Mount Royal, Volume 2 of 3

tal visit which had brought love and sorrow to Christabel. How lovely the hills looked in the soft summer light; how unspeakably fair the sea in all its glory of sapphire and emerald, and

and all the rude pleasures of a rural fair; alive with all manner of sound and movement, and having a general air of making money too fast for the capability of investment. The whole place was gorged with visitors-not the inn only, but every available bedchamber at post-office, shop, and cottage was filled with humanity; and the half-dozen or so available pony-carriages were making the journey t

nk from meeting were not the strange tourists, but the old gaffers and goodies who had known her all their lives-the "uncles" and "aunts"-(in Cornwall uncle and a

good weather, deeming it their highest privilege to obey so fair a captain, and one who always paid them handsomely for their labour. They went often t

and die unmarried, and to make life, somehow or other, self-sufficing-as if Randie and I were both getting old and grey together. For he is ever so much greyer, the dear thing," she said, laying her hand lov

ld be dependent on a sheep-dog's affection-when she has

said Belle, bitterly, "be deeply attached to a colley this year and next year

for Christabel to hear of his illness. The knowledge might inspire her to some wild quixotic act: she might insist upon devoting herself to him-to be his wife in order that she might be his nurse-and surely this would be to ruin her life without helping him to prolong his. The blow had fa

first passionate love of youth-the love that is eager for self-sacrifice, that would welcome beggary-the love which sees a lover independent of all surrounding circumstances, worshipp

ich they both had cherished years ago. She asked him to come home at once, but to be careful that he approached C

know the trial is very hard for her. The house would be more cheerful if you were at home. You might ask one or two of your Oxford friends. No

Mrs. Tregonell had been harmless and inoffensive; but she was not the kind of person for whom Leonard would throw over elaborate sporting arrangements, hired guides, horses, carts, and all the paraphernalia needful for Red River explorations. As for Christabel, Mr. Tregonell had not forgiven her for having set another man in the pla

amer-son of a half-pay naval captain, a man who had begun life in a line regiment, fought in Afghanistan, sold out, and lived by his wits and upon his friends for the last five years. He had made himself so useful

ed Christabel to give him up. Every one said it was a pity. Poor Miss Courtenay looked ill and unhappy. Surely it would have been wiser to waive all question of antecedents, and to trust to that sweet girl's influence for keeping Mr. Hamleigh straight in the future. "Antecedents, indeed," exclaimed a strong-minded matron, with five marriageable daughters. "It is all very well for a young woman like Miss Courtenay-an only child, with fifteen hundred a year in her own right-to make a fuss about a young man's antecedents. But what would become of my five girls if I were to look at things so closely." Christabel looked at the first column of the Times supplement daily to see if there

o hear that name lightly spoken, no doubt; but this dull dead silence was worse. One day it flashed upon her that if he were to die nobody would tell her of his death. Kindred and friends would conspire to

ce of her own accord, and there was a poverty of character in not being able to maintain the same Spartan courage to the end. But from Major Bree, the friend and playfellow of her childhood, the indulgent companion of her youth, she could better bear to accept pity-so, one mild after

rifling with the fringed petals of a snow

w that there is nothing in the

gh, that it can do me no good to know anything about him-that I can go on living and being happy, while I am as ignorant of his fate as if we were inhabitants of different planets. But they forget that after havin

her hand in both his own. "Have you hear

lieve that there was never an

to do so, in the hope

edge of the human heart, Uncle Oliver-and you must know that I shall always-remember him. Tell me the truth a

hat put such a noti

e death; and every one ha

ard of him at Plymouth the other day, from a yachting man who met him i

new of it-dangerou

ery bad. He had been yachting when

d-that person," fa

t pe

s Ma

no, my dear-n

ght-it is

you. But I may tell you, at least, that there is an all-sufficient

be worthy of him-that she is irred

enough to be any

wicked: she spoke of him w

aghast. "Do you mean to tell me that you

ould not bring myself to believe it until it was confirmed by Miss Mayne's own

anted to know more than common rumour could tell you, you

men. If we stand far apart it is because Providence has given me many blessings which were withheld from her. It is Mr. Hamle

ot fairly judge the case. You would have done better to take an old soldier's advi

for granted. It was not till I had heard the truth from Miss Mayne's lips that I took any decisiv

pe of making Miss Mayne a respectable member of society. But what's done cannot be undone. There's no use in crying over spilt milk. I daresay you and Mr. Hamleigh will meet again and

ome to keep the invalid company-to read to her and cheer her through the long dull morning. Perhaps they both felt that Christabel would rather be alone on this day. She put on her waterproof coat, took her dog w

r of tender meaning than splendid St. George's, with its fine oaken panelling, painted windows, and Hogarthian architecture. Never at that altar, nor at any other, were they two to kneel. A little year had held all-her hopes

nown in life-all at rest now-old people who had suffered long and patiently before they died-a fair young girl who had died of consumption, and whose suffering

mixed with the joyous song of the robin perched on the gate. To-day there was neither gravedigger nor robin-only the soft drip, drip of the rain on dock and thistle

ering of my funeral, be sure I a

London, and a London Park, looked lovely in the clear June light. Little chance now that she would be called upon to cho

at her old lover would sooner or later make the one possible atonement for an old sin. Nobody except the Major had told her how little the lady deserved that su

d went slowly through the level fields between two long lines of hills-a gorge through which, in bleak weather, the winds blew fiercely. There was another hill to ascend before she reached the field that led to Pentargon Bay-half a mile or so of high road

and must not ask her to be his wife-an apology and an explanation as it were-and this apology, this explanation had been made necessary by her own foolishness-by that fatal forgetfulness of self-respect which had allowed her love to reveal itself.

under the low grey sky. "I think he must have loved me-unwillingly, perhaps-but it was true love while it lasted. He gave his first and best love to that other-but he loved m

er in this hour as nothing else could have done. If she could only know where he was, and ho

er own room this fact was of no consequence. The mistress of Mount Royal had been declining visibly since her return to Cornwall; Mr. Treher

" he said; "she is too anxious a

out writing, and that makes his poor mother miserable. She is perpetually worrying hers

t 'Nought is never in danger,'" muttered the d

ghtful dreams about h

l cares are constrained to invent sham ones. Look at King Solomon-did you ever read any book that breathes such intense melancholy in every line as that little work of his called Ecclesiastes. Solomon was living in the lap of luxury when he wrote that little book, and ve

ease?" faltered Christabe

ic disease-nothing wrong with the valves-no fear of excruciating

s, as the awful shadow of a grief, hardly thought of t

e thought how little during the last dismal months she had valued that love-almost as old as her life-and how the loss of a newer love had made the world desolate for her, life without meaning or purpose. She re

not for a moment of the days to come, should her care or her affection slacken. Not for a moment s