A Life's Morning

t the best three weeks of August were his holiday; as a rule, he went to Scotland, sometimes in company with a friend, more often alone. In the previous year he had ta

nsated for his lack of ease amid the unfamiliar conditions of foreign travel. Richard represented an intermediate stage of development between the

eath of his wife, he had held no communications with her relatives. The child was all he had of family, and, though his paternal affections were strong, he was not the man to content his hours of leisure with gambols in a nursery. His dogs were doubtless a great resource, and in a measure made up to him for the lack of domestic interests; yet there sometimes passed days during which he did not visit the kennels, always a sign to the servants to beware of his temper, which at such seasons was easily roused to fury. The reputation he had in Dunfield for brutality of behaviour dated from his prosecutio

orly off. Various reasons led to his widow's quitting Hebsworth; Dunfield inquirers naturally got hold of stories more or less to the disgrace of the deceased Mr. Hanmer. The elder of the two daughters Richard Dagworthy married, after an acquaintance of something less than six months. Dunfield threw up its hands in amazement: such a proceeding on young Dagworthy's part was not only shabby to the families which had upon him the claim of old-standing expectancy, but was in itself inexplicable. Miss Hanmer might be good-looking, but Richard (always call

when she returned visits, was felt to be so offensive that worthy ladies-already prejudiced-had a difficulty in refraining from a kind of frankness which would have brought about a crisis. The town was perpetually busy with gossip concerning the uncomfortableness of things in the house on the Heath. Old Mr. Dagworthy, it was declared, had roundly bidden his so

Dagworthy spent the days with her mother and sister, Richard at the mill, and the evenings were got through with as little friction as might be between two people neither of whom could speak half a dozen words without irritating or disgusting the other. The interesting feature of the case was the unexpectedness of Dagworthy's choice. It evinced so much more originality than one looked for in such a man. It was, indeed, the outcome of ambitions which were not at all clear to their possessor. Miss Hanmer had impressed him as no other woman had done, simply because she had graces and accomplishments of a kind hitherto unknown to him; Richard felt that for the first time in his life he was in familiar intercourse with a 'lady.' Her refined modes of speech, her little person

ty regarded her at any time with strong feeling, what had made him so bent on gaining her for his wife? To puzzle this over-the problem would not quit his mind-was to become dimly aware of what he had hoped for and what he had missed. It was not her affection: he felt that the absence of this was not the worst thing he had to bear. Gradually he came to understand that he had been deceived by artificialities which mocked the image of something for which he really longed, and that something was refinement, within and without, a life directed by other motives and desires than those he had known, a spirit aiming at things he did not understand, yet which he would gladly have had explained to him. There followed resentment of the deceit that had been practised on him; the woman had been merely caught by his money, and it followed that she was contemptible. Instead of a higher, he had wedded a lower than himself; she did not care even to exercise the slight hypocrisy by which she might have kept his admiration; the cruelest feature of the wrong he had suffered

made him reckless. For the other features of his character, those which tended to stability, were still strong enough to oppose passions which had not found the occasion for their full development. He was not exactly avaricious, but pursuit of money was in him an hereditary instinct. By mere force of habit he stuck zealously to his business, and, without thinking much about his wealth, disliked unusual expenditure. His wife had taunted him with meanness, with low money-grubbing; the effect had been to make him all the more tenacious of habits which might have given way before other kinds of reproof. So he had gone on living the ordinary life, to all appearances well contented, in reality troubled from time to time by a reawakening of those desires which he had understood only to

was on the first floor of the mill, with a large field-glass at his eyes. The glass was focussed upon the Cartwrights' garden, in which sat Jessie with Emily Hood. They were but a short distance away, and Dagworthy could observe them closely; he had done so, intermittently, for almost an hour,

y which Jessie must approach the garden; he saw her coming, and went on at a brisk pace towards her. The girl was not hurrying, though she would be late; these lessons were beginning to tax her rather too seriously; Emily was so exacting. Already she had made a change in the arrangements, whereby she saved herself the walk to Banbrigg; in the garden, too, it was much easier to find e

med. 'You've saved me a run all the way up to your h

o the books

with a wry movement of her lips. 'W

that is, if you will. But, really, where we

lessons there with Emily Hood. Beastly shame that I should have to do lesso

pages of a French grammar, at last throwing a

agworthy asked, playing his part very well, i

ve given her a key, so that if she gets t

en thirty-five train from Hebsworth. Your father will get in by it

with eagerness, 'I'll go. Ju

as consulti

alking as quickly as you can? Which is your gar

corner there, You'll have to apolog

fulness; she held out her hand,

worthy, 'will you just walk ov

shall; I don't thin

u'll have to be off, or you'

ed back several times; the first glance showed her Dagworthy still gazing

soon as his eyes discovered her he paused; his hands clasped themselves nervously behind him. Then he proceeded more slowly. As soon as he stepped within the garden, Emily heard his app

ssment which, even in her confusion-her all but dread-Emily noticed as a strange thing. She was struggling to command herself, to overcome by reason the fear w

dued than she had ever known it. 'I have come to apologise to you for sending Miss Cartwright to meet her father at the station. I met her by chance just out there

lly as she could. 'Will she still com

I had better ask you to

or three books which l

ld be afraid,' Dagworthy pursued, watching her ev

and then,' replied Emily, saying t

ooks and was about to f

bly not have given, by taking the books from her hands. He put up his foot on the chair, as if fo

d of teachin

I li

ore her, her head just bent. The attitude was grace itself.

t care to go on

our, which she dared not meet after the first glance. He would not finish the strapping of the books, and she could not bid h

he asked, letting the books fall

d of Septemb

ou will come again some day to my

ips; it was not like his own

r. Dagworthy,

d in binding them together. As he fastened the buc

d forth her hand for the b

s Ho

st by force, and retreated a

ou again. The other morning at the Cartwrights' it was almost more than I could do to go away. I don't know what's come to me; I can't put you out of my thoughts for one minute; I can'

s face on fire. There was something boyish in the simplicity of his phrases; he seemed to be making a confession that was compelled by

Dagwo

now to the demand upon it; his utter abashment before her could not but h

sn't man enough to know my own mind. I know it well enough, and I must say all I have to say, whilst you're here to listen t

-don't say more-I beg you not to! I c

s you. No feeling will ever come to you like this that's come to me, but I want you to know of it, to try and understand what it means-to try and think of me. I don't ask for yes or no, it woul

-it is not in my pow

l sorts of tales; I know well enough what people say about me-well, I want you to know me better. We'll leave all other feelings aside. We'll say I just wish you to think of me in a just way, a friendly way, nothing more. It's impossible for you to do more than that at first. No doubt even your father has told you that I have a hasty temper, which leads me to say and do things I'm soon sorry for. It's true enough, but that doesn't prove that I am a brute, and that I can't mend myself. You've heard things laid to my charge that are false-about my doings in

ere might lie in Emily's reluctance to hear him, but he dared not entertain the thought; it was his passionate instinct to plead it down. Whatever it might be that she had in mind, she must first hear him. As he spoke, he watched her features with the eagerness of desire, of fear; to do so was but to inflame his passion. It was an extraordinary struggle between the force of violent appetite and the constraint of love in the higher sense. How the former had b

passed; she recognised the heart-breaking sincerity of his words, and compassionated him. W

w you can't help regarding m

feel deeply the sincerity of all you have said, and be sure, Mr. Dagworthy, that I will never t

ould never lightly utter. But it must be spoken now; no

on the ground, she kn

as if it were necessary to have the fact affirmed

silence might

? Do you

hav

wished she had not; his anguish expressed itself like an evil passion; his teeth were

if he would make an effort to joke upon it, though

e apart, then app

, with a roughness which was rather the effect of

the truth,' Emi

e know it? Do t

one to whom I ha

ather and moth

do not

man had made such strange revelation of himself, she felt unable to predict his course. No refinement in him would now ha

is not any one

is n

ould have refrained from a single question, yet he could no m

ll

esit

d, seeing that he was not likely to quit her

it is?-I am a brute to ask you, but-i

quiver. It was her impulse to walk from

ain. Yes, the m

u don't believe that I should speak of it? But I feel I could b

ould no

me one in

not tell you more than tha

u could kill as easily as you can drive a man mad, I would ask you to still have pity on m

t one look at her, a look Emily ne

stly with love as exhibited in Dagworthy; its gross side was too offensively prominent; her experience gave her no power of rightly appreciating this struggle of the divine flame in a dense element. Living, and having ever lived, amid idealisms, she was too subjective in her interpretation of phenomena so new to her. It would have been easier for her to judge impartially had she witnessed this passion directed towards another; addressed to her, in the position she occupied, any phase of wooing would have been painful; vehemence was nothing less than abhorrent. Wholly ignorant of Dagworthy's inner life, and misled with regard to the mere facts of his outward behaviour, it was impossible that she should discern the most deeply significant features of the love he expressed so ill, impossible for her to understand that what would be brutality in another man was in him the working of the very means of grace, could circumstances have favoured their action. One tribute her instinct paid to the good which hid itself under so rude a guise; as she pondered over her fear, analysing it as scrupulously as she always did those feelings which she felt it behoved her to understand once for all, sh

cret! If Jessie indeed knew of this morning's events, there was small likelihood that it would remain unknown to others; then the whole truth must be revealed. Would it not be better to anticipate any such discovery, to tell her father this very day what had happened and why it was so painful to her? Yet to speak of Dagworth

gworthy had at last gone for his holiday. It was time, he said; Dagworthy was not

er?' Emily was driven to ask, with

nearest approach to mirth, 'fortunately he left me alone, and spoke neither wel

ation, she had concluded that Jessie could not possibly be aware of what had taken place in th