Johnny Ludlow, Second Series

the F

less about it than others know. The history is Duffham's; not mine. And there are diaries in it, and all kinds of foreign

I called to tell him where I was going, "you can be getting on wi

ant to be ransacking memory for materials during any holiday, and th

it won't take much weaving; you'll have it all before your eyes

nd send it forth as though it were true. Wh

he world would have witnessed some strange events. Not that you'll find anything strange in t

me see th

me back with his spectacles on, and car

ape, "for I tried my own hand at it. But I found I could not get on wel

in it!" I exclaimed, glancing ov

Johnny," he answered, rolling them up again. "I sho

is the

ence for me to read. "A Tale of Sin." It took me

nd the people are still living, how will t

ke it on my own shoulders. All you have to do is to put

pers. But the tale i

able, we have to go ever so many y

family, whilst his wife was only a small working farmer's daughter. Mr. Layne lived in a pretty red-brick house, opposite to Duffham's present residence. It stood a yard or two back from the path, and had

er Chavasse. He remained an old bachelor up to nearly the end of his life. And then, when it seemed to be getting time for him to prepare for the gr

It was whispered that her family, high, poor, and haughty, had wished her to make a different match; to a broken-down old nobleman, ten times richer than Sir Peter; but that she hated the man. Si

Mr. Layne was sent for in haste to the Grange, and found he was too late. Too late for Sir

etcy had to lie in abeyance. If it proved to be a boy, he would take his father's title and fortune; if a girl, both title and for

rs to have been partly kept as a professional note-book, partly as a private journal. At this time Mr.

Note-book of

e, there were five different messages waiting for me. It never rains but it pours.

t may go hard with her unless she uses more exertion; but I don't like to frighten her. Nearly four months now since Sir Peter died, and she has never been out but to chur

what will. Things were unpleasant at my home, and we hurried on the marriage, he and I, so that he might take me out of it, and there was no time to get a settlement drawn up, even had we, either of us, thought of it, which we did not." Listening to this, the notion struck me that it must have been something like a runaway marriage; but I said nothing, only bade her take heart and hope for a boy. "I cannot imagine any lot in life now so delightful as this would be-that I and my baby-boy should live on

plate, carriages-it all goes with the title. I'm not sure but Sir Peter's old clothes have to be thrown in too, so strict is the entail. No settlement on her, you say, Layne? My good fellow, old Peter had nothing to settle. He had spent his income regularly, an

rest is stopped, I suppose. Who'd be a doctor? Listen! There's my wife opening the street-door. What does she call out to me

y to live. He was born on the 20th. Lady Chavasse, in her gladness, says she shall get well all one way. I think she will: the mind strangely influences the body. But my lady is a little hard-what some might call unforgiving.

all a boy of his by the same. Lady Chavasse, mindful of his every wish, has fixed on the other two. I asked her if they were

w she devoted herself to him. He had come to her in the midst of her desolation, when she had nothing else to care for in life. It was already seen that he would be much like his father, who had been a

n him, which his nurse, Wilkins, said served him right. However, from that time he seemed to be less strong; and at length Lady Chavasse took him to London to show him to the doctors. The doctors told her he ought

ipped out of remembrance. Mr. Layne fell into ill health as he grew older, and advertised for

the West Indies), and went with him to India, where his regiment was serving, taking also her next sister, Eleanor. The third, Elizabeth, was at home; the young one, Mary,

was hers now her husband was gone. Mr. Duffham took one opposite: a tall house, with a bow-window to the parlour: before that, he had been in apartments. Mary Layne came home about this time, and stayed there for some weeks. She had been much overworked in the school, and Mrs.

ing year, was coming home to it with his mother. Accordingly the Goldinghams departed; and the place was re-embellished and put in order for the rig

Duffham'

they are almost like brother and sister. Or would be, but for Sir Geoffry's exceeding consideration for his mother; his love and deference for her are a pattern to the young men of the present day. She has trained him to be obedient, that's certain, and to love her too: and so I suppose she has done her duty by him well. He came down the broad walk with me from the hall-door, talking of his mother: I had happened to say that the place must seem quite strange to Lady Chavasse. "Yes, it must," he answered. "She has exiled herself from it for my sake. Mr. Duffham," he continued warmly, "you cannot imagine what an admirable mother mine has been! She resigned ease, rest, society, to devote herself to me. She gave me a home-tutor, tha

d fête to be held on the 20th of next month, when Sir Geoffry will come of age. Wilkins has been in the family for many years: she was origi

resent, of Mr.

the majority of Sir Geoffry. As to Lady Chavasse, few people had seen her. Her maid's illness

es upon her in what seemed some surprise, dropped a curtsy, and thought to herself how fortunate it was she happened to have put a clean new cap on. With that, Lady Chavasse said something to the footman, who banged the carriage-door to, and ordered the coachman across the road. Mrs. Layne understood it at once: she had come to the house in mistake for Duffham's. Of course, with that grand carriage to look at opposite, and the gorgeous servants, and my lady, in a violet ve

e invasion took place. A beautiful lady, whom Mary did not know or recognize, was holding out a delicately-gloved hand to her, and saying that she resembled her

aughter of Mr. Layne's had I met you in th

pretty too. At least, it was a nice countenance; and my lady quite took to it. Mrs. Layne, having collected her wits, and taken off h

that she had, unthinkingly, bid her servants that morning drive to Mr. Layne's! and it was only when she saw Mrs. Layne at the window in her widow's cap, that she remembered the mistake. She talked of her son Geoffry, praising his worth and his goodness; she bade Mrs. Layne to the fête on th

ad to see what the young heir's like. He was as pretty a boy as you'd wish to see. There'll no doubt be some peo

-bowed distantly, and waved her hand, as much as to say, "Make yourselves at home, but don't trouble me:" and Mrs. Layne curtsyed herself to a respectful distance. It was a fine bright day, very warm; and she sat on a bench in the park with her daughters, listening to the band, looking at the company, and wondering which was the heir. Some hours seemed to pass in this wa

will find some refreshment?" he said, r

s: and if those were not Sir Peter's kindly blue eyes, why, her memory failed her. But the dress puzzled Mrs. Layne: he wore a dark-blue frock-coat and grey trousers, a white waistcoat with a thin gold chain passed

id, speaking at length, "but I

am Sir G

me!" cried

mother had said to him of one of them: "a sweet-looking young woman, Geoffry, poor Layne's daughter, quite an elegant girl." Yes, she was sweet-looking and elegant also, Geoffry decided. The elder one was like her mother, short, stout, and-Geoffry could not help s

h rattle of knives and forks. Sir Geoffry could find only two places anywhere; a

he other tent, if you will co

ove her. But Sir Geoffry was holding up the canvas for her to pass out, and she was too timid to disobey. He walked by her side alm

on her seat to accost Sir Geoffry: a slight, upright girl, with finely-carved featur

or, Geoffry. Don't you

ding. I am going to walk about and look out for stray people. Some of the stranger

it?" s

e had been looking at the young lady, who was so richly dressed-in some thin material of shimmering blue an

Sir Geoffry. "I fear you will be a

yes went out to his. She felt ashamed that he should take so much trouble for her, and stro

. The young lady whom Sir Geoffry had called Rachel was busy wit

" she imperatively called to the butl

la

Rachel, indicating the vacant space before M

what to say. Lady Rachel spoke to her once or twice, and was civilly distant: and so the half-hour was got over. When Sir Geoffry's health was proposed by Lord L., the young baronet suddenly appeared in his rightful place at the head of the table.

the music burst out with a crash, "See the conquering hero comes," and Mary Layne felt

ffham's

it in hers. It is, on the one hand, good to see; on the other, one can but fancy his ideal of the fifth commandment is somewhat exaggerated. Lady Chavasse on her part seems bound up in him. To him there is no sign of imperiousness, no assertion of self-will: and, so far as can be seen,

eoffry is engaged to be married, Mr. Duffham," she said to me yesterday, when our conversation had turned-as it often does turn-on Sir Geoffry. I could not help showing so

the children were young; they have been brought up to look on each other as future husband and wife, and have done so as a matter-of-course. Neither of them, by what I can gather, has the slightest intention, or wish, to turn aside from fulfilling the contract: they will ratify it in just the same business manner and with the same calm feelings that they would take the lease of a house. It is not their fault: they should not have been led into it. Human nature is cross and contrary as a crab: had the two young people been thrown together now for the first time, and been warned not to fal

l each other "Geoffry" and "Rachel;" and are as indifferently familiar as brother and sister. That they will be sufficiently happy with a quiet, moonlight kin

dy Picker's daughter; her services being as different from those of the easy, experienced Wilkins, as darkness is from light. "She manages my hair atrociously," cried my lady t

ads, rides, drives, loves flowers, and is ever ready to do a good turn for rich or poor. "You appear to have grown up quite strong, Sir Geoffry," I said to him to-day when we were in the greenhouse, and he leaped on a ledge to do something or other to the broken cord of the window. "Oh, quite," he answered. "

e or six months!" she exclaimed in dismay. "But it is only what I have lately suspected. Mr. Duffham, I have been thinking that I must take a companion; and now this has confirmed it. A humble companion, who will not object to do my hair on state occasions, and superintend Picker in trimming my dresses, especially the lace; and wh

recting exercises, and touching up drawings by gas-light. My lady caught at it at once. "Mary Layne! the very thing. I like the look of the girl much, Mr. Duf

e her that credit. But this is a specimen of

e," says she to me, in an ecstasy; "I will do anything and everything required of me: who am I, that I should be above it?" And by the glistening of her sweet brown eyes, and the rose-blush on her che

Diary for

ent of the hall; on the right were the grand drawing-rooms; on the left the dining-room and Sir Geoffry's library. Behind the library, going down a step or two was a low, shady apartment, its glass doors opening to a small grass plat, round which flowers were planted; and beyond it lay the fragrant herbary. This

had to do first, and not quite daring to sit down even on one of the old red chairs. The Grange was the Grange, and my lady was my lady; and they were altogether above the sphere in which she had been brought up. She had a new lilac muslin dress on, fresh and simple; her smooth brown hair had a bit of lilac ribbon

he took off his straw hat. "Miss Mary Layne, I think. I did not

just as though she had been a duchess-or Lady Rachel Derreston. Mary did

ving it might be looked upon as next door to a crime to be seen idle, in a place w

ve put up these seeds. A box of new novels has just come from town. I hope yo

sir; I am su

nion, and treated her as a guest. She carried her in to take luncheon with herself and Sir Geoffry; she made her play and sing; she showed her the drawing-rooms and the flower-gardens, and finally took her out in the barouche. She certainly did not ask her in to dinner, but said

For it led Sir Geoffry to make a companion of Miss Layne; that is, to treat her as though she belonged to their order; which otherwise he certainly would not have done. Had Miss Layne been assigned her

e dreamt it not. The social gulf that spread itself between Sir Geoffry Chavasse, of Chavasse Grange, and Mary Layne, daughter of the late hard-worked village apothecary, was one that Lady Chavasse would have said (had she been aske

arden-parlour at will, as he had been accustomed to do-for it was where all kinds of things belonging to him were kept: choice seeds, his fishing-rods, his collection of butterflies-would linger

le-Duffham for one-held him even more to blame than for anything that happened afterwards. But how could he voluntarily blight his new happiness, and hers? It was so intense as to absorb every other feel

cially in a strange place, and Mary found that during this sojourn Lady Chavasse did not attempt it. To all intents and purposes Mary was the maid now; she did not sit with her lady, she took her meals apart; she was, in fact, regarded as the lady's-maid by all, and nothing else. Lady Chavasse even took to calli

find her own level. Except that Miss Layne sat in the garden-parlour, and her meals were served there, she was not very much distinguished from Hester Picker and the other servants; indeed, Picker sometimes sat in the parlour to

icker was taken, not Miss Layne. In the countess's small household, Mary, in her anomalous position-for she could not be altogether put with the ser

eturned to Bath to bring his mother home. And so the winter set in, and wore on. And now all that has to be told to the paper's end is taken

and they and the trees should suffer for it later. A good deal of sickness was going about; and, amongst others who had to give in for a time, was Duffham himself. He had inflammation of the lungs.

k like a lady, and he did not mistake her for one: he thought it some respectable countrywoman: she had flung a very ancient cloak over her worn morning gown. She expressed

ave no life in them: she was very low in spirits; yet, in spite of all this, Mary had kept on saying it was "nothing." My Lady Chavasse-returning home from London yesterday, whither she had accompanied her son a week or two ago, and whom she had left there-was so m

' room, and examined her; felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, sounded her chest, with all the rest of it that doctors treat their clients to; and asked her

ith her?" cried the alarmed mother

the doors, and told her what he thought it was. It so startled the

you say

e of it," ret

terrified out of her seven senses. "The worst I feared was

the medicine to?"

you like," continued Mrs.

Where to, ov

ther's late partner. This unhappy child is the one he was f

wish I had known; I might have hesitated before sp

reproachable character; never needing, as she phrased it, to have had a blush on her cheek, for herself or any one belonging to her. In her indignation, she could

Lady Chavasse, compassionating her evident suffering, brought her a glass of wine with her own hand, and inquired what Mr. Duffham said, and whether he was going to give her tonics. Instead of answering, Mary went into another

as shown in. Lady Chavasse sat back, furious and scornful, in her pink velvet chair; Mrs. Layne stood; Mary had sunk on the carpet kneeling, her face bent, her clasped hands raised as if imploring mercy. This group was

uge in the workhouse," stormed Lady Chava

s. "Never again shall you enter the home that was your poor dead father's. You wicked girl!-and you hardly twenty years old yet! But, my lady, I can bu

oman," said her lady

ift them on to others," spoke the baronet, stepping forward-and the unexpected interruption

tead of wrong. And when these better men yield to temptation instead of fleeing from it, the reacting sting is of the sharpest. The wisest and strongest

d, turning to face the others; "my dear mother-if I may dare still to call you so-suffer me to sa

interrupte

s enough trouble to bear without that. I wish to Heaven that I had never-Mrs. Layne, believe me," he resumed, after th

o it. Taking his mother into another room he told her this. Lady Chavasse simply thought him mad. She g

great fear, conciliated just a little: she did not turn Miss Layne out at

om my family that risk of exposure must come," spoke Sir Geoff

" repeated Lady

er," said Sir Geoffry. And my lady's hear

the heart that had been known only-to my lady, at least-since the previous day. But the farce of speaking in monosyllables to one another could not be kept up-the trouble had to be dealt with, and without delay; and when the poor meal could

d of the unseasonable relaxing warmth that had been upon the earth up to the previous day, a cold north-east wind had set in, eno

irit. He might have to endure many cruel visitations ere he died, but never a one so cruel as

: to have sacrificed himself for her, if needs must, would have been a cheerful task. When he came of age, not yet so very many months ago, he had resolved that his whole future life should be dev

, like many another whose resolves are made in all good faith, he had signally failed, even while he was thinking it, and brought pain to her in a crushing heap. He hated himself as he looked at her pale countenance; at the traces of tears in her heavy eyes. Never a minute's sleep had she had the previous night, it was plainly to be seen; and, as for him, he had paced his chamber until morning, not attempting to go

sed to the fireplace and put his elbow on the mantelpiece, shielding his eyes with his hand. Just a few words, he said, of his sense of shame and sorrow; of regret that he should have brought this dishonour on himself and his mother's home; of hope that he might be permitted, by Heaven and circumstances, to work out

open to me; unless I would forfeit every claim to honour, and to the respect of upright men. If you will give your consent to this, the evil may be in a

uch, Geoffry," came

saw but this one. Let me marry her. It will be easy of accomplishment-speaking in reference to appearances and the world. She might go for a week or two to her mother's; for a month or two, if it were thought better and less suspicious; there is no pressing hurry. We could then be married

my servant," said Lad

you told me she was a sweet, elegant young woman; and-mother-she is nothing less. Oh, mother, mother!" continued Sir Geoffry, with emotion, "if you will but forget your prejudices for my sake, and consen

day-that he might carry this marriage out of his own will. So that she dared not

t to kill m

n killed, before I brought this dis

ther died. No; not once when you, a child of seven, were given ove

arly unto breaking; his ingratitude to his mother seemed fearfully great. He longed to throw himself at h

Geoffry, I could never have believed that you woul

now it now. And-mother"-he added, with a flush upon his face, and a lowering of the voice, "it i

"Once married, a man of right pr

ht himself safe in his. With every word, it seemed that

tell me that you d

of excuse for what has happened, it lies in my love for another. Faint it is, Heaven knows: the

chel?" continued Lady Chavasse,

I did not deceive Rachel by feigning what I could not feel. Neither does she love me. We were told to consider ours

you to say?" ask

to the same point: to the one petition that I am beseec

lace frills, as they lay passive on her soft dress of f

off

rling

d you. Will

now I

t: such comfort that I thought Heaven had come again. You best know, my son, what our life has been; how we have loved each other: how pleasantly time has flown in uninterrupted happiness. I have devoted myself, my time, my energies, everything I possessed, to you, my best treas

ut

neither you nor I had ever seen? If you think this-if you deem that you would b

he exclaimed in agony. "Oh, mother, surely you c

tand all

ye

esence. Our paths lie asunder, Geoffry, far as the poles: hers lies one way, mine another. You must decide for yourself which of them you will follow. If it be mine, you shall be, as ever, my dear and honoured son, and I will never, never r

elfish love, as it is in the nature of mothers to do; and that she should have to bid him choose between her and another-and one so entirely beneath her as Lady Chavasse consi

me in your home and heart," she was resuming when her emotion allowed

this. If I must choose between you and Mary Layne, there cannot be a question in my mind on which side duty lies. In all honour I am bound to make her my wife, and I should do it in all affection: but not in defiance of you; not to thr

se. She could not help saying something that arose pro

ary Layne's daughter fit to m

ht of such a thing. This unhappy business has a sting for me, mother,

ou must choose between your mother, between all the hopes and

ave no al

sob rose in his throat as he took her h

ing with life, mother. I can never

treaty and anguish was spoken on his side, how much of passionate plaint and sorrow on hers, will never be known. But she was obdurate to the last lett

its result; and to shield the young lady's good name from the censure of the world. She would keep her for some time longer at the Grange, be tender with her, honour her, drive out with her in the carriage so that they might be seen together, subdue her mother's anger, strive to persuade Mr. Luke Duffham that hi

was taken away sat at her work in the garden-parlour, trying to do it; but her cold fingers dropped the needle every minute, her aching brow felt as though it were bu

nce frustrated one part of the understanding between Sir Geoffry and his mother-that he should quit the house without seeing Miss Layne. In descending, she chanced to cross the end of the c

adieu, mother; I am not quite a brute," he whispered. And L

still in all humility, turned a little white, for she guessed that he was b

the uttermost, for your sake and for mine, to make reparation; but it is not to be. I leave you to my mother; she is yo

e had run swiftly down, caught him, and was drawing

oing to call on Mrs. Layne.

nnot wish to reduce me to an utter craven. I owe an explanation to Mrs. Layne almost in the same

d, afraid still. "You-you will not be

which I bow before every other consideration, before every interest, whether of my o

r Geoffry's order to the footman. Even for that

I have to leave a mes

dy Chavasse passed up the stairs again. Taking the hand of Mary-who had stood above like a statue-never moving-she led her,

her son had enjoyed together, of her devotion and sacrifices for him, of his deep love and reverence for her: and she quietly asked Mary to put herself in imagination in her place, and say what her feelings would have been had a stranger come in to mar this. Had she any right to do this?-Lady Chavasse asked her-would she be justified in destroying the ties of a life, in thrusting h

e relaxing, unseasonable weather had brought out the delicacy that was latent in Miss Layne's constitution, and that she feared she must let her go away somewhere for a change. Mary submitted to all. She was in such a self-abased frame of mind that had my lady desired her to immolate herself on a blazing pyre, she would have gone to it meekly. My lady had interviews with Mrs. Layne, and wi

s word in all things; nevertheless, she deemed the fire the safest place for the weighty epistle of many sheets. On the other hand, Mary wrote to Sir Geoffry, saying that the alternative he had chosen was the only one possible to him. Nothing,

rget that it is Duffham's diary that's telling all this, and not I. For th

the S

ildren, four little ones; the eldest seven years old, the youngest eighteen months. The children had been ailing, and she brought them over for a twelvemonth's change. Mrs. Layne was a good deal worn herself, for the only nurse she had with her, a coloured woman,

me a letter from her mother, saying she was not equal to the journey and that Elizabeth was from home. It contained Elizabeth's present address, and also one or two items of news that startled young Mrs. Layne well-nigh out of her senses. Leaving

and decided to convey her to the Continent. She wrote a long and confidential letter to her husband in India, of what she meant to do: and then she went back to Liverpool with Elizabeth,

h the coloured woman and children. Not for several months afterwards did Mrs. Richard Layne and Mary return from abroad; and at the end of the t

couple of y

nal, written in Calcutta, at

ause I am so much altered. She thinks she should not have known me. It is not that my features have changed, she says, but that I have grown so much graver, and look so old. When people talk like this, I long to tell them that things have changed me; that I have passed through a fiery trial of sin and suffering; that my life is one long crucifixion of inward, silent repentance. When I first came out, two years ago, and people would say, "It must be the climate that is making Miss Layne look so ill," it seemed to me like the worst hypocr

on his shoulder: for nurse had made more haste than I. "None of your children here are so fair as the little one your wife left in England, Captain Layne," Jane Cale was saying, as she looked at them one by one. "You mean little Arthur," returned the Captain, in his ready kindness; "I hear he is fair." "Have you never seen him?" "No; how should I have seen him?" asked Captain Layne, laughing: "he was born over there, and my wife left him behind her as a legacy to her mother. It is rather a hazard, Mrs. Cale, as perhaps you know, to bring out very young infants to this country." Susan came to the rescue: she took the baby and put him on his feet, that Mrs. Cale should see how well he walked for his twelvemonth's age. But it did not answer. No doubt Jane thought that the more she told them about Baby Arthur in England, the better pleased they would be. How much difference was there, she asked, between this child and little Arthur-eighteen months?-and how much between

d for me!-how much more than I d

ayne's Wife to her Mot

, Septem

ling M

ince I wrote. But the truth is, I have had a touch of my old complaint-intermittent fever-and it left me very weak and languid. I know you

in spite of what we know of, I do not think Mary has her equal for true worth in this world. You say that Mrs. Cale, in writing home to you, described Mary as being so altered; so sad and subdued. Why, my dear mother, of course she is sad: how could it be otherwise? I do not suppose, in her more recent life, she has ever felt other th

ays to wear black; it is writing about her gown puts me in mind of it. Black, black, black: thin silk when the heat will allow, oftener a dreary, rusty-black-looking kind of soft muslin that is called here "black jaconite"-but I really don't know whether that's the way to spell the thing. During the late intense heat, we have talked her into a black-and-white muslin: that is, white, with huge black spots upon it in the form of a melon. Only once did I speak to her about wearing white as we do; I have never ventured since. She turned

ir and pretty. She has talked to other people about him-and of course we canno

ome is charming, Mrs. Layne.

s a very delicate baby, and I

nt, "that is why you

I went on; "it would break her heart

we at home talk of Rothschild's and Baring's. I am sure they must be very rich, and poor Eleanor naturally thinks where is the use of the riches when there's no child to leave them to. Eleanor said to me the other day when she was here, "You might as well make over that child of yours to me, Susan,"-meaning Baby Arthur; "he does you no good, and must be a trouble to mamma and Elizabeth." Of course I laughed it off; saying that you and Elizabeth would not part wi

felt the slur almost as keenly as Mary. It is true I do not like deliberate deceit; but there was really no need to tell her-it would not have answered any good end. Until Mrs. Cale talked, Eleanor scarcely remembered that there was a Baby Arthur; and now she seems quite jealous that he is mine and she cannot have him. I say to Eleanor that she must be contented with the good she has; her indulgent husband,

ccurred. I mean that she says it was through her going to the Grange. Had she not gone, the peace of mother and son would never have been disturbed. I think Lady C. was selfish and wrong; that she ought to have allowed Sir G. to do as he wished. Mary says no; that Lady C.'s comfort and her lifelong feelings were above every other consideration. She admires Lady C. more than I do. However, she is truly glad to hear that the marriage took place. Events have fallen now into their original course, and she trusts that the bitter episode in

, untiring, and conscientious. She has earned the respect of all Calcutta, and she shrinks from it as if it were something to be shunned, saying, "If people did but know!" Nelly, from being the only girl, and perhaps also because she was the eldest and her papa loved her so, was

ow. Master Allan's godfather, Eleanor's husband, gave him a handsome present on his last birthday-a railway train that would "go." He had sent for it from England: I am sure it never cost less than five pounds; and the naughty child broke it before the day was out. I felt so vexed; and downright ashamed to confess it to Eleanor. The Ayah said he broke it for the purpose, "to see what it was made of;" and, in spite of entreaties to the contrary, Richard was on the point of whipping him for the mischief, and Allan was r

t mother, in which Richard begs to join;

n La

nt tacitly to ignore them to each other, but somehow my pen has run on incautiously.

e's Journal, about t

a gentleman, and a noble one also, in spite of that vain young adjutant, St. George's, slighting remark when Mr. McAlpin came in last night-"Here's that con

ome presence, of middle age, for surely, in his three-and-fortieth year, he may be called it-owner of all these solid advantages, he has actuall

d Madame de Visme, confided to me something that she was in the habit of doing; it was nothing wrong in itself, but totally opposed to the arbitrary rules laid down, and, if discovered, might have caused her to be abruptly dismissed. "But suppose it were found out, madame?" I said. "Ah non, mon enfant," she answered; "je prends mes précautions." Since then I have often thought of the words: and I say to myself, n

; it must have been nearly three-I resolutely refused to join them when they were not alone. It was Major Layne's fault that the rule was broken through. One day, when invitations were out for an evening party, Susan came to me and said that the major particularly requested I would appear at it. "The fact is, Mary," she whispered, "there has been some talk at the mess: you are very much admired-your face, I mean-and some of them began wondering whether there was any reason for your never appearing in society; and whether you could really be my sister. Richard was not present-that

san, declining invitations on the plea of my duties as governess, it has certainl

to tell my sad story to Eleanor, but to let her think of me as one still worthy. Susan knows how averse I was to its suppression; but she overruled me, and said Richard thought with her. Eleanor would have whispered it to her husband, and he might have whispered to his brother Andrew, and this new perplexity have been spared. It is not for my own sake I am so sorry, but for his:

his kindness, and because I was so unworthy of it. It was perhaps a hazardous thing to say-but I was altogether confused. I must have explained myself badly, for he could not or would not understand my refusal; he said he certainly should decline to take it: I must consider it well-for a week-or a month-as long as

rated from me wider than seas can part. The barrier was thrown up between us years ago, never to be overstepped by either of us: whilst at

th her remonstrances: "Whatever possesses you, Mary? You must be out of your mind, child, to refuse Andrew McAlpin. For goodness' sake, get a little common sense into your poor crotchety head." Allan McAlpin, in his half-earnest, half-joking way, says to me, "Miss Layne, I make a perfect husband;

rateful and capricious. I respect him and like him very much, and he sees this: if I were at liberty as others are, I would gladly marry him: the great puzzle is, how to make him understand that it is not possible. I suppose the consciousness of my secret, which never leaves me, renders it more difficult for me

some particular barrier, I feel sure," he said, "although Eleanor tells me there is none." And then I took some more courage, inwardly hoping to be helped to speak for the best, and answered Yes, there was a barrier; one that could never be surmounted; and that I had tried to make him see this all along. I told him how truly I esteemed him; how little I felt in my own eyes at being so undeserving of the opinion of a good man; I said I should thank him for it in my heart for ever. Did the barrier lie in my loving another? he asked, and I hesitated there. I had loved another, I said: it was before I came out, and the circumstances attending it were very painful; indeed, it was a painfu

you must be hostess." And before I knew what or who it was, I had been introduced to Admiral Chavasse. My head was in a whirl, my eyes were swimming: I had not heard the name spoken openly for years. Major Layne little thought he was related to G.

should be the recipient of so much goo

. He had been holding a confidential interview with Susan: and Susan, hearing how much I had said to him last night, confided to him

r Layne's Wife to her M

affecting interview; but they were alone. Mary's refusal-an absolute one-was dictated by two motives. The one is that the old feelings hold still so much sway in her heart (and, she says, always will) as to render the idea of a union with any one else absolutely distasteful. The other motive was consideration for Andrew McAlpin. "I p

s her so. It has but increased his admiration for her. He said to me, "Henceforth I shall lo

o you. Richard, while thinking she has done right, says it is altogether an awful

rs, dear

n La

the T

dow as she dressed, might be thinking so. The green lawn, its dew-drops sparkling in the sun, was dotted with beds of many coloured flowers; the thrus

five-and-twenty years. His light morning coat was flung back from the snowy white waistcoat, across which a gold chain passed, its seal drooping; a blue necktie, just as blue

m," he was saying. "How came you to do it? Lady Chav

," replied the gardener-who was new to t

well. Lady Chavasse did not

se's window at this

from the roses, and sm

s, Geoffry-how he could dare to

t. Of course she did not know

dy Chavasse. And she sh

second in authority, was fond of having her own way, and took it when she could. Lady Chavasse made a show of deferring to her general

m. Lady Chavasse was but in her forty-fourth year; a young woman, so to say, beautiful still, and excellently-well preserved. She wore a handsome dress of green muslin, with a dainty l

ay again; but somehow it had left its mark on him. His face seemed to have acquired a weary sort of look; and the fair bright hair was getting somewhat thin upon the temples. Sir Geoffry was in Parliament; bu

ome portion of the estate; Lady Rachel thought she must write some letters; L

htly built, it was something like a basket-chaise, but much more elegant, and the boy-groom, in his natty postillion's dress, sat the horse. Lady Chavasse

"run and ask Lady Rachel whether she i

hel's love and thanks, my lady, but sh

t of the hay filled the air, the sky was blue and cloudless. But the headache was making itself sensibly felt; and my lady, remember

g forward. And the groom t

la

. Duff

s door, Giles pulled up. The surgeon, seeing who

her liked one in her coldly condescending way. And she stayed with him in the surgery while he made up s

then; and I fancy that, with some people, it denotes a state of not perfect healt

gh for tha

ct-nearly fourteen months. I do hope there will

her eyes as she spoke, and re

d days-my case over again. Had my child proved to be a girl, the Grange would have gone from us.

t that Lady Chavasse had voluntarily mentioned the name of Lay

y, Lady Chavasse," observed Duffham, after an

a son to succeed. If anything did happen to him, and he left no son, the Grange would pass a

ope the son will come. Sir Geoffry

Grange, he and I; Lady Rachel was indoors at the piano. I remarked that it would cost a good deal of money, and the question was, whether it would be worth while to do it. 'My successor would think it so, no

Sir Geoffry's, I should say there are thirty chances against it," was Duf

Layne's door opposite, and stood on the pavement in admiration of the carriage, which the groom was driving slowly about. It was a pretty child of some

d look!" he cried-and the words were

remember-I think I have heard. He belongs to that daughter of Mr. Layne's who marri

w," carelessly replied Mr. Duffham. "Hop

connections manage to obtain rapid promotion. The grandmothe

ance was open, unembarrassed: there was no sign of ulterior thought upon it.

old lady?"

oubt, though, if one of her dau

turned quickly

ued Mr. Duffham, busily rolling up the bottle. "Her health is fai

on the drug-drawers. But that she began to speak, old Duffham

that situation in India? A governess, or some

And likely to be, the people over the way seem to say. Capt

hank you; never mind sealing it. I will be su

low step into it. The surgeon put the bottle by her side, and saluted her

arriage, Mis'er Duffham?

houlder, and then setting him on his feet again, as Miss Layne appeared at the door. "Be off back: th

ad ran over at o

n Mrs. Richard Layne's other children. The baby-made much of by the neighbours-was to remain with old Mrs. Layne: Mrs. Richard Layne did not deem it well to take so young a child to India, as he seemed rather delicate. Church Dykely said how generous it was of her to sacrifice her motherly feelings for the baby's good-but the Laynes had always been unselfish. She departed, leaving the child. And Baby Arthur, as all the place called him, lived and thrived, and was now grown as fine a little fellow for his age as might be, with a generous spirit and open heart. My Lady Chavasse (having temporarily forgotten

ely as other features were-say the bridge over the mill-stream, or the butcher'

telling him he would be run over some day. She had occasion to tell it him rather often

led out. People don't stand on

ank you," cam

ng but strong lately: her symptoms being

lready seen it rolling on in Calcutta, for in this,

ether with a summons from her mother. Not at all a peremptory summons. Mrs. Layne wrote a few shaky lines, praying her to come "if she would not mind returning to the place:" if she did mind it, why, she, the mother, must die alone as she best could. Th

surgeon, had fondly shown her, his youngest and fairest child, to the public, a baby of a few days old. But Church Dykely found her greatly changed. They remembered her as a bloomi

ccupied. The boy, when she returned, was turned five. She went out very rarely; never-except to church, or at dusk-when the family were at the Grange, for she seemed to have a dread of meeting them. Church Dykely wondered that Mis

at delight of all concerned. Just when they had given it up as hopeless, the capricious infant arrived. Majo

n the old lady grew tired of listening, or over Master Arthur's lessons at the table. Not only lessons to fit him for this world did Mary teach him; but such as would stand him in good aid when striving onwards for the next. Twice a day, morning and evening, would she take the child alone, and talk to him of heaven, and things pertaining to it. Aunt Elizabeth's lessons had been chiefly on the score of behaviour: the other sort of instruction had been all routine, at the best. Mary remedie

d of grave tenderness. But the child grew to love her more than he had ever loved any one in his young life. One day, when he did something wrong and saw how

He seemed never tired of asking about papa and mamma in India, and Allan and Bobby and the rest, and th

us, Aunt Mary?" he questioned one

y well we, will have D

be a soldier

hink

be a sold

ning of her hands round him-as

ldier in a family's enough:

, big brave man, wi

nd very brave. He wear

sword! When I can write well enough I'll write a letter

as good to r

you?" demanded Master

sad, she was going to say,

Mary, shall you take me? I should

do not think I

le compassion for any wrong-doer, of sympathy for the sick and suffering. She grew to be revered, and valued, and respected as few had ever been in Church Dykely: certainly as none had, so young as she was. Baby Arthur, clacking his whip as he went through the streets on his walks by the nurse Betsy's side, his chattering tongue n

and pounds to Mrs. Richard Layne-but that does not concern us. This good man's death brought great grief to Mary. It had been the result of an accident: he lay ill only a few weeks. As to the fortune-well, of course that was welcome, for Mary had been casting many an anxious thought to the future on sundry scores, and what little money she had been able to put by, out of the salary as governess at Major Layne's, was now nearly exhausted. She thought she knew why Mr. McAlpin had thus generously remembered her: and it was an additional proof of the thoughtful goodness which had ever characterized his life. Oh, if she could only have thanked him! if she had only known

nterviews with James Spriggings, the house agent, builder, and decorator, and left certain orders with him. On their return, old Mrs. Layne did not know her house. It had been put into substantial repair inside and out, and was now one of the prettiest, not to say handsomest, in the villag

the old lady, looking about her in am

e my home for life. Perhaps Arthur's home after me. At least it

Duffham said her system was breaking up. The seaside air had done her good; they had gone to it in May, and came

nge, past which their road lay, Master Arthur made a dead standstill, and wholly declined to proceed. The child was in a black velvet tunic, the tips of his white drawers just discernible beneath it, and his legs bare, down to the white socks: boys of his age were dressed

o in and see

e, rather taken aback by the demand. "What can y

an go up there and

Arthur. I never hea

lets

ess she did not like to hear of this intrusion into the grounds of the nurse and child. The peacock had been a recent acquisition; or, as Arthur expressed it, had just "come to live there." When he had talked of it at home, Mary supposed he h

ar. It is al

Sometimes he drags it behind him on the grass, and sometimes it's all spread o

again to see the peacock: the interdiction would sound most arbitrary if she gave none. All at once, as if by magic, the peac

he low foot-path, flew across the road, and in at the gates. In vai

rash, a man's shout, and a child's cry. What harm had been done? I

groom. The lodge children also had come running out to look. She understood it in a moment: Sir Geoffry must have been riding quickly down from the house, his groom behind him, wh

as but a true woman, timid and sensitive; as little daring to encounter Sir Geoffry Chavasse, whom she had not been close

eart-thrill. "Poor little fellow! could it have been my fault, or his? Dovey"-to the groom-"ride on at once and

lready carrying the child to the Grange; Bill, the eldest of the lodge childre

Oh, please let her co

y his appearance evidently was, would not have been out without an attendant. He tur

! I want A

face, from which every drop of blood had faded. Sir Ge

trust the injury will be found n

spoken on his lips. For a moment they looked in each other's faces, and might have seen, had the time been one of less agita

ink?" said Sir Geoffry, contriving t

answered, and

f what had been the garden-parlour stood open, and he took him into it at once. Ah, how they both remembered it. It had been refurnished and embellished now: but the room was the room still. Sir Geoffry had returned home that m

aimed, her tongue ready as of

," replied Sir Geoffry. "G

pretty light brown hair falling from his face, pale now. Apparentl

you allow me to examine his hurt as a surg

rtainly," s

his velvet

d in acquies

cut the sleeve, Sir Geoffry touched the arm here and there,

you," said

to be brave. "Papa's a soldier, and I want to

remember," said Sir Geoffry, turning to Mar

up Arthur, before she could make any

r Geoffry, testing the basin of water with his finger, which

says No, and grandmamma sa

f with a shuddering cry. Sir Geoffry was ready now, and had the s

h its face to the open window, and its back to the sofa. And she under

ed in. Arthur had fainted. Sir Geoffry was bathing his forehead with eau-de-C

badly?" asked Mary, supposing that the

y-and at the same moment she caught sight of the velvet sleeve laid open, and somethin

le nephew is only faint from the loss of blood. D

the table, Arthur began to revive. Young children are elasti

y, are yo

sofa, and took hi

ndmamma, Aunt Mary. I

ful heart!" interjected Hester

took this said fly and the surgeon in it, who was then returning home from another accident. Turning round at t

down the room looked he; then at Sir Geoffry, then at Miss Layne, then at Hester Picker, s

nd what's this? And

ered. "I ran away from Aunt Mary

ster Picker. "No wonder he ra

ughty, young sir, to run from y

d told me not to. Aunt Mar

Mary again left it. The arm was crushed rather badly; and

help you," said the baronet, when the dressing was

nk it necessary," he said; "no surgeon can do more than I can. However, it may b

nto the fly, which had waited, and M

ir Geoffry, at the same time. And she did not feel that it was possible for her to say

Mary Layne to herself, as her tears fell on Baby Arthur,

opping of the fly at the door, out came the old lady; she had been marvelling what had become of them, and was wanti

and those about him must have patience, for it might be rather a long job. Arthur said he should like to write to his papa in India, and tell him that it was his o

herself. The old lady, her perceptions a little dulled with time and age, and perhaps also her memory, felt somewhat impressed and flattered at the visit. To her it almost seeme

e east, so that the room on the previous evening, being turned from the setting sun, had been shady at the best, and the sofa was at the far end of it. As Sir Geoffry gazed at the c

get well," said Arthur, who had begun to l

" asked th

who came with

ously; her spectacles keeping the place between the leaves of the closed Bible, which she had again taken on her lap; her withered hand

. Layne. "The little fellow was running up to get a look at the peacock, it seem

hild ran right against you at the corner:

r. "And, Sir Geoffry, that's why I wanted

you," said Sir Geoffry, lookin

l you tell him

l tell him

If Aunt Mary thought I could tell a story, or write one, oh,

he bright eyes. Involuntarily the wish came into his mind that he had a bra

let Major Layne judge for himself whether it was my fas

t the peacock? It

Major Layne that his little boy-I don't think I have

brother's is Richard too; he is at King'

rthur best. It is

is Sir

thur as

ossly that Mr. Duffham and the other doctor had forbid him to talk much. And then she begged pardon of Sir Geoffry for saying it, but

he peacock when I ge

look at him for a whole day i

if Aunt Mary won't; Betsy's my nurse. I wish I could have him before that window to look at whi

aimed Sir Geoffry. "D

o can't walk, down Piefinch Cut? His father comes to do grandma

Layne aside to Sir Geoffry. "He was thrown downsta

waiting for the answer. "Where have I seen them?"

e name?" h

ys three tunes. He is older than I am: he's ten

sed straight over to Mr. Duffham's, and f

when he had shaken hands. "I have just been to see

ime, Sir Geoffry," was the doctor's

re strangely like some one's I have seen,

ied Mr. Duffham, speaking, a

n wh

ou cann

me all the while I was there

ke your own,

e my

as the picture in the Grange dining-room shows us also, for the matter of tha

zed at each other. Mr. Duffham with a questioning and still

u-- Surely it is

, it

d backed against the counter nearly seven years before and upset the scales. The old lady seemed to have aged s

Heav

mured words that fell from his lips. Mr. Duff

d times. If I had had the smallest notion that you

erchief and wiped his brow. So

o suspect it

t that you must have

from when

time you first knew that

er anything about the child's coming to Church Dykely.

he rejoined. "Every one said it; and I never had any other though

deceive you, Sir Geoffry. When you said what you did to me in coming away, about calling in oth

is so,

ear,

ut the paper straight in his note-case. Sir Geoffry suddenly lift

should have stood there, in the old lady's presence, talking boldly

y. Her faculties are dulled: three-p

and took up his hat to leave. He bega

r know of this

spects it. No one does, Sir Geoffry

llness must be mine

's answer. "It would not do, I fear. There'

ow is sh

Laynes, had died and left money to Mary Layne. Six or seven hundred a year; and ple

in to the child by Duffham. It played six tunes. The boy had never in his life been so delighted. He retur

boy, said Hester to my ladies, and had told them he meant to be a soldier when he grew up, as brave as his papa. Lady Chavasse, having digested the news, and taken inward counsel with herself, decided to go and see him: it would be right and neighbourly, she thought. It might be that she was wishing to bestow some slight mark of her favour upo

and see him too,"

tily. "You already feel the fatigue of your jo

and did not care much about it, one w

ed. Just a minute's gaze at each other. Lady Chavasse was the same good-looking woman as of yore; not changed, not aged by so much as a day. Mary was changed: the shy, inexperienced girl had grown into the calm, self-contained woman; the woman who had known sorrow, who had its marks impressed on her face. She had been pretty once, s

e the little patient, of her hope that Major and Mrs. Layne might not be allowed to think any care on Sir Geoffry's part could have averted it. Mary went upstairs with her. Lady Ch

peacock. Lady Chavasse would not have him awakened: she bent and kissed his cheek lightly: and talked to Mary in a whisper. It was just as though there

aid, as she shook hands with Mary again in the little ha

deal of money,

sponse, whispered emphatically in Mary's ear, and

ssed over, and went in, Mr. Duffham throwing open the door of his sitting-room. She began speaking of the accident to Major Layne's

n Lady Chavasse. "She was as drowsy as she could

be sleepy after dinne

ularly absent in manner, as if she were thinking to herself, instead of talking to him. Because

. She is not stron

ned Duffham, who often had to hear this same thing sai

ontinued Lady Chavasse, dropping her voice to a whisper; an

N

r five, and no signs of any. No

t, my lady," re

uble in my life. As the weeks and months and years pass on-the years, Mr. Duffham-and

ru

not come. I wonder which is the worst to be borne; some weighty misfortune that falls and crushes, or a longed-for boon that w

ey could but admire his gentle manners, his fearless bearing. Sir Geoffry played a game at ninepins with him on the lawn-which set of ninepins had b

ld bow from her carriage if she saw Mrs. or Miss Layne, and Sir Geoffry raise his hat. The little boy had mor

ed to fade into the past, as other t

the F

ify. It looked worn and weary, and the bright hair, with its golden tinge, was less carefully arranged than it used to be, as if exertion were becoming a burden, or that vanity no longer troubled him; and his frame was almost painfully thin; a

owner. Recalling also the happy feelings of that time-surreptitiously still, as might be said, for what business had he with them now? Holding the hair to his lips for a brief interval, he folded it up again, and took out another bit of paper. This contained a lady's ring of chased gold set with a beautiful and costly emerald. In those bygone years he had bought the ring, thinking to give it in payment of the stolen

pared to close and lock the desk. There was a disturbed, restless, anxious look on my la

have you got ou

y. When he was about twelve years old, and they were passing through London, he went to

le a prize as I thought I had purchased in

al of old rubbish in it," sai

cing over the rubbish-foolish mementoes of foolish days. These

ng in the autumn-fishing-hunting once in a way, in the

he had fallen into of often reading the Bible. She had come upon him doing it in all kinds of odd places. Out amidst the rocks at the seaside where they had recently been staying-and should have stayed longer but that he grew tired and wanted to come home; out in the seats of this garden, amidst the roses, or where the roses had him with this sma

Rachel?"

sofa, up

he same chair, and on the same red square of the Turkey carpet. The future had been before them then: it lay in their own hands, so to say, to choose the path for good or for ill. Sir Geoffry had pointed out which was the right one to take, and said that it would bring them happiness. But my lady had nega

er," observed Sir Geoffry, "She woul

hristmas?" continued Lady Chavasse. "Shall you be w

tmas draw nearer before laying o

write to Lady Derreston to-day, and she will e

clear, dark-blue eyes, ever kind and gentle, look

shall ever go away f

coming so near as that? A kind

ry! Ge

you if I can; you know that. But the

arms round her playfully, kissing her with a st

mother. Don't let it trou

er, could not speak, and quitt

e surgeon, Duffham, bustled in.

sked, as they sat alone, facing each

e same,

spirits. It's of no use giving way to illness. There's a certain

y. "The listlessness you speak of proceeds from the fact that my health an

ned to lie on the table, as if he wanted to see the fishing-boats on the

get well?"-with a sligh

s sake-and of course also for my wife's, as well a

deal," retorted Duffham, pret

een, perhaps: but since the beginning of May, when th

t, Sir

ever live to see anot

effect on some people, Sir G

as sound as need be. The insurance offices won't

ou trie

those near and dear to me, and would have insured my life for their benefit. The doctors refused to certify. Since then I

m-in spite of the inward conviction that lay upon him, Lady Rachel Chavasse entered the library in the course of the afternoon. She wore a

hink you are be

uch, I

her change-Germany, or somew

be here than a

u to get well, yo

like it to

ristmas," continued Lady Rachel, putting her foot, encased i

Well, we shall see between now and Christmas

es in which there often sat a peevish expression. It was no

ou shall be quite

k with any cer

It was quite evident that the state of her husband did not bring real trouble to her heart. Was the heart too naturally

n Sir Geoffry asked if she would not rather stay by the f

ll, Rachel?

we are something alike, Geoffry-not ov

made the annexed en

et well if he could," he says, for his mother's sake. As of course he would, were the result under his own control: a fine young fellow of the upper ten, with every substantial go

is one of those sensitive natures where the mind seems almost wholly to influence the body; and that past trouble was a sharp blow to him. Upright and honourable, he could not well bear the remorse that fell upon him-it has been keenly felt, ay, I verily believe, until this hour: another's life was blighted that his might be aggrandized. My own opinion is, that had he been allowed to do as he wished, and make reparation, thereby securing his own happiness, he might have thrown off the tendency to delicacy still and always; and lived to be as old as his father, Sir Peter. Sho

say it. I love him as I did in the old days, and respect him more. Qui vivra verra-to borrow a

ved alone in her house now,

. The little boy-in knickerbockers now, and nine years old-was a great favourite; he also got some honour reflected on him through Colonel Layne. There had been a time of trouble in India, and Major Layne had grandly distinguished himself and gained honour and promotion. The public papers proclaimed his bravery and renown; and Arthur received his share of reflected glory. As the boy passed on his pony, the blacksmith, Dobbs, would shoot out from his forge to look after him, and say to the stran

in Church Dykely, and she herself would not be missed. But it was odd the thought should dawn upon her. Previsions of coming events steal into the minds of a great ma

rse (that had been her father's), and Arthur on his well-groomed pony. The lad sat well; as brave-looking a little gentleman, with his up

. Outwardly there was not much change in the baronet, certainly none for the better; inwardly there was a great deal. He knew now how

eoffry to the surgeon. "You must see her,

n no hurry," was t

k, Sir Geoffry? I'll wait here, tho

ht if he did not pay him a visit, and they all turned up the avenue

yet?" asked Sir Geo

walking," answer

politeness. Sir Geoffry remembered that

the question generally. "It has been in all the newspapers,

read it,

ngland, and to make him Sir Richard. Everybody says so.

led at this. Not at the possibilit

boy in rather an aggrieved tone. "Richard's enough, she says. Dick gets on w

admiration, was nowhere in sight. Servants came forward and led the horses away. Mr. Du

he said, holding the boy before him, an

or Aunt Mary-if they should tell me 'No, no, you shall not,' w

re to be, and what you are not to be, lie alike in the will of God. He

ys," interrupted the lad. "Sh

the window. The peacock had a most unsociable habit of stalking away with a harsh scream if approached; Arthur knew this, an

ith some sixpences I had saved up. Reuben is very ill just now-in great pain; and Aunt Mary has let me lend him mine-he says w

, I am

-what is it to him?" cried Lady

hat fact was expressed. "Reuben wishes he could get here to see the peacock: but he can't walk, you know. I painted a beautiful one on paper

f vanity. The tail had not long been renewed, and was in full feather. Arthur's face went into a radiant glow. Lady Chavasse,

of the moment, as the boy vaulted away, "i

child himself might have been Sir Ar

she exclaimed. "Are you in

te sure. He passes to the world for the son of Colonel Lay

had never had the remotest suspicion of it, that Lady Chavasse simply stared at her son in silenc

lieve it, Geoffr

s, mo

morsels of biscuit right into the peacock's mouth, condescendingly held wide to receive them. Lady Chavass

een born my lawful son, my veritable heir. Other sons might have followed him: the probability is, there woul

anger, a spectator could not have told. In that same moment a vision, so vivid as to be almost like reality, stole before her mental

poke Sir Geoffry, in a low tone of yearning that was mixed with hopeless despair. "He bears my n

cap was on the grass, h

elfish, Lady Chavasse. He will

mine must have been at his age, I fancy. Sometimes I have thought

ve you known h

an unintentional word, and it enlightened me. Some nights ago I dreamt that the l

houghts run on it very much," reto

ts after I awoke from that dream I thought it was reality: I believe I called out 'Arthur.' Rachel started, and inquired between sleeping and waking

said Lady Chavasse, after a p

possible," was the hesi

think it. Say i

ith me?" he added, in an impulse of emotion-"that I am not to li

ith a scream, putting his tail down into the smallest possible compass; and Arthur came running back to the room. Mr. Duffham next appeare

lift his cap to Lady Chavasse and Sir Geoffry as he rode away. A noble boy in all his actions;

he old tin teapot on the Japan tray, and the bread-and-butter plate cracked across. Zuby Noah, Duffham's factotum, was of a saving turn, and never would bring in the best th

he kitchen passage, but for her clanking pattens. The man-servant was out that evening, and Zuby was in waiting. Duffh

an nothing be done? Is my son to die b

e chair that had the best-looking cushion on it, and wishing he had been i

were a lunatic. "If there were but one little son-but one-to be the heir!

s though they were of silk velvet. No: neither Duffham nor any one else had ever seen her like this. It was a

I am not in th

r my trouble? Don'

ish I could cur

ibulation. By the way she stared at it, Duffham t

that I quitted it in my young life; that I had never had a male child to keep me in it.

mind its being poured out of this homely tea-pot," said D

are dry with fever and pain. I wish I could die instead of Geoff

in a lifetime, or they would wear out alike the frame and the spirit. She grew calm again. As if ashamed of the agita

o unite with Sir Geoffry in deceiving me! That ch

dily have answered it. Unsolicited, unspoken to, of course he had held his peace. As to uniting with Sir Geoffry to deceive her, she deceived herself if she thought anything of the kind. Since the first moment they had spoke

n him," she piteously exclaimed, lifting he

something of the kind did fall

her offended face to the doctor, and

t had happened some nine or more years ago, he told her that in his opinion Sir Geoffry had never recover

's no doubt that the young lady was very dear to him," concluded Duffham.

uffham with open eye

that the disappointment about

fry has always had an inherent tendency to delicacy of constitution," he continued more seriously: "my partner Layne told me so. It was warded off for a time, and he grew into a strong, hearty man: it might perhaps have been warded off for good. But the blight-as

o that-he is dyi

, yes. If you li

that if she decided against him he could never know happiness again in this world: that to part from one to whom he was bound by sweet endearment, by every tie that ought to bind man to woman, would be like parting with

tore him?" she exclaimed, turni

, Lady Chavasse, I should ha

as she rose up, and went out of the room in silen

d cane and big white silk calves-who had been waiting in the air for his lady. She to

offry C

as Sir Geoffry who advanced as the servant made the announcement; and she rose to meet him. Strangely her heart fluttered: but she had been learning a lesson in cal

promptu visit to Mr. Duffham's tea-table; winter is merging into spri

e?" he began, looking at Mary, a

e faintly

ask you to come to the Grange for half-an-hour's interview; but I scarcely saw how to accomplis

lier," she murmured. "It

rlier. But I have

often the case when the speaker is drawing to the confines of this world and about to enter on the next. He referred a little to the past,

s?" And the tears came into Mary Layne's eyes at the w

very utmost

You know how things are with us at the

interrupted. "All I have

good for him as any other, provided you can like it for him. You will see when the time comes: all that lies in the future. Our lives have been blighted, Mary

always be regarded as Colonel Layne's son: the very few who know otherwise-Mr. D

him: as much so perhaps as though he had been born my heir. I think the regret that

d, Geoffry!" she cried from

cept for Lady Rachel, and grieving for me, I want you to promise that you will sometimes see her and give her consolation. Something tel

I prom

l, Mary. And yet upon you has

o realize the truth that it is better to have too much of suffering in this world than t

nt. He had learnt somew

o Colonel Layne, Mary, and shall post

he entrance of Arthur. The boy came dashing in from his a

ble; and I'm afraid I did: but, you see, I bought the marbles going

The fire had burnt low, and just for the moment even the young eyes did not recognize Sir Geoff

e little lad, as Sir Geoffry took

world, Arthur. And so you gave yo

through the marbles. I couldn't keep my hands out

nding by the mantelpiece, her face turned away, bade him put them up ag

knocked you down-and might have killed you-I have taken a very warm interest in your welfare. I have often wished that you-that you"-he seemed to hesitate in so

interrupted Arthur, lifting his

But a soldier may be as brave a servant of God as of his queen:

r, for the grave tones and mann

rs standing on the wasted cheeks. It made him feel a sort of discomfort, and he began, as a relief, to play

h? I think it must be so: no one can have a better right to them than my little friend who once nearly lost hi

ng him that he had written his name in it. And the child, turning hastily to the fly-leaf, saw it there: "Arthur Layne.

hat!" cried t

t always: I have marked many passages in it. Should it be your fate ever to encamp on the battle-field, let the Book b

, and began to cry a little.

love and serve Him. Whatsoever may be your lot in life, strive to do your duty in it, as before God; loving Him, loving and servin

and Arthur began to sob. "O

boy's face fervently: his brow, his cheeks, his lips, his eyelids-there was not a spot that Sir Geoffry did not leave a kiss

for me. Go over to Mr. Duffham, and tell him I

with less noise than he had

o part now, Mary.

he had been making to keep down emotion before the chi

have met the past; there is not another woman living who would have done and borne as you have. This is no doubt our last

re, reading also the future trust, and then their lips met-surely there was no wrong in it!-and

e; the surgeon and Arthur were standing by

at the Grange in the morning, was about to close the door. "I shall write and tel

it is!" put in old Du

ept it there for a minute. His lips were moving, but he

ir Geoffry,"

ye, my

o the last. Lady Chavasse, worn almost to a shadow with grief and uncertainty-for there were times yet when she actually entertained a sort

f things. Her self-reproach was terrible; her days and nights were one long dream of agony. Lady Rachel was not with them very much. She lay down more than ever in her

s kept in the shadow, or it might have betrayed the bitterness of her a

l. As it is-well, we did not repair it, you and I; and so-and so, as I take it, there has not been much of real blessing

spoke. She saw him, a hale happy man; his wife Mary, their children, a goodly flock, all at the Grange, and herself first amongst them, reigning paramount, rejoi

the

, Geo

of explanation I wrote when I quitted her and the Grange. You mi

ter, if the time had to come over again. The log sparkled and crackled and thr

the

, Geo

rthur, to have my watch and its ap

on

ken of remembrance to the little fellow wh

es

wood I wish sent to Miss Layne, locked as it is. The key I wi

be done,

hort period when I was happy-though I ought not to have been. Nothing of value; excep

eoffry. I will d

e ever been my lovi

, Geo

ther; though it was a mistake. You a

t like to see

e down on the sofa, and get, if I can, a bit of sleep; I feel tired. To-morrow I will talk about you and Rachel-and what will be best for you both.

" she cried, with a heartbroken sob. "Life for me wi

of an eternal life of perfect happiness, after all the mistakes and tribulations and disapp

d them. Duffham was bidden to it; and brought Arthur Layne in his hand to the Grange, in obedience to a private word of my lady's-for she knew the dead, if he could look out of his coffin, would like to see Arthur following. So the procession started, a long line; the village gazing in admiration as it passed; and Dobbs the blacksmith felt as proud as eve

extracted from

and strange changes have taken place. The world is

to stay. There was a small white villa to let on this side of the Grange, and they took it. Lady Rachel lies down more than ever; when she goes out it is in a Bath-chair. Old John Noah draws it. The spinal complaint is confirmed. I can do her no good

ing repentance, it is Lady Chavasse. The picture of what might have been is ever in her mind; the reality of what is, lies around her. To judge by

spends his large fortune like the gentleman he is. She is Mary Layne's sister: a dainty and rather haughty woman. My lady looks out surreptitiously from the corner of her window as Mrs. McAlpin's carriage bowls along the road beyond the field. Colonel Layne's wife is also here just now, on a visit at the Grange; her husband, Sir Richard Layne, K.C.B., h

ttacked her a few weeks ago, Mr. Dobbs, struck with consternation, gave, it as his opinion that Church Dykely "could afford to lose the whole biling of 'em, better than her." Lady Chavasse has seen her merit at

ry had her work out, and sat talking in a low voice to Lady Rachel on her sofa; Lady Cha

e wasp, Sir Arth

her at sunset. Becoming conscious of the slip, she flushed slightly, and turned it off. Lady Rachel laughed; s

adily turned to another world. Never a one is there amidst us so respected as that good, grave lady, who blighted her life in

blindfold into one of his spun-out histories again. The trouble I've had

. I, Johnny Ludlow, think it i