A Bankrupt Heart, Vol. 2 (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73973 ***

A BANKRUPT HEART.

BY

FLORENCE MARRYAT,

AUTHOR OF
‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘MY OWN CHILD,’ ‘PARSON JONES,’
ETC., ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:
F. V. WHITE & CO.,
14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.

1894.

This story being already dramatised, all rights are reserved.

CONTENTS.

A BANKRUPT HEART.

——o——

CHAPTER I.

For seven weeks Nell Llewellyn fluctuatedbetween life and death before she was fullyroused again to a sense of living and itscares and responsibilities. It was on asunny afternoon, in the middle of October,that she first awoke to the consciousnessthat she was herself. But she was tooweak to do more than be aware of it. Theafternoon sun was glinting through thewhite blind of her bedroom window, and alittle breeze caused it to flap gently againstthe latticed panes. Nell lay on her bed,as weak and unreasoning and incurious asa little child, and watched the tassel of the[Pg 2]blind bobbing up and down, without questioningwhy she lay there, unable to moveor think. An old woman named BetsyHobbs, who came in sometimes to help inan emergency at the farmhouse, was seatedby the window, with a large pair of knitting-needlesin her hands, a ball of worsted ather feet, and her head sunk on her breast,enjoying a snooze after the labours of theday. Nell stared at her unfamiliar figurewith the same sense of incapacity to understandher presence, and the same sense ofutter indifference to not understanding it.Her feeble sight roved over everything inthe room with the same apathy. Thecoverlet on her bed was a coloured one,and she kept on counting the squares andwondering in a vague manner why oneshould be red and the next blue. Onered, and the next blue—one red, and thenext blue—she kept on mentally repeatingto herself, until her eyes had travelled tothe foot of the bed, over the footboard ofwhich was thrown a pink knitted shawl,or kerchief, which her mother had bought[Pg 3]for her just before she was taken ill, andwhich she had worn around her shoulderson the evening she had gone to hear HughOwen preach in the field. That little linkbetween the past and the present recalledit all. In a moment she comprehended.She was no longer happy, innocent NellLlewellyn, spending her young life at Panty-cuckooFarm, but the disgraced and degradeddaughter of the house, who hadcrept home, a living lie, to hide her shameand sorrow in her mother’s bosom. Theremembrance brought with it but one desire—onewant—which expressed itself in afeeble cry of ‘Mother!’ At least, it waswhat Nell intended for a cry; but her voicewas so faint and weak, that Betsy Hobbsonly roused from her nap with a feelingof curiosity if she had heard anything. Shewas accustomed to nursing the sick, however,and was a light sleeper, so shehobbled up to the bedside and peeredinto her patient’s face. Sure enough hereyes were open and there was reason inthem.

[Pg 4]

‘Praise the Lord, dearie,’ she ejacul*ted,‘you’re yourself agin at last!’

But Nell turned her face to the wall withthe same cry of ‘Mother!’

‘To be sure, dearie; and I’ll fetch ’er in’alf a minnit. She’s only stepped down tothe dairy to see ’ow things are goin’ on,for business ’as been sadly neglected oflate. Night and day—night and day—thepore dear’s bin by your side, longin’ to’ear your own voice agin, and she’ll be overj’yedto find you in your senses. Come,drink a drop o’ milk, do, and then I’llfetch ’er.’

But Nell turned fractiously from theproffered cup and reiterated her cry forher mother. She was gaunt and emaciatedto a degree. The cruel fever had wastedher rounded limbs, and dug deep furrowsbeneath her eyes, and turned her delicatecomplexion to yellow and brown. Shelooked like a woman of forty or fifty,instead of a girl of three-and-twenty.As the old woman ambled out of theroom, Nell raised her thin hands and gazed[Pg 5]at the white nails and bony knuckles withamazement. Where had she been? Whathad happened to her, to alter her likethat? Her questions were answered bythe entrance of Mrs Llewellyn.

‘Oh, my dear lass—my own poor lamb!’she exclaimed, as she came hurriedly tothe bedside, and folded her daughter inher arms. ‘Praise the Lord that you havetaken a turn at last! I’ve been watchingfor this days and days, till I began tofear it might never be. You’ve been mainill, my girl, and all the house nursing youthrough it. Father’s lying down on hisbed. He hasn’t had his coat off for threenights. But you’re better, my lass, you’rebetter, thank God for that!’

‘How long have I been ill?’ asked Nellin a faint voice.

‘Better than six weeks—going on forseven,’ replied her mother; ‘and it’s beenan anxious time for all of us. I thoughtpoor Hetty would have cried herself sicklast week, when Dr Cowell told us wemustn’t build our hopes too much on keeping[Pg 6]you here. I think he will be assurprised as anyone when he hears thegood news. Oh, my lass, it would havebeen a sore day for more than one of usif we had lost you!’

‘I may go yet, mother,’ said Nell, lookingat her skeleton hands; ‘there’s not much ofme left, I’m thinking.’

‘Oh, no you won’t, my dear, not thistime, thank God. I know what these feversare. I’ve seen too many of them. Whenthey’ve burnt themselves out, they’re over.And you’re as cool as a cucumber now.You feel terrible weak, I know, but goodfeeding and care will soon set you upagain.’

‘What a trouble I must have been toyou,’ sighed Nell wearily; ‘and so unworthyof it too. Mother, why didn’t you let medie, and make an end of it? Life is notworth living at any time, and I’ve seen thebest of mine.’

‘Nonsense, my girl, you talk like thatbecause you’re so weak, that’s all. You’llfeel quite different in another day or so.[Pg 7]Here, just let me give you a few spoonfulsof this beef-tea. I made it myself, so Iwon’t take a refusal. There’s a good maid,and now you must shut your eyes and goto sleep again.’

‘Don’t leave me,’ murmured Nell, as shelay with her hand clasped in her mother’s.‘Talk to me, mother. Tell me you arereally glad that I am better, and I will tryto live for your sake.’

‘Glad, child! Why, what are you thinkingof? Glad to get my own lass backfrom the grave, as you may say? I shouldbe a nice mother if I weren’t. Don’t youknow by this time that you’ve been myhope and pride ever since you was born?Why, I’ve been praying night and dayto the Lord to spare you for weeks past.Ay, and not only me; all Usk has beenasking the same thing, and there’s been onein particular as has wearied Heaven withprayers for your recovery, if ever man did.’

‘One in particular?’ echoed the sick girlfaintly curious. ‘Who was that, mother?’

‘Why, that young saint on earth, Hugh[Pg 8]Owen, to be sure. I never saw a man sounhappy as he’s been about you. He looksten years older since you were taken ill.Do you know, Nell, that he’s been hereevery minute he could spare from his work,kneeling by your bedside whilst you wereraving in delirium, praying with all his heartand soul, that God would spare your preciouslife to us a little longer. Hugh Owenhas been your tenderest nurse. I’ve seenhim sit here, without saying a word forhours together, only holding you in his armswhen you got a bit violent, and coaxingyou by every means in his power to takea drop of wine or a spoonful of jelly. I dobelieve that you owe your life in a greatmeasure to Hugh’s care (and so I’ve toldfather that if you lived, it would be), forthough we all tried our best, no one hashad so much influence over you as him, orbeen able to make you take nourishmentlike he could.’

‘Did he hear me talk?’ asked Nell,fearfully.

‘Hear you talk, child? Well, pretty nearly[Pg 9]all Usk heard you talk, you used to screamso loud sometimes. But it was all nonsense.No one could understand it, so you needn’tbe afraid you told any of your little secrets.I couldn’t make head nor tail of what yousaid, nor Hugh either. But his presenceseemed to comfort you, so I let the poorlad have his way. He was nearly broken-heartedwhen he left the farm last night,you were so terribly weak and low. Iexpect he’ll nearly go out of his mind whenhe hears the news I shall have to tell himthis evening. He’ll offer up a grand prayerof thanksgiving before he goes to his bedto-night.’

But at this juncture, seeing that Nell’sweary eyes had closed again, Mrs Llewellyncovered her carefully with the bedclothes,and went to communicate the fact of herimprovement to the farmer. As the husbandand wife were sitting at their evening meal,Hugh Owen, as usual, walked in. His facewas very pale, and his expression careworn.His first anxious inquiry was naturally forNell. When he heard the great improvement[Pg 10]that had taken place in her, and thatDoctor Cowell had said at his last visit thatshe was now on the road to recovery, hispallid cheeks glowed with excitement.

‘God Almighty be thanked for all Hisgoodness!’ he said solemnly, and then addedrapidly,—‘May I see her, Mrs Llewellyn?Just for one moment. I will not speak toher, if you do not think it desirable, butto see her once more sensible and in herright mind would make me so happy. Ishall hardly be able to believe the joyfulnews is true otherwise.’

The mother looked doubtful.

‘Well, I don’t quite know how Nellwould take it, my lad. You’ve been maingood to her, I know; but it wouldn’t doto upset her now, and you would be thelast to wish it.’

‘Upset her! Oh, no; but I have satby her so often during her illness.’

‘Ay, when she wasn’t aware of yourpresence; that makes all the difference.But,’ noting the look of disappointment inthe young man’s face, she added, ‘I’ll[Pg 11]just step up and see how matters arenow; and if Nell’s sleeping you shallhave a peep at her, in return for all yourgoodness.’

The young man thanked her, and ina few minutes she came back to say thather daughter was fast asleep, and, ifHugh would follow her, he should seeso for himself. He rose at once, his faceradiant with joy, and crept on tip-toe upthe stairs and into the familiar bedroom.There lay Nell, prostrate in the sleep ofexhaustion—her hands folded together onthe coverlet, her head well back on herpillow, her mouth slightly parted, herbreathing as regular and calm as that ofan infant. At the sight Hugh’s eyesfilled with tears.

‘Doesn’t she look as if she were praying—thankingGod for His goodness toher?’ he whispered to Mrs Llewellyn.‘Oh, let us pray too. We can neverthank Him enough for all He has donefor us.’

And he fell on his knees by the bedside,[Pg 12]Mrs Llewellyn following his example.

‘Oh, Father, God, Protector, Friend,’said the young man, with tears runningdown his worn cheeks, ‘what can werender to Thee for all Thou art to us,for all Thou doest for us? We havecried to Thee in our distress, and Thouhast heard our cry. We wept in ourabject fear of loss, and Thou hast driedour tears. Thou hast sent Thy messengerangels, with healing in their wings,to succour this dear child of Thine—thisdear companion of ours—and giveher and us alike time to do somethingto prove the sense of gratitude we havefor Thy great love to us. Oh, Father,make us more grateful, more thankful,more resolved to live the lives whichThou hast given us, to Thee, more carefulof the beautiful, earthly love with whichThou hast brightened and made happythese lives. Amen.’

No one could mistake the earnestnessand fervour and genuineness of this address,[Pg 13]which Hugh delivered as simply asif he had been speaking to his earthlyfather in his earthly home. Mrs Llewellyncould not restrain mingling her tears withhis. She told the farmer afterwards thatHugh’s way of praying made her feel asif the Almighty were standing just besidethem where they knelt. Softly as theyoung minister had preferred his petition,it seemed to have reached the sleeper’sear, even through her dreams, for as his‘Amen’ fell on the air, Nell opened hereyes and said very softly,—

‘Thank you, Hugh.’

The sound of her voice, and the assurancethat his presence had not disturbedher, so moved his sensitive dispositionthat he sprung forward, and, sinking againupon his knees by her side, raised herthin hand to his lips and kissed it severaltimes in succession, whilst his dark eyesglowed with feeling.

‘Thank you,’ again sighed Nell. ‘Good-night.’

‘Yes, yes, my lad, it must be good-night,[Pg 14]for you mustn’t stay here!’ exclaimedMrs Llewellyn, who was fearful of theeffects of any agitation on her invalid.‘You’ve had your wish and seen Nell,and you’ve prayed a beautiful prayer, andnow you must come back to the parlourwith me and have a bit of supper. Godown to the kitchen, Betsy,’ she continuedto the old nurse, ‘and get our Nell anotherdrop of beef-tea, and I’ll be up to seeafter her as soon as the table’s cleared.Bless her heart! if she isn’t off again.She’ll want all the sleep she can get now,to make up for the sore time she’s passedthrough. Come, Hugh.’

But the young minister refused all heroffers of hospitality. He felt as if foodwould choke him just then. He wantedto be alone to think of his great andunexpected joy—to thank the Giver of itover and over again. He walked homethrough the crisp October evening, wanderingfar afield, in order to communewith his own thoughts, and enlarging theprayer of thankfulness, with which his[Pg 15]heart was bursting, by another petition,that God, who had given this womanback to him and her friends, would giveher to him also and altogether as his wife.

He did not see Nell again during theperiod of convalescence that she spent inher own room. But not one day passedwithout his presence at the farm and histhoughts of her being brought to hernotice by some little offering from hishands. One day it would be a bunch ofglowing chrysanthemums, from the deepestbronze to the palest pink and purestwhite. The next, he brought a basketof fruit—a cluster of hothouse grapes—toget which he had walked for miles,or a bunch of bananas, or anything whichwas considered a dainty in Usk. Oncehe sent her a few verses of a hymn,neatly copied out on fair paper; but theseNell put on one side with a smile whichsavoured of contempt. She was nowfairly on the road for recovery; and evenHetty, who had been going backwardsand forwards every day, began to find[Pg 16]the walk from Dale Farm was rather long,and that her mother-in-law needed a littlemore of her company. The services ofthe doctor and old Betsy Hobbs weredispensed with, and Mrs Llewellyn foundthere was no longer any necessity for herto leave all the churning and baking toher farm maids, but that she coulddevote the usual time to them herself.It was an accredited fact that Nell hadbeen snatched from the jaws of death,and that her relatives need have no morefears on her account. Still Hugh Owencontinued to pay her his daily attentions,till she, like women courted by men forwhom they have no fancy, began to wearyof seeing the flowers and fruit and bookscoming in every afternoon, and to castthem somewhat contemptuously aside. Itwas a grand day at Panty-cuckoo Farmwhen she first came down the stairs,supported by her father and mother—veryshaky and weak, but really wellagain, and saying good-bye to bed in thedaytime for good and all. Mrs Llewellyn[Pg 17]was a proud and happy woman whenshe saw her daughter installed on thesolitary sofa which the house could boastof, swathed round in shawls and blankets,and a very ghost of her former self, butyet alive, and only needing time to makeher strong again.

‘Well, my dear lass,’ she said, as shehelped Nell to her cup of tea, ‘I neverthought at one time to see you on thatsofa again, nor downstairs at all, exceptit was in your coffin. You’ve got a lotto be thankful for, Nell; it’s not manyconstitutions that could have weatheredsuch an illness.’

Nell sipped the tea she held in herhand, and wondered what was the useof coming back to a world that didn’twant her, and which she didn’t want.But she was still too weak to argue, evenif she would have argued such a subjectwith her mother. As the meal was inthe course of progress a gentle tapsounded on the outer door.

‘Now, I’ll bet that’s Hugh Owen, dear[Pg 18]lad!’ exclaimed Mrs Llewellyn briskly, asshe rose to answer it. ‘He’ll be mainpleased and surprised to see our Nelldownstairs. He’s been so curious to hearwhen the doctor would let her get up,and I wouldn’t tell him, just to keephim a bit in suspense.’

She opened the door as she spoke,calling out,—

‘How are ye, Hugh, my lad? Comein, do. We’ve got company to tea to-night,and you’re heartily welcome.’

But Hugh shrunk back.

‘I won’t disturb you if you’ve company,Mrs Llewellyn,’ he said. ‘I only steppedover to hear how your daughter is thisevening, and to ask her acceptance ofthese,’ and he shyly held out a bouquetof hot-house flowers.

‘Eh, Hugh, but they’re very beautiful.Wherever did you get them?’ said MrsLlewellyn.

‘I’ve a friend in the florist way up byPontypool,’ he answered, ‘and I thoughtNell might like them to make her room gay.’

[Pg 19]

‘To be sure she will, and give youmany thanks in return. Come in andgive them her yourself.’

‘Oh, may I?’ said Hugh, as he walkedgladly over the threshold and saw Nelllying on the couch and holding out anattenuated hand to him.

She looked thinner even than when shehad been confined to bed. People do, asa rule, when they first come downstairs.Her cheeks were sunken and white asdeath itself, and her eyes seemed preternaturallylarge and staring. But it wasNell, and Hugh Owen’s face grew scarletat the mere sight of her.

‘Oh, Nell!’ he exclaimed, as he advancedquickly to grasp her outstretchedhand, ‘this is a joyful surprise to seeyou downstairs again. Your motherhad not prepared me for it. Are yousure you feel none the worse for theexertion—that it will not do you anyharm?’

Nell was about to reply, but MrsLlewellyn anticipated her.

[Pg 20]

‘Now, my lad!’ she exclaimed, rathertartly, ‘don’t you make a fool of yourself.You don’t suppose, do you, that Iwould let my lass injure her health afterall the trouble and anxiety we’ve had onher account, by letting her do anythingrash? Don’t you make any mistake aboutit, Hugh. What Nell’s mother don’t foreseefor her, no one else will, let alonea stripling like yourself.’

‘Oh, Mrs Llewellyn!’ exclaimed theyoung man, turning all kinds of colours,‘I am sure you must know—you cannotthink that I would presume—who knowsbetter than I, how you have nursed andwatched over her? Only I—I—thenatural anxiety, you know—’

‘Oh, yes, my lad, I know all about it.You needn’t stammer in that fashion, nortake the trouble to explain, and I’ve nocall to find fault with you either, foryou’ve been the kindest friend poor Nellhas had in her sickness, and the mostthoughtful, not excepting her own sister.But don’t fear but what she’s well looked[Pg 21]after, though I hope the day’s not fardistant now when she’ll look after herself.’

‘And so do I,’ said young Owen.‘You’re looking bravely, Nell, consideringwhat you’ve gone through. It’s beena sore time with you. Please God itmay be the last.’

‘Mother tells me you’ve been verygood to me through it all, Hugh,’ repliedNell, in a low voice, ‘and prayedfor my recovery scores of times. Youmeant it kindly, I know, though perhapswhilst you were about it, it wouldhave been better to have asked the Lordto let me go.’

Mrs Llewellyn, seeing Nell was in goodhands, had wandered away after someof her household arrangements, and leftthem by themselves.

‘No, Nell, no; not whilst He has workfor you to do here, and permits you to remain.Besides, think what a grief it wouldhave been to your father and mother andsister—and to me, if you had died. We[Pg 22]could not have easily filled your place,Nell. You mustn’t be sorry because youhave been spared to make us happy.And why should you want to go sosoon? You are young and beautiful—youdon’t mind an old friend like metelling you that, do you?—and have allyour life before you. It is unnatural thatyou should be loath to live. It can onlybe your extreme weakness that makes yousay so.’

‘If you knew me better, Hugh, you wouldnot talk like that. My life is past—not tocome—and there seems nothing (that I cansee) for me to do. I don’t want to lookback, and the future is a blank—a dark,horrible uncertainty, in which I can discernno good in living. I shall help mother in thefarmhouse work, of course, now I have comehome, but it will not be any pleasure to me.It is so different from what I have been accustomedto, and when all’s said and donea dairymaid would do it far better than I.I have grown beyond it, in fact (thoughyou mustn’t tell mother I said so for[Pg 23]all the world), and so—and so—I thinkyou are my friend, Hugh, and I tell youthe truth—I would have much ratherdied.’

The young man looked distressed. Heguessed there was more behind this statementthan Nell would confess. But hereplied to her appeal energetically.

‘Your friend, Nell. You may do morethan think it. You may regard it as anundoubted fact. I only wish I could, or Idared make you understand how much I amyour friend. And as for there being no workfor you to do, except household drudgery,oh! if you will listen to me, I can tell you ofglorious work that lies close to your hand—workthat would bring you both peace andhappiness. Will you let me show it you,dear Nell? Will you listen to me whilst Ipoint it out to you?’

‘Another time, Hugh. Not just now,thank you, for my brain is still too weak tounderstand half I hear. When I am stronger,and able to take an interest in things again,you shall talk to me as much as you like,[Pg 24]for I am very grateful to you for all yourgoodness to me, and shall be glad to returnit in any way I can.’

So Hugh left her with a heart brimmingover with content, and a great hope springingup in it for the future.

Such of the villagers of Usk who metHugh Owen during the few days that succeededthis interview spoke to each otherwith surprise of the alteration that had takenplace in his demeanour. The sober, grave,young minister, who had seldom smiled, andusually appeared too wrapped in his ownthoughts to take much part in what went onbefore him, was now to be seen with abeaming countenance and an animated welcomefor all whom he met.

‘Why, farmer,’ quoth one worthy to MrOwen, ‘but what’s come to yon lad of yourn,the minister? Is he going to be elected anelder, or is he thinking of getting spliced?’

‘Spliced!’ roared the farmer, who, notwithstandinghis pride in his learning andattainments, cherished rather a mean opinion[Pg 26]of his eldest son as a man. ‘Spliced! theLord save us, no! Where would Hughget the courage to ask a lass to have him?He can’t so much as look them in the face;and when his mother or Hetty brings one ofthe neighbours’ girls in for a bit of a talk,he sneaks out at the back door with histail between his legs, for all the world like akicked cur. Married! Hugh will never bemarried. He wouldn’t know what to dowith a wife if he’d got one, not he. He’s aminister, is Hugh—just that and nothingmore. What makes you ask such a thing,Ben?’

‘Why because I met him near Thomson’spatch this afternoon, with his mouth onegrin, and talking to himself as if he waspreaching.

‘“Why minister,” I says, “are you makingup your next sermon?” and he says, “No,Ben,” he says, “I’m trying over a thanksgivingservice for myself.” And he smiledas if someone had left him a fortune.’

‘And yesterday,’ interposed a woman,‘when my little Nan ran across the road and[Pg 27]fell down, and whimpered a bit, as childrenwill, Hugh he was after her in a minute,and picked her up, and there he did kissher as I never see. Nan, she didn’t knowwhat to make of it, and stopped crying fromsheer surprise, and when I called out, “That’sright, minister, nothing like getting yourhand in for nursing,” he reddened. Lor’!just like my turkey-co*ck when the ladsthrow stones at him.’

‘Well, my woman, you needn’t think he’sgoing to nurse any of his own for all that.Hugh is too much of a scholar to bear thenoise of children in the house. If Hettyever gets any little ones I expect he’ll findanother place for himself. He said the othernight that the old farm would never seemlike the same again if there was babiesin it.’

‘He’s up a deal at Panty-cuckoo, I hear,’said the first speaker.

‘Oh, ay. That’s all in his own line,’replied the farmer. ‘The poor lass upthere has been mortal bad—nearly dead,by my missus’s account—and Hugh’s[Pg 28]been praying with her and for her, andsuch like. And his prayers have beenheard, it seems, for my daughter-in-lawsays her sister is downstairs again, andin a fair way to mend. I expect shebrought the fever from London townwith her. We’re not used to have suchfads in Usk. A young lass stricken downlike an old woman. ’Twas an ugly sight,and I’m main glad, for the Llewellyns’sake, as she’s been spared. ’Twould havebeen a sad coming-home else.’

‘That it would,’ said his friend Ben.‘And I expect it was thinking over theprayers he has put up for her as madethe minister so smiling this afternoon.Well, he have cause to be proud, andhe do pray beautiful, to be sure. My oldwoman say he bawl them so loud, that ifthe Lord can’t hear him it’s no mannerof use any of us trying for ourselves.Well, morning to ye, farmer,’ and offwent Ben on his own business.

Hugh Owen would not have beenover-pleased could he have heard them[Pg 29]discussing his private feelings after thisfashion; but, luckily for him, he did nothear them. It is lucky for all of uswhen we do not hear what our neighbourssay of us behind our backs. Weshould not have an acquaintance left inthe world if we did. But the youngminister went on his way, little dreamingthat anyone guessed the sweet, sacredhope which he was cherishing in hisheart of hearts, and which he onlywaited for Nell’s complete convalescenceto confide to her. The time for doingso arrived (for him) only too soon, andoften afterwards he wished he had beencontent to nurse his love for her insecret.

It was one day when she was downstairsagain, looking so much older sinceher illness that people who had onlyknown her in London would hardly haverecognised her, that Hugh asked Nell ifshe would grant him an hour’s conversation.Even then she did not think therequest was made for more than friendship,[Pg 30]for she had spoken to Hugh Owenof her desire to train herself for betterthings than farm work, that she mightbe able, perhaps, to keep a comfortablehome for her parents when they werepast labour. This appeared to Nell theonly ambition that could give her anyinterest in life again—the idea that shewould repay in some measure her father’sand mother’s great love for her. Hughmight have thought of something, orheard of something, so she granted himthe interview he asked for gladly, andreceived him with a kind smile andan outstretched hand, which he graspedeagerly and detained long.

‘You are quite well again now, Nell,’he said, as he looked into her face,which was still so beautiful, though paleand worn.

‘Yes, quite well, Hugh, thank you,’she replied. ‘I walked across the Parkthis morning to see Sir Archibald’s oldhousekeeper, Mrs Hody, and had quite along chat with her. The family is not[Pg 31]coming down for Christmas this year, shetells me, but have put it off till the cub-huntingbegins, and then the Hall willbe full. She gave me a clutch of goldenpheasants’ eggs. I am going to set themunder one of our hens. Don’t you likegolden pheasants, Hugh? I think theyare such lovely creatures.’

‘I like and admire all God’s creatures,Nell, and cannot understand anyone doingotherwise. I well remember your lovefor animals as a child, and how yousmacked my face once for putting yourkitten up on the roof of the stable, whereshe couldn’t get down.’

‘Did I? That was very rude. ButI’m afraid, from what I can remember,that I always treated you rather badly,poor Hugh, and encroached upon yourkindness to me. You have alwaysbeen kind to me, and lately most ofall. Mother believes I owe my life toyou.’

‘No, no, Nell, you owe it to the dearGod, Who would not see us all plunged[Pg 32]into despair by your loss—I most of all.But if you really think you owe me everso little, you can return it a hundredfold,if you will.’

Nell turned towards him eagerly.

‘Oh, Hugh, how? Tell me, and Iwill do it. Don’t think I have so manyfriends that I can afford to undervalueyour friendship. I have very few friends,Hugh—very, very few,’ said the girl, witha quivering lip.

‘How can you repay me?’ repeated theyoung man, musingly. ‘Is it possibleyou do not guess? Nell, do you know,have you ever thought why I lead such alonely life, why I have not married likeWill? My brother is five years youngerthan myself, and most of the lads in Uskare thinking of getting a wife as soon asthey can make their pound or thirtyshillings a week. I make four times thatas a minister, Nell, and most girls wouldthink me well able to keep them in comfortand respectability. Yet I have nevergiven a thought to one of them—why?’

[Pg 33]

‘Because you’re a minister, I suppose,’replied Nell, ‘and all your mind is setupon your chapel and sermons and theopen-air preaching. Isn’t that it?’ with ashy glance upwards to see how he tookthe suggestion. But Hugh only sighedand turned away.

‘No, no; why should that be it? BecauseI’m a minister, and want to do allI can for God whilst I live, am I the less aman with less of a man’s cravings for loveand companionship? No, Nell, there is areason for it, but a very different onefrom what you imagine. The reason Ihave never given a thought to marriageyet is because when I was a lanky, awkwardlad, there was a little maid whomI used to call my sweetheart—who usedto let me carry her over the boulders inthe river, to go with her black-berrying,to walk beside her as she went to andcame from church. Though, as we grewup, I was separated from that little maid,Nell, I never forgot her, and I never shall.No other will take her place with me.’

[Pg 34]

‘Oh, don’t say that, Hugh, pray don’tsay that!’ cried Nell, with visible agitation.‘You mustn’t! It is folly—worsethan folly, for that little maid will neverbe yours again—never, never!’

She uttered the last words with so deepa sigh that it sounded almost like arequiem over her departed, innocent childhood.But Hugh would not accept itas such.

‘But why, dear Nell?’ he questioned.‘We have met again, and we are bothfree. What objection can there be toour marriage, if you have none? I wouldnot hurry you. You should name yourown time, only let us be engaged. I havetold you that I can keep you in comfort,and if parting with your parents is anobstacle, I’ll consent to anything youthink best. Only don’t send me awaywithout hope. You will take all the spiritout of my life and work if you do. Ithink your people like me—I don’t anticipateany trouble with them, but theword that is to make me happy must[Pg 35]come from your lips, Nell—from yoursalone!’

‘It can never come from them,’ answeredNell sadly.

‘Don’t say that, my little sweetheartof olden days. Oh, Nell, if you onlyknew, if I could only make you understandhow I have kept your image in myheart all these years, how your face hascome between me and my duties, till I’vehad to drive it away by sheer force ofwill. When I found you had come backto Usk, I thought God had sent youexpressly for me. Don’t say now, afterall my hopes and longings to meet youagain—after you have come back fromthe grave to me, Nell—don’t say, forGod’s sake, that it has been all invain!’

He bowed his head upon his outstretchedarm as he spoke, and Nellknew, though she could not see, that hewas weeping.

‘What can I say to you, Hugh,’ shebegan, after a pause. ‘I do love you for[Pg 36]all your goodness to me, but not in thatway. I cannot be your wife. If youknew me as well as I know myself, youwould never ask it, for I am not fit forit, Hugh. I am not worthy.’

The young man raised his head inastonishment.

‘Not worthy? What do you mean?You, who are as far above me as thestars in heaven. It is I who have noright to aspire to be your husband—arough, country clod like me, only, only—Iwould love you with the best, Nell, if Icould but make you believe it.’

‘I do believe it, Hugh, and I am sorryit should be so, because my love for youis so different from yours. I regard youas a dear friend. I have no other loveto give you.’

‘You care for some other man,’ saidHugh, with the quick jealousy of lovers.‘You are engaged to be married. Oh,why did you not tell me so before? Whyhave you let me go on seeing you—talkingwith you and longing for you, without[Pg 37]giving me one hint that you had boundyourself to marry another man? It wascruel of you, Nell—very, very cruel. Youmight have had more mercy on an unfortunatefellow who has loved you allhis life.’

Nell shook her head.

‘But I’m not bound to marry anotherman; I shall never marry,’ she said ina low voice.

‘Then, why are you so hard on me?Tell me the reason, Nell. There must bea reason for your refusal. You owe me somuch for the pain you’ve made me suffer.’

‘Oh, how can I tell you? What goodwould it do you to hear?’ she exclaimedpassionately. ‘Cannot you understand thatthere may be a hundred things in a girl’slife that make her feel indisposed to marrythe first man who asks her?’

‘Perhaps so,’ he said mournfully; ‘Iknow so little of girls or their feelings.But I think you might give me a betterreason for your refusal, than that you aredetermined not to marry.’

[Pg 38]

‘Can I trust you with the story of mylife?’ she asked. ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure Ican. You are good and faithful, and youwould never betray my confidence tofather, or mother, or Hetty, or disgraceme in the eyes of the world.’

Hugh Owen grew pale at the idea, buthe answered,—

‘Disgrace you? How can you thinkit for a moment? I would sooner disgracemyself. But how could I do it,Nell? What can you have ever doneto make you speak like that?’

‘I’ve done what the worst woman you’veever met has done. Hugh, you haveforced the truth from me. Don’t blameme if it hurts you. I am not a good girl,like Hetty, or Sarah Kingston, or RachelGrove. I’m not fit to speak to any oneof them. I have no right to be at Panty-cuckooFarm. If father knew all, perhapshe’d turn me out again. I—I—have fallen,Hugh! and now you know the worst!’

The worst seemed very bad for himto know. As the terrible confession left[Pg 39]her, he turned his dark, thoughtful face aside,and bit his lips till the blood came, buthe did not say a word. Nell had toldhim the bitter truth almost defiantly, butthe utter silence by which it was succeededdid not please her. What righthad this man, who had worried her intosaying what she never said to any othercreature, to sit there and upbraid her byhis silence? She felt as if she wantedto shake him.

‘Speak, speak!’ she cried at last, impatiently.‘Say what you like; call me all thebad names you have ever heard applied insuch cases, but say something, for goodness’sake. Have you never heard of such athing before? Have none of the girls inUsk ever made a false step in their lives?Don’t sit there as if the news had turnedyou to stone, or you will drive me mad!’

Then he raised his white, strained face,and confronted her,—

‘My poor, dear girl!’ he said, ‘who amI, that I should condemn you? I am fartoo conscious of my own besetting sins.[Pg 40]But how did this awful misfortune happen?Who was the man? Has he deserted you?Won’t you tell me, Nell?’

‘It happened soon after I went to London,’she answered, in a more subduedvoice. ‘I was very young at the time, youknow, Hugh, and very ignorant of theworld and the world’s ways. He—he—wasa gentleman, and I loved him, and he persuadedme. That is the whole story, butit has broken my heart.’

‘But where is this “gentleman” now?Cannot he be induced to make you reparation?’asked Hugh, with set teeth.

‘Reparation! What reparation can hemake? Do you mean marriage? Whatgentleman would marry a poor girl like me—acommon farmer’s daughter? And if itwere likely, do you suppose that I wouldstoop to become the wife of a man whodid not want to marry me—who did so oncompulsion? You don’t know me, Hugh.’

‘But, Nell, my dear Nell, do you meanto tell me that this inhuman brute seducedyou, and then deserted you? What have[Pg 41]you been doing since, Nell? Where haveyou been living? I thought you camehere from service at the Earl of Ilfracombe’s?’

‘So I did.’

‘And you were with him for three years?’

‘I was,’ replied Nell, who felt as if hersecret were being drawn from her, bit by bit.

‘Then you had a shelter and a home.Oh, Nell, do you mean to tell me thatyou did this thing of your own free will,knowing that it could not last, nor endlawfully? When you had a refuge and anhonourable service, did you still consent tolive in concubinage with this gentleman—knowinghe only kept you as a toy whichhe could get rid of whenever the whimsuited him?’

‘I did!’ she cried defiantly, ‘if you willhave the truth, the whole truth, and nothingbut the truth—there it is. I lovedhim, and I lived with him of my free consent.It was my heaven to live with him.I never regretted it. I only regretted whenit came to an end.’

[Pg 42]

‘Oh, Nell,’ he said, ‘I thought higher ofyou than that.’

His evident misery touched her.

‘Hugh, how can I make you understand?’she cried. ‘I believed it was forever. I knew we could never be married,because he was so much above me; but Ithought—he told me—that we should neverpart. I considered myself his wife, I didindeed; and when I was undeceived itnearly killed me.’

And, breaking down for the first time,Nell burst into tears.

‘There, there, don’t cry,’ said Hugh,wearily. ‘Remember, your mother mightcome in at any moment, and ask thereason of your tears. Try and restrainyourself. Your sad secret is safe with me,rely on that. Only—only let us consider, isthere really no remedy for your trouble?’

‘How can there be? He is married;that is why I am here. For three years Iwas the happiest woman under the sun.He is a rich man, and he gave me morethan I ever desired; not that I cared for[Pg 43]anything in comparison with his love. Ah,if he had only left me that, I would havebegged in the streets by his side and beenhappy. But it all came to an end. Hehad gone away for a little while, and I hadnot the least idea that he was not comingback again. I was only longing and hopingfor his return; and then one day his lawyercalled to tell me that my darling—I meanthat he was going to marry some lady,and I could be nothing ever to him again.Hugh, it drove me mad. I didn’t knowwhat I was doing. I rushed out ofthe house and threw myself into theriver.’

‘Merciful God!’ exclaimed the youngman, losing all control over himself.

‘I did. Father and mother think I leftservice in a regular way; but they don’tknow in London where I’m gone. Theynever saw me again. I daresay they thinkI’m drowned. Was it very wicked, Hugh?I did so long to die. Isn’t it funny that,first, I should have thrown myself into thewater and been picked out again, and then[Pg 44]had this bad illness, and still I can’t die?Why won’t God let me end it all?’

‘Because He designs you for betterthings, my poor Nell,’ said her companion.

‘I don’t think so. Better things are notin my way. I believe I shall die a violentdeath after all. I remember some timeago—ah! it was the races he took me to—agipsy told my fortune, and she saidthe same thing, that I should come to aviolent end. It little matters to me, so longas it gives me forgetfulness and rest.

‘You mustn’t talk like that,’ said Hugh,reprovingly. ‘We must all die in God’stime, and it is our duty to wait for it. Butdo you mean to say that this man has castyou off without a thought, Nell?’

‘Oh, no! he offered, or his lawyer did,to settle money on me, but I would nottake it. What did I want with moneywithout him?’

‘You did right to refuse it. Moneycoming from such a source could havebrought no blessing with it. But surely you[Pg 45]do not lament the loss of this scoundrelwho, not content with betraying you, hasleft you in this heartless manner for anotherwoman?’

But no true woman ever let another manabuse her lover, however guilty he mightbe, without resenting it. Least of all womenwas Nell Llewellyn likely to stand such athing.

‘How dare you call him by such a name?’she cried angrily. ‘Whatever he may havedone, it is not your place to resent it. Iam nothing to you. He is not a scoundrel.There never was a more honourable, kind-hearted,generous creature born. He wouldnever have deserted me if it had not beenfor his lawyer, who was always dinning intohis ears that with such a property it washis duty to marry. And the woman, too,whom he has married—she inveigled himinto it. I know she did. Oh, Hugh, if Icould only kill her how happy I should be.If I could be in the same room with herfor five minutes, with a knife in my hand,and stab her with it to the very heart,[Pg 46]and see her die—die—with pain and anguishas she has made my heart die, I think Ishould be happy.’

‘Nell, you shock and terrify me!’ exclaimedthe young man. ‘Do you knowwhat you are saying? Do you know thatin harbouring such feelings you are asguilty as if you had committed the crimeitself? What has this poor lady done toinjure you that you should cherish suchanimosity against her?’

‘What has she done?’ echoed Nellfiercely. ‘Why she has taken my lover—theman whom I adored—from me.Torn him from my very arms. She hasdestroyed my happiness—my life. Madethe world a howling wilderness. Left myheart bare, and striped, and empty. AndI would make her die a thousand deaths forit if I could. I would tear her false heart fromher body and throw it to the dogs to eat.’

Nell’s eyes were flashing. Her head wasthrown back defiantly in the air as shespoke; her teeth were clenched; she lookedlike a beautiful, bloodthirsty tigress panting[Pg 47]to fasten on her prey. But Hugh Owensaw no beauty in her attitudes or expression.He rose hastily from his chair, andmoved towards the door. His action arrestedher attention.

‘Stop!’ she cried. ‘Where are yougoing? Why do you leave me alone?’

‘Because I cannot bear to listen to youwhilst you blaspheme like that, Nell.Because it is too dreadful to me to hear yourailing against the wisdom of God, who hasseen fit to bring you to a sense of the lifeyou were leading, by wresting it from yourgrasp. You have called me your friend.So I am; but it is not the act of a friendto encourage you in such vindictive feelings.I could remain your friend though I knewyou guilty of every weakness common tohuman nature, but I dare not take the handof a woman who deliberately desires thedeath of a fellow-creature. Depend on it,Nell, that this unfortunate lady, who hasmarried the man who behaved so baselyto you, will have enough trouble withoutyou wishing her more. Were it justifiable[Pg 48]to harbour the thought of vengeance on anyone, yours might, with more propriety, bedirected towards him who has probablydeceived his wife as much as he deceivedyou!’

‘If that is the spirit in which you receivemy confidence,’ said Nell hotly, ‘I wishI had never confided in you. Perhaps thenext thing you will consider it right todo will be to proclaim my antecedents tothe people of Usk. Make them the subjectof your next sermon maybe! I amsure they would form a most edifyingdiscourse on the wickedness of the world(and London world in particular), especiallywhen the victim is close at handto be trotted out in evidence of the truthof what you say.’

Hugh raised his dark, melancholy eyesto her reproachfully.

‘Have I deserved that of you, Nell?’he asked.

‘I don’t care whether you have or not.I see very plainly that I have made afool of myself. There was no occasion for[Pg 49]me to tell you anything; but I fancied Ishould have your sympathy, and blurtedit out, and my reward is to be accusedof blasphemy. It is my own fault; butnow that you have wrung my secret fromme, for pity’s sake keep it.’

‘Oh, Nell, how can you so distrust me?Your secret is as sacred with me as ifyou were in your grave. What a bruteyou must think me to imagine otherwise.’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered wearily.‘I have no faith in anybody or anythingnow. Why should you behave better tome than the rest of the world has done?No, don’t touch me,’ as he approachedher, holding out his hand. ‘Your reproacheshave turned all my milk ofhuman kindness into gall. Go away;there’s a good man, and leave me tomyself. It is useless to suppose you couldunderstand my feelings or my heart. Youmust have gone through the mill as Ihave before you do.’

‘At least, Nell, you will let me remainyour friend,’ he said in a voice of pain.

[Pg 50]

‘No, no, I want no friends—nothing.Leave me with my memories. You cannotunderstand them; but they are allthat remain to me now. Go on servingGod; devoting all your time and yourenergies to Him, and wait till Hegives you a blow in the face, like mine,and see what you think of His loving-kindnessthen. It’ll come some day; forHeaven doesn’t appear to spare the whitesheep any more than the black ones.We all get it sooner or later. Whenyou get yours you may think you were alittle hard on me.’

‘I think I have got it already,’ murmuredpoor Hugh, half to himself. ‘Good-bye,Nell.’

‘Oh, go, do,’ she cried impetuously, ‘andnever come here again. After what youhave said to-day your presence can onlybe an extra pain to me, and I haveenough of that already. Go on with yourpraying and preaching, and don’t think ofme. I sha’n’t come to hear any more ofit. It does me no good, and it might[Pg 51]do me harm. It might make my handunsteady,’ she continued, with a significantglance, ‘when the time comes, and it hasthat knife in it!’

She laughed mockingly in his face asshe delivered this parting shot, and HughOwen, with a deep sob in his throat,turned on his heel, and walked quicklyaway from Panty-cuckoo Farm.

The Countess of Ilfracombe had had nodesire to meet Mr Portland again; infact, she would have declined the honour,had she not been afraid of exciting thesuspicions of the earl; and she had notbeen under the same roof with him formore than a few days, before she washeartily sorry that she had not done so.Nora was a flirt, there was no questionof that. She could keep a dozen menat her feet at the same time, and leteach of them imagine he was the favouredindividual. But she was not a fool. Shehad a countess’s coronet on her head,and she had no intention of soiling orrisking the treasure she had won. MrJack Portland was, as the reader willhave guessed, the same admirer of whom[Pg 53]Nora had spoken to Ilfracombe beforetheir marriage, as having hair of the‘goldenest golden’ hue, and who was theonly man for whose loss she had evershed a tear. The earl had been a littlejealous at the time, but he had forgottenthe circ*mstance long ago. When thecountess heard she was destined to meether old flame again, and as the intimatefriend of her husband, she had felt ratherafraid lest her heart should ache a littlefrom the encounter. But the first glanceat him had dispelled this idea. Twoyears is not a long time in reality, butit is far too long to indulge in continualdissipation with impunity. It had wroughthavoc with the charms of Mr Jack Portland.His manly figure had begun toshow signs of embonpoint. His complexionwas very florid, and there were dropsical-lookingbags under his bloodshot eyes,and sundry rolls of flesh rising abovethe back of his collar, which are notvery attractive in the eyes of ladies. His‘goldenest golden’ hair had commenced to[Pg 54]thin on the top, and his heated breathwas too often tainted with the fumesof alcohol. The habits he had indulgedin had destroyed the little modesty MrPortland had ever possessed, and he wasso presuming in his words and looks, thatNora had been on the point, more thanonce since he had come down to Thistlemere,of telling him to hold his tongueor leave the house. But then, there werethose unfortunate letters of hers, whichhe retained, and the importance of thecontents of which, perhaps she exaggerated.The fact is, that in the days whenMr Portland came to Malta to stay withthe Lovelesses, he and Nora had madevery fierce love to each other. Therewas no denying that, and the younglady herself had never pretended to bea model of all the domestic virtues.Her father had been very angry with her,and threatened to send her to Englandto a boarding-school. But the mischiefhad been done by the time Sir Richarddiscovered it. People generally lock the[Pg 55]door after the steed has been stolen. Notthat it had gone quite so far with MissNora Abinger as that; but a great dealof folly had passed between her and handsomeJack Portland, a good many secretmeetings had taken place, and many letterswritten. Oh, those letters, those writtenprotestations of eternal fidelity; those allusionsto the past; those hopes for thefuture; how much mischief have they notdone in this world. We talk of women’stongues; they might chatter to all eternity,and not bring one half the trouble intheir train as their too ready pens create.Mr Portland, not being approved of bythe admiral, had found his visits to thehouse not so welcome as they mighthave been, and so the lovers resorted towriting as a vent for their feelings, andperhaps wrote more that they really felt—certainlymore than they cared to thinkabout or look back upon. Nora positivelyshivered when she thought whatmight, or might not be, in those letterswhich Mr Portland had promised to deliver[Pg 56]up to her as soon as he returnedto town. Meanwhile, she was on tenterhooksand afraid to a degree of offendingthe man who held such a sword ofDamocles over her head, and presumedon his power, to treat her exactly as hechose, with coldness or familiarity. Butif she attempted to resent his conduct,Mr Portland could always give her aquiet hint on the sly, that she had betterbe very polite to him. So her life onfirst coming to her husband’s home wasnot one of roses. She could rememberthe time when she had believed she lovedJack Portland, but she wondered at herselffor having done so now. Perhapsit was not entirely the alteration which hadtaken place in himself, but more likelythat her taste had refined and becomemore exclusive with the passing years.At anyrate, his present conduct towardsher, in its quiet insolence and presumption,made her loathe and hate him. Shewondered sometimes that her husband didnot perceive the aversion she had for[Pg 57]his chosen friend, but Ilfracombe hadbeen very subdued and melancholy sincethe day of their arrival. As Nora wasso new to English society, and could notbe presented at Court till the followingspring, they had decided to pass theirfirst Christmas very quietly, the DowagerLady Ilfracombe, and the earl’s two sisters,Lady Laura and Lady Blanche Devenish,being, with the exception of the obnoxiousJack Portland, the only guests at Thistlemere.The Ladies Devenish were notdisposed to make her life any easier thanit needed to be to the youthful countess.In the first place, they were both considerablyolder than their brother, andresented Nora’s twenty years and hervivacity and independence as an affrontto themselves. She ought to have beenhumbler in their opinion, and more aliveto the honour that had been accordedher. To hear her talking to the earl onterms of the most perfect familiarity, andjust as if he had been a commoner, likeher own people, offended them. And[Pg 58]then they considered that Ilfracombe shouldhave married into the aristocracy, andchosen a woman as high born as himself.So they ‘held their heads high’ (as theservants would have said) in consequence,and elevated their eyebrows at Nora’s repartees,when she was conversing withgentlemen, and frowned at her boldness ingiving her opinion, especially if it happenedto clash with their own. The DowagerCountess did not agree with her daughters.She thought Nora a very clever, smartand fashionable woman, and quite capableof filling the position to which her sonhad raised her, and supporting her titlewith dignity.

‘Well, I don’t agree with you, mamma,’said Lady Blanche. ‘I consider she isfar too forward in her manners withgentlemen. I’m sure the way in whichMr Portland leans over her when sheis singing is quite disgusting. I wonderIlfracombe does not take some notice ofit. And what could be more undignifiedthan her jumping up last evening to show[Pg 59]Lord Babbage what she calls the “Bostonlurch?” Such a name too. I think someof her expressions are most vulgar. Iheard her tell Ilfracombe that some placethey went to together was “confoundedlyslow.” Fancy, a lady swearing! If thoseare to be the manners of the new aristocracy,commend me to the old.’

‘Well, my dear,’ said her easy-goingmother, ‘you know that times are alteredfrom what they were. Now that so manyof our noblemen are marrying Americanheiresses for money, you must expect tosee a difference. Look at the Duke ofMussleton and Lord Tottenham! Onemarried a music-hall singer, and the other,somebody a great deal worse! Youngmen will have their own way in thesedays. We must be thankful that Ilfracombehas chosen a nice, lady-like, intelligentgirl for his wife. For my part, Ilike Nora, and think she will make himvery happy. And,’ lowering her voice,‘you know, my dear girls, that, consideringthe dreadful life he led before, and the[Pg 60]awful creature he introduced into his house,we really should be very thankful he hasmarried at all. Mr Sterndale was afraid, atone time, that nothing would break thatbusiness off. But I feel sure Ilfracombehas forgotten all about it. He seems quitedevoted to his wife.’

‘Do you really think so, mamma?’ askedLady Laura. ‘I think you are very short-sighted.Blanche and I have often saidwe were afraid he doesn’t care a pin forher. Just see how melancholy and low-spiritedhe seems. He goes about with aface like a hatchet. I asked Nora yesterdaywhat on earth was the matter withhim—if he were ill—and she replied shewas sure she didn’t know. Such an indifferentanswer, it struck me, for a youngwife. But really one does not know whatto make of the girls now-a-days. They arequite different from what they were a fewyears ago. I am sure of one thing, thatNora has no sense of the responsibilityof marrying into the aristocracy. Iheard her say once that she would just[Pg 61]as soon Ilfracombe had been a tradesman!’

‘Oh, that must have been meant forimpertinence!’ exclaimed Lady Blanche.‘What did she marry him for, then? Iam sure she can’t love him. She hastold me she was engaged to six men atone time. Really, mamma, her conversationat times is not fit for Laura and meto listen to.’

‘Now you’re going a great deal too far,’said the old countess, ‘and I won’t letyou speak of Nora in that way. Remember,if you please, that she is thehead of the family, and that some dayyou may both be dependent on her for achaperon.’

This prospect silenced the Ladies Devenishfor a time at least, and the subjectof the young Countess of Ilfracombe wasdropped by mutual consent. But their remarkson their brother’s low spirits attractedNora’s attention to her husband, when shesoon perceived that they were right. Ilfracombewas certainly depressed. He seldom[Pg 62]joined in the general conversation, and whenhe did his voice was low and grave. Theearl was not a brilliant talker, as has beensaid before, but he had always been ableto hold his own when alone with his wife,and used to relate every little incidentthat had occurred during the day to heras soon as they found themselves shut infrom the eyes of the world. But he haddropped even this. Once or twice shehad rallied him on his low spirits, and hadmade him still graver in consequence. Butwhen others began to notice his moodiness,and make unkind remarks on it, Norathought it was time, for her own sake, totry and find out the cause. It was aftera long evening spent in his company, duringwhich Ilfracombe had let Jack Portlandand two or three other guests do allthe talking, that his wife attacked him onthe subject. Seizing hold of his arm ashe was about to pass from her bedroomto his dressing-room, she swung him roundand pulled him down upon the sofa byher side.

[Pg 63]

‘Not yet, Ilfracombe,’ she said archly.‘I want to speak to you first. You haven’tsaid a word to me the whole evening.’

‘Haven’t I, my darling?’ he replied,slipping his arm round her slender waist.‘It’s only because all these confoundedwomen never give one time to put in asyllable. I wish you and I were alone,Nora. I should be so much happier.’

‘Should you, Ilfracombe?’ she asked, alittle fearfully. ‘Why?’

She was so afraid lest he should getjealous of Mr Portland’s intimacy with herbefore she had the power to promise himshe would never speak to the man again.But Mr Portland was the last person inLord Ilfracombe’s mind. All he was thinkingof, was the disastrous fate of NellLlewellyn, and wishing he had had thecourage to tell his wife about it beforehe married her.

‘Because, if we were alone together dayafter day, we should get to know eachother’s hearts and minds better than wedo now, and I should feel more courage[Pg 64]to speak to you of several little things thatannoy me.’

‘Things about me, you mean,’ she saidin her confident manner, though not withouta qualm.

‘Things about you, my angel!’ exclaimedher enamoured husband, with genuine surprise.‘What is there about you that couldpossibly annoy me? Why, I think youperfection—you know I do—and would nothave you altered in any particular for allthe world.’

‘Then why are you so depressed, Ilfracombe?’said Nora. ‘It is not only I whohave noticed it. Everybody, including yourmother and sister, say the same, and it isnot very complimentary to me, you know,considering we have only been married fivemonths, is it?’

Lord Ilfracombe grew scarlet. The momenthad come, he saw, for an explanation,and how could he make it? He feared thegirl beside him would shrink from him withhorror if she heard the truth. And yethe was a man of honour, according to a[Pg 65]man’s idea of honour, and could not findit in his heart to stoop to subterfuge. Ifhe told Nora anything, he must tell her all.

‘Dearest,’ he said, laying his fair headdown on her shoulder, ‘I confess I havefelt rather miserable lately, but it has nothingto do with you. It concerns only myself and my past life. I have heard a verysad story since we came home, Nora. Iwonder if I dare tell it to you?’

‘Why should you not, Ilfracombe? PerhapsI can guess a good part of it beforeyou begin.’

‘Oh, no, no, you cannot. I would rathernot think you should. And yet you area little woman of the world, although youhave been so long cooped up (as you usedto tell me) in Malta. Your father told me,when I proposed for you, that I must beentirely frank and open with you, for thatgirls now-a-days were not like the girls ofromance, but were wide awake to mostthings that go on in the world, and resentedbeing kept in the dark where their affectionswere concerned.’

[Pg 66]

‘I think my father was right,’ was allthat Nora replied.

‘And yet—and yet—how can I tell you?What will you think of me? Nora, I havebeen trying so hard to keep it to myself,lest you should shrink from me, when youhear the truth; and yet, we are husbandand wife, and should have no secrets fromeach other. I should be wretched, I know,if I thought you had ever deceived me.I would rather suffer any mortification thanknow that, and so perhaps you, too, wouldrather I were quite honest with you, althoughI have put it off so long. Wouldyou, my dearest?’ he asked, turning hishandsome face up to hers. Nora stoopedand kissed him. It was a genuine kiss.She had not been accustomed to bestowthem spontaneously on her husband, butshe knew what was coming, and she felt,for the first time, how much better Ilfracombewas than herself.

‘Yes, Ilfracombe,’ she answered gravely,‘trust me. I am, as you say, a woman ofthe world, and can overlook a great deal.’

[Pg 67]

‘That kiss has emboldened me,’ saidthe earl, ‘and I feel I owe it to you toexplain the reason of my melancholy.Nora, I have been no better than otheryoung men—’

‘I never supposed you were,’ interposedhis wife.

‘Ah, wait till you hear all. Some yearsbefore I met you, I took a fancy to a girl, andshe—lived in my house. You understand?’

Lady Ilfracombe nodded.

‘Most men knew of this, and your fathermade it a condition of our marriage thatthe whole thing was put an end to. Ofcourse it was what I only intended to do,but I knew it was my duty to make someprovision for the young woman, so directedMr Sterndale to tell her of my intendedmarriage, and settle a certain sum of moneyon her. I returned to England, so happyin you, my darling, as you well know, andlooking forward to spending such a merryChristmas with you, for the first time inour own home, when I was met with thenews that—that—’

[Pg 68]

‘That—what, Ilfracombe? Don’t beafraid of shocking me. Is she coming toThistlemere to throw some vitriol in myface?’

‘Oh, no, my darling, don’t speak likethat. Poor Nell never would have injuredyou or anyone, and it is out of her powerto do so now. She is dead, Nora—deadby her own hand. When she heard thenews she went and threw herself into theriver. Can you wonder if I feel miserableand self-reproachful when I remember thatI have caused that poor girl’s death? thatmy great happiness has been built up onher despair? Oh, what did the foolish childsee in me to drive her to so rash an actfor my sake? I feel as if her dead facewould haunt me to the end of mylife.’

And the earl covered his face with hishands. Nora also felt very much shocked.Death seems a terrible thing to the youngand careless. It takes sorrow and disappointmentand bodily pain to make us welcomeit as a release from all evil.

[Pg 69]

‘Oh, Ilfracombe,’ she whispered, ‘I amso sorry for you. Death is an awful thing.But I cannot see it was your fault. Youmeant to be good and kind. She expectedtoo much, surely? She must have knownthat some day you would marry, and itwould come to an end?’

‘That is just what Sterndale said!’ exclaimedthe earl joyfully; ‘and you saythe same. You do not spurn me from you,my own darling, because of the vileness ofmy former life? Oh, Nora, you are awoman in a thousand. I have been dreadinglest you should find this disgracefulstory out, or hear it from some kind friend.But now my mind will be at perfect rest.You know the worst, my dearest. Thereis nothing more for me to tell. We twoare one for evermore,’ and he kissed herrapturously as he concluded.

Nora shuddered under her husband’scaresses, although they had never been solittle disagreeable to her as now. Howshe wished she could echo his words, andsay that she, too, had nothing more to reveal.[Pg 70]But those terrible letters; what didthey contain? what had she said in them,or not said, to rise up at any moment andspoil her life? She had never been so nearhonouring Ilfracombe as at that moment—neverso near despising herself. But sheanswered very quietly,—

‘My dear boy, you have told me nothingnew. Do you remember a letter thatyou received at the hotel a few days afterwe were married, Ilfracombe? You left itin the sitting-room, and were terribly upsetbecause you could not find it, until thewaiter said he had destroyed one which hepicked up. He didn’t destroy your letter.It was I who picked it up, and I have itstill.’

‘And you read it?’ said the earl, withsuch genuine dismay, that it completelyrestored Nora’s native assurance.

‘Now, what on earth do you supposethat a woman would do with a letter ofher husband’s that she had the good fortuneto pick up?’ she cried, ‘especially aletter from a young woman who addressed[Pg 71]him in the most familiar terms? Why, ofcourse, I read it, you simpleton, as I shallread any others which you are carelessenough to leave on the floor. Seriously,Ilfracombe, I have known your great secretfrom the beginning; and, well, let us sayno more about it. I would rather not venturean opinion on the subject. It’s overand done with, and, though I’m awfullygrieved the poor woman came to so tragican end, you cannot expect me, as your wife,to say that I’m sorry she’s out of the way.I think it is awfully good of you to havetold me of it, Ilfracombe. Your confidencemakes me feel small, because I know Ihaven’t told you everything that I’ve everdone; but then, you see,’ added Nora, withone of her most winning expressions ofnaughtiness, ‘I’ve done such lots, I can’tremember the half of it. It will come tothe surface by degrees, I daresay; and ifwe live to celebrate our golden wedding,you may have heard all.’

But Ilfracombe would not let her finishher sentence. He threw his arms around[Pg 72]her, and embraced her passionately, saying,—

‘You’re the best and dearest and sweetestwife a man ever had, and I don’t carewhat you’ve done, and I don’t want to heara word about it; only love me a little inreturn for my great love for you.’

But Lady Ilfracombe knew the sex toowell not to be aware that, if he had imaginedthere was anything to tell, he wouldnot have rested till he had heard it; and,as she lay down to sleep that night, all herformer love of intrigue and artifice seemedto have deserted her, and she wished fromthe bottom of her heart that she couldimitate the moral courage of her husband,and “leave the future nothing toreveal.”’

The Dowager Countess of Ilfracombe wasan amiable old lady, but she was alsovery fond and proud of her son, andanxious to preserve his interests. Hislong friendship with Miss Llewellyn hadbeen a great sorrow to her, and she wasrejoiced when she heard that he hadmade a respectable marriage. But theremarks of her daughter on Nora’s behaviourhad made her a little more observant,and for the next few days shewatched the young countess narrowly.The consequence of which was that shedetermined to have a private talk with thegirl, and the first time she found heralone she proceeded to the attack.

She was a sweet old lady this dowagercountess, like her son in many ways,[Pg 74]with soft grey curls each side her face,and mild blue eyes and delicately-chiselledfeatures. She drew her chair close to thaton which her daughter-in-law sat, carelesslyturning over the latest magazines,and laid her withered hand on the girl’sslim, white one,—

‘Reading, my dear,’ she commencedpleasantly. ‘Is there anything particularlygood in the Christmas numbers this year?’

‘Not much,’ replied Nora, laying themagazine down. ‘The stories are all onthe same old lines. I wish they wouldinvent something new. I think it is sosilly to imagine that Christmas tales mustall take place in the snow, or be mixedup with a ghost. Isn’t it?’

‘Very silly,’ acquiesced the old lady,‘but as long as there are fools found toread them there will be fools left to writethem. But where is Ilfracombe this afternoon?Has he left you all alone to themercy of the Christmas numbers?’

Nora laughed.

‘It is my own fault,’ she said. ‘He[Pg 75]wanted me to go out driving with him;but I thought it was too cold. So Ithink he and Mr Portland have walkedover to Critington to play billiards withLord Babbage.’

‘Ah, I thought dear Ilfracombe had notforgotten his little wife,’ said the dowagerin a patronising tone of voice, whichNora immediately resented. ‘He is toogood and amiable for that. I am surethat you find him most kind in everything.Don’t you, dear?’

The young countess shrugged hershoulders.

‘So, so; much the same as otheryoung men,’ she answered, and then perceivingthe look of astonishment on hermother-in-law’s face, she added, apologetically,—‘Yousee, Lady Ilfracombe, that I’mnot a gusher, and I’ve known so manymen I’ve learned to pretty well estimatethe value of them.’

‘Perhaps, my dear, though I cannot sayI think the knowledge an enviable onefor a young lady. But you do not rank[Pg 76]your husband with other men, surely?He loves you dearly—anyone could seethat—and you must have a good deal ofinfluence over him.’

‘Yes, I fancy I’ve got the length ofhis foot,’ replied Nora.

‘My dear son is almost all that a sonand a husband should be,’ continued thefond mother. ‘He has no vices, but hehas some weaknesses, and one is, beingtoo easily influenced by his friends, andall his friends are not such as I shouldchoose for him. I may be wrong, but Idistrust that Mr Portland with whomIlfracombe is so intimate. More thanthat, I dislike him.’

‘So do I,’ said Nora shortly.

A look of satisfaction came into hercompanion’s face.

‘Do you really, Nora? I am so gladto hear you say so, for I fancied that hewas a great friend of yours.’

‘What, Mr Portland? Oh, Lady Ilfracombe,how mistaken you are. If I hadmy will I would never ask him to Thistlemere[Pg 77]again. But you won’t tell him so,will you?’ she said, looking fearfullyround.

‘My dear girl, what are you thinkingof? As if it were likely. But, Nora, nowyou have told me so, I must tell youwhat is in my mind. Mr Portland has,in my opinion, been Ilfracombe’s worstenemy for years. Not wilfully so, ofcourse; but he is a man who almost livesupon the turf, and is always betting andgambling. He has no settled income, ora very small one. He is, in fact, anadventurer, though our dear Ilfracombewould be angry if he heard me say so.I am sure this Mr Portland borrowslarge sums of him. My brother, GeneralBrewster, warned me of it long ago. Hehas also encouraged Ilfracombe in manythings which I cannot speak to you about,but which a word from Mr Portlandwould have made him see the folly of.But he has been his evil genius. Youmust be his good genius, and rid Ilfracombeof him.’

[Pg 78]

The old lady smiled very kindly atNora as she said this. She was so relievedto find that she did not stick upfor the vaurien Jack Portland as she hadfeared she might do.

‘I? Lady Ilfracombe!’ exclaimed theyoung countess, with somewhat of a scaredlook; ‘but what could I do? Mr Portlandis my husband’s friend, not mine.I don’t think Ilfracombe would hear aword against him.’

‘I think he would be the first to listenand approve, my dear, were you to complainto him of the offensive familiaritywith which Mr Portland treats you. Idon’t think it is either respectful to yourrank or yourself. Several people havenoticed it. To see that dissipated-lookingman hanging over you, as he often does,at the piano or the sofa, with his redface close to yours, sometimes almostwhispering in your ear before otherpeople, is most indecent. Ilfracombe shouldput a stop to it, and the proper personto draw his attention to it is yourself.’

[Pg 79]

‘I hate it! I detest it!’ cried Nora,her face flushing with annoyance and theknowledge that she had put it out of herpower to resent such conduct, as sheought to do. ‘I think Mr Portland isvulgar and presuming to a degree; but ifit is Ilfracombe’s pleasure to have himhere he would surely not like me thebetter for making mischief between them.’

‘I should not call it “making mischief,”’replied the dowager. ‘I shouldsay it was what was due to your positionas Ilfracombe’s wife. However, my dear,perhaps you know best. Only, praypromise me to discourage that odiousman as much as possible. I shall haveto speak to him some day myself, if youdon’t.’

‘Indeed, indeed, I will, Lady Ilfracombe.I will come and sit close by you everyday after dinner if you will let me, andthen he will hardly have the presumptionI should think, to thrust himself betweenus.’

‘My dear, I should not like to put a[Pg 80]limit to Mr Portland’s presumption. Heis one of the most offensive men I haveever met. However, if you dislike himas much as I do, there is no harm done,and I should think, judging from yourcourageous and independent manner, thatyou are quite capable of keeping him ata distance, if you choose.’

‘I hope so,’ laughed Nora uneasily.‘Don’t have any fears for me, dearLady Ilfracombe. My only wish in thisparticular is not to annoy my husbandby offending his great friend, whom hehas commended over and over again tomy hospitality; but, if matters go too far,he shall hear of it, I promise you.’

The dowager kissed her daughter-in-law,and felt perfectly satisfied with theway in which she had received her advice,telling the Ladies Devenish afterwardsthat they had taken an utterlywrong view of the young countess’s conduct,and she only wished every youngmarried woman were as well able totake care of herself and her husband’s[Pg 81]honour. The Ladies Devenish shruggedtheir ancient shoulders as soon as herback was turned, and told each otherthat ‘mother’s geese were always swans,and, of course, anyone whom Ilfracombehad married, could do no wrong in hereyes.’ But they ceased making remarkson Nora for the future all the same.

Meanwhile the young countess did allshe could, without being positively rude,to discourage Jack Portland’s intimacywith her. She kept as close as shecould to her mother and sisters-in-law,and took every precaution to prevent herselfbeing left alone with him; but perceived,in a few days, that Mr Portlandhad guessed the cause of her avoidance,and was prepared to resent it. If hecould not get an opportunity of speakingto her privately during the evening, hewould stand on the hearthrug and gazeat her with his bloodshot eyes, till shewas afraid that everybody in the roommust guess the secret between them.One afternoon, as they were seated round[Pg 82]the luncheon-table, he lolled over herand stared so fixedly into her face, thatshe felt as if she must rebuke his conductopenly. She saw the dowager putup her eyeglass to observe them, andthe Ladies Devenish nudge each otherto look her way; Ilfracombe, of all present,seemed to take no notice of MrPortland’s behaviour. Nora writhed like abird in the coils of a serpent. She didnot know how to act. She could haveslapped the insolent, heated face whichwas almost thrust in her own; she professednot to hear the words addressedto her in a lowered tone, but tried totreat them playfully, and told him to‘speak up.’ But it was useless. Shesaw Jack Portland’s bloated face growdarker and darker as she parried hisattempts at familiarity, until she dreadedlest, in his anger at her repulsion, heshould say something aloud that wouldlower her for ever in the eyes of herrelations. Who can trust the tongue ofa man who is a habitual drinker? At[Pg 83]last Nora could stand it no longer, and,rising hastily, she asked the dowager toexcuse her leaving the table, as she didnot feel well. Her plea was sufficientto make her husband follow her, but hecould not get the truth out of her, evenwhen alone.

‘It’s nothing,’ she told him when hepressed her to say if she were reallyill; ‘but the room was warm, and Ididn’t want any more luncheon, and MrPortland bored me.’

‘Jack bored you!’ exclaimed the earlin a voice of astonishment, as if such athing could never be, ‘I never heard awoman say that before. Shall I speakto him about it, darling?’

But Nora’s look of horror at the proposalwas enough to answer the question.

‘Speak to him, Ilfracombe? Oh, no,pray don’t. What would he think ofme? It would sound so horribly rude,and when he is a guest in the house too.Never mention it again, please. I wouldn’toffend a friend of yours for the world.’

[Pg 84]

‘Thanks. Yes, I’m afraid dear oldJack might feel a little sore if I wereto tell him he bored you. But itmustn’t be allowed to occur again, Nora.I’ll take him out of the house morethan I have done. He won’t worryyou this afternoon, for we’re going toride over to the Castle together and payold Nettleton a visit. I want to get abrace of his pointers if he will partwith them. We mean to be home todinner; but if we’re a little late, don’twait for us.’

‘Very well,’ said Nora brightly.

She was glad to think she would berelieved from her bête noir for the afternoonat all events.

The earl stooped and kissed her, andran downstairs. Nora would have likedto return that kiss, but as she was aboutto do it, she suddenly felt shy and drewback again. Women are so generallyaccredited with changing their minds,that when they do so, they don’t liketo confess the truth. But she waved her[Pg 85]hand gaily as Lord Ilfracombe left theroom, and sent him off on his expeditionhappy and contented. The afternoonpassed quietly away; nothing unusualoccurred until the ladies had assembledin the drawing-room, preparatory to dinnerbeing served.

‘Ilfracombe particularly requested thatwe should not wait if he were late,’ saidNora to her mother-in-law; ‘so I thinkwe had better not do so. I fancy hehad some idea that Mr Nettleton mightpress them to dine at the Castle—anyway that was what he said to me.’

‘I would give them ten minutes’ grace,my dear,’ replied the dowager; ‘the roadsare very bad to-day, and they may notreach home as soon as they anticipated.It is so uncomfortable to come in justas the soup has been removed. Besides,they must change their clothes beforedining.’

‘Yes, you are right,’ replied Nora,glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece,‘it is a quarter to seven now. I will[Pg 86]ring and tell Warrender to put off dinnertill half-past. Shall I?’

‘Yes, my dear, do,’ the old lady wassaying, just as Warrender entered theroom unceremoniously, and with an air ofdecided perturbation.

‘What is the matter?’ cried Norahurriedly, for she saw at once he wasthe bearer of news. ‘What has occurred?Why do you look like that?’

‘Oh, my lady!’ exclaimed the servant,‘nothing, I hope—your ladyship mustn’tbe alarmed, but I thought it right youshould hear that—that—’

‘That—what? For God’s sake, speak!’cried Nora impetuously. ‘It is folly tokeep us in such suspense.’

‘Well, my lady, Johnson, he has justcome up from the stables to say thatthe Black Prince—his lordship’s horse,you know, my lady—ran into the yard afew minutes back, without—without hislordship, my lady!’

‘Thrown!’ exclaimed Lady Laura shrilly.

‘Without Lord Ilfracombe?’ queried[Pg 87]Lady Blanche; ‘but where, then, is MrPortland?’

‘Oh, heavens, my poor son! He maybe lying dead in the road at this moment,’said the dowager, wringing her hands.

But Nora said nothing. She wasstanding in the centre of the room,motionless as though turned to stone.Presently she asked in a harsh voice,—

‘Have they sent out to search alongthe roads?’

‘No, my lady, they thought—’ commencedWarrender.

‘Thought? Thought? What is the goodof thinking when they should act? TellJohnson to go out at once and scourthe road to the Castle, and let thecarriage be got ready to follow him.His lordship may be unable to walk. Goat once; don’t lose a moment. Stay,where is Johnson? I will give him thedirections myself.’

She flew down to the lower premisesas she spoke, regardless that her dresswas quite unsuited to cold corridors and[Pg 88]stone passages. She was very white,but perfectly calm and collected as shegave her orders, whilst Lady Laura wasshrieking in hysterics in the drawing-room,and Lady Blanche had her handsfull in trying to prevent the dowagerfainting under the dreadful suspense. Assoon as Nora was satisfied that assistancehad been dispatched in case of need,she went slowly up to her own room,with her hand tightly pressed against herheart. She could not realise what mightbe taking place, or might have takenplace. She had only one fear, onedread, Ilfracombe and she might beparted before she had had time to tell himthat she loved him. She kept both handsand teeth clenched to prevent her cryingout, and making her cowardice patentto all around, whilst her cold lips wenton murmuring, ‘Oh, God, save him! oh,God, save him!’ without any idea ofthe meaning of what she said.

She had stood thus, not having theheart or the sense to sit down, for[Pg 89]perhaps half an hour, when she heard ashout from the hall—a shout of laughter,and then her husband’s voice exclaiming,—

‘So sorry to have given you such ascare. Not my fault I assure you. Wecame on as quick as we could. No,I’m not hurt. Was Nora frightened?Where is she? I must go to her. Downin a minute. Tell you all about it then,’and his feet came flying two steps at atime up the stairs to her side.

She stood with clasped hands expectinghim, all the blood in her bodymantling in her face.

‘Oh, Ilfracombe,’ was all she couldsay as he entered the room.

‘My darling, I am so sorry that brutefrightened you all so by coming homewithout me. Jack and I were within amile of home when the Black Princeshied suddenly at something and threwme clean over his head. We tried ourbest to catch him, but he bolted to hisstables, and I had to walk back.’

[Pg 90]

‘And you are not hurt?’ she askedtremblingly; ‘not at all?’

‘Not at all,’ he echoed, ‘only splashedfrom head to foot with mud, and feelingvery much as if I would like to havea warm bath before dinner. But, love,you are shaking all over. Has it reallyupset you like this?’

Nora drew back a little, ashamed ofhaving displayed so much feeling.

‘It was rather alarming,’ she answered,with a slight laugh. ‘We—we—might—neverhave seen you again.’

‘And you would have grieved for me?’said the earl, pressing her to his heart.‘Oh, my dearest, you make me feel sohappy.’

A sudden impulse, which she could notresist, seized Nora. She threw her slenderarms round Ilfracombe and laid her cheekagainst his. It was the first evidence ofdeep feeling which she had ever givenhim. But a moment afterwards she seemedashamed of it.

‘There is no doubt you gave us a[Pg 91]start, dear old boy,’ she said, smiling,‘but it is over now, and I’ll run downand send Wilkins up to get your bathready. You’ll have heaps of time. Ihad already postponed dinner to half-pastseven. Make as much haste as youcan though.’

‘One more kiss, darling, before you go,’cried the earl.

‘No such thing! We mustn’t wasteany more time in fooling or the fish willbe in rags. I will go down and see thatLady Ilfracombe has a glass of wine.The poor old lady has been crying fitto make herself ill.’ And in anothersecond she had left him to himself.

She found the drawing-room people insolemn conclave; the Ladies Devenishrather inclined to be offended at beingdisappointed of a sensation, and thedowager, telling Mr Portland of theterrible scare they had experienced, andhow she thought poor dear Nora wouldgo mad when the news of the riderlesshorse’s arrival was announced to her.

[Pg 92]

‘I am sure I thought her mind wasgoing, Mr Portland,’ she was saying asNora entered. ‘She stood as if she hadbeen turned to marble, and when sherushed from the room I thought shewas going to fly out into the nightair just as she was after him.’

‘Of course it would have been anawful thing for Lady Ilfracombe to havelost her position so soon after attainingit,’ replied Mr Portland politely.

‘And her husband,’ returned the oldlady sympathetically.

It was at this juncture that Noraappeared. She was still pale from thefright she had experienced, and had lostmuch of her usual jolly, off-hand manner.

‘Ilfracombe will be down directly,’ shesaid, addressing her mother-in-law; ‘heis going to have a bath before dinner,as, though he has broken no bones, hehas a considerable number of bruises fromthe fall.’

‘Of course, poor, dear boy,’ acquiescedthe dowager. ‘Oh, my dear, what a[Pg 93]mercy it is no worse. He might havebeen killed from such a sudden fall. Ishall never feel easy when he is onhorseback again.’

‘Never is a long time,’ replied Nora,smiling; ‘but won’t you and Blanche andLaura take a glass of wine before dinner?I am sure you must need it after theshock you have had.’

The wine was rung for, and whenWarrender appeared with it, and Norarefused to have any, Mr Portland tookthe opportunity of observing sarcastically,—

‘Surely you must require some yourself,Lady Ilfracombe? I have just beenlistening to an account of the terribleemotion you displayed at the suppositionof Ilfracombe’s danger.’

The butler poured out a glass andhanded it to his young mistress withouta word. He had seen her excitementand interpreted it aright, but he didnot understand why this gentleman shouldmention it as though it were somethingto be surprised at.

[Pg 94]

The young countess took the winesilently and drank it. Portland againaddressed her.

‘It must have been an awful momentfor you when Black Prince’s arrival wasannounced. Did you really think Ilfracombewas killed? It would have beena great misfortune for you if it had beenso. The title would have gone, I believe,to a distant cousin, and the whole objectof his marriage frustrated. And youwould have sunk at once from the queenregnant to a mere dowager. Aren’t youglad he is all right?’

This was said sotto voce, so as tobe inaudible to the rest of the party.

‘I do not see that it signifies to you,what I feel, or do not feel,’ said Nora,with her most indifferent air, as she turnedfrom Jack Portand to address some commonplaceto her mother-in-law.

‘By Jove, though, but I’ll make itsignify!’ he muttered to himself, as hesaw the Ladies Devenish secretly amusedat the evident snub he had received.[Pg 95]The earl now joined the assembly. Hewas in high spirits, and disposed to makelight of everything that had occurred.The evening passed pleasantly, thoughNora was rather hysterically gay; buttowards the close of it, when the otherladies had retired, and she was about tofollow their example, her husband was toldthat his steward wished to speak to him.

‘Don’t go yet, Nora,’ he called out,on leaving the room, ‘wait till I comeback. I want to tell you something beforeJack and I go to the smoking-room.Keep her amused, Jack, till I return.’

It was Jack Portland’s opportunity, andhe seized it.

‘What an actress you are,’ he commenced,as soon as they were alone.‘You would have made your fortune onthe stage.’

‘I don’t understand you,’ she said. ‘Inwhat have I acted a part to-night?’

‘Why, in your well counterfeited dismayat the idea of danger to Ilfracombe,of course. When the old lady was[Pg 96]telling me about it, I thought I shouldhave split. You—turned to stone withapprehension. You—the coldest womanin Christendom! who has no more feelingthan a piece of marble! It isridiculous. You know it was all puton.’

‘Why shouldn’t I feel uneasy if he isin danger? He is my husband. Youcannot deny that.’

‘Your husband, yes. And what didyou marry him for? His title and hismoney! You cannot deny that. Twoyears ago you were, or fancied yourself,desperately in love with another man—modestyforbids me to mention him byname—but you chucked him over; why?Because he hadn’t as much money as youexpected to sell yourself for!’

‘It isn’t true,’ she answered hotly. ‘Youknow that it was my father who separatedus and forbade your coming to the houseagain. Else, perhaps, there is no knowingI might have been your wife at thepresent moment. But as for being, as[Pg 97]you express it, “desperately in love,” youknow that is untrue—that it is not in mynature—that I am not one of yourgushing, spooney girls, who are ready tojump down the throat of the first manwho looks at them, and never was.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’said Mr Portland. ‘Certain little epistlesin my possession tell a different tale. Mostof them are “spooney” enough in allconscience. At least, if you do not callthem so, I should like to see the onesyou do!’

‘You have not returned those lettersto me yet,’ she answered quickly. ‘Itrust to your honour to do so, withoutreading them again.’

‘Why should I read them again, machère, when they no longer interest me?I know you women like to think you canchuck your victims over, and still keepthem writhing at your feet; but I amnot one of that sort. Once repulsed isenough for me. Your ladyship need neverfear that I shall ever trouble you again.[Pg 98]But don’t say you never were one of the“gushing, spooney girls,” or you maytempt me to make you retract yourwords. Perhaps you have quite forgottenwhat you wrote in those letters?’ hedemanded meaningly.

‘Yes, quite,’ she answered, though witha sickening faint remembrance of a greatdeal of folly; ‘but what does it matter?It is over now on both sides, and we canremain good friends all the same. ButI wish you would not make your intimacywith me quite so apparent before otherpeople. It has been noticed by morethan one person, and it places me in anunpleasant position. And if it is pointedout to Ilfracombe it might lead to somethingdisagreeable.’

‘How?’ said her companion.

‘How? Why, by making a quarrelbetween my husband and myself, ofcourse,’ replied Nora querulously.

‘And would you care about that? Hecouldn’t take your coronet from you forsuch a trifle, you know. Even those[Pg 99]letters of yours—were they to come tolight, he might rub rusty over them, buthe couldn’t do anything. When a manmarries a woman, he has to ignore allante-nuptial indiscretions. He would makea jolly row, naturally, and you would havea hot time of it. But you are the Countessof Ilfracombe fast enough, and theLord Chancellor himself couldn’t unmakeyou so.’

‘I know that,’ said Nora. ‘I don’tneed you to tell me so. And there isno chance of Ilfracombe seeing the letterseither. If you keep your word to me(as I conclude you will), I shall destroythem as soon as they are in my possession.I wish you would send for yourdispatch-box, and give them to me atonce. I should feel so much more comfortable.’

‘Why in such a hurry?’ said MrPortland. ‘I am going home next week,and then you shall have them by registeredpost, honour bright. Won’t that satisfyyou?’

[Pg 100]

‘Oh, yes, of course. And Mr Portland,’added Nora rather nervously, ‘we agreedjust now that it was all over, so you won’tmind my saying you think I care only forIlfracombe’s title and fortune, and I daresayyou are justified in thinking so—but—butit is not only that. He—he is sogood to me, that I can’t help caring—Imean, it would be very ungrateful of menot to care, just a little.’

But here the young countess’s blushing,stammering confession was interrupted byher husband’s return.

‘Oh, here is Ilfracombe!’ she exclaimed,suddenly breaking off, and advancing tomeet him, whilst Jack Portland thought tohimself; ‘so the wind’s in that quarternow, is it? All the better for me; butI’m afraid her ladyship has sealed the fateof that interesting little packet. If loveis to be brought into the bargain, thoseletters will become too valuable to meto part with. Why, I shall be ableto turn and twist her, through theirmeans, at my will.’

The time was altered at Panty-cuckooFarm. Christmas had come and gone—rathera melancholy Christmas. Theweather had been raw and chill; MrsLlewellyn had been laid up with sciatica;and the farmer had appeared depressedand out of spirits. Hugh Owen had leftoff coming to the farm altogether, atwhich Nell was not surprised, thoughher mother grumbled, and her fathersaid that with some people out of sightseemed out of mind. But with the adventof spring things grew better. Is it notalways the way with spring? Its bright,hopeful surroundings seemed to make oneashamed of murmuring over one’s owntroubles. The bursting buds; the rivuletsreleased from the icy grip of winter;[Pg 102]the callow birds; the balmy life-givingair; all speak of renewed action andstrength, after the numbing effects ofwinter. One grows young again withspring. The buoyancy of the atmosphere,and all the glad sights and sounds thatsalute one’s eyes and ears, seem to fill onewith new feelings—new ideas—new hopes.Even Nell succumbed to the delightsof the season, and felt sorry to thinkshe had driven her kindest friend fromher side. She had tried several timesto see Hugh Owen, and make up herquarrel with him, but he always managedto avoid meeting her. There was a babyat Dale Farm now, over which Hettyand her mother-in-law were crooning halfthe day, with which, of course, old MrsLlewellyn was delighted, but which Nellnever saw without a sigh. She thoughtthat when Hugh christened her littlenephew, she would at least secure aword or two with him in private, butit was not so. He never turned hiseyes her way during the ceremony, and[Pg 103]pleaded other duties as an excuse fornot being present at the substantial feastwhich was spread for them afterwards atDale Farm.

‘I can’t think what’s come of Hughlately,’ said his mother. ‘He was neverwhat you might call very sociable-like,but now it’s a wonder ever to get aword out of him. He seems to spendhis life praying people out of the world,and I’m sure it don’t make him morecheerful at home.’

‘There, missus, let the lad alone, do!’exclaimed her husband. ‘You know’d fromthe first that he was good for nothingbut the ministry. He’s got no heart,nor stomach, nor liver, nor nothing, hasn’tHugh; he’s just a minister and nothingelse. He’s been as silent and as sulkyas a bear for the last three months, butI take no notice of it. Let him go onhis own way, say I, and thank the Lord,’tain’t mine.’

‘Well, I suppose we’ve offended him,though I’m sure I can’t tell how,’ interposed[Pg 104]Mrs Llewellyn, ‘for he’s not beennear us for ever so long. When ourNell was ill, he was at the farm everyday, praying most beautiful, and bringingher books and flowers, and such-like;but I don’t believe we’ve seen him, notto speak of, since Christmas, have we,Nell?’

‘I don’t think we have, mother,’ repliedNell consciously.

‘Oh, that’s plain enough,’ said FarmerOwen. ‘You ain’t dying any longer, mylass, or you’d have Master Hugh at yourbedside often enough. He don’t care forlasses with rosy cheeks, and who caneat a good dinner, and use their legs.They’ve no interest for a minister. Youshouldn’t have got well, if you wanted tokeep Hugh by your side.’

‘Well, for my part, I wish she wasbetter than she is, if we never saw Hughagain for it, begging your pardons, neighbours.But Nell ain’t half satisfactory.Dr Cowell, he says it’s only the weaknessafter the fever, but she’s a long[Pg 105]time coming round, to my mind. Sheeats pretty well, but she hasn’t got anylife in her, nor she can’t seem to takeany interest in anything. Her memorytoo is something dreadful. She’s alwaysdreaming when she ought to be doing.We must see if we can’t send her toSwansea this summer for the benefit ofthe sea air.’

Nell coloured faintly as she replied,—

‘Now, mother, I wish you’d talk ofsomething more interesting than me. I’mright enough. And we’re all talking ofourselves, and forgetting the little man’shealth. Who’ll propose the toast? ShallI? Here’s to the very good health ofGriffith William Owen, and may he livea long life and a happy one!’

And in the chatter and congratulationsthat followed the toast, Nell and Hughwere both happily forgotten. All thesame, she wished he had not taken hercommunication so much to heart, and wasdreadfully afraid lest his evident avoidanceof Panty-cuckoo Farm should end by[Pg 106]directing some sort of suspicion towardsherself. It was about this time that Nellperceived that there was something decidedlywrong with her father. Not inhealth, but in mind. He seemed to regardeverything in its worst light, and to havesome objection to make to whatever mightbe said to him. If her mother remarkedhow comfortable and happy Hetty was inher new home, Mr Llewellyn wouldobserve,—

‘Ay, ay, it’s just as well she’s featheredher nest before troubles come,’ or if Nellsaid she felt stronger and better for thefine weather, it would be, ‘Well, I don’tknow as it’s a thing to crow over. Manya person’s happier dead than alive.’

At last one morning she came down tobreakfast to find him in a brown studyover a lawyer’s letter, which had reachedhim in a long, blue envelope. The postmanwas a rare visitor at Panty-cuckooFarm. The Llewellyns had not manyrelatives, and were not a writing family,if they had had them. Everything went[Pg 107]on too simply with them to require muchcorrespondence. Above all, a lawyer’s letterwas a rarity.

‘Had bad news, father?’ inquired Nell,as she met him.

‘Ay, my lass, as bad as it could wellbe. Sir Archibald Bowmant’s going toraise the rent of the old farm again, andI don’t know how it’s to be made topay it. Times have been awful bad thelast year or two, Nell. Of course, themother didn’t say nothing to you up inLondon town about it. Where was theuse? You was well provided for in arare good and respectable situation; weknew you was safe, and didn’t wantto worry you with our troubles. Butsince Sir Archibald’s married this newlady he’s been an altered man. He usedto think a deal of his tenants in the oldtimes, and I don’t say he’s a bad landlordnow, but she runs him into a lotof money, I hear, and then the land hasto pay for it. Here’s a notice from thesolicitor, to say the rents will all be raised[Pg 108]again after next summer. It’s deuced hardon a man like me. I’ve spent more thanI knew where to put my hand on, thisautumn, draining and manuring, and nowI shall have to pay all I hoped to makeby it on the rent. But it can’t goon for ever. The worm will turn someday, and I shall chuck up the farm andemigrate.’

‘Oh, father, don’t talk like that!’cried his wife. ‘What would you andI do emigrating at our age? ’Tisn’tas if we were young and strong. Weshould die before we had crossed thesea. We’ll get on right enough, nowI’ve got Nell to help me with the dairy,and that must keep us going till you’restraight again.’

‘You’re a good wife, Mary,’ said thefarmer, ‘but you’re a fool for all that.Will the dairy keep the men and horses,and pay for the subsoil dressings andthe fish-manure and the losses whichevery year brings with it? You womendon’t understand the number of expenses[Pg 109]keeping up a large farm like this entails.I’ve only just done it for years past, andif the rents are to be raised, why, I can’tdo it, and that’s all.’

‘But you won’t decide in a hurry,father?’ said Nell.

‘No, lass, no. But it’s very discouraging.It takes the heart out ofa man for work, or anything. SometimesI wish I had emigrated when Iwas a young man. There, out in Canada,the Government give a man one hundredand fifty acres of land free, and, if he’sgot a little money of his own and alittle gumption, he can make a living forhis family, and have something to leavebehind him when he dies.’

‘Well, well,’ said his daughter soothingly,‘if the worst comes to the worst,father, I will go out to Canada withmother and you, and we’ll see if wecan’t manage to keep ourselves alivesomehow.’

She put her hand on the old man’sgrey head as she spoke, and he got[Pg 110]hold of it and drew it down with hisown.

‘What a soft, white hand it is!’ hesaid admiringly. ‘You’re a good, kindlass, Nell, but I doubt if you could domuch work with such fingers as these.Where did you get them from? Who’dthink you’d done hard work in yourlifetime? They look like a lady’s, sosmooth and soft. You must have had afine easy place of it up at Lord Ilfracombe’s,Nell. It was a pity you ever leftit. You won’t get such another in a hurry.’

‘No, father, I know that,’ she answeredsadly.

‘And you think you were foolish tochuck it, my girl? You fret a bit over itsometimes, eh, Nell?’

‘Sometimes, father,’ she said in a lowvoice.

‘Ah, my lass, you see we never knowwhat’s best for us. I was main glad tosee ye home, so was mother; but if timesget worse than they are, I shall be sorryye ever came.’

[Pg 111]

‘Then I’ll go to service again,’ sheanswered quickly. ‘Don’t be afraid I’llever be a burden on you, dear father. Iam capable of filling many situations—anurse’s, for instance. If, as you say,times get worse, I’ll practise on littleGriffith, and advertise for a place in thenursery.’

She spoke in jest, but Mr Llewellyntook her words in earnest.

‘Ay, my lass, and you’d get it too.The earl would give you a grandcharacter, I’m bound to say. Wouldn’the, now? Three years is a good timeto stay in one place.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Nell hastily,as she remembered the circ*mstancesunder which she had left GrosvenorSquare, and hurried away for fear herfather should take it in his head to questionher about it.

Poor Nell! Her absent lord wasnever absent from her heart or thoughts;but she dared not indulge herself intoo much reminiscence lest she should[Pg 112]break down under it. Whilst Lord Ilfracombewas growing happier day by dayin the increasing affection of his wife,the unfortunate woman whom he believedto be buried beneath the bosomof the river was wearing her heart outfor news of him, and wondering oftenhow she could possibly contrive to getsight or speech with him without attractingthe attention of her friends. Byday she had little leisure to indulge indreaming; but as soon as night fell,and she found herself in solitude andsilence on her bed, the ghost of herhappy, reckless past would walk out ofits sanctuary to confront her, and shewould lie awake half the night, ponderingon Ilfracombe’s appearance, andrecalling his tenderest moments and sayingsand doings, till she had workedherself up into a state of despair. Shehad persuaded herself that her separationfrom her lover was no fault of his,but the combined work of Mr Sterndaleand the woman he had married, and[Pg 113]that if Ilfracombe saw her again allhis first admiration and affection wouldbe rekindled.

Nell did not stop to consider howbitterly unfair this would be to his youngwife. She hated the very thought ofNora, and would have injured her inany possible way. Lord Ilfracombe washers—hers alone—that was the way sheargued—and his wife had robbed her ofhim, and must take the consequences,whatever they might be. Her love forhim was so deep, so passionate, sooverwhelming, he could not resist norstand against it. Had she only refusedto let him leave England, his marriagewould never have taken place. It hadbeen a cheat, a robbery, a fraud, andsuch things never thrive. If they onlymet—if she could only meet him—he andhis wife would both have to acknowledgethe truth of what she said.

Meanwhile, however, she could gain nonews of the Earl of Ilfracombe, herown act of supposed suicide having put[Pg 114]the possibility of hearing of him outof her reach. She could not come incontact with him again without herformer position in his household beingmade known. For this reason, as longas she remained with her parents, Nellsaw no chance of seeing him. And itwas only at times that she desired it.At others, she felt as if the sight ofher perfidious lover would kill her—asif she would run miles the other waysooner than encounter him; and thesewere the despairing moments, whenshe wept till she was nearly blind,and made her mother rather impatient,because she would not confess whatailed her, nor say what she wanted.The poor girl was passing through thegates of hell, through which most ofus have to pass during our lifetime, inwhich whoever enters must leave Hopebehind, for the portals are so dark andgloomy that Hope could not exist there.Some women will get over a disappointmentlike this in a reasonable time;[Pg 115]some never get over it at all; and NellLlewellyn was one of the latter. Hervery soul had entered into her lovefor Lord Ilfracombe, and she could notdisentangle it. It had not been anordinary love with which she had regardedhim, but an ardent worship—suchworship as a devotee renders tothe God of his religion. I do notsay that such women never love again,but they never forget the first love,which is ready to revive at the firstopportunity, and which lives with themall through the exercise of the second,glorifying it, as it were, by the halothrown over it from the past.

Nell was still in a state of hopelesscollapse. She had not got over thenews of Ilfracombe’s marriage in theslightest degree. She was perfectly awarethat he had shut the gates of Paradisebetween them for evermore; yet sheoften experienced this feverish anxietyto learn from his own lips in whatlight he regarded their separation.

[Pg 116]

Meanwhile her conscience occasionallyaccused her of not having behaved askindly as she might to Hugh Owen—sometimesgave her a sickening qualmalso, as she remembered she had partedwith her cherished secret to a man whohad apparently quarrelled with her eversince. He had assured her it was safewith him, but Nell felt that he despisedher for the confession she had made,and might not his contempt lead himto forget his promise? She wantedfurther assurance that he would befaithful and true.

She went over to the Dale Farmfar oftener than she had been wont todo (which Hetty accepted entirely as acompliment to her baby), in the hopeof encountering him; but he always managedto slink away before she reachedthe house, or to have some excuse forleaving directly afterwards.

One afternoon, towards the end of May,however, as she distinctly saw him hurryingoff through the fields at the back,[Pg 117]with a book in his hand, Nell waitedtill he was well out of sight, and then,altering her course, turned also and followedhim up.

The country was in its full spring-tidebeauty. The hedges were gay with shepherds’purse and pimpernel, and merry withthe song of birds rejoicing over theiryoung. The green meadows were dottedover with the late lambs, skipping likethe high hills of Scripture; and as Nellfollowed on Hugh Owen’s track, she trodthe sweet woodruffe under her feet.A balmy, south-west wind blew on herheated face, as she ran over the grassyhill, up which he was slowly wendinghis way, with his eyes bent on his book.She had captured him at last. A longstretch of grass land lay between themyet, but there was no friendly copse ororchard on the way in which he couldtake shelter from her. Not that Hugh[Pg 119]even knew of her approach. He hadseen her coming up the gravelled walkthat led to the Dale Farm, and slippedout as usual by the back-door, in orderto avoid her. After her last words tohim, he thought his presence must beas objectionable to Nell as hers was distressingto him. That she should takethe trouble to follow him never enteredhis head; so he went on slowly, poringover his book, and was more startledthan she could imagine when he hearda voice calling gaspingly after him,—‘Hugh!Hugh!’ He turned round then,to meet Nell’s beautiful face, flushed withexertion, as she panted to come up with him.

‘Stop, Hugh! Stop a minute! I wantto speak to you,’ she said breathlessly.

He halted at her appeal, but he did notsmile as she reached his side.

‘Oh, Hugh, I have wanted to speakto you for so long,’ said Nell, as theystood opposite each other. ‘What is thematter with you? Why do you nevercome to Panty-cuckoo now?’

[Pg 120]

He looked at her with grave surprise.

‘Why do I never go to Panty-cuckoonow?’ he repeated after her. ‘I shouldhave thought you were the last personto ask me that question, Nell. Haveyou forgotten the words with which yousent me from you?’

‘Yes. What did I say? Anything verydreadful? How little you must know ofwomen, to fancy they mean everythingthey say. You made me angry, I suppose,and then I resented it. But thatis four months ago. It’s ridiculous tokeep up a grudge all that time.’

‘I don’t think you were angry,’ repliedHugh, in his low, sweet voice. ‘I thinkyou were in earnest, Nell, when you toldme to leave Panty-cuckoo Farm, andnever come back again; and that, afterwhat had passed between us, my presencewould be an extra pain to you. Was itlikely, after that, that I could intrude mycompany on you? You must know thatI didn’t keep away from choice.’

‘No, I didn’t. I thought, perhaps, you[Pg 121]considered me altogether too bad to associatewith—that I should contaminate youand make you unfit for the ministry, andso it was your duty not to come nearme any more. That is what Ithought.’

‘How very little you know me,’ saidthe young man with a sigh.

‘But mother and father are alwaysasking after you,’ continued Nell, hurriedly,‘and wondering why you nevercome near us; and it makes it ratherawkward for me, you know, Hugh. Ihave told them all kinds of stories toexcuse your absence; but it would bemuch better if you could come and seethe old people now and then. I wouldkeep out of the way, if you prefer it,whilst you are there.’

He did not contradict her, only saying,—

‘I should be sorry to vex Mr and MrsLlewellyn, who have always been verygood to me. I hope they thought it wasmy duties that kept me away. I should[Pg 122]not like them to know that you and Ihave quarrelled.’

‘But have we quarrelled?’ said Nell,wistfully. ‘Cannot we be friends still,Hugh, as we were before—before yourlast visit, you know? We are rathersad up at Panty-cuckoo just now. Fatherseems quite down-hearted about his farm.Sir Archibald has decided to raise therent again, and father says he won’t beable to make the place pay if he does.Sometimes he talks of emigrating. Fancyhis doing that at his age! and, oftener,the poor old man says he has lived toolong, and it will be a good day when heis carried to Usk churchyard. And, whatwith that, and—and—other things, I thinksometimes, Hugh, that life is altogethertoo hard to bear; and it is a pity minewasn’t ended when I tried to end it!’

‘Poor Nell,’ said Hugh. ‘No, don’tsay that. If your life had not heldbetter things in store for you, surely theLord would not have given it back toyou twice running. But I must come[Pg 123]over and talk to your father, and see ifI cannot cheer him up. If the worstcomes to the worst, Nell, I don’t seewhy he should not try his fortune inanother country. He is not so very old—sixtyor thereabouts, I think—and hewill take his experience with him, andsell it, maybe, to other men. There arecountries, as I daresay you have heard—likeCanada, for instance—where Governmentgives the land away to men whocan cultivate it; and your father musthave a good sum of money sunk in hisstock and implements. With a littlemoney in hand, a man with knowledgemay do wonders in Canada orNew Zealand, and live out there aslong again as he would have done inEngland.’

‘Oh, Hugh, you are talking nonsense.How would father and mother feel, uprootedfrom the old place where theyhave spent almost all their lives, and setdown in a strange country, without afriend or acquaintance near them? They[Pg 124]would die. They couldn’t stand it. Itwould be too great a wrench.’

‘Would not you go with them?’ askedHugh dubiously.

‘I? Oh, yes, of course I should. Butwhat good should I be to them? Onlyan extra burden. If father had a son itwould be different. But he would requiresome strong young head and hand tolift the greater part of the burden off hisshoulders.’

‘I agree with you. But don’t stand talkinghere. You don’t look fit for that yet,Nell. Surely you should be looking morelike your old self after all these months.Sit down on this turf, it is quite dry, andlet us talk over what you have told me,together.’

He held out his hand to her as hespoke, and Nell availed herself of hisassistance to take a seat on the bank bythe side of the field.

‘Oh, Nell!’ he exclaimed as he releasedit, ‘how hot your hand is, and how thin!Do you feel weak?’

[Pg 125]

‘Not over strong,’ replied Nell, laughingas they sat down, side by side. Itwas true that she had hardly gained anystrength worth speaking of since her illness.The wild longings she indulged in—theregrets for her lost position, andthe remorse with which she was occasionallyattacked—were all working agreat and abiding change in her constitution.The old people saw her goingabout as usual, and never heard her complain;so they thought she was all right,and attributed any little languor or daintinesson her part to her London schooling.But Hugh, with a lover’s eye, perceivedthe change in her vividly, and notedwith grief the hollowness of her eyes andthe attenuation of her hand.

‘My poor girl,’ he said tenderly, as hegazed at her thin face, ‘what have you beendoing to yourself? You’ve been frettingsorely, I’m afraid, Nell, since I saw you last.’

This direct appeal broke Nell down. Noone had given her such sympathy as thisbefore.

[Pg 126]

‘Oh, yes, Hugh, yes, I have,’ she cried.‘I try so hard to forget, but it seems impossible.I longed so much to come backto Panty-cuckoo. I thought the beautiful,quiet, peaceful country would heal my sorewound, and help me to forget. But itseems worse than the town. There, therattle and the noise might have shut outother sounds. But here, in the peacefulsilence, I hear voices and see faces that Iwant to shut out from my mind for ever.Oh, it is very hard that, when one triesand wishes to be good and do no wrong,God should let the devil have such dominionover us. Why is it, Hugh? Whydoesn’t He hear our prayers and let us forget?Sometimes I feel as if I should gomad in Panty-cuckoo, when I rememberthe time when I was a little girl and wentblack-berrying or nutting with you and theother children, and remember those happy,innocent days can never, never come overagain. Oh, Hugh, I feel as if I had beenin possession of untold wealth, and I haddeliberately thrown it away. Will it always[Pg 127]be so? Shall I never be any better? Am Ito go on suffering like this to my life’s end?’

‘I hope not, Nell,’ replied the youngman. ‘You are not strong enough fordairy and farm work, and it leaves yourbrain too little to do, so it broods incessantlyupon the past. The work you want,Nell, is head work—something by whichyou will feel you are benefiting others.That is the employment to bring peaceand forgetfulness in its train. You shouldbe a missionary, as I am.’

‘A missionary—I? Ah, now, Hugh, youare laughing at me. A preacher shouldhave no sins to look back upon.’

‘Then there would be no preachers inthe world, Nell. I say, on the contrary,that no one can teach others till he himselfhas been taught of God. He cannotrelieve suffering, unless he, too, has suffered.He cannot know the enormity ofsin, nor the trouble it brings in its train,till he himself has sinned as we all have,and if any man says he has not, he liesbefore the God who made him.’

[Pg 128]

‘But not like I have,’ said poor Nell,with her face hidden in her hands.

‘Don’t you think, Nell,’ said Hugh,‘when you remember all the suffering andshame and remorse that your sin hasbrought you, that you could speak veryforcibly to any girl whom you saw in dangerof running the same risk? Would notyou, out of the kindness of your woman’sheart, warn her not to do as you havedone, and point out to her the pain thatmust succeed it?’

‘Oh, yes, of course I could and would,Hugh. It would be very cruel not todo so.’

‘Then, you see, you are fit for a missionary.You said just now that, if yourfather had a son to accompany him toa new country, emigration would be adifferent thing for him. Well, if heelects to go, I am willing to accompanyhim, and to be, as far as in me lies, as ason to him—aiding him all I can withmy strong young arm and head—on onecondition.’

[Pg 129]

‘What is the condition, Hugh?’ askedNell.

‘That you will come, too, as my wifeand helper. If you consent, I will showyou a way to heal your sore hurt, thatshall bring you the utmost peace at last.I don’t promise you happiness, though Iwould try hard to secure you that also;but peace I know you will have, for Godwill send it. Come with me, and be myhelper and companion. We will go tosome country, so widely different fromEngland that nothing in it shall ever havethe power to remind you of the terribleexperience you have passed through here;and in a warmer climate you will, I hope,regain the health and strength which youhave lost. Do you remember how youtold me long ago that I was cut out for amissionary, and you were right. The verythought warms my blood. We will go toSouth Africa, or anywhere that is consideredbest for us all, and I will devote my lifeto securing the happiness of yours. Willyou come?’

[Pg 130]

Nell turned round and looked at him withastonishment.

‘Will I go to South Africa with you asyour wife? Hugh, do you know what youare asking me?’

‘Exactly. I am asking you the samething I asked you four months ago, andyou refused.’

‘But you thought I was a different girlthen from what you know now. I havetold you all. I—I—am—’

And here she faltered, and looked downat the blades of grass she was twistingabout in her hands.

‘Let there be no misunderstandingbetween us, Nell. Let me finish thesentence for you, and don’t be offendedat what I say, for I speak plainly, so thatyou may be sure that I do not deceivemyself any more than you. I know nowthat you have parted with the greatestglory of your unmarried womanhood; thatyou have, what the world calls, fallen; thatyou lived in a state of sin for three longyears, knowing it to be sin, and wished for[Pg 131]no better lot; and that even at this momentyou would go back to that condition if youcould. Do I speak too plainly, my dear?Do I hurt you?’

Nell shook her head, but did not answerhim in words.

‘Well, then, you see there is no needfor you to tell me anything; and if therewere the remotest chance of your beingtempted to go back to that life, or if theman you cared for were in a position tomarry you, I would not dare ask you toshare my lot. But there is no chance ofeither of these things occurring to you.The only future I can see before you is,to live in this simple place where you willhave no distraction from your sad thoughts,and where maybe you will eventually die,from fretting after the impossible, or fromremorse for that which can never be undoneagain. If you can make up yourmind to leave England with me, I thinkI can save you much of this. I think Ican lead your thoughts to dwell on somethingbetter than your past life, and renovate[Pg 132]your health by diverting them. Ithink that, with the help of God and time,I may be able to show you a way out ofall this terrible trouble that bids fair toblight your youth, and live, perhaps, tohear you acknowledge that it was permittedin mercy to make you better ableto sympathise with the sin and sufferingsof your fellow-creatures. This is what Ihope for, Nell; but I may be presumptuousin hoping it after all.’

‘And you would make me your wife,Hugh; knowing all and hating all, as youdo. Oh, it is impossible. You are toogood for me. I am not worthy to marryyou. I told you so from the first.’

‘We need not talk of worthiness orunworthiness to one another,’ answeredHugh. ‘We are man and woman, and Ilove you. That is quite enough. Thematter lies between ourselves alone. Noone else will ever hear of it.’

‘Ah Hugh, forgive me, but I don’tlove you. Therein lies all the difference.I will not deceive you in the slightest[Pg 133]particular. My heart still clings to, andis wrapped up in this—this—man. I cannotforget him. I cannot un-love him. Forthree long happy years he taught me toregard him as my husband, and the factthat he never married me in churchmakes no difference to my affection.I am sorry—I grieve deeply night andday that he has left me in so cruel amanner, but still I love him. I am morelike a widow than a wicked girl. I supposeit is part of my wickedness—thegreatest part perhaps—that I cannot feelhow wicked I have been. I only knowthat my husband has left me for anotherwoman, and that he cannot have realisedwhat my love for him was, or he neverwould have done it. Is that very wicked?’said Nell, as she looked up into theyoung man’s face.

The answer he made her was very differentfrom what she expected of him.

‘No, Nell, it is not wicked. If I hadnot known that that was the way in whichyou regarded the past I would not have[Pg 134]asked you to be my wife. But the heartthat can be so faithful to one man—theman who has betrayed it—will be asfaithful to another when once its tears aredried for the first. I, too, look on youas a widow, as something far more to bepitied than a widow. But it is all overnow, my poor girl. You know that withoutmy telling you; so, whether you canforget it or not, let me try to make theremainder of your life useful and happy.Will you, Nell?’

‘Oh, Hugh, you are too good. I neverknew anyone so good and kind in allmy life before. If—if—we went far awayfrom England and all its dreadful associations,where we should hardly ever hearits name again, I think I could be happy,or at least contented with you as myfriend. And if, Hugh, it was some littletime before I could think of you in anyother light than that of a friend youwould not be angry, would you? Youwould be a little patient with me, andremember how much I have suffered—how[Pg 135]hardly I have been used—until Ifeel as if I could never trust to a man’spromises again.’

‘If you will come with me to SouthAfrica and help me in my missionarywork, Nell,’ said Hugh, as he took thelistless hand hanging down by her sideand pressed it softly, ‘I will never askyou for the affection nor the duty of awife till you can tell me that you areready and willing to give it me. Willyou trust me so far—that if the love Ilong for should never spring up in yourheart for me I will never demand it, norworry you because it is not there, butstill do my utmost to teach you how tolighten your heavy burden by working forGod and God’s creatures? Do you believeme? Will you trust me?’

‘Yes, Hugh, yes. I will trust youthrough everything. And if father andmother should elect to emigrate and leavethe dear old farm for good and all, why,I will go with them and you—as yourwife.’

[Pg 136]

And she held out her hand to him asshe concluded. Hugh seized it, and carriedit to his lips.

‘You have made me so happy!’ he exclaimed.‘Oh, Nell, whether as friends, oras husband and wife, you are my Nellnow for evermore, and I will never letyou go again.’

As Nell walked back to Panty-cuckooalone (for she would not let Hugh accompanyher) she could not decide if shewere pleased or sorry at what had takenplace between them. Certainly she didnot realise it. She was as much LordIlfracombe’s widow as she had been onsetting out, and did not feel like thebetrothed of anybody. But one thing didseem to please her—the idea of leavingEngland and all its sad associations behind,and going to a new country, to liveamidst new surroundings and new people.Her heart had been growing faint andsick with England for a long time past.To go to South Africa; to sail on thesea; to see the wondrous vegetation thatadorns it—the hedges of cacti, the bowers[Pg 138]of orange-trees, the ostriches and thegorillas; all the wonders, in fact, of whichshe had read in the books which Hughhad lent her—this was what she thoughtof most as she wended her way slowlyhomewards. If an occasional remembrancestruck her that they could not beenjoyed without the accompaniment ofHugh’s society she put it from her witha slight frown, and fell to thinking ofthe other instead. Hugh had said hewould not worry her; that she should doexactly as she pleased; that he would asknothing from her till she was ready togrant it; and Hugh was a man of hisword. He would not say one thing anddo another. She was quite safe with him.They would go out to Africa together, andwhilst he taught the men and preachedto them she would be kind and helpful tothe mothers and the little black children,and show them how to make their clothes,and take care of their health, and cooktheir food. She pictured herself clad in awhite dress, with a broad straw hat on,[Pg 139]walking amongst her sable sisters, nursingthem when they were sick, or joining intheir merry-makings and festivities. Shecould better forget there, Nell said to herself,than in a country that reminded her atevery turn of what she had lost. AndHugh was very good to her, there wasno doubt of that, and would guard andprotect her from further evil till her life’send. He knew her secret, and he did notdespise her for it, that was more thanshe could say for anybody else. Eventhe servants in Grosvenor Square, overwhom she had reigned supreme, had shownher, but too plainly, as soon as they dared,that they considered her a little lowerthan themselves. She dared not thinkwhat her father and mother and Hettywould say if they were made cognisant ofthe truth. Nell knew her parents’ strictideas on propriety too well. Her motherwould upbraid her for having brought thefirst shame into their virtuous family—herfather would, in all probability, turnher out of the house, and tell her her[Pg 140]presence contaminated both her motherand her sister. The poor, when virtuous,are very virtuous indeed. They cannotunderstand the temptations of the upperclasses and those who are thrown in contactwith them, because they are notsubjected to the same themselves. Whatworking man has the leisure to go afterhis neighbour’s wife? When his day’slabour is over he is too tired to gocourting, to say nothing of the fact thathis neighbour’s task is over at the sametime, and he is keeping safe guard overhis sheepfold. No, her own people wouldshow no sympathy for her disgrace! Nellwas quite aware of that. Hugh, who wasso good himself and a minister of thegospel, was the only one she would havedared tell her story to, and he could sofar overlook it as to wish to make herhis wife. She owed Hugh something, andsome day, perhaps, she might repay thedebt. At present, however, what had passedbetween them was to remain with themselves.She had made him promise that.[Pg 141]She felt if it were made public propertyshe could never get out of it again.What with the Owens and the Llewellynsshe would be forced into a marriage, tothink of which made her shudder. Thingsmust go on exactly as usual, till sheknew what was going to happen at Panty-cuckooFarm, and then, if her fatherdecided to emigrate (which was by nomeans likely at present), it would be timefor her to make up her mind. Meanwhile,it all seemed a long way off, and Nell felteasier for the concession she had accordedHugh. She had experienced so manyqualms as to whether she had been wisein placing confidence in him, but now therewas no doubt that he would respect hersecret for his own sake as well as hers.So she went back to Panty-cuckoo Farmin better spirits than she had displayedfor some time past, and found her motherin close converse with Mrs Hody, thehousekeeper from Usk Hall. The twowomen had tea spread before them, and wereevidently going in for a regular ‘confab.’

[Pg 142]

‘Going to raise the rents again,’ oldMrs Hody was saying as Nell walked intothe room. ‘Well, I never. I wonder MrBastian, the steward, didn’t tell me of it.I expect he was too much ashamed. Notthat it’s his doing, poor man. He canonly follow the master’s lead. But, dearme, Mrs Llewellyn, it’s easy to guess whois at the bottom of it. It’s my lady’shigh jinks and no mistake. It would taketwice Sir Archibald’s money to coverthem. Now, there’s all new papering tobe put up in the bedrooms. I’m sure thepaper was good enough for anybody. It’snot been up more than a couple o’ years,but there’s to be a grand party at thehall this summer, and I suppose nothingis too good for ’em.’

‘When are the family coming home, MrsHody?’ asked Nell.

‘Next month, my lass, and you’d betterget your best gowns ready, for there’s tobe a power of young gentlemen with themand no mistake. I’ve just been talking toyour mother here about her rooms. I wish[Pg 143]she could let us have the use of four, justfor a month or two, for where I’m to putthem all I don’t know.’

‘But it is impossible, Mrs Hody, or I’dwillingly oblige you. But you know Icouldn’t do it even before my Nell camehome, and it is more impossible than evernow.’

‘I could lend you the furniture,’ saidthe housekeeper, coaxingly, ‘if that’s theobstacle. We’ve got enough stowed awayat the top of the house to furnish five orsix rooms. We make up sixteen beds ourselves,but they’ll be all full. Whateverthey can want with such a heap of guestsbeats me. I’ve been up the village thisafternoon to see if the Wilkins’ or Turners’girls were at home, for we shall wantextra help, but, like my luck, they’re allin service.’

‘Perhaps our Nell here might be of useto you, Mrs Hody,’ interposed Mrs Llewellyn.‘She’s been used to service, youknow, and I guess she’s a good hand atit. What say, Nell? Will ye go up to[Pg 144]the Hall and help Mrs Hody when thefolks arrive?’

Nell grew scarlet. What if some of the‘folks’ should have seen her in Londonand recognise her!

‘Oh, no, mother,’ she exclaimed, shrinkingback, ‘I couldn’t! I don’t know enoughabout it. I’ve never been in any place,remember, except in the nursery and thenas housekeeper. I have never done anyhousework or cooking.’

Mrs Hody looked at the girl’s beautifulface suspiciously.

‘You’re very young for a housekeeper,especially since you can have had no previousexperience. Who engaged you for the place?’

‘Lord Ilfracombe,’ replied Nell timidly—shealways became timid when the earlwas alluded to.

‘And what aged man was he, my dear?’continued Mrs Hody.

‘Oh, I don’t know—somewhere betweentwenty and thirty, I suppose; quite young,of course, but I hardly ever saw him. Hewas often absent from home.’

[Pg 145]

‘And how did the servants like takingtheir orders from such a lass as you?Didn’t they give you trouble sometimes?’went on her inquisitor.

‘Oh, no, they were all old servants.They knew their duty,’ said Nell confusedly,and then she added, to hide herembarrassment,—‘But do tell me, MrsHody, the names of some of the visitorsyou are expecting. It is such an eventto see strangers in Usk. Are there lordsand ladies amongst them?’

‘Lords and ladies, my dear. Why,they’re most all lords and ladies this time,asked on purpose to meet a royal prince,who has condescended to stay for a weekwith Sir Archibald. Lor’! what a fussmy lady will make over him, to be sure.I expect she’s half wild with joy that heis coming. And there’ll be more cards andhigh play than ever, I suppose, and turningnight into day, as I’ve just been tellingyour good mother. No one in bed tilltwo or three in the morning, and candlesleft guttering all over the tablecloths, and[Pg 146]wine spilt over the carpets, and there—itmakes me sick to talk of it. I do declareif the play goes on this time as it didlast year, I shall give Sir Archibald warning.It’s scandalous! I did hear as onepoor man—Captain Trelany was his name—wasquite ruined by it, and has beenobliged to sell out of his regiment in consequenceand go abroad. Such a wickedthing for a man of Sir Archibald’s ageto encourage in his house, but there! it’sall her fault. She don’t go on a bit likea married lady, and I don’t care whohears me say so. A running after gentsas she does, screaming and laughing likea schoolgirl, and driving over the placelike a mad woman. I’m sure I wishsometimes I’d never set eyes on her face.’

‘Ah, I’m glad our Nell has nothingto do with such,’ said Mrs Llewellyn, ‘forit must be a bad example for a younggirl. My daughters have been broughtup steady and respectable, and if I thoughtthey would ever take to such ways, itwould break my heart.’

[Pg 147]

‘What gentlemen are you going to sendto mother, Mrs Hody?’ said Nell to turnthe conversation.

‘I don’t know yet, my dear, but theyare sure to be bachelors, so don’t youlisten to any nonsense they may say toyou. Young gentlemen are not halfparticular enough in these days. Theytalk a lot of rubbish to a pretty girland mean nothing by it, whilst shemaybe takes it all for gospel truth, andcries her eyes out when she finds it wasonly their fun. Men always have beentook, and always will be took by apretty face to the end of time, and thinkit’s an honour for any poor girl to receivenotice from them; but don’t you believenothing they may say to you,Nell, for gentlemen marry for moneynow-a-days and nothing else it strikesme.’

But at this adjuration Mrs Llewellynruffled up her feathers like an old hen whenher chickens are attacked.

‘You needn’t come for to give such[Pg 148]advice to any girl of mine, Mrs Hody!’she exclaimed, quite hotly, ‘for it isn’tneeded. Believe any rubbish a gentlemanborn might say to her! I should think not,indeed. Nell is much too sensible forthat. She knows that gentleman’s complimentsmean no good for poor girls, andwould not encourage such a thing for amoment. My lasses are not like theSimpsons, Mrs Hody, nor yet the Manleys.They’ve never been allowed to runloose for anyone to talk to, but beenreared in a God-fearing way and taughtthat His eye is on them everywhere.There’s no occasion for you to cautionthem. I can assure you, I would rathersee Nell stretched dead at my feet, thanthink her capable of such folly. Why,who knows what it might lead to?Gentlemen have flattering tongues sometimesfor country girls, and put all sortsof silly ideas into their heads. If Ithought our Nell would even speak tosuch lodgers as you may choose to sendus, Mrs Hody, I wouldn’t let my rooms[Pg 149]to you, not if you gave me ten pounds aweek for them, there!’

And Mrs Llewellyn, quite exhausted byher efforts, stopped talking and wiped hersteaming face with her apron.

‘Oh, mother, dear, why make so muchof it?’ said Nell, with cheeks of crimson.‘I am sure Mrs Hody never thoughtthat I or Hetty would behave ourselvesin an unseemly way with your lodgers.It was only a kindly caution on her part.And you need have no fear for me,believe me.’

‘No, indeed, Mrs Llewellyn,’ interposedthe housekeeper, anxious to makepeace with her hostess, ‘I only put inmy little word on account of your Nellhere being so handsome, and I, knowingbut too well what some of the gentlemenas come to the Hall are. Why,didn’t one of ’em wrong poor littleKatie Brown only last autumn twelvemonth,stuffing the poor child’s head upwith some nonsense about marriage notbeing necessary, and that he’d stick to[Pg 150]her all his life, and then going off whenthe shooting was over and leaving herwith a baby at her back. Tom Brownwas after bringing an action against thegentleman—Mr Frank Leyton, it was—andgetting some money out of him forhis daughter’s shame; but the lawyeradvised him not, for there was no evidenceexcept Katie’s word, and thatwouldn’t be enough in a court of justice,he said. I’ve taken good care not tohave any pretty girls about the Hallsince, and if your Nell had come upto help me, I would have kept herout of their way, for such a set of unprincipledvagabonds I never see before!’

‘No, thank you, Mrs Hody,’ repliedMrs Llewellyn, grandly, ‘no amountof wages would make me send a girlof mine up to the Hall after whatyou’ve told me. My daughters havebeen very humbly born and bred, butthey are good, virtuous lassies, though,perhaps, I should not be the one to[Pg 151]say it. It would break my heart if Icould think them capable of taking upwith folks as never meant to marrythem, and as for their father, well, Ido believe he’d take a gun and shoot’em if he knew of it. So, our Nell,she’ll keep down at Panty-cuckoo, ifyou please, whilst your family’s at home,and do her duty by keeping the lodgers’rooms clean and tidy, instead of makingthe acquaintance of their occupants.’

‘There, there, mother, say no moreabout it, pray!’ cried Nell in real distress,as she carried off the tea-trayin order to hide her burning cheeks.

It was such conversations as thesethat made her fearful to think whatmight happen if her secret ever becameknown to her parents; which madeher contemplate the thought of SouthAfrica with something very much likegratitude, and even remember the conditionattached to it without a shudder.She had quite made up her mind bythis time that she should never see[Pg 152]the Earl of Ilfracombe again. She hadnever heard him mention Usk, nor evenWales. It was not likely, in her simpleideas, that he would ever find his waythere; she thought that they wereas widely separated as if the sea dividedthem. She had but two alternatives—eitherto end her days at Panty-cuckooFarm, in the maddeningly quiet mannershe was passing them now, or to becomeHugh Owen’s wife and go away withhim, far, far from everything that couldpossibly remind her of the happy,thoughtless time she had believed wouldnever end; and, of the two, the lastappeared to be the best to her. Yetnot without her parents. That was,of course, plainly understood betweenHugh and herself. But her fatherstill talked despondingly of his prospects,and of the ultimate necessity of his makingsome change, and Nell seemed tosee the future looming before her, eventhough it was as yet no larger than aman’s hand. Hugh Owen had resumed[Pg 153]his visits to the farm, much to the contentof Mrs Llewellyn, and, sometimes,he and Nell took a stroll together inthe summer evenings. Only as friends,though. Notwithstanding the half promiseshe had made him, Nell would notpermit him to consider himself anythingmore than her friend until the matterwas finally settled between them, andthe young man was quite content itshould be so. Perhaps he required alittle time also, to recover the great shockexperienced on hearing Nell’s story,and preferred to gain her complete confidenceand friendship before asking forany closer privilege. But he was happyin knowing that she trusted him, andnever doubted but that the end for bothof them would be a perfect union.

So the time went on until May wasover, and Mrs Hody announced thatshe would require Mrs Llewellyn’s bedroomsfor two gentlemen on the followingday. The task of preparing themwas confided to Nell. There was no[Pg 154]rough work to be done—Mrs Llewellyn’srooms being always kept in spick-and-spanorder—but the linen sheets hadto be taken out of the old walnut-woodpress, where they had lain for the lastyear between sprigs of sweet lavender,and aired before the kitchen fire, andthe creases ironed out before they wereput upon the beds. Then the fairwhite toilet-covers, trimmed with lacemade by the farmer’s great-grandmother,were spread upon the dressing-tablesand chest of drawers, and every speckof dust flicked off the polished furniture.Clean lace curtains were hung beforethe windows, about which clamberedthe honeysuckles and roses, which poorNell used to see in her London dreams,and before which lay the beds of flowerswhich adorned the side of the farmhouse.These two rooms, as has beensaid before, lay apart from the restof the domain, and opened into thebricked passage at the back of the parlour.They had a little private entrance[Pg 155]of their own, and, when they wereoccupied, the lodgers were allowed tocome in and out as they chose. Thiswas absolutely necessary with the guestsof Sir Archibald Bowmant, as the revelriesof Usk Hall were kept up so late,that the Llewellyns could not possiblyhave sat up for them. So, in thatprimitive place, where latch-keys wereunknown and robbery was unheard of,the simple farmers left their side-doorunfastened, and scarcely ever set eyeson their lodgers. When the two sleepingchambers were clad in their whiteadornments, Nell fancied they lookedtoo cold and colourless, so she fetchedsome old-fashioned vases of blue china fromher mother’s store closet, and filled themwith roses and lilies, overshadowed bygraceful branches of crimson fuchsiasand tufts of sword grass. She placedone upon each toilet-table, and heaveda sigh to see how pure and sweet andclean the rooms looked, like an unstainedconscience in the bosom of a child.

[Pg 156]

‘Nell! Nell!’ called her mother, fromthe parlour, ‘open the side-door, there’sa good lass. There’s one of the Hallgardeners bringing over the gentlemen’sluggage.’

Nell did as she was desired, and encountereda man with some portmanteaus,and bags and plaids in a wheelbarrowstanding outside the door.

‘These are the things, miss, of thegents as is to sleep here,’ he said.

‘All right. Bring them in,’ was thereply.

The man brought the articles in, oneby one, on his shoulders, and heaped themall down in the first room.

‘But stay!’ exclaimed Nell, ‘some mustgo in the other room. What are thegentlemen’s names?’

‘Sure, I don’t know, miss. All I wastold was to bring the luggage overhere.’

Nell examined the portmanteaus first.On one were the initials M. L., on theother J. S. P. One bag had M. L. on[Pg 157]it, the other was blank. The two bundlesof plaids and umbrellas were not addressedat all.

‘Take that portmanteau and that bag,’said Nell, intimating the two markedM. L. ‘into the next room, and leavethe others here. The gentlemen can sorttheir own plaids when they come.’

The man did as she told him, andwithdrew, as Mrs Llewellyn came bustlinginto the room to see if the luggage betokenedwealth or not.

‘Nice portmantles, ain’t they, Nell?’ sheremarked, as she examined the locks andleather. ‘Lor’! what a lot of moneyyoung gentlemen do spend on themselves.M. L. I fancy I’ve seen him before. Ithink that must be Mr Martin Lennox,who was down the year before last. Sucha nice, free-spoken young man, and willbe an earl some day they told me.J. S. P.,’ she went on, looking at theother portmanteau, ‘I’ve never seen thatbefore. I wonder what it stands for—J.S. P.’

[Pg 158]

‘What letters did you say?’ asked Nellcuriously.

‘J. S. P., my dear. John something,I suppose. However, it don’t matter tous, so long as they don’t make too muchnoise when they come home at night.There was one gentleman we had oncewho was dreadful. He wasn’t content withsinging all sorts of songs as soon as hegot into his room, but he must go fordancing, and he used to make such a rowand keep it up so late, that at last fatherand I could stand it no longer, and wereobliged to speak to Sir Archibald. Therewas no rest for anyone, and when you haveto be up at five o’clock, that’s no joke.So Sir Archibald was very good about it,and sent us a quieter gentleman instead.’

But Nell had heard nothing of hermother’s discourse. She was kneelingdown by the portmanteau marked J. S. P.,and examining it all over.

‘What do you see there, my lass?’ saidMrs Llewellyn. ‘What’s the matter withit? Anything gone wrong?’

[Pg 159]

‘No, mother, nothing—nothing,’ repliedthe girl, as she rose to her feetagain.

She was wondering what there was inthe stranger’s portmanteau that seemedso familiar to her—where she couldhave seen it before—for what name theinitials J. S. P. stood? The intermediateletter prevented her grasping the truth atonce. She had never associated it withthe other two. But something about theluggage seemed to bring an old memorywith it, and made her feel uneasy. Couldit possibly belong to someone whom shehad met in Grosvenor Square? or atThistlemere?—anyone who might recogniseher as having been in Lord Ilfracombe’shousehold? The thought madeher turn cold with apprehension.

‘Both these bundles of shawls can’tbelong to one gentleman, Nell,’ said hermother presently. ‘Come and take oneinto the other room. Ay, but that’s abeauty. And what a pretty plaid, too—greenand orange and blue. Wouldn’t I[Pg 160]like just such another to keep my feetwarm when father drives me to market atNewport. Carry it carefully, lass. Don’tlet the straps get loose, or maybe thegentleman will be annoyed.’

But Nell had already let the plaid ofgreen and orange and blue fall to theground. She recognised it now; she recognisedthe initials also. They both belongedto Mr John Portland. Thethought made her head whirl. She satdown on the floor to recover herself.

‘Eh, Nell, my lass, but you’re faint,’cried her mother. ‘Don’t sit on the bed,child, for mercy’s sake. You’ll ruin the lookof the sheets; but get into the parlour asquick as you can. Why, what ails you?You were looking ever so well this morning.’

‘Yes, mother, and I’m all right now,’said Nell, as she made an effort to raiseherself. ‘The day’s warm, you know, andI’m only a little tired. I’ll be better whenI’ve had my dinner. I don’t think there’sanything more to be done to the roomsnow, so I’ll go and look after my own,’[Pg 161]and so she escaped to the shelter of herbedroom. But when she had time toconsider the scare she had received, shewas ready to call herself a fool for havingbeen frightened so easily.

‘The initials are certainly his,’ shethought, ‘and I’m almost sure he had aplaid something like that one; but, afterall, I cannot be certain, and the initialsJ. P. might fit half a hundred names—JohnPlatt, or James Philpott, or JosephPlowden. It is silly of me to makesure they belong to Mr Portland until Ihave better proof. What should he bedoing here in Usk? I never heard himmention the place, nor the name of SirArchibald. I saw so much of him, theywould have been sure to crop up sometime or other. Oh, I have been frighteningmyself with a bogey. I am sure Ihave. How weak my nerves must havebecome. I was never like this in the olddays,’ and Nell heaved a deep sigh as shespoke. Still, as the day drew to a close,and the owners of the portmanteaus[Pg 162]might be expected to arrive at anymoment to dress for dinner, she grewso nervous she could not stay in thehouse. The first person she encounteredoutside it was Hugh Owen, come to seeif she would go for a country walk withhim.

‘No,’ said Nell decidedly; ‘I can’t walkto-night. Mother wants me, and I havework to do indoors.’

‘Have you heard that all the company’sarrived at the Hall?’ demandedHugh; ‘six carriages full, the gardenertold me, and as many more expectedto-morrow.’

‘Of course I know it,’ replied the girlpetulantly; ‘we’ve two of them comingto sleep at the farm to-night. Do youknow who they are?’

‘No, I heard no names, except thoseof Sir Archibald and Lady Bowmant.What is it that is keeping you indoors,Nell?’ asked Hugh.

‘Nothing that concerns you,’ sheanswered.

[Pg 163]

He looked surprised at her manner,but did not notice it openly.

‘I thought, if it wouldn’t take you long,you might come out a little later. A walkwould do you good. You are lookingvery pale.’

‘No, I shall not go out this evening,’she replied. ‘I’m tired, and want to bequiet and by myself.’

‘That means I’m to go then, dear,’he said wistfully.

‘That’s as you please, Hugh. Mother’sindoors, and always glad to see you, youknow that without my telling you, butI’m too busy to have any more time tospare. Good-night.’

She held out her hand to him in tokenof farewell, and he was fain to acceptit and take his leave of her. But, intuitively,he felt more upset than theoccasion demanded. He walked onfurther towards a neighbouring village,and did not return till an hour later.Then he distinguished in the gloaminga white dress cross the road, and go[Pg 164]towards the Hall by way of the fields.Hugh felt sure that the dress belongedto Nell, and yet she had told him sheshould not leave the farm that night.And what should she want up at theHall, too, just as the family had returnedto it, when she never went near MrsHody for weeks together when the housewas empty. Hugh puzzled over thisenigma for a long time without comingto a satisfactory solution, but he turnedinto Panty-cuckoo Farm just to see ifhis suspicion was correct. MeanwhileNell was creeping up to the Hall by aback way to gain an audience of oldMrs Hody while the family was atdinner. She felt she must know thebest, or the worst, before she slept thatnight.

‘Mrs Hody,’ she said, as she burstin upon that worthy, making a comfortabletea off all the tit-bits that camedown from her master’s table, ‘mothersent me up to ask you if the gentlemenwill take tea or coffee in the morning.’

[Pg 165]

‘Lor’! my dear, neither I should say.What will they want with troublingyour mother about such things. Ifthey’ve been used to it, her ladyshipwill order me to send it down for themfrom the Hall. I wonder whatever putsuch an idea into her head.’

‘Oh, she thought it best to makesure,’ replied the girl, ‘and please, whatare their names?’

‘The gentlemen’s names? Why, oneis the Honourable Mr Lennox, and theother is a Mr Portland.’

‘Portland?’ exclaimed Nell. ‘Are yousure? Portland?’

‘Yes, my girl, I’m quite sure. MrJohn Portland, though I’ve never seenhim at the Hall before. He comes fromLondon, I believe. Sir Archibald’s alwayspicking up strangers, and bringing themhere to eat their heads off at his expense.Well, some folks have queernotions of pleasure. Haven’t they? Oh,you’re off. Well, give my respects toyour mother, and tell her to mind and[Pg 166]keep all her spare cream and chickensfor the Hall, for I’ll want everything shecan send me.’

‘Yes, yes, I will tell her,’ replied Nell,in a muffled voice, as she turned awayrepeating in her inmost heart,—‘What shallI do? What shall I do?’

As she walked into the farm parlour,she encountered Hugh Owen, who lookedat her through and through.

‘Well my lass,’ began Mrs Llewellyn,‘here’s Hugh waiting for you, you see,so I’m glad you’re come. He’s beenmain patient, sitting here for the bestpart of an hour.’

‘Well, good-night,’ said Nell, makingfor the door that led to her chamber.

‘Why, won’t you stop and talk tohim a bit now you have come?’ remonstratedher mother.

‘I have already told Hugh that Ihave no time for talking to him to-night,’replied Nell, without arresting her footsteps.

‘And you told me, also, that you were[Pg 167]not going to leave the farm to-night,Nell,’ said the young man, with the leastbit of reproach in his tone.

She turned round on him with unnecessaryfierceness.

‘And what is it to you if I do ornot? Are you my keeper? Am Iobliged to account to you for my actions?My father and mother are the only peoplewho have any right to find fault withme, or to regulate my goings-out orcomings-in, and I do not hold myself responsibleto anyone else. You are takingtoo much upon yourself, Hugh. For thefuture, I shall refuse to tell you anything.’

And she flew upstairs, leaving both hermother and Hugh Owen in a state ofconsternation at such an unusual exhibitionof temper on her part.

Christmas was over; the Countess Dowagerand the Ladies Devenish had taken theirdeparture from Thistlemere; the weatherwas inclement, and a great deal of timehad to be spent indoors; which madeNora often wish that she and her husbandwere alone. One day she expressed somethingof the kind to him. She said,—

‘I thought people usually kept theircountry seats for the purposes of retirement,but we have never been alone sincewe came here.’

Ilfracombe laughed.

‘Why, my darling, what do you callus at the present moment? We couldn’twell be much more alone.’

‘Mr Portland is here,’ replied thecountess.

[Pg 169]

‘Old Jack! You don’t call him anybody,surely? He’s as much at home atThistlemere as we are. I wish he wouldlive here altogether. I don’t know whatI shall do when he does go. I shall belost without my old chum to smoke withand talk to.’

‘I don’t think you need anticipate anysuch calamity,’ said Nora, with somethingof her old, sharp manner. ‘Mr Portlanddoes not appear to have the slightestintention of moving.’

‘He was thinking of it, though. Hehad a letter yesterday, which he saidobliged him to return to town, but Ipersuaded him to write instead. It wouldbe awfully dull for me if he went away, justat this time when there is nothing going on.’

‘Complimentary to me,’ retorted theyoung countess, with a shrug.

‘Now, my darling, you know what Imean. You are all the world to me—apart of myself—but you can’t sit up tillthe small hours playing billiards and smokingcigars with me.’

[Pg 170]

‘No. I draw the line at cigars,Ilfracombe.’

‘And then, how many rainy and dirtydays there are, when you only feel inclinedto sit over the fire and toast yourpretty little feet. What would becomeof me then, if Jack were not here togo potting rabbits, or turning the ratsout of the barns with the terriers. Thecountry is so frightfully dull at this time ofyear, you would be bored to death withonly me to talk to.’

‘Do you think so, Ilfracombe?’

‘I feel sure of it, and how should wepass the evenings without our whist?Babbage is the only man within hail ofus who thinks it worth his while to comeover for a game; so if Jack were notgood enough to exile himself for the pleasureof our company, we should beobliged to import someone else, who wouldprobably not play half so well.’

Lord and Lady Ilfracombe were ridingtogether at the time of this conversation,walking their horses slowly round the lanes[Pg 171]about Thistlemere, for Nora was not anexperienced horsewoman. She had had noopportunity of either riding or driving inMalta, and her husband was employinghis leisure by teaching her something ofboth arts. She was a pupil to be proudof; plucky in the extreme, and only alittle reckless and disposed to imagineshe could do it all at once, which keptthe earl on constant tenter-hooks abouther. As he finished speaking to her now,she exclaimed rather impatiently,—

‘Oh, very well, let us say no moreabout it,’ and struck the spirited littlemare she was riding sharply across theneck with her whip.

The animal started and set off suddenlyat a hard gallop, nearly unseating herrider by the rapidity of her action. Theearl followed, in an access of alarm untilhe saw that the mare had settled downinto a moderate canter again.

‘Nora, my darling!’ he exclaimed, ashe came up with her, ‘you mustn’t dothat. Leila won’t stand it. She will throw[Pg 172]you some day to a dead certainty. Yougave me a pretty fright, I can tell you.What should I do if you were thrown.’

‘Pick me up again, I hope,’ repliedthe countess, laughing, as if it were anexcellent joke.

‘Yes, but with a broken limb perhaps,and fancy what my remorse would be ifthat happened. I should never forgivemyself for having mounted you on thebeast. But she really is a good-temperedthing if you know how to take her.’

‘Just like her mistress,’ said Nora, smiling.‘But, seriously, Ilfracombe, I will bemore careful. I don’t want to break myleg before I am presented at Court.’

‘Nor after it, I hope, my darling. Butwalk Leila now, there’s a good child,and let her simmer down a little. You’vemade me feel just as I do when I thinkI’ve missed the odd trick.’

‘I believe you are fonder of playingcards than anything, Ilfracombe,’ said Noraslowly.

‘I am—except you. But they are so[Pg 173]jolly—there’s so much excitement aboutcards. They keep a man alive.’

‘But, Ilfracombe, why need we alwaysplay for such high stakes? Do you knowI lost thirty pounds at “Sandown” yesterdayevening?’

‘Did you, dearest? Are you cleanedout? I will let you have some more assoon as we reach home.’

‘No, it is not that. It would not signifyonce in a way perhaps, but it is the samething every night. It seems an awfulwaste of money.’

‘Not if you enjoy it, dear. We mustpay for our whistle, you know. Cardswould be no fun without the stakes. Andsomebody must lose.’

‘Yes, and somebody must win. Only,as it happens, it is always the same somebody,which doesn’t seem fair.’

‘Nora, what do you mean?’

‘Just what I say, Ilfracombe. I lose everynight; so do you; so does Lord Babbage;and the only person who wins is Mr Portland.All the money seems to go into his pocket.’

[Pg 174]

‘Oh, Nora, my darling, this is notfair of you. You are prejudiced againstmy old chum—I have seen that from thebeginning—but to say that dear old Jackwins all the stakes, night after night, isas good as saying—oh, I am sure youcannot mean it—you cannot think of themeaning of what you say.’

‘My dear Ilfracombe, there is no meaningabout it. I am only speaking theplain truth. I’ve seen it for a long time.Doubtless, Mr Portland is the best playerof the four, and that is the reason, butit has struck me as rather remarkable.And it seems so strange, too, that friendsshould want, or like to pocket each other’smoney. Why can’t we play for the loveof the game? It would be quite as interesting,surely.’

‘No, no, child, it wouldn’t. Whoeverheard of such a thing as grown mensitting down seriously to play for love?’cried the earl merrily; ‘that’s onlyschoolgirl’s games. And I wonder tohear you, Nora, who are such a little[Pg 175]woman of the world, suggesting such athing. I should have thought you likedstaking your money as well as anyone.’

‘Perhaps it is because I am awoman of the world that I don’tlike to see my husband’s money wasted.No income, however large, can standsuch a strain long. Besides, I know it isnot only cards on which you bet withMr Portland. You go to races withhim, and lose a lot of money there. MrCastelton told me so!’

‘It is not true, Nora, and Casteltonhad better mind his own business. Everybodymust lose occasionally; but I alwaysfollow Jack’s lead, and he’s as safe asthe church clock. And, after all, mydear girl, I’d as soon the tin went intoold Jack’s pocket as my own. He’sawfully hard up sometimes, and if onecan’t share some of one’s good thingswith one’s best friend, I don’t know what’sthe use of them.’

‘Well, leave a little for me,’ criedNora gaily, and her husband’s answer[Pg 176]should have at least satisfied her thatshe would always be his first care. Butshe was not satisfied with regard to thenightly games of cards. She watchedthe players more closely after this conversationthan before, and decided withinherself that she had been correct, andJack Portland was by far the heaviestand most frequent winner. One day, whenthey were alone together, she could nothelp congratulating him, in a sarcasticmanner, on his continual run of goodluck. He guessed at her meaning in aminute.

‘Do you mean to infer that I cheat?’he asked her abruptly.

Then Nora felt a little ashamed ofherself and did not know what to reply.

‘Oh, no, of course not. How couldyou think of such a thing? Only it isevident that you are a far better playerthan Lord Babbage or Ilfracombe, and,to my mind, the odds are very muchagainst them. As for poor me, youhave ruined me already. I have lost all[Pg 177]my pin-money for the next threemonths.’

‘Nonsense!’ he said rudely (Mr Portlandcould be exceedingly rude to herwhen they were alone), ‘you know youcan get as much money out of Ilfracombeas you can possibly want. The man isinfatuated with you. More fool he. Buthe’ll find out how much your love isworth some day.’

‘Perhaps you intend to enlighten him?’said her ladyship.

She could not resist letting fly her littleshafts at him, whatever the consequencesmight be.

‘Perhaps I do, if you egg me on toit,’ was Mr Portland’s reply. ‘But, seriously,my lady, don’t you attempt to come betweenhis lordship and myself, or youmay rue the day you did it. I am avaurien—adventurer—swindler—what youlike. I’m not afraid of you or your tongue,because I hold the trump card and shouldhave no hesitation in playing it. But myincome, though tolerably expansive, is a[Pg 178]fluctuating one, and I am compelled toeke it out as best I can. I amuse myfriends, and I live chiefly at their expense.Lord Ilfracombe is, luckily forme, one of my best and greatest of chums,so I cling to him like a double-sweetpea. Until you came in the way therehas never been a suspicion cast on thehonour of my intentions—the disinterestednessof my friendship. See that youdon’t do it, that’s all.’

‘And what if I did?’ asked Nora,defiantly, with her head well up in the air.

Mr Portland moved a few steps closer to her.

‘I would deliver those letters of yoursinto Ilfracombe’s hands within the hour,’he said, between his teeth.

Nora quailed before his glance, but hervoice was steady as she replied,—

‘You would not. You dare not. Youwould ruin yourself for ever, and be pointedat in Society as a scoundrel and a black-mailer.’

‘Never mind what the world would sayof me. Think only of what it would sayof you.’

[Pg 179]

‘It could not say anything,’ she retorted,with the boldness of despair; ‘therewould be nothing for it to say. Thereis no harm in those letters. I shouldnot mind if my husband read themto-morrow.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ said Jack Portland, withopen eyes. ‘Then I’ll show them to himbefore he is twelve hours older.’

‘No, no,’ said Nora quickly, ‘youwould not do so mean an act, surely.You must have some instincts of a gentlemanleft in you. Remember under whatcirc*mstances they were written, and thatI thought at the time I loved you.’

‘I suppose you did,’ replied Mr Portland;‘but they are delicious reading all thesame. I read passages from them onceto a select party of my men friends,and they said they would never haveguessed they were the productions of ayoung lady. They voted they would havebeen warm even from a barmaid.’

‘You did not! You cannot have beensuch a blackguard!’ exclaimed Lady Ilfracombe[Pg 180]so shrilly, that he laid his handupon her arms to caution her she mightbe overheard. ‘You have promised togive me those letters back, over andover again, and you have not kept yourword. I will wait no longer, but havethem at once. I insist upon it. Doyou hear me? I will stand this treatmentfrom you no longer.’

‘Oh, I hear, fast enough, and I’mvery much afraid that everybody else inthe house, including Lord Ilfracombe, willhear also, if your ladyship is not a littlemore guarded.’

‘But you promised—you promised,’she continued vehemently, ‘and now youthreaten to break your promise. Youare no gentleman, Mr Portland. Thelowest man on earth would degrade himselfby such vile conduct.’

‘I daresay,’ he answered coolly; ‘perhapshe would. But your behaviour isenough to make a saint forget his naturalinstincts. You remind me that I promisedto return your letters. I know I did,[Pg 181]and if you had treated me decently sincecoming here, I might have kept mypromise. But I won’t give them to younow. I will only sell them.’

‘What can you possibly mean?’ exclaimedthe countess. ‘Am I to buy backmy own letters? Well, I will. Whatprice do you ask for them?’

She was standing in the oriel window ofthe drawing-room, most becomingly dressedin a gown of brown velvet, that seemed tomatch her eyes and set off the pearly whitenessof her skin, and as she put the abovequestion she curled her upper lip and threwsuch an air of disdain into her expressionthat she looked more charming than usual.

‘Don’t look like that,’ said Portland,coming nearer to her, ‘or you will aggravateme to kiss you.’

The indignant blood rushed in a floodof crimson to Nora’s face and forehead,until it nearly forced tears from her eyes.

‘How dare you! How dare you!’ shepanted, as she retreated as far as shecould from him.

[Pg 182]

‘How dare I?’ he repeated. ‘Thatwasn’t the way your ladyship used toreceive the same proposition when wesat together under the shade of theorange-trees in Malta a couple of yearsago. Was it now?’

‘I do not know. I cannot remember.I only know that your presence now ishateful to me. What sum do yourequire for those letters? If it was halfour fortune I would give it you, soonerthan be subjected to further insult. Tellme how much at once. I will sell allmy jewels if I cannot raise the moneyotherwise!’

‘No, no, I’m not going to press youquite so hard as all that, Nora. Idon’t want your jewels, my dear,’ repliedJack Portland, with offensive familiarity.‘My price is—your silence.’

‘Silence about what? Do you imagineI am likely to talk about a matterwhich I would expunge with my lifebloodif I could.’

‘You mistake me. By your silence, I[Pg 183]mean that you must no longer interfere,as you seem inclined to do, betweenyour husband and myself. You mustnot try to separate us in any way;not in our friendship, nor our pursuits,nor our sports; we like to play cardstogether—’

‘You like, you mean,’ she interposedsarcastically.

‘Plait-il,’ acquiesced Jack Portland,with an expressive shrug; ‘at anyrate,we have been used to play cards andattend races and generally enjoy ourselvesas bons camarades, and your ladyshipwill be good enough not to attemptto put an end to these things, not toremark in that delicately sarcastic wayof yours that it is always your humbleservant who appears to win. Do Imake myself perfectly understood?’

‘Perfectly,’ said Nora, ‘and if I consentto this, what then?’

‘Why, that packet of charming letters—twenty-fivein all, if I remember rightly—whichhave afforded me so much consolation[Pg 184]under our cruel separation, andwhich would prove, I feel sure, such veryinteresting reading for Lord Ilfracombe,shall remain in my custody, safe fromall prying eyes except mine.’

‘But you promised to return them tome,’ argued Nora, and then with thegreatness of the stake at issue beforeher eyes, and forgetting everything butthat she was at the mercy of the manbefore her, the unhappy girl condescendedto entreaty. ‘Oh, Mr Portland—Jack,’ shestammered, ‘for God’s sake—for the sakeof the past, give me back those letters.’

‘How nice it is to hear you call me“Jack,”’ said Mr Portland, gazing boldlyat her. ‘It almost reconciles me to thegreat loss I experienced in you. Whenyou call me “Jack” I feel as if I couldrefuse you nothing.’

‘Then will you give them to me?’

‘Certainly, ma chère, haven’t I saidso a dozen times? Only you mustpositively wait until I return to town.You women are so terribly unreasonable.[Pg 185]And you, for your part, promise neverto interfere between my old friendIlfracombe and myself, and sometimes,to call me “Jack” for the sake of thepast.’

Lady Ilfracombe was shivering now asif she had received a cold-water douche.She realised what being in the powerof this man meant—that he would tortureher, as a cat tortures a mouse, until hehad bent her in every way to do hiswill.

‘I promise,’ she said in a low voice;‘but if you gentlemen will play for suchhigh stakes, you must not expect me tojoin your game. You would ruin mein no time; as it is, I am regularly“cleaned out.”’

‘I would much rather you did not joinit,’ replied Mr Portland seriously. ‘Ladiesare seldom any good at whist, and Iwould rather play dummy any day. Isuppose Ilfracombe will take you toNewmarket and Epsom with him, butyou will understand nothing of the races,[Pg 186]so I make no objection to that. By theway, have you yet mentioned this matterof our playing high to him?

‘I told him I thought the stakes werehigh for a private game, but he contradictedme, and said it was no funplaying except for money.’

‘I should think not. However, don’tspeak to him of such a thing againplease. Besides, it is ridiculous. He hasan ample fortune, and can afford to doas he pleases. I can’t see myself whyyou sit in the card-room in the evenings,the drawing-room is the proper place fora lady.’

‘You would like to separate me frommy husband altogether, I daresay,’ criedNora heatedly.

‘By no manner of means. You quitemistake my meaning. Such a proceedingwould distress me beyond measure. ButI don’t intend to give up any of theprivileges which I enjoyed from Ilfracombe’sintimacy before his marriage foryou. Had he married anybody else, it[Pg 187]might have been different, but not foryou. It would be too bad to ask meto give up both my lady-love and myfriend at one stroke. You will acknowledgethe justice of that yourself, won’tyou?’

‘Don’t ask me, I don’t know anything,’replied the Countess, wearily, asshe moved away, ‘You have come intomy life again to make it miserable, andif you have no honour nor generosity thereis nothing left that I can see to appeal to.’And in her heart Nora added, ‘And ifI could stretch you dead at my feetthis moment, I would do it without asingle pang.’

She was more cautious in what shesaid to the earl, however, after that, andoccasionally he rallied her on having gotover her objection to too high play.Once when they were quite alone, sheventured to answer him.

‘No, Ilfracombe, I cannot say thatyou are right. You must have observedthat I seldom stay in the room now[Pg 188]when you are playing, I do not approveof such high stakes, but I do not liketo interfere with your enjoyment, or toappear to know better than yourself.But you won’t tell Mr Portland I saidso,’ she added in a wistful tone. LordIlfracombe looked surprised.

‘Tell Jack, my darling? Why, ofcourse not. All that passes betweenyou and me is sacred. I don’t thinkyou’ve been looking quite up to themark lately, Nora. I’m afraid you mustfind Thistlemere rather dull. I shall beglad when the time comes for us to goup to town. Then we’ll see some lifetogether, won’t we?’

And Nora smiled faintly, and answered‘Yes.’

The Derby was run that year in thelast week of May. The young Countessof Ilfracombe had already been presentedat Court under the auspices of hermother-in-law. She had attended morethan one Royal function since; she hadseen all that there was worth seeing intown, and she had entertained largelyat her own house in Grosvenor Square.She had been fairly launched on Societyin fact, and, unlike most heroines, it hadnot disappointed her. Everything wasnew and fresh to her; everything wasdelightful. This was what she had longedfor and dreamed of in far-off Malta,and her letters home were full of thepleasure she was experiencing and the[Pg 190]honours that were paid to her. Norafelt happier, too, and more at her easein the company of her mother-in-law andthe Ladies Devenish, and away fromthe close, every-day companionship ofMr Portland, who had at last returned tohis own chambers in the Albany. Shefluttered about from milliner to milliner,theatre to theatre, like a huge butterfly;all fashion, delicate tints, smiles and excitement.Ilfracombe, unlike his usualtaste, seemed delighted to be her cavalieron all occasions. The truth is, he wasthankful to get out of the house. Fondas he undoubtedly was of his wife, theatmosphere of Grosvenor Square depressedhim. He could not enter a single roomwithout being painfully reminded of NellLlewellyn and her devoted love for him.It had been a very real love betweenthese two. On her side the most unselfish,adoring, humble passion—on his,a very appreciative acknowledgment ofher single-eyed affection, mingled with agreat admiration of her beauty. His[Pg 191]love for her, however, had always beenmixed with a certain amount of shameand uncertainty, because he knew it wasimpossible it could go on for ever, andhe dreaded the moment when it wouldbecome imperative to tell her so. Nellhad ended it all for herself, however, andbut too abruptly, and now he could not sitin the rooms where they had for so longsat together, and which she had so confidentlyregarded as her own withoutfinding his thoughts very much drawnher way, even though his lawful wifewas by his side. He thought of thetime when Nell first came to his house,a tall, slender girl, with a complexion likea wild rose, and beautiful startled hazeleyes, moist with the dews of youth. Howfrightened she was when he first whisperedhis love into her ear—how passionatelyremorseful when he had ledher astray—how wonderfully gratefuland reverential when he told her sheshould thenceforth reign the mistress ofhis heart. He looked back over the[Pg 192]years she had managed his household forhim, and could not remember one instanceof her losing her temper with him—thatpassionate, indomitable temper, whichwas so quickly roused by others. Howoften he had wished, almost decidedto make her his wife, if only for thedevoted love she bore him, but had beenafraid on consideration of the sneersand disapproval of the world, and so haddismissed the idea from his mind. Andnow—well, of course, he would notchange his Nora for any woman. Shewas a glory to him, whilst poor Nellwould only have been a disgrace. Stillhe wished from the bottom of his heartthat she had been more reasonable, andgone home quietly to her friends, and,by-and-by, married some man in her ownstation of life, who would have consideredthe settlement he wished to make on hera little fortune. Lord Ilfracombe wondered,by the way, who were Nell’s friends,and where she came from. She hadnever mentioned her old home to him.[Pg 193]Did they know of her sad death, hewondered; or of the circ*mstances thatled to it? He thought not. She wasnot the sort of woman to betray theman she loved even in death. She wouldhave carried her secret with her to thegrave. It was done, and it could notbe undone, he would tell himself, butthe thought made the house verydistasteful to him. He became nervous,even timid. He did not care to enterhis private rooms at dusk, and wouldfancy he heard a sigh, or caught sightof a shadowy form flitting by him inthe gloaming. One day he called hiswife ‘Nell.’ It was a fearful mistake, andhis face grew crimson as he discoveredit; but Nora was wonderfully calm underthe little désagrément.

‘Was that Miss Llewellyn’s name,Ilfracombe?’ she asked archly.

‘Oh, my love, forgive me!’ criedthe earl. ‘What can I have been thinkingof? It was the mere force ofhabit. You know she was here with[Pg 194]me, and it is the first time I havebeen in the house since.’

‘Did you think I should be angry?’asked Nora, looking back at him overher shoulder. ‘Surely it is the mostnatural thing in the world that youshould think of the poor girl. Youwould be a brute if you didn’t; but don’tget melancholy over it, dear boy. Comeinto the Park with me, or let us godown the river together. I won’t leaveyou moping here by yourself.’

And it was such things that madeLord Ilfracombe say, and rightly, thathe had gained a wife in a thousand.He was anxious that she should accompanyhim to the Derby, for tworeasons—anxious that she should seethe biggest race of the year, which, ofcourse, she had never yet had an opportunityof doing; and anxious to let theracing world see what a charmingcountess he had secured. The DowagerLady Ilfracombe was very muchagainst the idea, and the Ladies Devenish[Pg 195]said it was decidedly vulgar and not atall comme il faut.

‘If Ilfracombe had taken you toAscot, or Goodwood, it would have beendifferent, but the Derby! Why, hardlyany ladies go there. There is alwayssuch a vulgar crowd, and, coming backby the road, you are bound to be insulted.’

‘Do you think so?’ said Nora. ‘Ishould like to see the man who woulddare to insult me in Ilfracombe’s presence.’

‘But you don’t know anything aboutit,’ replied Lady Blanche. ‘The roughswho frequent the Derby course make nodifference between an earl and anybodyelse. They don’t know one when theysee him, and the awful people you willsee on the race-course, gipsies—and nigg*rminstrels, and low creatures of allsorts.’

‘Have you ever been there yourself?’inquired Nora.

‘I should hope not, indeed. I would[Pg 196]not think of such a thing. It is no placefor ladies. I can’t imagine what Ilfracombecan be thinking of to let you go.’

‘Well, I suppose he knows betterthan either of us, Blanche, and it washis own proposal. We are going down—alarge party on our drag. Lady Moberlyand the duch*ess of Downshire are goingwith us, so I shall offend the proprietiesin good company.’

‘Oh, if the duch*ess is going with you,it makes a difference of course. No onehas ever said a word against the duch*ess,and she is at least fifty, so she will givea tone to the whole affair and be a sortof chaperon for you; for you see, Nora,though you are a countess, you are ratheryoung.’

‘I know that,’ retorted Nora; ‘butI’m getting the better of it every day.’

‘Well, you needn’t be flippant, my dear,’replied her sister-in-law with a sniff. ‘Rankhas its obligations, though you do notappear to think so. There might have[Pg 197]been some excuse for your not knowingit before your marriage, but there is nonenow.’

‘No, I suppose not. All the same I’mgoing to the Derby this year, if I nevergo again.’

And off ran Nora to join her husband.The Derby day was for her a completesuccess. She was dressed becomingly—wasin good health and spirits, and in thehumour to enjoy all she saw and heard.Lord Ilfracombe’s drag, with its team ofperfectly-matched chesnuts, was one ofthe handsomest in the Four-in-hand Club,and had always attracted particular attentionwhen he turned out for the annualPark display. Their party consisted ofthe duch*ess of Downshire, Lord and LadyMoberly, Miss Chetwynd, one of thatseason’s beauties, and several bachelors,amongst whom was Mr Jack Portland—theonly drawback to Nora’s enjoyment.But she was seated behind her husbandand the duch*ess, who occupied the box seat,and he was at the back of the[Pg 198]coach, so that during the journey theydid not exchange a word with one another.As soon as they arrived on the race-course,and the horses had been takenout of the shafts, the servants spreadtheir luncheon, and they began to have amerry time of it. Presently Jack Portland’svoice was heard exclaiming, as he lookedat someone through his field-glass,—

‘By George! if that isn’t Sir ArchibaldBowmant, my Usk friend, and his wife. Itold you, Ilfracombe, didn’t I, that I’mgoing to spend a few weeks with themnext month. They’re the best fellows inthe world. Awful fun! and don’t the oldboy know a card when he sees it.’

‘Friends of yours, Jack?’ said Ilfracombein his hospitable way. ‘Ask themto come here and lunch with us, old boy,if they’re not better engaged.’

‘Shall I? Have I your permission,Lady Ilfracombe?’ asked Mr Portland,looking at Nora.

‘Need you ask the question, Mr Portland,’she replied without glancing his[Pg 199]way. ‘If you have my husband’s leave,you have mine.’

‘Thanks,’ said Mr Portland as he descendedfrom the coach. ‘They may bewith another party; but I’ll just ask. I’msure you’ll like them. Lady Bowmant isjust your style.’

In a few minutes he returned with hisfriends, and introduced them to Lord andLady Ilfracombe. Sir Archibald was astout, florid, middle-aged man, with a jolly,good-tempered countenance, and weak,watery, blue eyes. His wife, to whom hehad not been married a twelvemonth, wasmany years his junior, perhaps not morethan five-and-twenty, and was as gooda specimen of a fast young woman whojust contrives not to step over the rubiconas could be found anywhere. She hadbeen a nobody, and her head was completelyturned by having become the wifeof a baronet. She was decidedly pretty,with a countrified style of beauty, andshe was fashionably but not well dressed.Her manner was effusive, and her voice[Pg 200]loud, but she was lively, sparkling andamusing. Lady Ilfracombe, though indisposedto accord her a hearty welcomejust because she had been introduced byJack Portland, could not help thawingunder her lively manner, and before longthey were all on the most excellentterms.

‘How good of you to ask us to luncheon,Lady Ilfracombe!’ exclaimed the new comer.‘I am sure I shall never forget it. I doso admire anything like cordiality. Youmeet with so little of it in this country.We Englishwomen are horribly stiff as arule, are we not? Sir Archibald and Iwere admiring your drag so much. Wewere on the course when you drove up,just making our way to the Grand Stand.It is quite a wonder we are here. Wenever meant to come, but I have neverseen the Derby run, and Sir Archibaldthought I should not go back to Waleswithout doing so. We drove down butput up at the hotel. Are we not ignoramuses?I was just despairing of pushing[Pg 201]our way through this crowd when Jackspied us out, and landed us, throughyour goodness, in this haven ofpeace.’

‘You have known Mr Portland a longtime then, I suppose?’ remarked Nora.

‘Why? Because I called him “Jack?”Oh, everyone calls him “Jack,” don’t they?He’s a regular lady’s man, is Mr Portland,and a great favourite with my husband.He is coming to stay with us inUsk next month.’

‘So he told us just now.’

‘Yes, I am quite looking forward to it.He is such a delightful companion in thecountry. Do you like the country, LadyIlfracombe? Are you fond of horses?’

‘I am very fond of horses,’ replied Nora,smiling; ‘but if your question means, Doyou ride well? I must tell you that I nevermounted a horse till after my marriage, andso I am still a learner.’

‘Oh, you’ll be proficient in no time!’exclaimed Lady Bowmant. ‘Isn’t it delightful?I adore riding and driving, and[Pg 202]everything connected with horses. Don’tI, Sir Archibald?’

‘You do, my dear,’ said the jolly baronet.‘That is, if adoring means riding them todeath, and driving over half my tenantry,’and he roared as if his wife’s feats of skillwere the funniest things in the world.

‘Now, don’t tell tales out of school, SirArchibald,’ cried the lady. ‘You knowwhen I hunted last season that therewasn’t a woman in the field who couldkeep anywhere near me. And didn’t Icarry off three brushes? And didn’t themaster of the fox-hounds say I was thepluckiest horsewoman he had ever seen?’

‘Oh, yes, Dolly; no one denies yourpluck, my dear. Only I wish you didn’tdrive your tandem over the children sooften. The pounds I had to pay last yearfor mending babies and recouping themothers passes belief.’

‘Don’t you believe him, Lady Ilfracombe,’said his wife with a saucy nod.‘The old man’s getting in his second dotageand doesn’t know half he says.’

[Pg 203]

At this fresh sally Sir Archibald roaredagain until he nearly choked himself overhis lobster salad and champagne.

The races were now beginning in goodearnest, but Nora did not take half so muchinterest in them as she did in the livelyconversation of her new acquaintance, whoout-talked the duch*ess and Lady Moberlyand all the other ladies put together.She was very keen on the racing though,and explained a great deal to Nora whichshe could not have understood without her.The gentlemen of the party had left thedrag as soon as the work of the day began,and found their way to the betting-ring.

‘Now, I hope my old man won’t poptoo much on Caliban!’ exclaimed LadyBowmant a little anxiously. ‘For it looksto me as if he had been a bit overtrained.I heard Jack recommending himto put a monkey on him; but thoughJack knows a thing or two I don’t alwaystake his advice in racing matters. I expectit* six for himself and half-a-dozenfor his friends like most of them, eh?’

[Pg 204]

‘I know so little of these things,’ repliedLady Ilfracombe. ‘Is the Derbya great race for betting on?’

The other turned and looked at herwith surprise.

‘Is the Derby a race for betting on?’she repeated. ‘My dear Lady Ilfracombe,men lose fortunes over it. They’remad, I tell them, perfectly mad. No onelikes spending money more than I do;but to throw it away by the thousand!Why, it spells ruin for the majority, that’s all.’

‘I hope Ilfracombe will not be reckless,’said Nora anxiously. ‘I sometimes thinkhe is a little disposed to be so over cardsand those sorts of games.’

‘If he’s with Jack Portland, he’s boundto “go the pace,”’ returned Lady Bowmant,laughing. ‘Upon my word, Isometimes think that man’s mad. Haveyou ever seen him at baccarat, LadyIlfracombe?’

‘Who? What?’ said Nora, who wasvainly trying to follow her husband’smovements. ‘Mr Portland? No.’

[Pg 205]

‘It’s a caution,’ said her companion.‘I’ve had to positively drag Sir Archibaldaway from him sometimes, for fear heshould get up from the table without ahalfpenny. But it’s a lovely game. Somuch excitement. We are at it at UskHall sometimes till four in the morning.We are terrible gamblers up there.’

‘See!’ cried the duch*ess, standing upin the drag; ‘they’re off!’

After which they spent a couple ofvery fatiguing hours watching the variousraces, and jotting down the first, secondand third winners on their cards, duringwhich time the men did not come nearthem, so occupied were they by thebusiness of the betting-ring and theexcitement provided for them there.When it was at last all over, and theirparty returned to the drag, Nora observedthat Ilfracombe was looking veryflushed, and talking very fast, a sufficientlyunusual circ*mstance with him toattract her notice. Mr Portland, on thecontrary, seemed to take things much more[Pg 206]coolly; whilst the baronet had lost someof his hilariousness, and Lord Moberlywas congratulating himself that he hadnot been persuaded to back the favourite.

‘Well, and how have you all fared?’cried the duch*ess gaily, as they camewithin hailing distance.

‘Sir Archibald, I feel certain you havebeen making a fool of yourself!’ exclaimedhis wife. ‘I can see it in the set ofyour tie. Very well. Back you go toUsk to-morrow, and you’ll have to putup with mutton and potatoes till we’verecouped ourselves. Now, what have youlost? Out with it!’

‘Nonsense, Dolly, nonsense,’ repliedthe baronet, as he tried to evade herscrutiny. ‘A mere trifle, I assure you;not worth thinking about. When did youever know me make a fool of myself overraces?’

‘Scores of times,’ replied her ladyshipdecidedly, as she whispered in his ear.

Nora did not ask any questions, normake any remarks, but she gazed at her[Pg 207]husband in a wistful way as if she wouldread from his features whether he hadbeen lucky or otherwise. Ilfracombe didnot voluntarily look her way; but after awhile he felt the magnetism of her glance,and raised his eyes to hers. The silentanxiety he read in them seemed to annoyhim. He frowned slightly, and affectingunusual hilarity, climbed to his seat andseized the reins.

‘Now for a good scamper back totown!’ he exclaimed. ‘We must not letthe riff-raff get ahead of us, or we shallbe smothered in dust. Are you tired,darling?’ he continued over his shoulderto his wife; ‘or would you like to go tothe Oaks on Friday? What do youthink of our national race-course and ournational game?’

‘I have been very much amused. Iliked it very much,’ answered Nora in aconventional manner; but the tone of hervoice did not convey much satisfaction.But as Ilfracombe and she were dressingfor a big dinner-party, to which they were[Pg 208]engaged that evening, she crept to his sideand asked him shyly,—

‘Did you lose much to-day, Ilfracombe?I am sure you lost, or youwould have told me the amount of yourwinnings. But was it very much?’

‘I was pretty hard hit over “The Cardinal,”’he answered; ‘but nothing to howlover.’

‘Why did you take Mr Portland’sadvice?’ she said. ‘He always makesyou lose.’

‘Not at all,’ replied her husband;‘Jack is the best adviser I have. Everyonemust lose at times. It’s absurd tosuppose you can always win.’

‘Then why doesn’t he lose also?’ saidNora boldly. ‘Why doesn’t he give youthe same advice he follows himself?’

‘My darling child, you know nothingof such matters, and I don’t want you todo so. They concern men only. Andlook here, Nora—I don’t want to sayanything unkind; but I would rather youdid not interfere with my winnings or my[Pg 209]losings. They are essentially my ownaffair. Trust me to take care of myself.And now, if you are ready, we had bettergo.’

After which Nora was sharp enough tosee that she would only make a badmatter worse by attempting to set Ilfracombeagainst Jack Portland, and thather only plan was to watch and wait,until the time came when she might beable to influence her husband openly.

He loved her, but he was too easilyled by a stronger mind than his own,and he was too loyal to believe that hisintimate friend, who shared all his goodthings at his pleasure, could plot toaggrandise himself at his expense.

She had brought it on herself, Norasaid inwardly, and she must bear thepenalty as best she might.

A few days after the Derby, SirArchibald and Lady Bowmant called uponher, and she returned their visit. Shethought Lady Bowmant very clever andamusing, but she little dreamt the acquaintanceship[Pg 210]would lead to a close andsudden intimacy. She was astonished,therefore, one morning, by her husbandtelling her that he had met the baronetat his club the night before, and that hehad extended a most cordial invitation forthem to go down to Usk Hall during thetime that Jack Portland was to be there.

‘To Usk Hall?’ said Nora, with surprise.‘But, Ilfracombe, we do not knowthe Bowmants sufficiently well to go andstay with them. I have only seen herthree times in all.’

‘What does that signify?’ replied herhusband. ‘They’re awfully jolly people;you said so yourself, and Jack says theykeep it up royally at Usk Hall. ThePrince of Huhm-Hessetal is to be there,and no end of nice people. You’ll receivea proper invitation from Lady Bowmantto-morrow or next day, and I see noreason why we should not accept it.’

‘I thought you had agreed to join yourmother’s party at Wiesbaden,’ said thecountess dubiously.

[Pg 211]

‘Oh, hang my mother’s party!’ exclaimedIlfracombe irritably. ‘A lot of old fogiestogether. What fun should we get out ofthat? I only said something about seeingher there, just to quiet her. I never meantto go. Besides, we can go abroad afterwardsif you wish it. But neither of ushave ever seen Wales—a most beautifulcountry, and the Bowmants’ is just thesort of house to suit us. Lots of horsesfor you to ride and drive, and salmon fishingfor me; and—well, all I can say is,that I wish to go.’

‘Of course, then, we shall go,’ repliedhis wife quietly.

But, when the invitation actually arrived,she made one more appeal to the earlto keep her out of the way of Jack Portland.

‘Ilfracombe,’ she said, going to seekhim, with the letter from Lady Bowmantin her hand, ‘have you quite made up yourmind? Am I really to tell these peoplethat we will go to Usk Hall and stay withthem?’

[Pg 212]

‘Of course. Why not? Haven’t wedecided to accept the invitation?’ he demanded.

‘You have, I know, but I feel sure itwill prove a disappointment to both of us.You will call me silly, but I have such apresentiment that this visit will end insome terrible trouble for us. Is it onlyfancy, do you think,’ added Nora, withunusual softness in her voice and manner,‘or may it not be a warning for us notto go?’

‘A warning! Rubbish!’ exclaimed theearl, as he kissed her troubled eyes. ‘Now,my darling, you shall go if only to provewhat a little goose you are. A warning!I know what you’re thinking of. You’reafraid I shall succumb to the charms ofthe fascinating Lady Bowmant. Well, sheis a flirt, there is no doubt of that, andshe is setting her cap at me rather hard;but don’t be afraid, little woman. Yourhusband is not such a fool as he looks,and he means you to go with him toUsk Hall.’

So Lady Ilfracombe gave in with a goodgrace, and the note of invitation was dulyanswered and accepted. It was a proofof Nora’s growing interest in the earl,that she had quite left off trying to wieldher power over him in little things. Itwas not in her nature ever to sink downinto a very submissive wife—a meaninglessecho of her husband, water to his wine;but she was learning to yield her ownwishes gracefully in deference to his, andin this instance, as we know, she was toomuch afraid of Jack Portland to press thepoint. He had told her plainly that if sheinterfered between him and Lord Ilfracombe,she would do it at her cost, andfrom what she had heard of the ménage at[Pg 214]Usk Hall, both from its owners and himself,she felt pretty sure their invitationhad been sent at Mr Portland’s instigation,and that he had a purpose in having itsent. He was not satisfied with havingfleeced her husband all through the winter,he would drain his pockets still further atthe Bowmants; in fact, she had no doubtnow that he looked to the earl as the chiefmeans of his subsistence. And till she hadfound some way of outwitting him—untilshe had that packet of letters, the contentsof which she so much dreaded her husbandseeing, in her own hands, Nora said toherself, with a sigh, that she must endureMr Portland’s insolence and chicanery.They had only been asked to the Hallfor a week or two, and they intended tolimit their visit to a week. If she couldonly have foreseen what that week wouldbring forth. It was a notable fact thatJack Portland had never tried to rousethe countess’s anger or jealousy by anallusion to Nell Llewellyn and her formerinfluence over the earl. Indeed, he had[Pg 215]not even mentioned her name before Nora.The reason of this was, not because herespected her wifehood or herself, but becausethe remembrance of Nell was asore one with him. He had never caredthe least bit for Miss Abinger. He hadthought her a very jolly sort of girl, withplenty of ‘go’ in her—a great flirt—veryfast—very smart, and slightly vergingon the improper. She was a great sourceof amusem*nt to him whilst he stayed inMalta, and he had encouraged her in allsorts of ‘larks,’ chiefly for the fun of seeinghow far she would go. When theirconduct had commenced to give rise toscandal in Valetta, and his sister, MrsLoveless, had spoken very gravely to himon the subject, he had sought to makethe amende honourable by proposing forthe young lady’s hand. But Sir RichardAbinger had rejected his suit with scorn.He—an impecunious adventurer, who livedfrom hand to mouth, and had no settledemployment, presume to propose to marryhis daughter Nora, and drag her down[Pg 216]with himself—he had never heard of sucha piece of impudence in his life before.So Mr Jack Portland, having done thecorrect thing (as the lady said when shewent to church on Sunday and found therewas to be no service), made haste out ofMalta again, and the place knew him nomore. The rest of the story has beentold. Both of them had only been playingat love, and neither of them was hurt.Had it not been for those unfortunatelybold and unmaidenly letters which remainedin Mr Portland’s possession, Nora wouldlong ago have forgotten all about thematter.

But there had been something in NellLlewellyn, fallen woman though she was,that had made a much deeper impressionon the heart of Mr Portland, if, indeed, hepossessed such an article. He had notproposed to marry her—it was not muchin his way to consider marriage a necessaryaccompaniment to respectability; but, hadNell made marriage a condition of theirunion, he would have yielded to her wishes[Pg 217]sooner or later. There was somethingabout her grand devotion to Ilfracombethat attracted his worldly nature, that wasused to associate with the most mercenaryof her sex; and when she blazed out athim in her passionately indignant manner,repudiating with scorn the idea of hisadvances, he admired her still more. Hethought Ilfracombe a fool to have givenup the one woman for the other, but hewould have been the last man to have toldhim so. He was not going to kill thegoose that laid the golden eggs. And avery disagreeable feeling had been engenderedin him by the knowledge of Nell’ssupposed fate. He did not want to mentionher name, nor to think of her afterthat. It was a painful reminiscence whichhe did his best to drown in the distractionsof cards and wine. Things were injust this condition when they all journeyedup to Usk together, and Mr Portland’sportmanteau and plaids were carried overto the rooms at Panty-cuckoo Farm. Nellwas like a wild creature after she had[Pg 218]discovered for certain who their ownerwas. To meet Mr Portland, of all menin the world, would seal her fate. Wherecould she fly in order to hide herself fromhim? what do to avoid the contact of hispresence? She dared not leave the housefor fear of meeting him; she was afraideven to leave her own room lest he shouldhave taken it into his head to explorethe dairy or bakehouse. Her mother didnot know what had come to her. Shegrew quite cross at last, and thought itmust be the arrival of the grand folks atthe Hall that had made her daughter soflighty and useless and forgetful.

‘Just as I want all the help you cangive me,’ she grumbled, ‘and it’s littleenough use you are to me at the best oftimes, you get one of your lardy-dardy,high-flier fits on, and go shivering andshaking about the house, as if you expectedto meet a ghost in the passageor the cellar. Now, what made you runaway in that flighty fashion just now,when you were in the middle of doing[Pg 219]the lodgers’ rooms? I went in expectingto find them finished, and there werehalf the things upset and you nowhere.’

‘I thought I heard one of the gentlemencoming across the grass, and so Ileft the room till he should be goneagain.’

‘But why, my lass? They won’t eatyou. They’re both as nice-spoken gentlemenas ever I see. And you must havemet plenty of gentlefolk up in Londontown. It isn’t as if you were a country-bredgirl, and too frightened to openyour mouth. However, if you don’t liketo take charge of the rooms, I’ll do itmyself. But why won’t you go out abit instead? Here’s Hugh been overevery evening, and you won’t stir forhim. I hope you are not carrying onwith Hugh for a bit of fun, Nell, forhe’s a good lad as ever stepped, and aminister into the bargain, and it wouldbe most unbecoming in you. You mustgo for a walk with him this evening,like a good lass.’

[Pg 220]

‘Not if I don’t feel inclined,’ repliedNell haughtily. ‘Hugh Owen has noright to look aggrieved if I fancy walkingby myself. Men think a deal toomuch of themselves in my opinion.’

‘Ah, well, my lass, you must haveyour own way; but I hope you won’tplay fast and loose with Hugh Owen,for you’ll never get a husband at thisrate. I said, when you first came home,that I’d look higher than him for you,but you’re not the girl you were then.You’ve lost more than a bit of yourbeauty, Nell, since you had the fever,and it’s ten to one if it will ever comeback again. And now that father is sodown about the farm rent being raised,and talks in that pitiful way about leavingthe country, or going to theworkhouse, I think you might go fartherand fare worse, than Hugh Owen.’

‘Very well, mother, I’ll think aboutit,’ the girl would say, more to put anend to the discussion than anything else,and she would wander away from the[Pg 221]farm, keeping well to the back of theHall, and ready to dart off like a hare,if she saw any chance of encounteringstrangers. Whilst Nell was leading thiskind of hide-and-seek life, the festivitiesat the Hall were going on bravely. Theybegan, as the old housekeeper had said,as soon as breakfast had concluded, andwere kept up till dawn the followingmorning. A few hours were certainlydevoted to eating, drinking and sleeping,and a few more to fishing, riding anddriving; but the intervals were filled withcards, smoke and drink, till Nora openedher eyes in astonishment, and wondered ifshe had got into a club in mistake for aprivate house. Her hostess appearedquite used to that sort of thing, andentered into it with avidity. She playedwhist or baccarat as well as anyonethere, and could sip her brandy andsoda, and smoke her Turkish cigarettewith the keenest enjoyment. She beganto think that Lady Ilfracombe was ratherslow after a day or two, and, indeed,[Pg 222]Nora’s fastness, such as it was, lookedquite a tame, uninteresting thing besidethat of Lady Bowmant’s. So she fellnaturally to the company of the otherladies who were staying there, and herhusband seemed pleased it should be so,and more than once whispered to herthat the whole concern was ‘a bit toowarm’ for him, and they would certainly‘cut it’ at the end of the week. All thesame, he played night after night withhis hosts and their guests, and seemedto be enjoying himself with the best ofthem. The other lady visitors, of whom*one or two bore rather a shady character(though of this fact Nora was entirelyignorant), were ready to avail themselvesof all the luxuries provided for them, butthat did not deter them from saying nastythings about Lady Bowmant behind herback, which struck Lady Ilfracombe asbeing particularly ill-bred and ungrateful.

‘My dear Lady Ilfracombe,’ said oneof them to her, ‘you know she waspositively nobody—a grocer’s daughter, I[Pg 223]believe, or something equally horrible; andthis old fool, Sir Archibald, was smittenby her red cheeks and ringlets, andmarried her six months after his firstwife’s death. She is just the sort ofperson to take an old dotard’s fancy.Don’t you agree with me?’

‘Well, I am not sure if I do, MrsLumley,’ replied Nora. ‘I think LadyBowmant is exceedingly good-natured, andno worse in her manners than manywomen whom I have met who couldboast of much higher birth. I knownothing of our hostess’s ancestry, so Ican only speak of her as I find her.’

‘That is not saying much!’ exclaimedthe other, laughing. ‘To see her go onwith that poor Prince of Huhm-Hessetalis enough to make one die of laughing.With his broken English, and her attemptsat French, it is as good as a play. Andthe open way in which she flatters him.He will think he is a little god before heleaves Usk.’

Their ill-nature made Nora better inclined[Pg 224]than she would otherwise havebeen towards the object of it, and shefound that Lady Bowmant, though decidedlyfast and vulgar, was so kind-heartedand frank with it all, that she could nothelp liking her much better than she didher detractors.

‘I know I’m an awful Goth,’ she wouldobserve confidentially to Nora. ‘But Ican’t speak a word of French, and I wantthis poor prince, who can hardly speak aword of English, to feel at home with us,so I “butter” him up as well as I knowhow. You see, Lady Ilfracombe, I wasn’tborn to the purple. My father was apoor clergyman—ah, you may stare, butit is an accredited fact that clergymen’schildren are always the worst—I havethree brothers, the greatest scamps youever knew. They ride like devils andthey swear like jockeys; and, if you putthem into a drawing-room, they don’t knowwhat on earth to do with their arms andlegs, but not one of them would tell a lieor do a dishonourable action to save his[Pg 225]life. No more would I. I am quiteaware that I’m not fit to be a baronet’swife, but my old man chose me, and soI do the best I can. And between youand me and the post,’ continued LadyBowmant, laughing, ‘I think, consideringhow I was brought up, that I managevery well. The people down at our placethought I should eat peas with my knife,or something pretty of that sort, the firsttime I went out to a decent dinner, butI didn’t, and here I am, you see, with areal prince for my guest, to say nothingof you and Lord Ilfracombe. Oh, I’mafraid to tell you how much I admireyour husband, for fear that you shouldthink I want to “mash” him; but hereally is too handsome for anything. Ido so love fair men. I told Sir Archibaldyesterday, that if the earl had not beenmarried, I couldn’t have resisted a flirtationwith him.’

‘Have one now,’ cried Nora merrily.‘Don’t mind me. It is quite the fashionfor married men to flirt now-a-days; and[Pg 226]a lady in town told me once that sheshould feel quite hurt if the women didnot consider her husband worth pullingcaps for.’

‘Now, you’re just the sort of girl Ilike,’ said Lady Bowmant admiringly. ‘Isuppose it isn’t good manners to callyou a “girl,” just as if you were nobody.Still you are younger than Iam, so you must forgive me. You lovehorses, too. I can see you’re regularlyplucky by the way you handled mylittle mare yesterday, and I should loveto make you as good a whip asmyself. I may say that, you know, formy brothers and I rode and drove fromlittle children, and it is the only thingI can do well.’

‘Except play cards and smoke cigarettes,’put in Nora slyly.

‘Oh, you think that all very dreadful;I can hear it from the tone of yourvoice,’ replied her good-humoured hostess.‘But my old man doesn’t mind it, andhe’s the principal person to please, isn’t[Pg 227]he? I don’t know what he would doat Usk, dear old chap! if I couldn’ttake a hand at whist now and then. Ihave my horses, you see, but he isgetting a bit too puffy for horse exercise,so he would be dreadfully dull withouthis little game in the evening—oh, yes,I know what you are going to say,Lady Ilfracombe—and in the mornings,too. Well, I know it is dreadfully dissipated,but it has grown into a sort ofhabit with us, till we cannot do anythingelse. But will you come round thevillage for a spin with me in mytandem? I can show you some beautifulcountry, as well as some beautifulcobs. Sir Archibald has made it thefashion to deride my tandem, becauseonce a stupid little child ran right underthe leader’s feet and got a few scratches;but you must not believe all he says.Beau and Belle are two little beautiesand I am sure you will not be afraid tosit behind them.’

‘I am quite sure also,’ replied Nora,[Pg 228]and she went at once to get herself readyfor the drive.

‘You mustn’t be surprised to see weare going alone,’ said Lady Bowmant,as they met again in the hall. ‘I nevertake a groom with me unless I intendcalling anywhere. They are no earthlyuse, stuck up behind, listening to everyword you say and retailing it in theservants’ hall. Besides, I never knewa man do anything for me that I wasn’tquite as well able to do for myself. Sowe’ll have no back seat, if it’s all the sameto you.’

‘Pray don’t alter any of your accustomedrules for my sake,’ replied thecountess, as they emerged into the opentogether.

The dappled-cream cobs were a picture,with their hogged manes and close-dockedtails. They were as perfectlymatched in appearance as two horsescould possibly be; but their temperswere the very opposite of one another.Beau was a darling, or, rather let us say[Pg 229]he would have been, if Belle would havelet him alone to do his business byhimself. He occupied the shafts, andstood like a rock, with his forefeet wellplanted and his neck curved, and hiseyes looking neither to the right handnor the left. But Belle, like most ofher sex, could not leave a man in peace,and thought it a bad compliment toherself if he kept steady. So she tossedher pretty head and neck incessantly,and threw the foam from her bit, in herimpatience to be off. Lady Bowmant,who was nothing if she was not awhip, mounted to her seat and gatheredup the ‘ribbons’ in the most artisticmanner, whilst Nora placed herself beside her.

‘Let go!’ shouted her ladyship, andoff they set, Belle curveting down thedrive as if she were dancing, whilst goodlittle Beau threw all his soul into hiswork, and pulled the dog-cart gallantlyalong.

‘Come, that won’t do,’ cried LadyBowmant, as she touched up Belle and[Pg 230]made her do her share; ‘you’re notgoing to leave all the hard work toBeau, miss, not if I know it. Pull up,like a good girl, and leave off fooling.‘Aren’t they a pair of darlings?’ shecontinued, addressing Nora. ‘I valuethem above everything, because theywere one of my dear old man’s weddingpresents to me; but they aredistinctly precious in themselves. Herewe are at the commencement of Usk,and now you’ll see some fun, Lady Ilfracombe.See how all the people—boysand girls, men and women—fly beforeme, tumbling over each other to get outof my way. I might be King Herodcoming to massacre the innocents, bythe manner they scuttle out of the road.Whoa, my beauty; there, go gently,gently, Belle. For heaven’s sake, don’tkick up any of your shines here, orthey’ll call the policemen. Have youheard that I have twice been stoppedand once fined for furious driving, LadyIlfracombe?’

[Pg 231]

‘No, indeed, I haven’t,’ replied Nora,who was enjoying the fun immensely.

On they flew through the village andout on the open road, the cobs havingnow settled seriously to their work, andskimming over the ground like a pair ofswallows.

When they had driven half the wayinto Newport, Lady Bowmant turnedtheir heads homewards, and trotted themgently up a long hill. She had them socompletely under her control, that it was apleasure to see her handle the reins andguide them with a flick of her whip.

‘I’d give anything to drive as youdo,’ said Lady Ilfracombe, with genuineadmiration of the prowess of her companion.‘I should not be afraid whateverhappened whilst you had the reins.’

Lady Bowmant looked pleased, but sheanswered lightly,—

‘Dear me, it is nothing, only practice.I bet you could manage them quite aswell as I do if you tried. They arethoroughly well trained, you see, and[Pg 232]that’s half the battle; and they arethoroughbred into the bargain. You cando twice as much with a well-bred horseas you can with an outsider. Theirmouths are like velvet. You could guidethem with a bit of string; and as fortheir jumping about a little, that’s onlytheir fun, you know; there’s no vice in it;in fact, there’s not a grain of vice betweenthe two of them. I don’t knowwhat I should do without the darlings.They are the very joy of my life.’

At this juncture they came across acottage, which seemed to recall somethingto Lady Bowmant’s mind.

‘By the way,’ she exclaimed suddenly,‘I wonder how Phil Farley is, or if thepoor old man is still alive. He used tobe a protégé of mine last summer, and Ioften visited him; but I have quiteforgotten to ask after him since myreturn. Would you mind my jumpingdown for a minute, Lady Ilfracombe? Ishould like just to inquire how the oldman is.’

[Pg 233]

‘Of course not,’ said her companioncordially.

‘You will hold the reins for me? Youwill not be afraid of them?’

‘Not in the least,’ cried Nora, as shetook the ribbons from Lady Bowmant’shands. ‘Don’t hurry yourself on myaccount. I shall not mind waiting foryou at all.’

‘Thank you so much,’ replied herhostess, as, after having stroked the necksof her horses, and kissed their noses, shedisappeared into the cottage.

Nora was rather pleased to be leftin sole charge. She had been longingto have a turn at the cobs herself. Shehad been watching Lady Bowmant’s actionsvery closely, and noticed with what easeshe guided the little horses—how quicklythey obeyed her voice and the touch ofher hand; and had been wishing allthe time to try driving them. She hadnever handled a tandem in her life before,but she was a plucky girl, and her veryignorance made her bold. So, as soon as[Pg 234]Lady Bowmant had disappeared under thelow roof of the cottage, she gathered upthe reins, and gave the leader a slightflick with her whip. Belle felt the differenceof the hands at once; she wasnot used to that sort of thing. The lashof the whip had fallen on her hindquarters, and she threw out her heelsat once, and struck her stable companion,Beau, full in the face. Beau resentedthe action; he felt he hadn’t deserved itof Belle, the best part of whose work hehad taken on himself all the morning;so he swerved a little aside, and thenbroke into a smart trot, which the coquettishBelle soon persuaded him to changeinto a canter, and in another moment,before their driver knew what they wereafter, the pair were tearing off in thedirection of their stables as fast as everthey could lay their feet to the ground.Nora tugged and tugged at the reinswithout producing the slightest effect onthem. She was very inexperienced, butshe could not help seeing that the cobs[Pg 235]were running away, and altogether beyondher control. She grew very pale;but she held on to the reins like grimdeath, and just managed to steer themclear of a donkey-cart which theyseemed disposed to take in their stride.She began already to wonder what sheshould do when they came to the drivegates of Usk Hall, which curved sharplyround to the left. They would assuredlybolt through them, she thought, andupset the dog-cart, in all probability,against the postern of the gate. Perhapsthey would kill her from the collisionand the fall. The thought that flashedthrough her mind at that juncture was,How would Ilfracombe take the news of herdeath?—what would he do without her?

‘I’m afraid I’m in for it,’ she said toherself. ‘It’s all up a tree with me. I’mbound for kingdom come, as sure as agun.’

Even at that moment of danger Noracould not be sentimental, though she feltthe force of the situation perhaps as[Pg 236]much as if she had been praying toheaven to avert her doom. On flew thecobs through the village, though fortunatelywithout running over anybody, anddown a narrow lane, on the way to theHall. There was a sharp curve aboutthe middle of it. As Nora reached thepoint, someone—a woman—suddenly rosefrom the bank which skirted the road, andstood full in the way of the flying steeds,catching with her hand at the reins ofBelle as she passed. Nora thought thehorses were stopped, but the next momentthey started off again; but the womanwas not to be seen—she had fallen.

‘My God,’ thought Nora, ‘I havekilled somebody. They have run overher.’

The arrest, however, slight as it was, hadhad its effect. Belle and Beau suddenlystood still as rocks, and Nora leapt atonce from the cart and approached thestranger, who was just scrambling to herfeet.

‘Oh, how good, how brave of you!’[Pg 237]she cried. ‘If you had not done that,they might have dashed the cart and meto pieces against the gate. But have youhurt yourself? Are you sure you are allright?’

‘I think I am,’ replied the youngwoman, as she rose to her feet. ‘Theyonly knocked me down; the wheels didnot come near me.’

‘Thank God for that!’ cried Noraearnestly. ‘I should never have forgivenmyself if you had been hurt.’

She gazed at the face of the countrygirl in amazement, for she thought it wasthe most beautiful she had ever seen.And so it was they first met—Nell andNora.

END OF VOL. II.

COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

Transcriber’s Note:

Words may have inconsistent hyphenation in the text. Jargon, dialect, obsolete and alternativespellings were left unchanged. Seven misspelled words were corrected.

Obvious printing errors, such as partially printed letters and punctuation, were corrected.Final stops missing at the end of sentences and abbreviations wereadded.

Volume number was added to the cover image.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 73973 ***