Barbara Rebell

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aprice, et toujou

Aug

son, Lucy Kemp gradually became aware of two things. The first, which seemed to blot out and exclude ev

e the evening she had noticed that his manner had altered, that he had become more reserved, less really at ease. The second thing of which Lucy became aware, during those long dragging empty days, was

the man whose gallant deed had once thrilled England, Mrs. Kemp, and their young daughter, had come t

interest in local politics won him but tepid praise from the villagers, while the fact that Mrs. Kemp's large-minded charity and goodness of heart was tempered

tually appeared happier together than apart, and, surprising fact, that in the day-to-day life of walking and driving,

the schoolboy's excellent definition, "know all about you, but like you all the same." Now the peculiarity about General Kemp was that he had neither succeeded nor failed, or rather he had been successful only up to a certain point. He had won his V.

oraries and comrades in arms. The right honourable gentleman, as he explained to an admiring House of Commons, was able to save the difference between the full pay and the retired pay of these officer

only his wife knew what compulsory retirement had meant to him, and, for the matter of that,

s and hearts, their child was everything a girl should be. Unlike the girls of whom Mrs. Kemp sometimes heard so much, she showed no desire to leave her father and mother-no wish even to enjoy the gaieties whic

tant foretold that there would soon arise, and that through no fault of hers or of the girl's, a cloud betwe

this her own example, would marry to India, or, worse still, to some far-away colony. But, even so, Mrs. Kemp wou

son of one of the General's oldest friends; and her girlish heart had turned to something so utterly different, so entirely unexpected, that ne

re are surely many women who at some stage of their life, paraphrasing the famous phrase, might well ex

de up her mind as to what she did not wish to do with her life. In no circumstances would she bec

had ceased, as if by a stroke of malignant magic, poor Lucy had had more than time to examine her mind and heart, and to fe

o his wife's room. Lucy, standing apart, was not too busy with her thoughts to realise, more than she had ever done before, the vitality, the compelling bondage, of such an attachment as that between her quiet, rather silent, father and her impul

her's bedside, Lucy would suddenly remember, with a fluttering of the heart, certain kindly looks, certain frankly uttered confidences-and, remembering these things, she would regain some of the self-respect which sometimes seemed t

s eager desire to anticipate her every trifling wish, his awkward and most unprovoked compliments, the haunting of her when she would so much rather have been alone-ah! no, Oliver could never behave like that, in so a

er, brought herself to think it possible that Boringdon was in very truth incapable of that peculiar jealous passionate feeling of which the girl now knew herself to be as much possessed as was Captai

was surely strange-had made no effort to see her. Once, in a by-way of Chancton, Lucy had met Oliver face to face,-he had stopped her, inquired eagerly concerning Mrs. Kemp, and seemed inclined, more than she had done at

and unasked he had followed the girl through the hall out into the old-fashioned garden. There, after a word said by her as to the surprising result of an important by-election,-since she had known h

of Parliamentary glory, and contained private information concerning the probable resignation of the member who

suddenly appeared in the garden porch of the Grange and had put a quick sharp end to the discussion. "Your mother wants you, Lucy-will you please go up to her at once?" and the girl had obeyed without saying good-bye, for she felt sure-or perhaps, had hoped to ensure-that Boringdon would wait

the threshold of his house, seeing the two figures standing on the path close to one another, and so absorbed in what they were saying that some moments elapsed before they looked up and became aware of his presence,

e for one of his most poignant tragi-comedies, was probably unknown to General Kemp, but it exactly expres

ut of his pocket, and showing it to her for all the world as

she had followed with intuitive knowledge every act of the little drama enacted downstairs: she had heard the General's sharply uttered command; noted Lucy's breathless eager longing to be down again; and then she had heard the front door open and shut; and she had listen

we had a son and I thought him behaving badly to some girl, I should be at no loss to tell him what I thought of his conduct,-in fact, I shou

aving badly-if she were to flirt, for instance, as I have seen horrid girls do! But this, you see, is so d

something ought to be done. Get the matter settled one way or the other. I never heard of s

is that qu

ity of being very short with him-very short indeed!" Then, as Mrs. Kemp sighed a long involuntary sigh, "No, Mary, in this matter, you must allow me to have my own way. I don't approve of that sort of conduct. It's always so with widows' sons-there are certain things only a man can knock into 'em! I wish I'd had that young fellow in the regiment for a bit. It would hav

cy's view of Boringdon's nature. Perhaps he was one of those men-she had known a few such-who are incapable of violent, determining feeling. If

ssed the girl-missed, above all, the power of turning to her for sympathy, and even to a certain extent for counsel, more than he would have thought possible. He felt suddenly awakened to a danger he would rather not have seen,-why, oh! why, had not his

inite motive. Often her eyes would rest on his moody face with a questioning look. He longed to know why Lucy never came to the Cottage, but he was unwilling to give his mother the satisfaction of hearing him make such an inq

rt, and so he felt cut off from the only person to whom he could talk freely. Then had come that short meeting in the lane, and something timid, embarrassed in Lucy's

done the rest. But Oliver was aware that any sign of weakness on his part would be a triumph for Mrs. Boringdon-a proof that she had known how to shepherd him into a suit

o shake his resolution, and to break down the barrier which he had put up between himself and her. At the time he had been carrying the letter concerning his old constituency about with him for two days, and the temptation t

n. Boringdon's guilty conscience-it was indeed hard that his conscience should feel guilty, for he was not aware of having done anything of which he should be ashamed-Boringdon's guilty conscience at once suggested the terrible though

ons that he entered the drawing-room of the Cottage with words concerning a very different person from Lucy Kemp on his lips. "Don't you think," he asked, "that

satisfaction that his little ruse had been successful; the news he

er calls at Chancton Priory. How could anyone-unless you mean Miss Vipen and the Recto

ersonal compliment to himself! Miss Berwick drove over two or three days ago, and so did the Duchess of Appleby and Kendal.

aordinary thing! I should have called on Mrs. Rebell, Grace's friend, before now, but it seemed so strange that she was not in church. It made me fear"-

dame Sampiero to go to church, even if she wished to do so. As for McKirdy,

at is, the lower servants. No one has ever seen the housekeeper at church,

rke, resplendent in a new gown each Sunday, would certainly distract the congregation from his dull sermon

ome natural curiosity. She added hast

to try and establish some kind of communication between Madame Sampiero and myself. There's a most urgent matter which ought to be se

by Boringdon of much complicated and tiresome business. In this, however, there would naturally have been much to interest such a man as himself, especially as he

medical attendant to Madame Sampiero had comprised for a while that of being her vice-regent as regarded estate matters. That arrangement had been anything but a success, hence the appointment, through Lord Bosworth's, or ra

gan to interfere, and Boringdon discovered, with anger and astonishment, that many matters were being gradually referred, both by the grea

d with Chancton. From that moment, Alexander McKirdy had set his very considerable wits to work against the younger man. He had informed him with sharp decision that his weekly audiences with his employer must cease: pointing out that almost everything that m

lest cottager had soon discovered that the doctor, or "Kirdy," as he was unceremoniously styled amongst themselves, was once more the real over-lord of Chancton, and Boringdon found himself reduced

not been for his mother, and for the fact that the very generous income allotted to him for the lit

Sampiero's lawyers wrote when anything had to be settled or done. McKirdy also always allowed him to carry on any negotiations with neighbouring landowners. Boringdon had a free ha

slight discourtesies to Doctor McKirdy-discourtesies which were returned with full interest by the old Scotchman. To Lucy and to Lucy's mother he had been

of the more important Chancton farmers concerning a proposed remittance of rent. The man had brought his Michaelmas rent in notes and gold, the sum considerably short, according to Boringdon, of what

emptation of following Lucy through into the garden with which he had so many pleasant memories, and once there, of showing her the

action, but the thought of an appeal to Berwick was still, nay, more than ever, disagreeable. At the same time this was a test case. He was sorry that his mother had not called on Mrs. Rebell, for he was dimly aware that the trifling lack

n such wise that it led to a curiously sudden intimacy, bred of some