and again during the long wakeful night he had just passed he had caught -himself wondering whether his uncle, at the beginning of his long -intimacy with Madame Sampiero, had felt such scruples as these which now -tormented him. If so, they had soon vanished; Lord Bosworth, during many -years, had been supremely content with life, and all that life brought -him. - -Perhaps he, Berwick, was made of more scrupulous stuff. To-day he had to -face the fact that in his cup of honey there was a drop of exceeding -bitterness. The knowledge that Boringdon might be mistaken,--that -Barbara might, after all, never be free,--made the matter scarcely more -tolerable. Oliver had so spoken that at the time his words had carried -conviction. Berwick asked himself why he had not told her the whole -truth, and then let her be the judge as to what they should do. He had -always been aware that there were the two streaks in his character--the -two Stuart streaks--that of extreme nobility, and that which makes a man -capable of acts of inexplicable betrayal. - -In vain he tried to persuade himself that now was too late to change. -Human nature has its limits; in a few hours Barbara would be here, and -with quickening pulses he tried to think only of the immediate future. -Later on, there would--there must--come inevitable pain and difficulty; -they would have to face the reproachful gaze of Madame Sampiero, the -undoubted disapproval of Lord Bosworth, and yet whose example were he -and Barbara now about to follow? - -The present was his own, no one--no one, that is, but himself--could -deprive him of to-day's completed joy; and yet he would have given much -to hasten the march of the lagging hours, to sleep, to dream the time -away. Perhaps, when he was in the actual presence of the woman he loved -with a depth of feeling which, to a certain extent, purified and -rendered selfless his longing for her, he would find courage to tell her -the whole of what Boringdon had said-- - -This concession to his conscience lightened his heart, and he looked -with leisurely and pleased gaze at the finely proportioned building--a -miniature replica of what the central portion of the Palace of -Versailles must have looked like in the days of Louis XIII. No wonder -the curious, stately little pavilion had caught the fancy of his -father--that whimsical, unfortunate Charles Berwick, whose son thought -of him far oftener than he had ever done as a younger man. The Pavilion -du Dauphin, put up for sale in one of France's many political -convulsions, had only cost its English purchaser twenty thousand francs; -and now each year Berwick received an offer from the French Government -to buy the place back at five times that sum! He always refused this -offer, and yet he came there but seldom, sometimes in the autumn for a -few days, occasionally, perhaps once in two or three years, with -Arabella. Since the death of his own mother, no woman save James -Berwick's sister had enjoyed the rare charm of the old hunting lodge. - -The building was not fitted for ordinary life. It consisted of two vast -central rooms,--that above the central hall being little more than a -loft,--out of which opened smaller apartments, each and all bearing -traces of the prodigal wealth and luxurious fancy of that fermier -général into whose acquisitive hands the place had drifted for a while -during the last half of the eighteenth century. It was he, doubtless, -who had added the painted ceilings, the panels which Berwick's father -believed had been painted by Nattier, and which, if this were so, would -have made the Pavilion du Dauphin a bargain even at the price which -Berwick yearly refused for it. - -When Arabella was there, the brother and sister managed very well -without English servants, done for, and that most adequately, by an old -garde de chasse, Jean Lecerf, and his wife, whom Berwick paid generously -for looking after the property during the winter months of the year. - -This old couple,--with the solitary exception of Lord Bosworth, who -rarely alluded to his younger brother,--were the only people who ever -spoke to Berwick and his sister of their parents. Those eccentric -parents, whose marriage had been in itself a wilful, innocent romance, -culminating in a runaway wedding, had spent five summers here, bringing -with them, after the first year, their baby daughter. The stories the -Lecerfs had to tell of that time lost nothing in the telling! - -Mère Lecerf--a name generic of the soil in that part of Northern -France--knew very little of her present employer, saving the agreeable -fact that he must be very rich. She was quite unaware that he was a -widower, and she had accepted with apparent satisfaction, and quaintly -expressed felicitations, the story he had seen fit to tell her within an -hour of his arrival the day before--namely that he was now married, and -that his wife was coming to join him for a few days! - -Berwick would have preferred to make no such explanation, but something -had to be said, and, after all, would not he henceforth regard Barbara -Rebell as in very truth his honoured, his cherished wife? - -He walked from the outside air into the spacious room, into which the -morning sun was streaming through the one immense window which gave on -to a steep clearing, now carpeted with the vivid delicate green of -lily-of-the-valley leaves. One of the qualities which had most delighted -him in Barbara during the early days of their acquaintance had been her -perception of, and delight in, natural beauty. How charmed she would be -with this place! How the child which had awakened in her would revel in -the strangeness of a dwelling-place which so little resembled the -ordinary conventional house! - -Groups of fair shepherdesses, each attended by her faithful swain, -smiled down from the pale grisaille walls, but close to the deep -chimney,--indeed, fixed inside, above the wooden seat--was a reminder of -an age more austere, more creative than that of Nattier. This was a -framed sheet of parchment--a contemporary copy of Plantin's curious -sonnet, "Le Bonheur de ce Monde," whose _naif_ philosophy of life has -found echoes in many worthy hearts since it was first composed by the -greatest of Flemish printers. - - "Avoir une maison, commode, propre, et belle, - Un jardin tapissé d'espaliers odorans, - Des fruits, d'excellent vin, peu de train, peu d'enfants, - Posséder seul sans bruit une femme fidèle. - - "N'avoir dettes, amour, ni procès, ni querelle, - Ni de partage à faire avecque ses parens, - Se contenter de peu, n'espérer rien des Grands, - Régler tous ses desseins sur un juste modèle. - - "Vivre avecque franchise et sans ambition, - S'adonner sans scrupule à la dévotion, - Domter ses passions, les rendre obéissantes. - - "Conserver l'esprit libre et le jugement fort, - Dire son Chapelet en cultivant ses entes, - C'est attendre chez soi bien doucement la mort." - -With the exception, perhaps, of three or four lines, Berwick now found -himself in unexpected agreement with old Plantin's analysis of human -happiness. - -And Barbara? Ah! she undoubtedly would agree with almost every word of -it; he caught himself wondering whether the position he had won, and -which he owed in a measure,--perhaps in a very great measure,--to his -wife's fortune, would be really forfeited, were he to become again a -comparatively poor man. Berwick had by no means forgotten what it was to -be straitened in means; and he realised that want of substantial wealth -had been a great bar even to Lord Bosworth. Still, oddly enough, the -thought of giving up his wealth for the sake of Barbara was beginning to -appeal to his imagination. He went so far as to tell himself that, had -he come across her as a girl, he would of course have married her, and -forfeited his large income without a regret. - -So it was that, during the long solitary spring day, spent by him almost -wholly in the forest, Berwick experienced many phases of acute and -varying feeling, most of which tended to war with the course to which he -was being inexorably driven by his sense of honour rather than by his -conscience. - -But for Boringdon's revelation as to Pedro Rebell's state, Berwick's -conscience would have been at ease. So much he had the honesty to admit. -Apart from that one point which so intimately involved his honour, he -was without scruple, and that although he loved Barbara the more for -being, as he well knew she was, scrupulous, and, as he thought, -conscience-ridden. Nothing, so he told himself again and again during -those hours of fierce battle, could alter the fact that she belonged to -him in that special sense which is, as concerns a man and a woman, the -outcome of certain emotional experiences only possible between two -natures which are drawn to one another by an over-mastering instinct. - -In the days that followed the fire at Chancton Priory, there had arisen, -between Berwick and Barbara, a deep, wordless intimacy and communion, -which at the time had had the effect of making him divine what was in -her mind, with a clearness which had struck those about them as being -actually uncanny. And yet it was then, during those days, that Berwick -had sworn to himself that his love was pure and selfless in its essence. -As she had lain there, her hand quivering when it felt his touch, every -gross element of his nature had become fused and refined in the clear -flame of his passion. It had been during these exquisite, to him sacred -moments, that he had told himself that on these terms of spiritual -closeness and fusion he would be content to remain. - -But alas! that mood had quickly changed; and the interview with -Boringdon had reawakened the violent primeval instinct which had -slumbered,--only slumbered,--during the illness of Barbara. The -knowledge that another man loved her, with an ordinary, natural love by -no means free from that element of physical attraction which Berwick -himself had been striving, not unsuccessfully, to control in his own -heart, had had a curious effect upon him. His soul, ay, and something -much less spiritual and more tangible than his soul, rushed down from -Heaven to earth, and he began to allow himself, when in the company of -the woman he loved, certain experiments, slight, almost gossamer in -texture, but which he would afterwards recall with a strange mingling of -shame and rapture, for they proved him master of that most delicate and -sensitive of human instruments, a pure and passionate heart. - -The wide solitary glades carpeted with flowers, the chestnut groves, -skirting the great avenue of firs, which is one of the glories of the -Forest,--everything to-day seemed to minister to his passion, to bring -Barbara Rebell vividly before him. Coming on a bank from whose mossy -surface sprang high, delicately tinted windflowers, Berwick was suddenly -haunted by a physical memory--that of Barbara's movement of surrender -two days before. Again he felt her soft quivering mouth yielding itself -to his lips, and, still so feeling, he suddenly bent down and put these -lips, now sanctified, to the cool petals of a windflower. Was it a sure -instinct which warned him that Barbara's love for him, even if it -contained every element the natural man seeks to find in his mate, was -so far governed by conscience that she would never be really content and -unashamed so long as they were outside the law? More, if Boringdon were -right, if Pedro Rebell were indeed dying, and Barbara became in time -James Berwick's wife, would she ever forget, would she ever cease to -feel a pang of pain and remorse in, the fact of this episode, and of the -confession which would--which must--follow after? He had to ask himself -whether he was prepared to cast so dark a shadow over the picture of -these days, these hours, which her mind would carry into all the future -years of their lives. - - * * * * * - -More difficult, because far more subtle and unanswerable, was the -knowledge that Boringdon might after all have been wrong, and that -Barbara might never be free. In that case, so Berwick with fierce -determination told himself, he would be fool indeed to retard the -decisive step which would resolve what had already become, both to him -and to Barbara, if the truth were to be faced honestly, an intolerable -situation. - -But in his heart Berwick knew well that Oliver Boringdon had spoken the -truth. Even now, to-day, release might have come, and Barbara might be a -free woman. Slowly, painfully, as he fought and debated the question -with himself, he became aware that only one course was compatible with -his own self-respect. - -A secret misgiving, a hidden, unmentionable dread, which would have -troubled, perhaps with reason, many a man in Berwick's position, was -spared this man. He knew that he need have no fear that Barbara would -misunderstand, or question, even in her heart of hearts, his sacrifice. -It would not be now, but later, that she would suffer,--when they went -back to their old humiliating position at Chancton, as lovers -unacknowledged, separated, watched. - -And so, at last, the outcome of the struggle which saw him go through so -many different moments of revolt and sharp temptation, was that Berwick -brought himself to envisage that immediate renunciation, which seemed so -much more difficult to face than did the further, if less poignant, -sacrifice which still lay in the distant future, when, to make Barbara -his wife, he would give up so much that had hitherto, or so he had -thought, made life worth living. - -Slowly he made his way back to the Pavilion du Dauphin, there to set -himself grimly to do all that was possible to make his decision, if not -irrevocable, then most difficult of revocation. Mère Lecerf was abruptly -told that as her master must leave the hunting lodge that night she must -arrange to come and sleep there, in order that "Madame" should not be -alone in the solitary building. But that, as Berwick well knew, was by -no means enough, for Mère Lecerf would acquiesce in any change of plan -with joyful alacrity. - -So it was that six o'clock saw him passing into the Pavilion Henri IV., -the famous hostelry which terminates the long Terrace of St. Germains. -There he was well known, and could, in his present mood, have well -spared the delight with which his orders were received, as also the few -sentences in which the landlady's young daughter aired her English. "But -how so! Of course! The most beautiful of our rooms shall be ready for -Monsieur's occupation. Perhaps for three nights? La, la! What a short -sojourn! A carriage now, at once? Another one to be at the Pavilion du -Dauphin this evening? But yes, certainly!" - - * * * * * - -Barbara, stepping down from the high French railway carriage, looked -about her with a strange shrinking and fear in her dark eyes. From the -moment she had left the boat she had been reminded, and that -intolerably, of another journey taken, not alone,--on the day of her -marriage to Pedro Rebell. The last few months seemed obliterated, and -Berwick for the moment forgotten. She was haunted by two very different -presences,--that of her mother, and that of the West Indian planter, -whose physical nearness, which had ever, from their marriage day onward, -filled her with agonised revolt and terror, she seemed now to feel as -she had not felt it for years, for he had soon tired of his victim. Had -it not been that thoughts of Madame Sampiero, and of the duty she owed -to the paralysed woman, restrained her, she would have been tempted to -open the railway carriage door and step out into the rushing wind, and -so end, for ever, the conflict in her mind. - -There are women, more women than men, who are born to follow the -straight way,--to whom crooked paths are full of unknown terrors. Such a -woman was Barbara Rebell. And yet the sight of Berwick,--Berwick, pale -indeed, but quiet, self-possessed and smiling, as they advanced towards -each other across the primitive little station,--brought comfort, and -even security, to her heart. It was so clearly impossible that he would -wish to work her any ill-- - -No other passenger had got out at Poissy, and the station-master, who -knew the owner of the Pavillon du Dauphin, looked with curiosity at the -man and woman now going towards one another. The information given to -Mère Lecerf had already reached him, "Cold types, these English!" but he -cheered up when he saw Berwick suddenly bend down and kiss each of the -traveller's pale cheeks, in French husbandly fashion. "Salut Monsieur! -Salut Madame!" the familiar accents fell sweetly on Barbara's ear as she -walked through to the town square, where a victoria was waiting to take -them to the Pavillon du Dauphin. - -As she sat, silent by his side, Berwick took her hand in his. Again and -again he opened his lips to speak, to tell her of his decision. But -something seemed to hold him back from doing so now. Later, when they -were alone, would be time enough. - -And Barbara? Still full of vague, unsubstantial fears, she yet felt -free--absolutely free--from the presence which had journeyed by her -side. Berwick now stood between herself and Pedro Rebell, but, during -the long silent drive up the steep road leading from the valley to the -forest plateau, Barbara's mother seemed to stand sentinel between -herself and Berwick. - - * * * * * - -At last they were alone,--alone in the shadow-filled hall where the -beams of the May moon, slanting in through the wide, curtainless window, -warred with the light thrown by the lamp still standing on the table -where they had sat at supper half an hour before. - -As she heard the door shut behind Madame Lecerf, Barbara had risen and -gone over to the friendly glow of the fire. She was now sitting, rather -rigidly upright, on the wooden bench which formed a kind of inglenook -within the stone fireplace. Just above her head hung the faded gilt -frame containing Plantin's sonnet; her hands were clasped loosely over -her knees, and she was looking straight into the heart of the burning -peat. - -Berwick, himself in shadow, watched her in tense silence; there was -something enigmatical, and to him rather fearful, in her stillness,--in -some ways he felt her more remote from himself than he had ever felt her -to be since the night they had first met. - -When driving from Poissy, he had taken her hand, and she had let it rest -in his; but only for one brief moment, during the last two hours, had -the woman he loved shown any sign of emotion. This was when, as they sat -at table, the old French woman serving them had said, in answer to some -question: "Mais oui, Madame Berwick!" and Barbara's face had suddenly -become flooded with colour. - -At last she looked round from the fire, and sought to see where her -companion was sitting. Berwick thought the gesture beckoned; he leapt up -and came forward with a certain eagerness, and, standing before her, -smiled down into her serious eyes. - -Suddenly she put out her hand and touched his sleeve. "Won't you sit -down," she said, "here, by me?" - -He obeyed, and she felt his arm slowly gathering her to him, while he, -on his side, became aware that she first shrank back, and then gradually -yielded to his embrace. Nay more, she suddenly laid her cheek against -his lips with a curious childish abandonment, but he knew there was -something wanting,--something which had been there during the moment -that their souls, as well as their bodies, had rushed together the -last,--the only time, till now,--that he had held her in his arms. - -She made a slight, an ineffectual effort to disengage herself as she -asked in a low voice: "Why did your servant call me that? Call me, I -mean, by your name?" - -"Because," he answered, rather huskily, "because I told her that you -were my wife. I hope that name is what all will call you some day." - -Barbara's lips trembled. "No," she said very slowly, "I do not think -that will ever happen. God will not let me be so happy. I have not -deserved it." Yet even as she said the words, he felt, with quick, -overmastering emotion, that she was surrendering herself, in spirit as -well as in body, and that she came willingly. - -He turned and caught her more closely to him. - -"Listen," he said hoarsely, "listen while I say something to you that -perhaps I ought to have said before, earlier, to-night." - -Then, rather suddenly, he withdrew his arms from about the slight -rounded figure enfolded in them. The utterance of what he had made up -his mind must now be said had become immeasurably more difficult during -the last few moments. He asked himself, with rough self-reproach and -self-contempt, why he had so delayed, why he had allowed her to come -here to be so wholly at his mercy, and he--yes, he--at hers? He got up -and walked slowly to the other side of the great room, and came back, -even more slowly, to where Barbara was sitting. - -There he knelt down by her. - -"Barbara," he said, "be kind to me! Help me! My pure angel, what does -your heart tell you would be to-night the greatest proof of my love--of -my adoration of you?" - -And then the most amazing, and, to the man looking up at her with -burning eyes the most moving, change came over the face bent down to -his. Barbara had understood. But she said nothing,--only slipped down -and put her arms, a wholly voluntary movement of caress, round him, in a -strange speechless passion of gratitude and tenderness. - -"Ah, Barbara," he said, "you have made me know you too well. You have -allowed me to see too clearly into your heart not to know that I was a -brute to ask you to do this thing,--to do that which I knew you believed -to be wrong." And, as she pressed more closely to him, her tears wetting -his face, he went on: "But I promise,--I swear,--I will never ask it of -you again. We will go on as we did,--as we found ourselves able to -do,--after the fire." - -"But will not that make you unhappy?" Her lips scarcely moved as she -whispered the words, looking into his strained face with sad, beseeching -eyes. - -"Yes," he said, rather shortly, "if I thought it impossible, or even -improbable, that you would become my wife, it would make me very -unhappy, but that, or so I believe, is not impossible, not even -improbable. Ah, Barbara, must I tell you,--do you wish me to tell -you,--everything?" - -She looked up at him with a sudden fear and perplexity. What did he -mean, what was it he had heard and wished to keep from her? But she -would trust him, trust him to the end, and so, "No," she whispered, -"tell me nothing you would ever regret having told me. I am quite -content, nay, more than content, with your goodness to your poor -Barbara." - - * * * * * - -An hour later Berwick was driving away from the Pavillon du Dauphin, not -to the station as Mère Lecerf believed, but to St. Germains, within -easy, tantalising distance of the woman he had just left,--a very -tearful, a very radiant, a most adoring, and alas! a most adorable -Barbara. - -Looking out with absent eyes across the great moonlit plain to his left, -Berwick thought over the strange little scene which had taken place. He -hardly knew what he had said,--in any case far less than he had meant. -Not a word, for instance, of what Boringdon had told him,--how could he -have spoilt, with the image of death, such an evening as had just been -theirs? Heavens! how strangely Barbara had altered, even before that -whispered assurance that he would never, never ask her to do that which -she thought wrong. - -When he had first brought her into the Pavilion, there had been -something tragic, as well as touching, in her still submissiveness of -manner. But afterwards--ah, afterwards!--he had been privileged to see a -side of her nature--ardent, yet spiritual, passionate, yet pure,--which -he felt that he alone had the power to awaken, which had manifested -itself only for him. How happy each had been in the feeling of nearness -to the other, in the knowledge that they were at last free from -watching, even if kindly, eyes, and listening ears,--what happiness they -promised each other for the morrow! They would give themselves, so -Berwick told Barbara, three days in this sylvan fairy land, and then he -would take her to Paris, and go himself back to England. - - * * * * * - -Barbara Rebell never knew that those three days, of to her unalloyed -bliss, held dark hours for her companion--hours when he cursed himself -for a quixotic fool. But, even in the midst of that strange experience, -Berwick was able to write in all honesty to his sister, the only human -being to whom he confided the fact that he was in France,--might she not -already have learnt it from some less trustworthy source?--certain -cryptic words, to which she could then attach no meaning: "One word -more. I wish to remind you that appearances are deceitful, and also to -tell you that I have at last found that it is possible to be good, to be -happy, and also to have a good time." - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - "There are moments struck from midnights!" - - ROBERT BROWNING. - - -Within a week of her return to Chancton Priory, Barbara heard of Pedro -Rebell's serious condition. A short, dry note from Andrew Johnstone -conveyed to her the fact that he was dying, and that, whether he lived a -few weeks or a few months longer was in his own hands,--a question, -however, only of time, and of a short time. - -Berwick had judged truly the woman he had grown to love with so intimate -an understanding and sympathy. The news of approaching release let loose -in Barbara's mind a flood of agonising memories, which crowded out for a -while everything else. During the long years she had endured every -humiliation such a man as Pedro Rebell could inflict on so proud, and so -sensitive a human being as herself, she had never foreseen this way of -escape. He had ever seemed instinct with a rather malignant vitality, -and the young,--Barbara had remained in some ways very young after her -marriage,--are not apt to take death into their calculations. - -For some days she told none of those about her of the astounding news -she had received from Santa Maria, but the two in whose thoughts she -dwelt constantly divined her knowledge. It quickened Boringdon's desire -to leave Chancton, and, with that self-delusion to which men who love -are so often prone, in Mrs. Rebell's new coldness of manner to himself, -he saw hope. Not so James Berwick,--he, judging more truly, was seized -with a great fear lest Barbara should think it her duty to go back to -Santa Maria. Rather than that, so he told himself during those days of -strain and waiting for the confidence which she withheld, he would go -himself,--men have gone stranger pilgrimages on behalf of their -beloveds. - -At last he told her that he knew what was so deeply troubling her. "And -you are thinking," he said quietly, "that perhaps you ought to go back -and look after him till the end? Is not that so?" - -Barbara looked at him very piteously,--they were walking under the -beeches, and, having wandered off the path, were now utterly alone. But, -before she could speak, he again opened his lips: "If such action is -necessary, if you do not think he will be well cared for by those about -him, I will go for you." - -"You?" Barbara's dark eyes dilated with sudden fear--"Oh! no, not -you!----" - -"Indeed, you could trust me to do all that was possible. You do not -think, surely, that your actual presence would be welcome to him?" The -words were uttered very quietly, but, as he asked the apparently -indifferent question, Berwick clenched the stick he held with a nervous -movement. - -"No, I should not be personally welcome." Barbara spoke in a low voice, -almost in a whisper; she felt it impossible to make those confidences -regarding her life with Pedro Rebell which another woman would, perhaps, -in her place, have been eager to make. And yet she longed to convey to -Berwick how short-lived on his part had been the sudden attraction which -had led this half-Spaniard to behave, in those sad weeks just before and -after her father's death, so as to bring her to believe that marriage -with him was the only way out of a difficult and undignified situation; -how little, when once he was married to her, the man who was now dying -had taken her into his scheming, vicious life. - -But now she could say nothing of all this. And yet those few words with -Berwick comforted her, and made her see more clearly, even gave her -courage to telegraph to the Johnstones,--only to receive the decided -answer that all that could be done was being done, and that her coming, -from every point of view, was undesirable. - -Then, and not till then, did Mrs. Rebell tell her god-mother the news -which meant so much to her, indeed to them both. - -Madame Sampiero made but one comment--"James Berwick must have known -this before you went to France!" - -Barbara bent forward to hear the quickly muttered words. The suggestion -surprised her, perhaps troubled her a little. She hesitated,--but surely -such knowledge could not have reached him before it reached herself, and -so, "No--I do not think so," she said. - -"Ah! well, I do think so----" - -Madame Sampiero said no other word, but when her mind--that shrewd, -acute mind, as keenly able to weigh actions and to judge those about her -as ever it had been--pondered the confession Barbara had made to her -immediately on her return from France, her heart grew very tender to -James Berwick. She realised, what one who had been a better woman than -herself would perhaps not have understood so well, the force of the -temptation which must have assailed the man who loved Barbara with so -jealous and instinctive a passion. At last, too, Madame Sampiero -understood the riddle of Oliver Boringdon's sudden resignation of the -conduct of her business. It must have been from him that Berwick had -learnt that Mrs. Rebell was on the eve of becoming a free woman. But not -even to Doctor McKirdy did the paralysed mistress of the Priory say what -was in her mind; the old Scotchman divined that her view as to the -danger of the relation of her god-daughter and Berwick had altered, and -that the change had come about because of some confidence--or was it -confession?--made by Barbara within a few hours of her return from -Paris. Only Madame Sampiero,--and, long afterwards, Arabella -Berwick,--ever knew of those three days spent by Berwick and Barbara at -St. Germains. - - * * * * * - -The one person in Chancton, to whom Boringdon made any explanation -concerning his resignation of the post he had now held for nearly two -years, was Lucy Kemp. His mother told her many acquaintances that the -public office her son had left to enter Parliament had found it quite -impossible to carry on its portion of the nation's work without him, and -that a very great inducement had been held out to him to persuade him to -go back! But of these confidences of Mrs. Boringdon's he was happily -ignorant, and to Lucy alone Oliver felt a longing to justify the future -as well as the present. - -Shortly, baldly, making no excuse for himself, unconsciously trusting to -her sympathy, and to the instinctive understanding she had always shown -where he and his feelings were concerned, he told her the truth, adding -in conclusion: "You, now knowing her as you did not know her before the -fire, can understand my----" he hesitated, then brought the words out -with a certain effort,--"my love for her. I shall wait a year; I should -not insult her by coming any sooner. I do not expect to be listened -to--at first. She has suffered----" Again he stopped abruptly, then went -on: "Lucy, do you think it strange that I should tell you all this?" -And, as she shook her head, he added: "Lately she has seemed to avoid -me,--that is, since her return from France, in fact since I know that my -brother-in-law's letter must have reached her." - -A sharp temptation assailed Lucy Kemp. Would it be so very wrong to -break her promise to Mrs. Rebell,--that promise given so solemnly the -night of the fire? Could she not say a word, only a word, indicating -that he was making a terrible mistake? What hope could there be for -Oliver Boringdon if Barbara loved James Berwick? But the girl fought -down the longing, and Boringdon's next words showed her that perhaps he -knew or guessed more than she had thought possible. - -"Perhaps you have heard,--I know my mother has done so,--foolish gossip -concerning Mrs. Rebell and James Berwick, but I can assure you that -there is no truth in it. Berwick's financial condition makes it -impossible that he should think of marriage." And, as something in -Lucy's look or manner made him aware that she also had heard of, perhaps -had noticed, the constant presence of Berwick at the Priory, Oliver bit -his lip and went on, rather hurriedly: "I am not excusing him. I think -his assumption of friendship with Mrs. Rebell has been regrettable. But, -Lucy, I spoke to him about it, and though in doing so I lost his -friendship, I am quite sure that it made a difference, and that it -caused him to realise the harm he might be doing. In a country -neighbourhood such as this, a man cannot be too careful." Oliver -delivered himself of this maxim with considerable energy. - -He seemed to be about to add something, then changed his mind. One -further word, however, he did say: - -"I wonder if you would let me write to you sometimes, and if Mrs. Kemp -would mind your sometimes writing to me? In any case I hope my mother -will hear from you." - -And then, for a short space of time, a deep calm settled over Chancton. -Berwick, who was staying at Fletchings, came almost daily, spending, -'tis true, long hours in Barbara's company, but treating her, during -that strange interval of waiting, with a silent, unmaterial tenderness -which moved and rather surprised those about them. - - * * * * * - -Barbara and her god-mother were in the Blue drawing-room, spending -there, not unhappily, a solitary evening. Spring had suddenly become -summer. It was so hot that the younger woman, when coming back from the -dining-room, had left the doors deliberately wide open, but no sound -came from the great hall and upper stories of the Priory. - -Madame Sampiero preferred the twilight, and the two candles, placed far -behind her couch, left her own still face and quivering lips in shadow, -while casting a not unkindly light on her companion. - -Barbara had been fanning the paralysed woman, but during the last few -moments she had let the fan fall idly on her knee, and she was looking -down with a look of gravity, almost of suffering, on her face. She was -thinking, as she so often did think in these days, of Pedro Rebell, -wondering if she ought to have gone back to Santa Maria as soon as she -received Andrew Johnstone's letter. Had she believed that her presence -would bring pleasure or consolation to the man who, she was told, was so -soon to die, she might have found the strength to go to him,--her mother -would have said that in any case her duty was to be there,--but then her -mother had never come across, had never imagined--thank God that it was -so!--such a man as her daughter had married. And so little does even the -tenderest and most intelligent love bridge the gulf between any two of -us, that Madame Sampiero, taking note of the downcast eyes, thought -Barbara absorbed in some happy vision of dreams come true. - -A good and noble deed, even if it takes the unusual form of supreme -personal self-abnegation, often has a far-reaching effect, concealed, -and that for ever, from the doer. How amazed James Berwick would have -been to learn that one result of his renunciation had been to broaden, -to sweeten Madame Sampiero's whole view of human nature! She realised, -far more than Barbara Rebell could possibly do, the kind of heroism such -conduct as that of Berwick had implied in such a nature as his, and she -understood and foresaw its logical consequence--the altering, the -reshaping in a material form, of the whole of his future life and -career. - -Sometimes, when gazing at her god-daughter with those penetrating blue -eyes which had always been her greatest beauty, and which remained, in a -peculiar pathetic sense, the windows of her soul and the interpreters of -her inmost heart, the mistress of Chancton Priory wondered if Barbara -was aware of what James Berwick had done, and of what he evidently meant -to do, for her sake. - -To-night these thoughts were specially present to Madame Sampiero; -slowly, but very surely, she also was making up her mind to what would -be, on her part, an act of supreme self-humiliation and renunciation. - -"Barbara," she said, in the hoarse muffled tone of which the -understanding was sometimes so difficult--"listen--" Mrs. Rebell started -violently, the two words broke the silence which seemed to brood over -the vast house. "I have determined to receive Julian--Lord Bosworth. You -will prepare him"--she paused a moment, then concluded more -indistinctly, "for the sight he is to see." - -"But, Marraine, it is _you_ he loves, and not--not----" Mrs. Rebell's -voice was choked by tears. She slipped down on her knees, and laid her -two hands on Madame Sampiero's stiff fingers, while she looked -imploringly up into the still face. - -Suddenly, as she knelt there, a slight sound fell on Barbara's ears; she -knew it at once as that of the door, leading from the great hall to the -vestibule, being quietly closed from the inside. A moment later there -came the rhythmical thud of heavy footsteps making their way, under the -music gallery, across to the staircase. A vague feeling of fear -possessed the kneeling listener. Into her mind there flashed the thought -that whoever had come in must have walked across the lawn very softly, -also that the footfalls striking so distinctly on her ear were -unfamiliar. - -Then, in a moment, an amazing, and, to Barbara Rebell, a very awful -thing took place. The stiff fingers she held so firmly slipped from her -grasp, she felt a sudden sensation of void, and, looking up, she saw -Madame Sampiero, drawn to her full height, standing by the empty couch. -A moment later the tall figure was moving with steady swiftness towards -the door which stood open at the other end of the long room--Barbara -sprang up, and rushed forward; she was just in time to put her arms -round her god-mother as Madame Sampiero suddenly swayed--wavered-- - -There was a moment of tense silence, for outside in the hall the heavy -footsteps had stayed their progress-- - -"It is Julian." Madame Sampiero spoke quite distinctly, but she was -leaning heavily, heavily, on her companion, and Barbara could feel the -violent trembling of her emaciated body. "He used to come--in that -way--long ago--He thinks I am upstairs. You must go and find him--" - -To Barbara, looking back, as she often did look back during her later -life, to that night, three things, in their due sequence, stood out -clearly--the terrifying sight of the paralysed woman walking with such -firm swift steps down the long room; the slow and fearful progress back -to the couch; and then, her own fruitless, baffling search through the -upper stories of the Priory--a search interrupted at intervals by the -far-away, but oh! how clear and insistent voice, crying out "Barbara!" -"Barbara!" a cry which, again and again, brought the seeker hurrying -down, but with never a word of having found him whom she sought. - - * * * * * - -Doctor McKirdy, coming in as he always did come each evening, was the -only human being to whom Mrs. Rebell ever told what had occurred; and -she was indifferent to the knowledge that he discredited her statement -as to how far Madame Sampiero had walked before she, Barbara, had caught -the swaying figure in her arms. Would she herself have believed the -story, had it been told her? No, for nothing could have convinced her of -its truth but the evidence of her own eyes. - -As was his way when what he judged to be serious illness or disturbance -was in question, the old Scotchman was very silent, intent at first only -on soothing his patient, and on having her transported upstairs as -quickly and as quietly as possible. At last Barbara heard the words, "I -promise ye most solemnly I will look mysel', but no doubt he's away by -now, slipt out somehow"--uttered in the gentle voice he only kept for -the woman to whom he was speaking, and which he rarely used even to her. -And so, when Madame Sampiero was finally left with Jean--Jean, whose -stern countenance showed no quiver of curiosity or surprise, though she -must have known well enough that something very unusual had -happened--Mrs. Rebell followed Doctor McKirdy downstairs. - -"Then you do think it really was Lord Bosworth?" she asked rather -eagerly. - -"Indeed I do not!" he turned on her fiercely, "I just think it was -nobody but your fancy!" - -Barbara felt foolishly vexed. - -"But, Doctor McKirdy, some man undoubtedly came in, and walked across -the hall. We both heard him, quite distinctly." - -"And of whom were ye thinking,--ay, and may-be talking,--when ye both -heard this mysterious person?" - -It was a random shot, but Barbara reddened and remained silent. - -Doctor McKirdy, however, did not pursue his advantage. "Look ye here," -he said, not unkindly, "try and get that notion out of her head, even if -ye can't out of yours. If I thought he had come, that it was he"--he -clenched his hands, "'Twould be a dastardly thing to do after what I've -told him of her state! But, Mrs. Barbara, believe me, 'twas all -fancy,"--he looked at her with an odd twisted smile, "I'll tell you -something I've never told. Years ago, just after Madam's bad illness, I -went away, more fool I, for what they call a change. Well, wherever I -went they followed me--she and little Julia, as much there before me as -you are now! 'Twas vain to reason with myself. Julia, poor bairn, was -dead--who should know it as well as I?--and Madam lay stretched out -here. And yet--well, since then I've known that seeing is not all -believing. Once I got back,--to her, to them,--I laid their wraiths." - -Barbara shuddered. "Then you are not going to look any more? I quite -admit that whoever came in is probably gone away by now." - -"Of course I'll make a round of the place. D'ye think I'd break my word -in that fashion?" - -Together they made a long and fruitless search through the vast old -house, and up to the last moment Barbara thought it possible they might -find someone in hiding, some poor foot-sore sailor tramp, may-be, who -had wandered in, little knowing of the trouble he was bringing--but the -long search yielded nothing. - -"Are ye satisfied _now_?" Doctor McKirdy held up the hooded candle, and -turned the light on her flushed, excited face. - -"Yes!--no!--I mean that of course I know now there is no one in the -house, but someone, a man, certainly came in." - -For long hours Barbara lay awake, listening with beating heart for any -unwonted sound, but none broke across the May night, and she fell asleep -as the birds woke singing. - -At eight in the morning Léonie brought her a note just arrived from -Fletchings: "DEAREST,--Your kind heart will be grieved to learn that my -uncle died, quite suddenly, last evening. I nearly came over, then -thought it wisest to wait till the morning. Better perhaps make McKirdy -break it to her." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - "O sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm!" - - -A whole year had gone by, and it had been, so Chancton village and the -whole neighbourhood agreed, the dullest and longest twelve months the -place had ever known. What events had happened had all been of a -disturbing or lugubrious character, and even Miss Vipen confessed that -there had been really nothing pleasant to talk about! - -The Cottage was again empty, for Oliver Boringdon and his mother had -gone, and their departure, especially that of Mrs. Boringdon, had -certainly been viewed with sincere regret. She was such an agreeable, -pleasant person, and the village people on their side had soon regretted -Oliver's just dealings, which compared most commendably with the -favouritism and uncertain behaviour of Doctor McKirdy, who now, as -before Mr. Boringdon's brief tenure of the land agency, acted as -go-between to the tenants and Madame Sampiero. - -Another occurrence, which had certainly played its part in bringing -about the general dulness and flatness that seemed to hang over the -place as a pall, had been the death, from sudden heart failure, of Lord -Bosworth. The owner of Fletchings had been for many years the great man -of the neighbourhood; his had been the popular presence at all the local -functions he could be persuaded to attend, and there had been a constant -stream of distinguished and noteworthy folk to and from his country -house. Even those who only saw Lord Bosworth's distinguished guests -being conveyed to and from the station, shared in the gratification -afforded by their presence. The only day which stood out in the -recollection of both gentle and simple was that of Lord Bosworth's -funeral; quite a number of really famous people had come down from -London to be present. - -Then had followed many pleasant discussions, in Miss Vipen's -drawing-room and elsewhere, concerning the late peer's will. Lord -Bosworth had left everything that could be left away from his heir to -the latter's sister, and this of course was as it should be. But there -had been a few curious bequests; a considerable legacy, for instance, to -Madame Sampiero's old housekeeper, Mrs. Turke; the dead man's watch and -chain, a set of pearl studs, and a valuable snuff-box which had been -given to him by the Emperor of the French, actually became the property -of Doctor McKirdy, who--so said popular rumour--had begun by declining -the legacy, and then, in deference to Madame Sampiero's wish, had -accepted it! All agreed that it had been very generous of her to -interest herself in the matter, for strange, very strange, to say, her -name was not mentioned at all in the will! Oddest of all, in the opinion -of the neighbourhood, was the bequest to Mrs. Rebell of the portrait of -the child, described as that of "My daughter Julia"; but the picture -still hung in what had been Lord Bosworth's study at Fletchings. There -was a crumb of comfort inasmuch as the little estate had not been sold. -Perhaps the new Lord Bosworth, to whom such an insignificant possession -could be of but little account, intended to present it to his sister, -Miss Berwick. - -The fact that all the Priory servants had been put into mourning had -given most people subject for remark, and had rather scandalised -everybody; it seemed to dot the i's and cross the t's of the now -forgotten scandal. Indeed, the more charitable were inclined to think -that the servants' mourning was really worn because of the death of Mrs. -Rebell's husband, which had become known at Chancton two days after that -of Lord Bosworth,--a fact which had prevented its attracting as much -attention and comment as perhaps the event deserved. - -It had been noted, however, with a good deal of concern, that Mrs. -Rebell did not wear proper widow's weeds; true, she made her widowhood -the excuse for living a life of even greater seclusion than she had done -before, and she wore black, but no one--so those interested in the -matter declared--would take her for a newly-made widow. - -Yet another thing which had certainly contributed to the dulness of the -neighbourhood had been the absence, the whole summer and autumn through, -of the new Lord Bosworth,--for this of course had meant the shutting up -of Chillingworth. After making an ineffectual, and, so most of the -people belonging to that part of the world thought, a very ridiculous -attempt to assert his right to go on sitting in the House of Commons, he -had started "in a huff" for a tour round the world. But he wrote, so -said report, very regularly to Madame Sampiero, and to his old nurse, -Mrs. Turke. He had also sent to various humble folk in Chancton -wonderful presents; no one connected with Chillingworth had been -forgotten, not even Dean's new baby,--to whom, by the way, Dean's master -had acted, being of course represented by proxy, as god-father. - -Now, however, the neighbourhood was waking up a little; for one thing -the wanderer was home again, having hurried back to be present at the -distribution of the Liberal loaves and fishes,--strange though it seemed -that a peer should continue to be a Radical, especially such an -immensely wealthy peer as was the new Lord Bosworth. - -With only one group of people might time be said to have stood quite -still. These were General and Mrs. Kemp and their daughter Lucy. But -Lucy was certainly less bright--perhaps one ought to say duller--than -she used to be. On the other hand, she had become very intimate with -Mrs. Rebell; they were constantly together, and people could not help -wondering what the latter saw in Lucy Kemp. - - * * * * * - -It was the third of April. Miss Vipen prided herself upon remembering -dates; the anniversaries of birthdays, of weddings, of deaths, lingered -in her well-stored mind, and she also kept a little book in which she -noted such things. To-day was to be long remembered by her, for, having -most fortunately had occasion to go across to the post office just after -luncheon, she had seen, lying on the counter, a telegram containing a -most extraordinary and unexpected piece of news. - -Miss Vipen regarded telegrams as more or less public property, and she -had met the flustered postmaster's eye,--an eye she had known absolutely -from its infancy,--with a look of triumphant confidence. Then, by -amazing good luck, while on the way back to her own house, she had come -across Mrs. Sampson, the rector's wife, and from her had won ample, -overwhelming confirmation, of the most interesting event which had -happened in the neighbourhood for years and years! - -It was a delightful spring day and Miss Vipen decided that, instead of -waiting calmly at home until her usual circle gathered about her at tea -time, she would make a number of calls, ensuring a warm welcome at each -house by the amazing and secret tidings she would be able to bring. Mrs. -Sampson was still bound to silence, and only the fact that Miss Vipen -was already acquainted with the morning's happenings had made the -rector's wife reluctantly complete, and as it were, round off, the -story. - -Miss Vipen's first call was at Chancton Grange. Since General Kemp had -behaved so strangely some two years before, turning on his heel and -leaving her drawing-room before he had even said how do you do, she had -scarcely ever crossed Mrs. Kemp's threshold. But to-day an unwonted -feeling of kindness made her aware that the important piece of gossip -she came to bring would make her welcome to at least one of the Grange's -inmates, and to the one whom she liked best, for she had always been, so -she assured herself to-day, rather fond of Lucy. Poor Lucy, wasting her -youth in thinking of a man who would certainly never think of her, and -yet with whom, so Miss Vipen understood, her parents very wrongly -allowed her to correspond! - -The old lady was naturally delighted to find the inmates of the Grange -all at home, and all three sitting together in the room into which she -was shown. Both the General and his wife made what they flattered -themselves was a perfectly successful attempt to conceal their surprise -at seeing Miss Vipen, but they were not long left in doubt as to why she -had come, for she plunged at once into the matter, looking sharply from -her host to her hostess, and from Mrs. Kemp to Lucy, as she exclaimed, -"I suppose that you have not heard the great news? You have no idea of -what took place this morning? Here, in Chancton Church?" - -But General and Mrs. Kemp shook their heads, but their daughter began to -look, or so Miss Vipen thought, rather guilty. - -"Well, there was a wedding at our church this morning! But you will -never guess,--I defy any of you to guess,--who was the bride and who the -bridegroom!" - -Then the speaker saw with satisfaction that General Kemp gave a sudden -anxious glance at Lucy. "The lady has not lost much time," continued -Miss Vipen, "for her husband has only been dead four or five months. Now -can you guess who it is?" - -But Lucy broke the awkward silence. "Just ten months, Miss Vipen--Mrs. -Rebell became a widow early in June----" - -"Well, no matter, but can you guess the name of the happy man? Of course -one could give _two_ guesses----" - -But alas! Miss Vipen was denied her great wish to be the first to tell -the delightful piece of news, for, while she was enjoying Mrs. Kemp's -obvious discomfort, Lucy again spoke, and in a sharp voice very unlike -her own, - -"Why, Mr. Berwick--I mean Lord Bosworth, of course! Who else could it -be?" Then she looked rather deprecatingly at her parents: "I could not -say anything about it, because it was told me only yesterday, as a -great, a very great, secret." - -"And do you know," continued Miss Vipen in a rather discomfited tone, -"who were the witnesses?" - -"No," said Lucy, "that I do not." - -"Doctor McKirdy for Lord Bosworth, and Daniel O'Flaherty, that Home -Ruling barrister who is mixed up in so many queer cases, for Mrs. -Rebell! I can tell you another most extraordinary thing. She was -actually married in a white dress--not a veil of course, but a white -gown and a hat. And who else do you think were there? Mrs. Turke--it's -the first time to my knowledge that she's been in that church for -years--the Scotchwoman, Jean, the French maid Léonie, and the butler -McGregor! Mrs. Turke wore a pale blue watered silk dress and a pink -bonnet; she cried, it seems, so loudly that Mr. Sampson became quite -confused----" - -"And Miss Berwick?" said Lucy quietly, "was she not there too?" - -"Yes, of course; I was forgetting Miss Berwick. Well, this must be a sad -day for her--after all her striving and scheming for her brother! No -wonder he kept Fletchings, for I suppose they will have to live there -now," Miss Vipen spoke with deep and sincere commiseration. "What a -change for _him_ after Chillingworth! He becomes a pauper--for a peer, -for a Cabinet Minister, an absolute pauper! They are going to France -this afternoon for the honeymoon, but they are to be back soon." - - * * * * * - -When Miss Vipen had been seen safely out of the gate by General Kemp, he -came back to find his wife alone. Lucy had gone up to her room. - -"I suppose you expected this, Mary?" - -"Yes--no"--Mrs. Kemp had an odd look on her face--"and yet I always -liked Mr. Berwick from the very little I saw of him. But I confess I -never thought this would happen. Indeed, I was afraid, Tom,--there is no -harm in saying so now,--I was afraid that in time Oliver Boringdon would -obtain what seemed to be the desire of his heart----" - -"Afraid?" cried the General, "Nothing could have pleased me better, -excepting that I should have been sorry for Mrs. Rebell! I suppose that -now you are quite delighted, Mary, at the thought that Boringdon will -again begin haunting Lucy. It is not by my good will that you have -allowed them to write to one another." - -Poor Mrs. Kemp! She had no answer ready. During the last year she had -learnt what hatred was, for she had hated Oliver Boringdon with all the -strength of her strong nature; not only had he left Chancton taking -Lucy's heart with him, but he had made no effort to free himself of the -unwanted possession. Nay, more, almost at once a regular correspondence -had begun between the two, and though Lucy was not unwilling that her -mother should see his letters, Mrs. Kemp did not find much to console -her in them. - -And now? The mother realised that she must make haste to transform her -feeling towards Oliver Boringdon into something akin to liking. As a -beginning she now went up to Lucy's room, her heart yearning over the -girl, but with no words prepared. Perhaps now her child would come back -to her--the last year had been a long, sad year to Mrs. Kemp. - -Lucy was sitting idly by the rosewood davenport. There were traces of -tears on her face. "Mother!" she said, "Oh, mother!" Then she took Mrs. -Kemp's hand and laid her cheek against it. In a very different tone she -added, "I felt rather ashamed at not telling you yesterday. Barbara -would not have minded your knowing, but Lord Bosworth was anxious that -no one should be told." - -"Is that why you are crying?" asked Mrs. Kemp in a low voice. - -"No, no, of course not! I am afraid--Oh! mother! do you think it will -make _him_ very unhappy?" - -"For a little while," said Mrs. Kemp drily, "he will fancy himself so, -and then he will begin to wonder whether, after all, she was quite -worthy of him!" - -"Don't say that--don't think so unkindly of him!" Lucy stood up, she put -her hand through her mother's arm, "Do you think people ever leave off -caring, when they have once cared--so much?" - -"Lucy," said Mrs. Kemp, "have you ever wondered why your father and I -married so late? You know we were engaged--first--when I was only -nineteen----" - -"Because you were too poor!" cried Lucy quickly, "because father was in -India!" and then, as her mother looked at her quite silently, the girl -added, with a kind of cry, "Oh! mother! what do you mean?" - -"I mean,--I do not think that now he would be unwilling that you should -know, my darling,--that a woman came between us. Someone not so good, -not so innocent as Barbara Rebell,--for I do think that in this matter -she was quite innocent, Lucy." - -"But father always liked you best, mother? How could he help it?" - -"No," said Mrs. Kemp, "there was a time when he did not like me best. -There were years when he loved the other woman, and I was--well, -horribly unhappy. And yet, you see, he came back to me,--I fought -through,--and you, my dear one, will fight through, please God, to be as -happy a woman as your mother has been ever since you have known her." - - - THE END. - - - - - Transcriber Notes: - -Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. - -Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. - -Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". - -Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of -the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. - -The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up -paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Thus -the page number of the illustration might not match the page number in -the List of Illustrations, and the order of illustrations may not be the -same in the List of Illustrations and in the book. - -Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected -unless otherwise noted. - -On page 3, "beautifu" was replaced with "beautiful". - -On page 37, the word after "the doctor" was unclear, but it is listed -as "repeated". - -On page 38, "tnat" was replaced with "that". - -On page 38, "t sight" was replaced with "the sight". - -On page 38, "who nly" was replaced with "who only". - -On page 58, a period was added after "wiped out". - -On page 83, "why it is" was replaced with "Why it is". - -On page 96, "rom" was replaced with "from". - -On page 96, "hours o" was replaced with "hours of". - -On page 97, " me," was replaced with "time,". - -On page 99, "conimprehensible" was replaced with "incomprehensible". - -On page 116, "ndoors" was replaced with "indoors". - -On page 121, " elling" was replaced with "telling". - -On page 144, a period was added after "herself". - -On page 226, "back to Chanc" was replaced with "back to Chancton". - -On page 226, "leave early, and" was replaced with "leave early, and it". - -On page 228, "woman s refinement" was replaced with "woman's -refinement". - -On page 237, a period was placed after "prudent". - -On page 239, "pirmeval" was replaced with "primeval". - -On page 240, " ar from" was replaced with "far from". - -On page 240, "he fel" was replaced with "he felt". - -On page 243, "exemp" was replaced with "exempt". - -On page 247, "nstinct" was replaced with "instinct". - -On page 258, "onging" was replaced with "longing". - -On page 279, "which he had been listening the last three hours.to" was -replaced with "to which he had been listening the last three hours.". - -On page 300, "L'orgueil, reméde souverain, qui n'est pas à l'usage des -âmes endres." was replaced with "L'orgueil, remède souverain, qui n'est -pas à l'usage des âmes tendres." - -Oh page 310, a comma was placed after "again repeated". - -On page 321, a period was placed after "night". - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Barbara Rebell, by Marie Belloc Lowndes - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARBARA REBELL *** - -***** This file should be named 42462-8.txt or 42462-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/4/6/42462/ - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at - www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |