Mount Royal, Volume 2 of 3

bronze and gold, while the purple bloom of the heather and the yellow flower of the gorse were seen in rarer patches amidst the sober tints of autumn.

notis, mignonette, and Cape jasmine filled the rooms with perfume. Modern blinds of diapered crimson and grey subdued the light of those heavily mullioned windows which had been originally designed with a view to strength and architectural effect, rather than to the admission of the greatest possible amount of daylight. The house at this season of the year seemed made for warmth, so thick the walls, so heavily curtained the windows; just as in the height of

e sometimes for her religious adherence to her aunt

in a house where there is nothing but shadow and the scent of hot-house flowers. I should have given carte blanche to some London man-the fellow who writes verses, and who invented the storks and sunflower style of decoration-and have let him refurnish the saloon and mu

rely would not call

house that smells

ected to the scen

smell is a combination of stephanotis and old bones. I wish you would let me build you a villa

r live at Mount Royal than anywhere e

house-as I am. But I suppose in your case th

ed with memories o

h you love to nurse and brood upon. I think I know

red calmness, "but you will never make me disown my love of this place, and its surroundin

ittle shame in you," Leonard mutt

his only relief was to be found in harsh and bitter speech, in dark and sullen looks. It would have been a greater relief to him if his shots had gone home-if his brutality had elicited any sign of distress. But in this respect Christabel was heroic. She who ha

to waver and look downward, hardly able to endure that steady gaze. "Why are you always harping upon the past-as if it were

man at arm's length-and to have an ever-present air of living in the past which is galling to a husband who would like-well-a little less amiability, and a little more affection. By Heaven, I wouldn't

e made my duty as a wife more difficult than it need have been. But, have I ever forgotten that you are my husband, and the father of my child? Is ther

rank," mutt

an come only once in a lifetime. You were content to accept my affection-my obedi

pute the justice

that your first girlish fancy is a thing of the past-altogether gone and done with. It was idiotic to harp upon that

allest provocation. He could not forget that his wife had loved another man better than she had ever loved or even pretended to love him. It was he

f the country, Mr. and Mrs. Tregonell appeared a happy couple, whose union was the most natural th

d her own heart. Her true love was away-and she was flattered by the attention of a man of the world like Angus Hamleigh-and so, and so-almost unawares, perhaps, she allowed herself to be engaged to him, little knowing the real bent of his character and the gulf into which she was about t

than that of Christabel Tregonell. The centre of a friendly circle, the ornament of a picturesque and perfectly appointed house, the mother of a lovely boy whom she worshipped, with the overweening

the men were all out on the hills in the rain, and the women made a wide circle round the library fire, some of them intent upon crewel work, others not even pretending to be industriou

e person who stabbed one of the French Kings-forty wild horses pulling forty different ways. It doesn't make it much better because the horses are called by pretty names, don't you know. Court, friends, flower-shows, balls, church, opera, Ascot, fancy fairs, seat in Scotland, place in Yorkshire, Baden, Monaco. It is the pull that wears one out, the dreadful longing to be allowed to sit in one's own room by one's own fire, and rest. I know what it is in my small way, so I have always rather pitied duchesses. At a millionaire's house one is inevitably bored. There is an insufferable glare and glitter

clever people," ans

her work, a quiet smile

and drinking, than the indulgence in that lively monologue which she called conversation, and a

o few who can talk, without being disgustingly egotistical. Most people's idea of conversation is a

orrington was not witty, but she had read a good deal of light literature, kept a commonplace

ers," she complained sometimes: "there

. She had never for a moment posed as victim or martyr. In good faith, and with steady purpose of well

live peaceably and happily together it shall not be my fault. If Leonard will n

the open avowal of unbelief-something must be said in favour of that old-fashioned sober religious feeling which enabled Christabel Tregonell to walk s

acious widow, the slangy young ladies, with a marked taste for billiards and shooting parties, and an undisguised preference for masculine society, thought their hostess behind the age. It was obvious that she was better informed than they, had been more carefully educated, played better, sang better, was more elegant and refined in every thought, and look, and gesture; but, in spite of all these advantages, or perhaps on account of them, she was "

her, in one of the shabbiest streets in the debatable land between Pimlico and Chelsea-by courtesy, South Belgravia. Captain Vandeleur rarely had it in his power to do much for his sisters himself-a five-pound note at Christmas or a bonnet at Midsummer was perhaps the furthest stretch of his personal benevolence-but he was piously fraternal in his readiness to victimize his dearest friend for the benefit of Dopsy and Mopsy-these being the poetic pet names devised to mitigate the dignity of the baptismal Adolphine and Margaret. When Jack Vandeleur had a pigeon to pluck, he always contrived that Dopsy and Mopsy should get a few of the feathers. He did not take his friends home to the shabby little ten-roomed house in South Belgravia-such a nest would

imple youth who had just come into five or ten thousand, and had nothing but the workhouse ahead of him when that was gone, who spent his money most freely. It is only the man who is steadfastly intent upon ruining himself, who ever quite comes up to the feminine idea of generosity. The spendthrift, during his brief season of fortune, leads a charmed

erstood thing that Captain Vandeleur's professional position as counsellor exempted him from any share in the reckoning. Under his fraternal protection, Dopsy and Mopsy had dined snugly in all manner of foreign restaurants, and had eaten and drunk their fill at Mr. Tregonell's expense. They were both gourmands, and they were not a

his London experiences, to be caught by the auricomous tangles of one or the flaxen fringe of the other. He talked of them to their brother as n

a girl down there he's sweet upon-a cousin. He's very close; but I caught him kissing and crying over her photograph one night in the Rockies-when our rations had run short, and two of our horses gone dead, and our best guide was down with ague, and there was an idea that we'd lost our track, and should never see England again. Tha

of talking about his marrying us?" asked Mopsy petulantly,

mind. Girls with your experience ought to be able to twist a fellow round your little finger. But tho

"Could we ever dare to bring a man here; and it i

chandelier, and dilapidated furniture, flabby faded covers to chairs and sofa, side-table piled with shabby books and accumulated newspapers, the half-pay father's canes and umbrellas in the corner, his a

e opening chapter of 'Wilhelm Meister?'" said Captain Jack, meditatively-"

read to Dopsy the announcement of Mr. Tr

s wrong, for two years later Leonard Tregonell was knocking about town again, in the height of the season, with Poker Vandeleur, and the cou

ial hopes in that quarter were blighted. But marriage need not prevent his giving t

ly reliable income," said Mopsy

er, and tried to amuse the Benedict. Dopsy w

et," she said, "from

er," exclaimed Mr. Treg

photograph once in the Roc

d at this tribute

, though she is my wife," he said; "a

," sighed Dopsy; "but I'm afra

f Italian cookery and Italian wines. "Why should not you both come to Mount Royal? I want Jack to come for

of all things; but do you think Mrs. Tregonell would

houses. They were both fluttered at the idea, and turned t

ided Mopsy, "with a l

names of the poets and the covers of their books, Mopsy and Dopsy had been shrewd enough to discover that for young women with narrow means the ?sthetic style of dress was by far the safest fashion. Stuff might do duty for silk-a sunflower, if it were only big enough, might make as startling an effect as a blaze of diamonds-a rag of limp tulle or muslin serve instead of costly lace-hair worn after the ideal suffice instead of expensive headgear, and home dressmaking pass current for originality. Christabel speedily found, however, that these damsels were not exacting in the matter of attention from herself. So long as they were allowed to be with the men they were happy. In the billiard-room, or the tennis-court, in the old Tudor hall, which was Leonard's favourite tabagie, in the saddle-room, or the stable-yard, on the hills, or on the sea, wherever the men would suffer their presence, Dopsy and Mopsy were charmed to be.

," demanded Jessie, "when our own species affords an inexhaustible variety of creatures, all infini

inmates who have nothing to do with its maintenance. To Dopsy and Mopsy Mount Royal was a terrestrial paradise. They had never imagined an existence so entirely blissful. This perfumed at

overed knoll waiting for the shooters to join them at luncheon, while the servants grouped themselves res

onal strength consisted in the liberal us

ung men staying here, that one

ctress. You and I are nothing. Heaven only knows what is to become of us when the pater dies. Jack will never be ab

some-but I can sing in tune, and my feet and ankles have always been my

ively life, and doesn't require either voice or ankles-which I"-rather vindi

hine on it-the blue boundless sky-and one far-away sail, silvered with light, standing out against the low dark line of Lundy Island-debated Mop

alone for one of their old rambles; such a solitary walk as had been their delight in the ca

s. Tregonell was free to lead her own life-so with Jessie and Randie for company, she started at noontide for Tintagel. She could never weary of the walk by the cliffs-or even of the quiet c

ght have seemed treason in the wedded wife-but she loved to talk of the man himself-of his opinions, his ideas, the stories he had told them in their many rambles-his creed, his dreams-speaking of him always as "Mr. Hamleigh," and just as she might have spoken of any clever and intimate friend, lost to her, through adverse ci

of wind to curl the edges of the long waves which rolled slowly in and slid over the dark rocks in shining slabs of emerald-tinted water. Here and there deep p

we first brought Mr. Hamleigh

swered Jessie, in her matter-of-fact way. She always put on this air when she saw Christabel drifting i

e talked of Tristan an

arc, I

y him. He was an ing

orted Jessie; "and he seems to ha

" said Christabel, softly re

his drea

here and l

orphan ch

stle by t

st fairest

alm of Franc

p by the At

of Br

hristabel's shoulder, "after all was not her lot t

y, fondly, as plighted husband and wife, locked in each other's arms, promising each other speedy reunion, ineffably happy in their assurance of a future to be spen

lips quiver dumbly, as if in the vain attempt at words, an

ce where caviare and Adelina Patti are to be enjoyed in perfection-and

he had been talking of Buxton or Mal

e gloomy grandeur of that mighty semicircle of mountain peaks, of which

be here-on this insignif

nsignificant to me. National poetry has peop

ou tou

is an old friend of my father's: they were colle

r, who had come to Trevena

in tones which had a curiously flat sou

s a delicious plac

goes a long wa

. I was going to say that unfortunately for me I have engagem

recast which she saw in his faded eyes, his hollow cheeks, faintly tinged with

ding the wonders of creation? It is the best preparation for those still grander scenes which one faintly hopes to see by-and-by among the stars. According to the Platonic theory a man must tr

sigh, "I suppose that kind of feelin

nd chiefly given over to rabbits. Yet her heart was aching and throbbing passionately all the while; and the face at which she dared scarce look was vividly before her mental sight-sorely alter

right to linger. She rose with an automatic air. "Come, Jessie," she said: and then she

him with calm, grave eyes. "I am very glad to have seen

iend," he answered, gravely, gently, holding her hand with a l

ey left him standing amidst the low grass-hidden grave

him?" cried Christabel, as they went slowly down the steep wi

onnected with him? You have given me no chan

erly you

nursing morbid feelings? Am I to encoura

a friend-and a friend only. If I could see him now and then-even as

you behaving somewhat in the style of Werther's Charlotte-who is, to my mind, one of the most detestable women in fiction. Yes! Goethe has created two women who are the opposite poles of feeling-Gretchen and Lottie-and I would stake my faith that Gret

entuated by a leap from the narrow path where she ha

of Scott's Fenella-and I believe you are

ped in respectability-the dull level morality which prompts every man to do what his neighbour thinks he ought to do, rather than to be set in motion by th