The History of Sir Richard Calmady

opening door and the sound of women's voices. Mademoiselle de Mirancourt paused on the

our charming King Richard, C?ur d' Or, ha

in. But, better still, he has given me his dear heart of go

an's upraised hand gently and kissed it, looking her, meanwhile, full in the face.-"I am h

iful child," Mademoisel

ed mind which has ceased to greatly hope, how far more deeply pathetic does age, from out its sad and settled wisdom, find poo

ll her spotless bravery of white and rose, above the elder woman's hand and kissed it, came to him as a revelation before which he shrank with a certain fearful modesty. Julius had read of love in the poets, of course; but, in actual fact, he had never wooed a woman, nor heard from any woman's lips the language of intimate devotion. The cold embraces of the Church-a church, as he too often feared, rendered barren by schism and heresy-were

us unwittingly. She was tempted to retreat through the still open door, into the library, and leave the review of the Long Gallery and its many relics to a more convenient season. But it was not Katherine's habit to run away, least of all from the consequences of her own actions. And her sense of justice c

he library ladder; a spare, black figure, notably at variance wi

owed all the perfect oval of her face. Tender, lovely, smiling, her blue-brown eyes soft and lustrous, with a certain wondering serenity in their depths, there was yet something majestic about Katherine Calmady. No poor or unworthy line marred the nobility of her face or figure. The dark, arched eyebrows, the well-chiselled and slightly aquiline nose, the firm chin and throat, the shapely hands, all denoted harmony and completeness of development, an

afraid, by the fact of your not coming to breakfast, that you wer

sly wearisome at times-at least

d. She looked at him w

Go," she repeated, "order one of the horses. Go and meet Richard. He has gone over to look at the ne

looking at her, yet further understanding had overtaken Julius March. Not only the mystery of human love, but the mystery of

, they will soil your hands. You m

Her face was slightly flushed, her

my hands dirty, once in a way, in a good cause? They wi

For one, an evil beast in the form of a spider has dwelt among them. I disturbed it and it fled,

tly. Yet his speech struck Katherine as hurried and

uldn't help being ugly, I suppose," she

ttitude of mind-to shield this beautiful woman from all acquaintance with the foul story set forth in those little books. To shield her, indeed, from more than merely that.-For a vague presentiment possessed him that she might, in some mysterious way, be

-cuts to the extinction of what is evil. It does not cease, but merely changes its

ose to h

providence of God, their term is reached, till their p

nted in through the open casements of the bay window, and where the delicate, little spinster lady stood

doctrine, Julius. Surely it is not quite just; for it would seem to

e courageous forever suffering for the cowardly, the wise for the ignorant and brutish,

eper and more comforting than that. Remember, in the beginning, when God c

The little packet of chap-books res

long time ago,"

took her old friend's hand once again

hat everything has had time to grow very old and go very wrong. But, indeed, he is mistaken. Agree with me, tell him he is mistaken! The world is deliciously young yet. It was only mad

liant garden to the woodland shimmering in the noontide heat. Then she l

ne of us, it is so beautiful. As in the beginning, so now," she said

r so continue," Julius m

on for a few days' partridge shooting, bringing with him his cousin Colonel St. Quentin-invalided home, to his own immense chagrin, in the midst of the Afghan war. On the terrace, after dinner, for the night was warm enough for the whole company to take coffee out of doors, Lady Calmady-incited thereunto by her brother-ha

ony that refused at a grip by the roadside. The little maiden, her face pale, for once, from concentration of purpose, had forced the pony over the grip. Then, slipping out of the saddle, she coaxed and kissed the rough, unruly, little beast, with tears of apology for the hard usage to which she had been obliged to subject it. So stout, yet so tender, a heart, struck Rog

een particularly thoughtful of his pleasure and entertainment. At dinner she directed the conversation upon subjects interesting to him, and had thereby made him talk more unreservedly than was his wont. Not even the most saintly of human beings is wholly indifferent to social success. Julius was conscious of a stirring of the blood, of a

writing-table, two candles burned on either side of a bronze pietà, which Julius had brought back with him from Rome. On the broad slab of the table below were the many quires of foolscap forming the library catalo

signs, not only to support its faith in its deity, but even its faith in its own poor self! Of persons of sensitive temperament and limited experience, such as Julius, this is particularly true. Putting off his secular garment, as a rule, he could put off secular thoughts as well. Beneath the severe and scanty folds of the cassock

alas, his attention strayed. That sense of subdued excitement was upon him yet. He thought of the conversation at dinner, of brilliant speeches he might have made, of the encouragement of Katherine's smiling eyes and sympathetic spe

nts. Perhaps by putting a statement of them on paper he could rid himself of their all too potent influence. But his thought was tumultuous, words refused to come in proper order an

he rumble of departing wheels. The night was very soft and mild. He would go out and walk t

massed beneath them along the base of the house. It was a fairy world upon which Julius looked forth. Nor did it need suitable inhabitants. Pacing slowly down the centre of the terrace came Richard and Katherine Calmady, hand in hand. Tall, graceful, strong in the perfection of their youth and their great devotion, amid that ethereal brightness, they seemed as two heroic figures-immortal, fairy lovers mov

the blackness of the doorway, it seemed a whole eternity before Richard Calmady raised his head. Then Julius turned and fled down the passage

ppalled by the splendour of that heritage which, by his own act, he had forfeited. The cassock ceased, indeed, to be a refuge, the welcome livery of home and rest. It had become a prison-suit, a badge of slavery, against which his whole being rebelled. For the moment-happily violence is short-lived, only for a very little while do even the gentlest persons "see red"-asceticism appeared to him as a blasphemy against the order of

the breaking of his self-imposed bonds never occurred to him. Made in ignorance, unwitnessed though his

Julius March,-was sick to death. He had supposed he was living to God-and now it appeared to him he had lived only to himself. He had trusted God too little, had come near reckoning the great natural laws-which, after all, must be of God's orderi

. For in good truth, what did it all amount to? Not outraged laws of nature, not sins against the Holy Ghost; but jus

m was greatly changed-either with his priestly calling or his rashly made vow. Not as sources of pride did he now regard them; but as searching discipline to be borne humbly and faithfully, to the honour-as he prayed-both of earthly and heavenly love. He loved Katherine, but he loved her husband and that with the fulness

ble, looked down, saw the unsightly packet of dirty chap-books. Again, and almo

pped up the little bundle carefully, sealed and labell

arch behold the Vision of the New Life. But the page of his diary, on which surely a mat