Geoffrey Hamlyn

a Good Deal of M

starred with wild-rose and eglantine; and on the lesser woodland stream, the king fern was again concealing the channel with brilliant golden fronds; while

in another week, so he worked harder than ever. Mrs. Buckley used to bring down her son and heir, and sit under an oak by the river-side, sewing. Pleasant, long days they were when dinner would be brought down to the old tree, and she would spend the day there, among the long meadow-grass, purple and yellow with flowers, bending under the soft

which he seemed entirely devoted. One evening they had been employed rather later than usual, and the Doctor was just gone, when the

on. Such a neat, trim figure, with the snow-white handkerchief over her head, and her white g

iss Thornton. "Was not that Dr.

my d

Dr. Mulhaus, when he came to reside

I knew at Oxford, r

not Mulhaus. Do you know wha

uld have liked to answer "No," but he could not tell a lie. He was al

said Miss

dear, how did y

ry discreet, and have never said a word even to you till now; and, lately, I

hen you were with her la

door thrown open, and two men coming towards us talking from the breakfast-room. We could not see them for the plants, but when we heard the voice of one of them, the girls got into a terrible flu

im? - w

se voice we had recognised; I though

d what a good friend I should lose if the slightest hint as to who he was,

overness, whom he never saw but three times, and never looked a

rloo. So they never could have met. My dear discreet old sister, what tact you have! I have often said to myself, when I have se

s required, my dear brother. Se

for a turn in the lanes, but I know I should meet half a dozen co

k to one another - I think I don't go too far in saying that. I have met them and overtaken them, and come sharp round corners on to them, but I never heard them speak to one another. I have asked the young men themselves whether they ever said anything to their sweeth

inion is entitled to respect. He used to ask, why an honest girl should not receive her lover at her father's house, or in broad daylight, an

nd of Hawker's plantation, where George met Nelly a night we know of. So quiet and lonely, and such pleasant glimpses d

it be but Mary, though, with whom he should walk, with his arm round her waist talking so affectionately. But s

pack off, or you'll have your amiable mother asking after y

ne that the Vicar and the Doctor saw nur

she's got, you know; and it seems he'll sooner make her work for keeping it, th

rkening rapidly. There sat Madge before the fire, in her favouri

," said he, "whe

yton fair,"

said George. "He'll fall off his horse in a fit coming hom

g for you

rge; "but I'd be s

g. "Why, you young fool, you'

miscall a man for caring for his own father? Aye, and not s

the better, lad, for speaking up for him. He's an awfu

mad woman, or else we shall quarrel; and that I don't want, f

etty boy; though you never tel

mething now; so keep your ears

stai

's the

own your horse. Bend over the fi

nt their heads together - "I've wrote the o

"Three times! For God's sake,

nished, "did you kno

dn't been for me? And what a fool you were not to tell me before. Why, you must be mad. I as near let the cat out of the bag coming over t

hundred. I only

ut me. We are hardly safe now, if he should get talking to the bank p

eorge, "what would he

is money; and sometimes I am afraid he wouldn't spare even you if he knew he

ow

and get her money. Then, if it cam

old man won't come round, and I want her to go o

will be very different from yours, and she'll see the difference, and get too proud for the like of you. That woman's a real lady, and that's very dangerous, for she tre

said George. "That Tom Troubr

ancy to him. He's a fine young fellow. You get her to go off w

me in half-dr

n, hanging about the parson's. You don't get on very fast with that

, and left the othe

"tell us what you did

g to tell you

ou hadn't need to hide

t of all," he said. "That last mone

the first matter, the

an who put

was t

ow. William Le

e kept that to myself, because no good was to be got by peaching on him, and a secret's always worth money. Why, lad, I could have sent that man abroad agai

imself, then," said

h your gun. But nothing came of it; I saw that in your face when you came home.

ut instead of sle

this cursed cheque, too; that ought to be provided against. What a fool I was not to tell Madge about it before. I wonder whether she is game to come, though. I think she is; she has been very tender lately. It don't look as if she was getting tired of me, though she might take a fancy into her head about Troubridge. I daresay her fathe

never know. Only we know, that shortly after dinner they disagreed about some trifle, and Mary remained sulky all the afternoon; and that at tea-time, driven on by pitiless fate, little thinking what was hanging over him, he made some harsh remark, which brought down a flood of tears. Whereat, getting

love to Miss Burrit of Paiskow. And that if he wasn't, she'd never, never, thi

t. That she was moping about, and colloquing with that infamous young scoundrel, Hawker. That he would not have it. That if he found him lurking about his premises, he'd either break his neck himself, or find some one who co

at on the bed for a time, and cried herself quiet. It grew dark, and she lit a candle, and put it in the right corner

she replied, and in a very few minutes felt George

egan. "I have got something particular to say to you. You se

unjust to me, and I have been in a great passion and very miserable. I am

y love. Don't keep bac

ime, and said that you were hanging about the place, and that he wouldn't have it. And then he said that I ought to marry Tom Troubri

believe he is in a terrible way. Well, in a few weeks he'd see it was no use carrying on. That his daughter had married a young man of property, who was very fond of her, and as she was very fond of. And that matters might b

orge! if I coul

r, and ask yourself what he would gain by

know

a change it will make when the thing's once done. When I am his son-in-law he'll be as an

fraid,

e, you are going

, George?

rrow n

le! Sunda

is too late, my darling. At ten o'clock I shall be here, under y