THE DUCIES OF DULVERTON.
BY GEORGE B. BURG IN.
Author of " A Quaker Girl/' Ac., Ac,
CHAPTER I.
A PROPOSITION.
' There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton, and Mary Carmicbael, and me,' " sang Cissy LTSstrange, as she sat under the apple-. blossoms in the orchard, and looked lovingly at the swelling expanse of greenery risinc until it met the skyline. She was in a 'cup like hollow of the hills among the apple-blos sonis. _ Others might like to climb the moun tain heights. " What pleasure lives in height?" the poet sang. ''Come down, for love is of the valley, come." In obedience to this poetical invitation, Cissy had, to use an Americanism, "climbed down." But she wasn't in love. She had been, once or twice, or fancied that she had been. Something had gone wrong in the
first case. The soldier lover had died at Malta; and when the time came for some one else to fall in love with her she didn't respond. It wa this second episode in her somewhat uneventful life which had given Cissy a graver air than is usual with girls of three or four and twenty. She was accustomed to view life from a very old standpointindeed. Somehow, itseeroed to her that all the freshness of it had faded away with the death of her boy lover. What an idyllic world it had been. But the Btern parents — there generally are stern parents in all cases of first love—had insisted that young love's dream could not lie indulged in until someone provided a sufficiency of
bread and butter. The bread and butter
wasn't forthcoming; it seldom is under such circumstances. When it does come, after twenty or thirty years of patient waiting, it hasn't the same flavour; there is always more than a suspicion of oleomargarine in it. So Cissy had parted from her boy lover, and sent him forth to win his spurs, and in a little while he was laid to rest. And all the joy, and the light, and the laughter of life were quenched in Cissy's heart. But she got over it, if to get over it means that she lived through it. Sometimes she would wake irr the night, and hear, or seem to hear, the voice of her voice lover calling her to come under the apple blossoms; and then, if her pillow grew wet with bitter tears, no one knew of it. There might be a dark shadow under her lovely hazel eyes the next morning, but the old Colonel, her father, had become accustomed to such evidences of grief, and took but little notice of them when she appeared at the breakfast table.
This grief of Cissy's had gi ven be.r a some what pensive and nun-like look. Not that Bhe went about in a green and yellow melan choly. Only she was a little graver than other girls—that was all. And so to-day she was rather wistfully humming the fragment of an old song which years ago Rhe never could sing with becoming melancholy.
Her song ended. Cissy stretched herself out in a very becoming attitude, a»d looked up through the intercostal branches of the apple
trees.
It was a warm May day, and the bees were booming through the orchard, quite regardless of the possibility of their venturing beyond what an eminent naturalist has declared to be their customary range--a three-mile radius.
When she was tired of the bees, she listened for the postman's crushing footsteps on the gravel path leading up to the house. Of course, he was three-quarters of an hour late. Rural postmen always are. They sav it is liecause, since the invention of the Parcels Post, they haven't bicycles on which to carry the parcels; hut, as they have always been late from time immemorial, the excuse can hardly lie deemed
sutneienc. vissy naa aireaoy aunwci sue
postman far beyond the ordinary timo, and now, rising1, with a slight feeling of irritation, came out of the orchard, and stepped through the low window into the breakfast-room.
Colonel L'Estrange was bnsilv engaged in reading the 1 imct. He still believed in the thunder of that venerable organ, although hi# newly-married better half did not. Mrs. L'Estrange hoped to cure him some day. She was resolved to be mistress in the place, and had already made Cissy feel it in a hundred different ways. There was little chance of the two getting on well together. The Colonel had simply said that they must, and imagined there was nothing more to be done.
As Cissy came through the window, it was evident, that she had interrupted a somewhat
acrimonious discussion.
"I tell you I will not put up with it," her somewhat vinegary-featured stepmother w'fts saving. "Cissy must either olicy me. im plicitly, or"
" What?" asked Cissy, as she stepped through the window.
"Go elsewhere," said Mrs. L'Estrange.
" Very well." said Cissy, calmly. " You are onlv anticipating a decision at. which T arrived some time ago. Tf you allow me- oh. there's the postman ; thank you. Jenkins, that's my letter—I'll tell you all about it."
"Nonsense," said the Colonel, in his most peremptory manner. " Odd's life, what do yon want to quarrel about? Discipline must be maintained. Cissy, why don't, you give in with a good grace?"
"But, my dear father.'" said ('issy, "don't you see it's a case of oil and vinegar? We simply can't mix."
" I won't stop here to discuss the subject," said Mrs. L'Estrange.
" I should lie so glad if yon would only give us five minutes," said Cissy. " You don't make allowances for a girl in my position. 1 have tried my best to step the sewants appealing to me about everything, but they have done so for such a long time that they can't, break themselves of the habif. t always send them to you. but of course you are an noyed at put it; T should tie if T married under such eitenmstanees. But it isn't my fault: and SO, &f¥ I am such an apple of discord, f ,am alxvnt to take myself off elsewhere. I have enough money of my own to provide myself with gloves and boots. Gloves and boots-are highly ornamental objects of attvre; bntthey dou't constitute the whole wardrobe of StvvelJ regulated young lady, and so l shall sgpfdc
moat my small funds in another way. I am going- out aaa lady-help."
. Mrs. L'Estrange shrieked.
t TheOolOnel was very uncomfortable. - He bated scenes. He had married again, for moneys and was ashamed that his choice had no other recommendation in Cissy's eyes. The girl's presence' was a constant reproach. He wished the women would harmonize and let him alone. If he were in town he could go to bis club hud forget all about it, but there was no dodging the situation in the sweet domes ticity of his country place. He. had little money of his own, or he would have made Cissy an'allowance on which she could have travelled or lived comfortably with some old
maiden aunt. It was. evident that she couldn't stop at home. Ho temporized, but Gissy felt that a time had come to settle matters definitely.
Cissy opened tho letter. "I thought so,"
she exclaimed. ^ "' Miss Priscilla Ducie will have tho honour of calljng on Colonel L'Estrange at 3 o'clock to-day. You musn't go out to-day, papa."
" What lias Miss Priscilla Ducie got to do with it?." demanded the Colonel: "I never heard of her before."
"Miss Priscilla Duoie'is tho leading spirit of Dulverton Orange, papa; at least she has Conducted all the correspondence.
The Colonol stamped round the room. " My dear girl,"lie entreated, " do be a little- more coherent. What, I say, what correspon dence?" '
"Shewantsalady-help, papa. I am," man awestruck whispor, "the lady-help who is to comfort her declining years."
"Vory well." said the Colonel, resignedly, ''you can try it for'a mouth, Cissy, if you like to be so undiitiful and drag the name of L'Estrange through the scullery in this way. We'll change our arms to a dishclout rampant on a field of bread sauce. I had hoped you would have comforted my declining years. What is Miss Ducie to you that you want to be her lady-help?"
Mrs. L'Estrange was frightenedshe came over to Cissy. "Do not mind my ill-temper. Cissy," she said. "Perhaps it would be as well" for you to go away for a little time, and then wo shall get on better. It is enough to worrit—I moan worry—one to play second fiddle in one's own house. Still, dear, if you like to stay, don't mind me."
Cissy actually kissed her.
"I feel liorrioly-bad tempered and selfish," she said. "But you are quite right. I'll go away as a lady's help for a little whilo and work off my ill temper. 'I shall soon be glad to come back again."
"But why a lady-help, Cissy?" said her father. "Travel for a little while. I've always meant t'o sell that second hunter of mine; ho pulls like tho blazes. I'll get rid of him, and you can travel on the proceeds."
"Look here, Cissy,"said Mrs. L'Estrange, quite forgcttiner her animosity, " you know my bark is a good deal worse than my bite. I'vo always wanted to mako you an allowance, but you novor gave me an opportunity of saying so. Lot's all be friends again, and understand one anothor bettor."
C>ssy kissed ber again.
"I'm ashamed of myself," she said; "you are a groat deal too good to mo. I—I wish I had been more amiable. You were quite right to resent my selfishness. When I come back the servants will have become used to the now riyimn , and wo shall live happily ever after."
"Then give up all this nonsense," said Mrs. L'Estrange. "You know, Cissy, I shall never be able to manage Perkins"—Perkins was the butler—" without you. I should be calling him ' Sir.' He—lie quite frightens mo when ho will mix up my wines so at dinner. And— ho always brings mo things I don't like, and glares at me if I send them away again."
The poor woman, who had more money than manners, looked quite relieved that Rhc had at last been able to rid herself of -such a guilty
secret.
Cissy felt that alio had greatly misjudged her stepmother. There had not been such an abundance of ready money and servants until very lately; in fact, the Colonel's second marriage had only happened just in timo to prevent his own property being put up to auction.
? Of course, no reverses could rob him of his ancestral tree; still, he couldn't live on it. He did the next best thing—ho married on it.
• The wealthy and somewhat illiterate widow
?who had become the senond Mrs. L'Estrange was an animated moneybag. She dropped her gold and " H's" about with equal liberality, and was quite grateful to the Colonel for assuming the responsibility of looking after both. That somewhat mercenary old soldier liad explained with becoming frankness his actual position. He must marry money to keep his ancestral halls from going to the dogs, otherwise the dogs would come to him.
The widow was touched by his frankness, and was very much annoyed that the Colonel would insist that all her property should bo settled on herself. The mortgages were paid off, a largo establishment kept up, because Mrs. T/Estrange thought it would please the Colonel, and then these ill-assorted people sat down to pass the rest of their lives together.
The experiment did not promise to be a success. And it had culminated in Cissy's absurd determination to go out as a sort of Don Quixote, to tilt at windmills. Hor weapons were to be a broom instead of a lance. And her armour! Ah, well, her armour! The less said about that the better. She had hoen sorely wounded once before. Other people talked of tho sunshine. She seemed to bo walking through a misty world of her own—a kingdom of dreams and shadows, wherein nought was real and substantial.
Sometimes she had a vague longing that tho veil might bo lifted, the sunshine pierce the gloom. But she made no effort to anticipate tho process. It would come in its own good time, she thought, if it camo at all.
Then there dawned u[>ou her a desire to bo free from her surroundings, to havo some enforced occupation which should bring the realities of life very close to licr. She had been too near them once before. If she made another attempt could she not gradually begin to live again? She wanted •to give herself another chance. As a lady help she. would have ample opportunity of be ing once more roused into life. Even the antagonistic attitude of her stepmother had failed to have any permanent effect on her. Tt occured to her that if she had to make hor own bed she might perhaps sleep better.
There came a ring at the door at the appointed time, and Perkins announced Miss ' Ducie in his best manner—a manner which, as Captain Cuttle said of his celebrated watch, v/as "equalled by few and excelled by none.'*
CHAPTER TT.
MI3H PKIrtCILLA CALLS.
"Miss Priscilla Dueie, corrected the old lady, iu a very stately manner. "The fact is," turning to Cissy, "mv sister Dorothea is really Miss Ducie, hut sho generally delegates all social functions to me, and so people natnrally take me.for Miss Duoic."
She sar. down and looked benevolently round. She seemed very old, hut her cheeks were rosy and her hair lovcably white. There was goodness imprinted on every feature of her face. It was not an aggressively mis
taken philanthropy which would never mat. until it had ' provided cummerbunds . 'with Scriptural texts oh them for the -unen lightened-Cingalese, but an irresistible good ness which seemed to emanate'from her-and
steal at once into the hearts of- thosei^with, whom she.came in contact. TfVas evident: that she did not go much' into the giddy '
worldj her attire alone was sufficient to indicate - that.; whenever she moved her ample old-: fashioned skirts tho wholesdme odour of lavender diffused itself around. >: Her man
ners had all the stately courtesy of what is generally if somewhat vaguely known as the. old school. She gave one the impression of being an old lady whom it. would be very easy to love but not very easy to take a liberty with. But, then, people did not want to tako liberties with her—thoy preferred to gain her
heart. i Miss Priscilla evidently did not think it good breeding to state the object of her visit until she had engaged in a little preliminary conversation about the weather. Though Dulverton Grange was only ten miles off, she
had started at 12 o'clock, and it was now past ]
three.
Cissy wondered how she could possibly have ' been all that time on the road, until, glancing through the window, she saW the Bleek old
carriage horses and the venerable coachman | and footman. The latter waB a mere boy of i seventy; the horses'might have been coltoof
twenty. They seemed asleep; the coach- I man's powdered wig was a little oh one side, and the reins hung loosely in his hand. Cissy
fancied that she could almost hear one vast comprehensive snore proceeding from horses, coachman, and footman in har monious unison. The stately carriage, hung on tremendously high springs, ^looked a3 if it had been rolled out of some old coaobhouse and done up for tho occasion. The very varnish on the panels had a Cre
mona-JiKe tint, wnioh could only navo come
from a ripe old age. What did it all mean? Would sne be borne away in this ancient vehicle, and fall asleep and never wake again? She found herself almost yawning as she looked at this reposeful group. There was none of the feverish activity of the nine teenth century about Miss Priseilla's retainers. A lady-help in such a circle would be an ana chronism—an outrage.
"I am afraid that your coachman is tired," suggestedvCissy. "Hadn't they better take the horses out for a little while? You must let mo give you some tea."
And before Miss Priscilla could gratefully protest 'Porkins was awakening tho ancient
coachman.
Cissy felt relieved when the carriage vanished in the direction of the stableyard. It did not mako any sound on the crisp gravel. She afterwards examined tho wheels, and found
that they were covered with indiarubbor j tires. _ |
" You are very good," said Miss Priscilla, -evidently regarding Cissy as her hostess. Mrs. L'Estrange was far too nervous to do tho
honours, and so Cissy had to take tho load, j " It is years since I have boon over hero, and I j had almost forgotten the way."
" Papa is comparatively a new comer, as he ! inherited the placo from his uncle," said
Cissy. " He has only lived here for the last j ten years." |
"Of course, that is a very little time," said i Miss Priscilla, to whom ft evidently did not seem much more than a day or two. " It must take a long time to settle down in a place. We
have been at Dulverton all our lives, and very - rarely leave it. We have always so much to do. As you aro doubtless aware, my brother is vicar of Dulverton j my father and grand father were both vicars of Dulverton; in fact, for the last two hundred years a Ducie has beety vicar, but my brother James is unmar ried, and there are no other Ducies in Holy
Orders." _ _ ,
Miss Priscilla said all this in a tone of gentle j pride. She apparently thought that some
national step should bo taken to proservo the j English Church from the disasters which i would overtake it in tho event of anything j happening to her brother James. i
It was very refreshing to meet some one j who evidently believed that tho world would 1 come to a stop if there wasn't a Ducie in Holy ] Orders at Dulverton. j
The Ducics had been benevolent despots for | so long in that small hamlet that they had I gradually come to believe whatever happened j outside it could not be of any very material im- | portance. Empires might rise arid fall, pooplo | grow up and dio. but as long as thcro were j
lliioina to minister t.o the. wants of the Ttulver- I
tonians it was an eminently well-ordered world. Some of their newer neighbours had been unkind enongh to nay that, in the simple innocence of her heart, Miss Priscilla believed that the Pucies had been created as an anti dote to original sin. Their lives certainly bore out this idea, for they were always doing good in a gentle, kindly, matter-of-fact way which did not expect thanks, but relieved the neces sities of others because they had tho moans
wherewith to do so.
Miss Priscilla announced that she found tea very refreshing after the fatigue of her arduous journey; and then it occurred to her that she had not broached the object of her visit.
"If it would not bo inconveniencing you, Miss L'Estrange," she said, rathor nervously, " I should like to see the young person."
"What young person?" asked Cissy, who had completely forgotten the object of Miss Priscilla's journov. She was charmed with the old lady, and felt that she could learn to love her very quickly.
"Eh—cli—the lady-help!" said Miss Pris
cilla.
Cissy blushed.
"The fact is," she eaid rather nervously, " I am the lady-lielp, Miss Ducic, or rather,
I want to be."
Miss Priscilla was amazed.
"I fancied that there must be some mistako, my dear," she said slowly. "Surely you do not waiit to leave your comfortable home, and to—to work? Not that there is anything de grading in work, but why should you try such an experiment?"
"It is a mad freak of mine, Miss Ducic," said Cissv, earnestly. "I want to be useful to someone."
" But surely here?" said Miss Ducie.
"Oh, everything goes like clockwork. I want to really work, to exert all my energies in doing something. If you don't like me, you can easily send mo away. Miss Ducio."
There was a very pleading expression in Cissv's eyes.
Miss Priscilla looked at her. She liked the girl. There was something very frank and outspoken about, her. She did not care much for Mrs. L' Estrange, who. evidently stood in considerable awe of the stately old lady. Miss Priscilla temporised.
"Won't you come and stay with us as our guest?" she enquired.
" I should dearly like to," said Cissy, " but I am afraid it wouldn't bo tho same thing. You see you couldn't order mo to do anything, I want to be ordered to do things, and to wait on oeople. It won't hurt me. I can easily drop it if I got tired of nly whim. I want you to treat me just like you would any other lady-help."
"But, my dear," said Miss Priscilla, waxing confidential, "I have never even seen a lady;
"help. They are comparatively modern inven tions. It is principally for dear James's sake that ire -want a lady-help. We think she could assist him .so much in hie arduous labours, and oopy out hLf sermons. James is
m
about to publish a volume of sermons at the request of his parishioners, and he hasn't time to oopy them out himself. We oould not bear the idea of his having a Secretary in the house. He might be very nice; but, on the other hand, he might not. And, then, 'Supposing ho fell :in love with one of the servants 1 I have heard of such things; and it-would be so hor ribly unpleasant-to have to part with them on that account. They have been with us for so many, years."
Cissy smiled.
"Young meu are so giddy," said Priscilla. "Dear James has often told us stories of his College days, and we were rather frightened at the prospect of introducing some thought loss young man into our quiet domostio circle. He might smoke and do all kinds of things.
Even dear James smoked when he returned from College."
"I rather like men to smoke," said Cissy.
" Oh, dear 1" said Miss Priscilla, whose knowledge of history was a little rusty. " I think it is a dreadful habit. "Wo ought really to feel thankful to King JameB for trying to discourage it by having Sir Walter Raleigh
beheaded."
But Cissy turned the conversation into its old channel. _ She wanted to be a lady help, and Miss Priscilla gave in.
" Well, ray dear, sho said soothingly, " we can call you that, if you like it. There will bo lots of things for you to do; and if you got tired of them you can stay on as a visitor."
It was evident" that Miss PriscUJa did not
take Cjssy very seriously. Cissy, however, determined that she would alter all that when sho once reached Dulvcrton. It was arranged that she should join Miss Priscilla on the
morrow.
Then the sleepy' servants wore awakened from their torpor. Miss Priscilla entered her noiseless chariot, and departed in state. Cissy rubbed her eyes as the carriage disappeared down the dri vo. Had there been any carriage? Was it a will-o'-the wisp, a Jack-o'-lantern, uncanny affair? Had she dreamed it?
? She wont out to the front, and put lior fingers into the marks loft by the wheels of Miss Priscilla's chariot.
"These are real," she said; "it wasn't a dream. I'll go and pack up for to-morrow. I wonder what the Rev. James is like?"
Miss Priscilla reached homo full of sup pressed excitement. Going into the drawing room she found there a fac-simile presentment
of herself.
" Dorothea," she said solemnly, " I have had a most exeiting day. I t almost reminds me of some of the thrilling adventures in Miss Austen's novels. Come upstairs, and I will tell you all about if"
Miss Dorothea rose slowly. " Don't be so incoherent. Prissy," she said, "I didn't know there was anything exciting in Miss Austen's novels. But you are so impetuous. Hadn't you better lie down for a little while before dinner? But she followed Mis3 Priscilla up stairs with eager ouriosity to hear of the •dangers she had incurred by her perilous plunge into the outer world.
THE OUG1ES OF DULVERTON.
BY GEORGE B. BURGIN.
Author of " A Quaker Girl," &c., &c.
CHAPTER III.
AT DBLVEHTON. "
Cissy liardly recognised herself the next morning when she awoke. She positively sprang out of bed as if she enjoyed existence. Snehadan object in life. She was going to tilt against her windmills as if they were real foes. There was no Sancho Panza to restrain her enthusiasm. She wouldn't have listened to him if there had been. The glimpse of Miss PriBoilla's inner life whioli she had let her see yesterday charmed Cissy. There was a Moated Grange flavour about it whicli was delightful. Would she hoar
All day within the dreamy house
The doors upon the hinges creek;
The blue fly sing in tho panethe mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek?
She thought with a new-born sense of frivolity, that eho had never heard a mouse shriek. Wouldn't "squeak" be a more appro priate if somewhat les3 poetical word? But then poots must have rhymes, and if the late Laureate chose to make a mouse shriek in his young days (the poet's, not tho mouse's), 110 one dare point to it now. She loved Tenny son so, that if ho had filled tho sea with red lobsters she would have tried to believe that it
was their proper colour.
She hastily dressed, and ran downstairs, to to the great confusion of Perkins, who didn't expect her, and was leisurely reading his paper with his back to the grate. Ho gave a doprocatory "Ahoml" and protended to arrange the ferns in tho fireplace, knowing all tile time that she enjoyed his confusion. A week ago she would not havo been conscious of Perkins's somewhat prosaic existence. Now he appearod in a new light. IIow ho would look down upon her if he only know what was about to happen.
Perkins began to "fold his tent like tho Arabs, and as silently steal away," but she called him back, "Perkins," sko said, gravely.
"Yes, miss."
" Would you mind telling mo what is your idea of a lady holp?"
Perkins snorted—" It's a female, miss, who wants holp to bo a lady," ho replied, with a vague idea that he was very crushing.
" Well, supposing, for tho sake of argumont, Perkins, that I wanted to be a lady help, what would you say then?"
" I should say you was mad, miss," said Perkins. "Why, you're a real lady; you never did a day's work in your life."
" Thank you. And so your idea of a lady iB one that never does any work?',
"Yos, miss."
"That will do, Perkins: you may go,"
Perkins wont and informed the housekeeper that he wasn't there to bo asked questions about lady helps—the " owdacious hussy-bus siosto which tho housekeeper, who hod de
signs on Perkins, said "Very true, Mr. Per kins ; so they are!"
Cissy remained standing on tho hearthrug and blushing with consternation, " I never thought of that," she said. "Doesn't a lady help have to associate with the other—tho
servants?"
She found tho question answered itself when she arrived at Dulverton Grange and had de scended from tho parental dog-cart. Aftor many scruples of conscience she had decided to go over to Dulverton in the dog-cart. To bo consistent she ought to havo got tho baker or tho butcher to take her over, but sbo rather shrank from so extreme a step. It would be so severe a shock to Colonel L Estrango's feel ings that she felt called upon to spare him
such a blow.
She felt that she was weakly temporizing with the situation, and that it was a bad be ginning for hor to make. As a compromise she would tako the dog-oart, although she pre ferred it to any other vehicle; it was so woll hung and comfortable, and tho high-stepping chestnut mare would soon make light of tho
distance which had taken the Ducie horses three hours of painful toil to accomplish.
Ought she to prevent James from touching his hat as lie stood at the mare's head ? and
should ho not sit beside her instead of spring in? agilely to the pack seat? But some one had to hold the chestnut, and she oouhl not got into the dog-cart and do that at the same time. However, when once she arrived at Delverton all this would ohango, hut she must lot James disappear first; then she would assist in taking in her own portman teaus and bonnet-bosos, and put on hor plainest dress, and subdue all evil longings to have hor own way.
But when she arrived at Dillvorton Grange ehe found that she was not to have her own way about hor boxes and things. Hho drove round to the stable-yard, greatly to Miss Pri soilla's distress. The sloopy coachman was snoring under a che.stnut-treo in the yard, but the staolehelpor solemnly got her things outof the dog-cart and took them into the house.
James touched his hat with his customary deference, and drove quickly away. Ifis fea tures wore almost immovable; but, had Cissy listened attentively, she might have heard tlio words, " Well, if this ain't a rum start," medi tatively addressed to the maro. She didn't hear him, however, and Jamo3 and the mare disappeared.
She had crossed tho Rubicon, burnt her ships, cut off hor retreat. What next?
A rather prim-looking, swoet-o.yed old maid led hor through a succession of oak-panelled winding passages. The light shone in through the stained glass windows, and turned thecom plexion of Martha Tilths—Martha Tilths was the handmaid—to a sickly yellow.
" If you please, Miss," said Martha, with a curtsey, " Miss Prisoiiia wiii do herself the pleasure of waiting on you when you have su'Hciontly recovered from the fatiguo of your journey."
"But, Martha," said poor Cissy, in dismay, "yon musn'tcail mo 'Miss.' Don't you know that I am tho new lady help?"
"Miss Priseilla's instructions, Miss, wore that the lady help—although I don't know what that is, please {another curtsey), is to bo treated just like any other visitor."
Cissy flung herself into a cosy old armchair with a gesture of despair.
"This is too supremely ridiculous," who said, addressing the portrait of a youthful cleric with blue eyes aud a curl which mean dered over hi.s white forehead; "this is too supremely ridiculous. Whatever am f to do? I always used to think with Uriah JJocip that
it behoved one to be "u&ihle,* But Mies Priscilla won't let me bo * 'qmble' when t want
to be so, I don't know that I aver before ex
perienced so passionate a deBire^for humility; it's—it's faroioaL. However; there's one thing I oando, and that is to look after my own room every day during my brief soiourn—for I foresee that it will be very brief—here. Now, for my.surroundings."
But evidence of Miss Priscilla's thoughtful ness wereevery whera. A huge glass of roses perfumed the chamber. All the bureau drawers had little muslin bags of lavender in them, and an air of spotless purity and old world sweetness pervaded the snowy bed half hidden from yiew in a little alcove. A big brass-bound Bible occupied a table at the foot of the bod, and the rest of the furniture was draped in quaint, pretty chintz unknown to the outer world.
"It's the sort of room in which to read Austin Dobson and eat peaches," declared
Cissy with conviction, " l wonder .if I shall
gradually fit into it. And now for my—my miBtress. Ought I to shake hands with her or make a curtsey d la Martha Tibbs?"
Miss Priscilla soon sot the matter at rest by coming briskly into the room and kissing bcr.
" But you really ought not to," Oissy feebly declared, thinking what a sweet old lady Miss Priscilla was. "It's—it's utterly subversive of all discipline. What will my—my fellow servants say?" -
Miss Prisctlla a tailed.
"My dear," sliosaid softly, "it will do us all good to have your sweet young face among us, and you cannot maiutaiu order unless you have authority given you. I am afraid you will find ray sister Dorothea's maid a rather difficult person to deal with, for, to tell you the truth, tny dear, we aro all somewhat afraid of her. She—she rather presumes on so many years' faithful Bervico."
"I think I am accustomed £o dealing with refractory servants," said Cissy. Then she crimsoned at her own stupidity. "You see the force of habit is still upon ine, and 1 forget my position," sbosaid; "Miss Duoio, I must -ask you to make allowances for my inexpe
rience."
"Really, my dear," said Miss Priscilla, "I , am delighted to have you. Wo have long been thinking of somo one who could bo a com panion for us, and assist James in his litorary labours. But wo thought it almost impossible to find a young lady who would como to us for —for a pecuniary consideration."
" If over T receivo a—a pecuniary considera tion," BaidCissy, "it will not bo uutil I have done something to earn it. "
"Of course," said Miss Priscilla. "Wo always considered that the task of assisting James would be one requiring a groat deal of olevorness. Ho has a clicking pieco of maohinery which ho calls a typewriter. I am afraid you will find it a rather difficult task to master it. I did try it myself," the poor lady oonfesBcd, "but the noise confused me. It
seemed to be rather like an express train bussing away in the distance, and then all the letters become tangled up in somo mysterious way, and made tuo very hot and very uncom fortable. James said that it was oxoocdingly good of mo to try, but he foarcd my fingers wore not pliable enough."
Miss Prisoilla looked mournfully at her long taper fingers, as if reproaching them with their conservatism in refusing to master the simple mechanism of a typewriter.
"I couldn't get beyond words of one syllable on it," she said, "and I found I could write more quickly in my "own way. But the dinner-bell «ill ring directly. You will find us all in the drawing-room, my dear, whenyou como down."
Loft to herself, CisRy put her hand to her forehead in a bewildered way. " It isn't a bit like what I expected," she said; " but, then, there is the typo-writor—and—and—its
master,"
CHAPTER IV,
TUB ItlEVIiWIND JAMBS.
TIio booming of tho groat gong warned Cissy that it was time to descend. Who ever heard of a lady-help dressing for dinner? Henceforward, she would exist with a dual consciousness. But it was too late to work out the situation now. Sho must fare Miss Dorothea and "James."
It wasn't very difficult work. Miss Doro thea was inclined to bo stately, and evidently looked upon Mis3 Frissy as too much a crea ture of impulse.
It wanted somebody with an impulso to give an aspect of life to tho gloomy old house. 'Die Rev. James was exactly like tho portrait of his ancostorin Cissy's bedroom, curl and all. This hyaciuthine lock hung down over his brow, and declined to consort with its fellows, very much in the way the scalp lock of an Indian, or a Chinaman's pig-tail refuses to associate with mere ordinary hair.
Cissy found herself, whilst mechanically swallowing her soup, tracing his historic fore lock back to tho Crusades and accompanying it down to its present owner, after it had endured sundry hairbreadth escapes from tho battle-axes of fierce Sir Hugo and bold De Vere, and'many another gallant freebooter of the days of old. It was rather an interesting face beneath this pendent curl. The eyes were blue and clear, the forehead high, tho mouth and nose well modelled, and the upper lip destitute of moustacho. Ho seemed to lie about thirty-five, and there wa3 an evident struggle in Miss Friscilla's mind as to whether he was to be treated as just grown up or whether his sacred office entitled him to tho attention and doferenoo generally claimed as tho attributes of old ago.
As for tho ltev. James, ho didn't seem to think about himself. He chatted with his elderly sisters, but said very little to Cissy as the dinner dragged its weary length along.
At length, Miss Dorothea made a stately inclination of her head, the sleepy butler actually woke up and opened tho door, and tho Rev. Jamc3 was left alone.
When they reached the drawing-room, Miss Priseilla sat down in a huge armchair by the fireplace and went to sleep. Soon a gentle sigh from Miss Dorothea botokc.ned that she had followed her sister's example.
Cissy wandered aimlessly about in tho quaint, old-fashioned room until sho came to a massive grand piano. She sat down on the music-stool and began to improvise, drcain ingly changing from one episode to another as
she went back to her girlhood and that brief delight under tho apple blossoms.
She thought she had forgotten it all, but the old pain insisted on making it-.elf felt. .
"You may call yourself some one else, it seemed to say; "you may call yourself some one el so and go away from the old haunt", but I am with you still. I atn Dame Care, who will sit by your bedside and bring her knitting. You can't escape mo. Yonder is the same moon which gar.ed in upon yon last nig)it. You cannot forgot your tears because you see it through this oriel window. She has seen you, and her calm, steadfast light will seek you out and shine upon your sorrow. You and I will have many a fight in the days to com'', and if you yield one inch then will f cling more i closely to you until all your days and .all your
nights shall be the san.e, and the turd'ui of lost love bear you down, down, down, and rob you of your youth, and print deep wrinkles on
your brow,and some day your glass will tell you that you are—
But the chords ended with a crash- Miss Priscilla still slept the sleep of the righteous; Miss Dorothea continued to emit her little sibilant snore; but some one else was in the
room.
As Cissy looked out from, the dim recess in whioh the piano etood, she Was aware of a folaok-coated form sitting quietly a little way
off.
When the music ceased, the black-coated form rose and came towards her. The fair-* headed curl shone for a moment, and sho recog nised the Rev. James.
"Thank you," he said, sitting downberide thopiano; "it is not often I hear personal
music."
"Personal!" she echoed, rather taken aback, . and with an increased respeot for tho Rey. James's perceptive faoultios. " Personal 1".
"Yes, personal. When one sits in the shadows dreamily playing, and the music un consciously interprets all that is passing in the mind, isn't that personal?"
" Yes," sho said, "Isuppose it is."
" I am very much obliged to you," ho said, "But you mustn't think I was taking an unfair advantage by listening. I was en deavouring to draw my own conclusions."
"Your own conclusions!"
"Yos, respecting this freak of yours, for it is nothing' else. Only I am inclined to take it seriously. I think you aro trying to escape from yourself."
Oissy drew back.
Ho didn't say it intrusively, but with the air of a man who had been working out liis theory from practical observation.
"Pray, don't misunderstand me," ho said reassuringly. " You come to us in the dual capacity or visitor and worker. I—I think work would be good for you."
"It is for most of us," she said; "only some people aro so incorrigibly lazy that they wont accept the remedy."
" I don't think that applies to yourself. At any rate, I will do my best to prevent it."
Thauk you. You will find mo a very wil ling pupil."
Ho looked at her rather sharply,
"Most people liko to choose the form their work shall tako," ho said. "lam afraid you must loavo yourself in my hands, if you don't mind." _
His voice was \*M)fc^U3ical and sweet, with a grave oarnost ring in it which was reassuring.
"I suspect," she said tentatively, "that you look upon mo as a 'case'—a somebody to bo prescribed for, and made whole."
" And 1. am afraid that you must look upon mo as a very obtrusive individual, wholly for getful of a host's courtesy. Only in this rather primitive atmosphere §f ours wo aro
nt
apt to go direct to the point in a manner
which savours of abruptness."
"I think tho world would be a happier placo if more peoplo practised the sarno abruptness," sho said.
" All," ho replied, "you will find with ex perience that tho world is very much as wo make it. If people when thov met were to look into ono another's souls it might bo awk
ward, but would be better for them. Ono is • introduced to, say Smith; and Smith utters something about tho crops or tho weather. Now. it takes years to get beyond that with Smith. _ Ho would think it an unpardonablo liberty if lie were asked to exchange viows on certain subjoets with you. But in one's own mind, and in Smith's mind, tliero must bo many Uiing3 near tho surfaco which would bo all the better for a little ventilation. So much might be done; but I am boring yon."
"Not at all, I agree with you in thinking that there is moro to be done with individuals than masses."
"Thatis it," ho said, "when a man is a clergyman he takes upon himself an implied obligation to help the whole world, although ho may often nood help himself. And tho only way ho can help the wliolo world is to be always looking after tho units."
"And so,"sho said, smilingly, "you aro going to look after tho units by letting them nave your sermons."
"Ah, I wasn't thinking of that. They are sermonB intended for a particular class of people, and without any abstract theology in tliern. Tho people havo asked for them, and, although it is unpleasant to be looked upon as -a conceited parson for publishing theiu, 1 liavo
to do so. If a man shrank from doing any thing because lie consid_ered what people might say in bis dispraise, ho would make a very poor preacher."
"One has to bo more than human not to heed neoplc,"said Cissy, wearily.
"IiOtine get yon some tea,"said the Rev, James. " and come out of the gloom into the lamplight. My sisters must be awake by this
time."
" Really, Jaws," Raid Miss Dorothea, brid ling a little. "You ought to bo aware that I novor nloep of an evening. If I close ray eyes for the purposes of meditation"
"And then go to sloop, you cannot hclo it," Raid the Rrnr. James. " f pot very drowsy mvself downstairs somoliines, and only wake wbon Waffles tells inn it is timo to come up. I—I think T. can pi it it from Waffles. He is as bad as the fat hoy in " Pickwick,"
15nt the approach of Waffles with a telegram put, an and to the conversation.
Miss Dorothea indulged in an exclamation of alarm, and Miss Prisoiila hold her vinai grette to her rime.
" It—it is for me," she said. " I—I did not think there was anyone in the whole world who would be so thoughtless as to send me a telegram. It—it unnerves mo."
She looked at the telegram as it reposed on a silver salvor. " Would vou nnnd opening it, my dear?" she said to Cissy, " and break it to mo gently, .Tames; I am sure, something dread ful is about to happen."
" f don't think so," said tho Rev. James. "We live so much out, of the world that tho merest trifle upsets us. Telegrams aro as common as postcards nowadays. I should use them fro montly, only 1 know your rooted dis like to thorn."
" Open it, please, my dear," said Miss Prisoiila, and Cissy opened it with a steadiness of hand whioli oxcited oven Miss Dorothea's admiration. ,
"It's from the Hotel Metropole," said Cissy. " Reached Lou don safely, and await your permission to attend you. Oscar Van
Heidenstoin."
Miss Prisoiila gave a little cry of delight. " Oscar," she said, "it must bo poor Martha's hov, our nephew. James, let us go and fetch
him at once."
" I'm afraid it is too iafo to do anything to night, except telegraph," said the Rev. JamoB,
smiling.
Miss Priseilla could not rest until the tole gratn was a~t.un.llv dispatched. "Tt is my poor dead sister Mnrtha's only boy," she said ; " and lie must have come to Rngland on pur* pope to see us. She married an Attache of the Swedish Legation in Constantinople, and went to live at Smyrna, but died when Oscar was born. I—T. don't think T shall sleep at all to night. I wonder what lie is liire."
" Calm vourself. Priseilla," said Miss Doro thea. "You are so impulsive."
Hut she "looked as if the telegram had awakened thoughts of the times when she was too voipyr to."elo3C her eyo.s for the purposo
of meditation."
THE DUCIES OF DULVERTON.
BY GEORGE B. BUJIGIN.
Author of " A Quaker Girl," Ac., &c.
CHAPTER V.
OSCAR.
Whan Cissy awoke the next morning the Sun was streaming iuto her room in a most reprehonsibly cheerful way. She got up at once. Her little chamber was so bright that it was impossible to indulge in morbid analysis. Suddenly she stopped twisting her hair, as she caught sight of her face in the glass. " I really believe," she declared to the portrait of the Rev. James, " that wo shall be friends. Only—only I. should like to brush that curl out of the way. It must be so diffi cult to live up to it."
To this saucy remark the portrait vouch safed no answer,
" You see," said Cissy, deftly manipulating, certain refractory hairpins, if people will hang you on the wall you must put up with my impertinences. ' You can't run away from me, although you look as if you were rather out of | place. I've always had a longing in Church, when the sermon has been unusually dreary, to get up and ask a few questions. A clergy man seems to me to have things too much his own way. Now, here I have everything my own way. I can say anything I like to you, and you can't answer me according to my folly. But I think I had better go down and see whether any qno is awake. It is 8 o'clock. I wonder if I ought to dust things."
She laughed, softly as she went down the winding passage. "I haven't even an apron."
Cissy darted back to her room and produced a fairy-like garment, with little pockets in it. " This is the sort of thing the smart tovbrettr. always wears in plays," she said. "I will wear one; but I will make it useful as well as ornamental."
I Then she found her way into the breakfast ! room.
" I think," she continued, "if I am to begin ' my career cf usefulness, I had hotter get a few
flowers. I can do that."
! She opened the window and stepped out on
the terrace. In tin*, distance some village cliil i dren were feeding the swans on the lake. A
gorgeous peacock came aidlin ; upas if inviting her to count every eye in his outstretched tail. " I'd better follow you," said Cissy. "I should like to know your haunts."
i The bird gravely strutted before her down
the long path, on either side of which rose a dwarf hedge of closely clipped yews. Cissy followed him into this sleepy quietude out of thosimiighf. Suddenly the path ended; she \ was in a circular garden of flower-bods in the 1 middle. Imm sdiateiy facing her was a second ; path. She followed the peacock into another | circular garlcn. Then the peacock sunned ! himself in the middle of a choice flower-bed, j and refused to be dislodged. When Cissy
tried todrivehim off, ho showed'fight.
"Fie, yon underbred thing!" said Cissy. "You are net half as gentlemanly as my pet jackdaw. Ah, if I had a broom!" Suddenly she espied the gardene's barrow, and beside it the article she wanted. "Now," she said, with mock" determination, "if you won't ' poggloiso,' as Corney Grain used to say. and be off, ' with my rapier of Milan steel, I'll run thee through tKe midriff. I don't know ex actly where a psvjmk's * midriff' is, but I must trust largely to Providence in my on.1 .savours to find out; Now, wiil you move- on? I've
tried moral suasion, but it evidently has 110 effect on a gilded tyrantlikfl you."
The peacock gavo a hoarse scream.
• "That's a defianoe, is it?" asked Cissy,'
fairly overflowing with' high spirits, at" the absurdity.of the situation. " You don't know what it Is 4o defy a lady-help. You'd better gaze your last on earth and sky for one of us must die."
She advanced a step, with upraised broom.
"Couldn'twe arrange a modus vivendi?—"it's, tho Latin for your giving up the flower-bed," she said. " You are much too beautiful to be banged about with-a broom.- Besides, you don't belong to me. You are the property of
another."
The-peacock screamed again and broke a fow more plants.
"I don't care if you are another's," said Cissy, desperately. You'll have to oome off those plants. I can't stand it any longer." Stio made a thrust at tho peacock with the
broom. -
" En garde, mademoiselle," cried a laughing voioe; but the battle was over, and thesoream ing peacock disappeared down another long walk. .
Cissy had burst into inextinguishable laughter at tho rotreat of her enemy, . Then she remembered the voice, and dropped the
broom.
. "Permit mo," said the voice, and a hand some young fellow, of four or five and twenty nppoared from behind tiio hedge, and picked it up.
" Thank you, but I have no further need of it," she answered.
" But the enemy may return, mademoiselle," he said, with mock gravity. " It is never safe to disarm under such circumstances."
Then lie romombered that she didn't know him. Ho drew his feet together, and made a profound how.
• Allow me to jntroduce myself, lie said. " I am Oscar Van Heidonstein, and I liave had the honour of being your second in this
duel."
She bowed, gravely. Hero was a chance to realize the truth of her position.
"I am Miss L'Estrange," she said, "Miss Ducie'a lady help." . 1
His blue eyes dauood with merriment.
England is a great country, mademoiselle," he said, seriously; " but, oh, it abounds with surprises. I send a telegram*— I am impatient to sec my good aunts—I take a night train— I rush to the door—I go round to the window to surprise them at their first ddjeuner—and thore is nobody up. In Smyrna we get up at
sunrise."
Cissy afterwards remembered noticing that he wa3 very handsome, with broad shoulders, and the active movements of an accomplished fencer. His hat had tumbled off, and she could see his crisp curling black hair elabo rately partod in the middle. His blue eyes were thoroughly English^ and she mentally found herself contrasting his wavy moustache with the Rev. James's lovelock. His well shaped aquiline nose gave him an appearanoo of intense energy. He was dressed in a plain tweed suit, but his elaborate tie looked foreign. A beautiful liver coloured and white spaniel was at his heels. _ _ '
" D6n't you think that it is almost timo to have breakfast now?" she asked. "If you have been travelling all night, you must bo hungry."
" Oh, thank you, that is nothing. I arrived here about 4 o'clock, and took what you call a fly—because it orawis so, I suppose. I got out and walked, and the fly is not hero yet. Some day when my good aunts wake up, the fly will
?Isl.s
arrive, and I shall get my clothes once again."
"But you must be half-starved," said Cissy, in accents of profound pity. "Did you—did you try one of the railway station buns?"
His face was comic in its disgust.
"I tried," he said. " I have often been near to death, but that was nearer still. Even my dog wouldn't touch it. We gave it to a goat as we came along, and tho poor goat is very unwell. Ah, if I had those refreshment people in Smyrna I would disguise myself as a brigand, and make them eat the buns them selves. They would all die, and people would say serve them right. But I am not getting your flowers, mademoiselle."
Ho made a spring into the middle of the bed, and rapidly collected tho best blossoms. One be put into bis coat.
" If you will allow mc," be. said, apologeti cally; "it is something like the anemones at
the tehiftlok."
" What is a—something with a sneeze that you said just now?" enquired Cissy, as they went up the path.
Hostoppod, his fine face lit up wish a serious light.
" Ah, mademoiselle, if you could only see it: ' Our tehiftlek is a heautiful little farm at tlio head of a fertile valley. The vast sides of the mountains stretch a\yay into the distance, and at the foot of the tehiftlek is the village, every
soul of which knows me."
"Did you —did you," asked Cissy, in an awestruck whisper -"did you ever meet a real brigand? Not a stage brigand, all hat and feathers, hut a real live brigand, dotted over with swords and pistols, and who didn't wash?"
"Oh." he said, with an air of pardonah'o pride, " I was captured by them once."
They reached the dining-room window. No
one had descended. I
"Come in and toll mo all about it," said Oissv, " only you must remember that-I am the lady-help, and tell me to do things,"
"All, that would be very nice," he said, enthusiastically.
.She made iiira sit. down in the armchair.
" I suppose," she said, "the. lady-help has
to do the honours in the absence of any one! else." _ I
He didn't seem at, all in a hurry for any one i else to do them, but brought Cissy some jais to put the flowers in, and then sat down on a lounge with t.hc air of one who was just beginning the day.
"When you were captured?" enquired
C issv,
" I will tell you as simply as possible. Wo had what vou call a steam-plough. It will not make itself to work. I put in my head to see
its inaides. Another head is put in too. . ' C »inc out,' savs a voice. T come out. ' Hola. mv friend, you are very peremptory,' T
say. ' I am Nice,' the man savs. 'Old Nieo i or young Nice?' 'He silent, or I will shout.' ' Let us fight it out.' 'Agreed.' Wefight.it out. I run him through the arm and the others knock me down. Then all the women
of the vil'age run up weeping and wailing for me, hut Nim puts a pistol to rnyear and leads me off. We march about in the mountains until I am nj thin as a greyhound. Nieo makes mv father send seventeen pairs of trousers for the band, and a Hihle for me. ' You will read the Hihle in ease I have to kill you,'says my friend Nieo. 'If the ransom is not paid in throe weeks T shall send down your pretty ears. We sleep all the day and travel all the night. "Then the ransom is paid. Nieo kisses me, and gives m:s his bes; pistol and vataghan, and asks me to join thorn, but T decline. Oh, brigands are not at all
bad fellows."
"But if they cut off your cars?"
" That; is busin :--s. Apart from bruin -. we w ve gr at fri *n Is when his arm got well. .See, here is his phot-:!,"
Cissy gave a sliriek. It was a photograph at
several bullet-riddled "heads on a table.
" Yds," said Van Heideastein affectionately. " that is poor Nico."
"But how—how did ho got there!" asked Cissy, letting the dreadful thing drop, y . .
"Ah, the poor Nico/' ho said regretfully; "when the ransom is paid the GoretomCni sends out the soldiers, and they surround Nioo whilst he is asleep in a vineyard. < They all creep round Nico and his band, so (illustrating the motion), aud raise their guns. Piff-pUff and poor Nico is almost blown to bite. He used to toll me of his lovely Greek wife and their little island home in the dSgean, and how she wohWjsit under the lemons and myrtles awaiting Kis return. I went to apologise for the death of Nico, ahd she tried to kill me, but she was sorry forit afterwards." . " ;
" What became of her, the poor. thing!" questioned Cissy.
"3he married our head shepherd. Nioo made a lot Of money iu tho business, and she iswelltodo."
" Whoever," said a voice at the door, which Cissy recognised as Miss Dorothea's, " can that be at this hour of tho day? ' There is a fly in the stable-yard, too."
"It cannot Iks our dear boy," said Miss Pris3y, in tremulous tones.
She came nervously into tho room. The young man rose, his great eyes filling with tear3 as ho reverently kissed her hand. '
"It is my dear mother's faoe," he said ten derly, and the next moment she waB weeping on his neck.
Cissy stole noiselessly away, and found Miss Dorothea sniftiug outside. She went up to her room. Presently tho staid Martha Tibpscame
to summon her to breakfast.
" Oh 1 Mm," said tho queer little old maid, excitedly, "excuse the liberty I'm taking, bus ain't he lovely? lie's a regular Apolyon, that's what I call hiin," and poor 'Cissy had to stuff her handkerchief in her mouth and deacend to the breakfast-room, followed by Marthas—
"You mayn't agree with me, Miss, but that's what 1. call him—a regular Apolyon,"
CHAPTER VI.
The days wont by, and Cissy was introduced to tho type-writer. J.t took her a Jong time to leant the positions of the letters. As they Wore not arranged alphabetically, the thing would not spoil, and her earlier attempts at reproducing tho Rov. James's sermons resulted in the appearance of a document somewhat) resembling the " Phonotik Nuz." She found herself stretching her fingers out as if she were at the piano. Thou, there was a diabolical arrangement of certain Stops and springs, by which one key meant a small lettor, and another a capital one. All her commas would turn out to be marks of interrogation, and after some more than usually einphatio state nient of the Rev. James's (be was very om phatic in liis sermons) it was disheartening to find those mocking interrogatories at the ends of the sentences. The Rev, .lames declared that he wouldn't attempt it himself; ho af firmed that he hadn't the requisite dejicacy of touch; but ho showed so much delicacy in everything else that Cissy was inclined to doubt the truth of this statement.
After a little time she began to enjoy the typewriter. It was no use sitting down in front of it and stopping to think. The more fact of having to put a sheet of paper in the rack and sit opposite it commanded action. If she did not begin to tap the paper stared her out of countenance, and the sheet of paper once commenced had to bo finished. When ever she tried original compositions of her own she invariably forgot to look at tho keys, and in some mysterious manner tho 1 otters came out all right. She began to have quite an affection for the pretty littlo instrument, and turned out so tnuoh "copy" from it that Oscar Van Heidcnstein felt inclined to smash it. for mononolir.inff so much of lier time.
After the first few days of his visit had elapsed the mercurial Oscar found the quiet) sleepiness of Dulverton very oppressive. He visited the stables, and the cow-like equines
elicited marked symptoms of disgust from him.
He tried to teach the fat coachman to fence;
but that worthy went to sleep, and ran away
howling with terror when the button of a foil broke and the point pricked his skin. His dog " the screaming peacock chased in hot pursuit." but never overtook it. Alto gether, to vary the monotony of this dull old country house, with its sleepy inhabitants, Oscar Van Heidonsteiu foil in love with his aunt's lady help. He know all about her strange freak, and was rather amused by it. Most of his ideas with regard to matrimony ware thoroughly French, owing to his long association with the French colony in Smyrna. Full of these ideas, he one morn ing sought the aociety of his Uncle James, arid resolved to disburden himsoif of his
woes!
His visit would soon be over, but his beloved -Smyrna was gradually becoming loss aiid less attractive as the days went by. He had been almost home-sick for the clear waters of the bay, and the oak - clad mountains wherein his favourite prey, the wild boar,
loved to roarn, Now he didn't care about the wild boar. Letters from home ceased to interest liirn, and he informed Cissy that he was tired of brigands and adventures of that sort, .She would catch his sunny oyes fixed upon her with a smnewhat wistful expres
sion.
, Miss Prissy observed with dismay that he was getting thin, and Miss Dorothea took to coddling hirn With various little delicacies, which the interesting youth loathed in his inmost soul, but tried to swallow with a good grace. His wants were so simple that he could live on a crust of bread and a bunch of gravies, varied by bis perpetual cigarette. He gravely ascribed his loss of appetite to the climate and lack "(.exorcise, but, as he walked twenty or thirty miles a day rather than ride in the family chariot, it v/as difficult to believr his explanation. Miss Prissy fancied that h« was pining to return home, and grieved in hei simple, innocent old heart that certain little plans which she had boen forming had come tc naught.
AH women arc. matchmakers at heart; Miss Prissy was no exception to the rule.
" Uncle .Tames," said Oscar, coming straight to tbo point, with all the impetuosity of youth;
" I have the honour to inform you that I love' Miss 1/Estrange, and to ask her hand of you."
The Rev, ,Tacnes dropped a paper he held in his"! ian 1, and fumbled nervously about for it on the floor. " You take me rather by sur prise," he said. '"You know the position M iss L'Estrange holds in this house."
" I only f now that, 1 love her," broke in the voting man impetuously. "Hove her; I love her," he repeated. "Good heavens! yon English, how cold you are. If I had told my father, ho would have flung his arms round my neck and kissed me—-if she had a dowry that
" Gently, my dear bov. said the Rev. James. " Wo are not used to such fiery speed in this old castle of silence. Resides, I have no more to do with it than the man in the moon. For a wbim of her own. Miss I/Estrange chose to fancy that she wasn't wanted at home, and we w-.r I s'> d -.light.-;] with ho.v beauty and win .soni'-ness that we wore glad to have her on any
haamadoihei ..
Syay froMbns^ltn^thcr, and—and
?< '4*g '^^i^yonhgii^
y-1iv&"'hcm\dym^
"3 to|pVebP a toy, "Mygood -i j thirty-five.and I am leu yeare ,. „ „_, rytmrealise what4dl ibis means?"
iTbe IteV.Jamea'abraw contracted ominously lor amomont.^ "Oon't^otoo far, Oscar,"he BB3d, «tonfly/ ,' I dcal with youfrankly, be
cause it is my intention to winAfies L'Estrange • *f lout. It doesn't seem to occur toyon that„ when a man of thirty-five fallB in loyehedoes it with a passionate strength and earnestness - which make him very dangerous."
The young man stopped Tamping upland ?'? down. "Very well: my good uncle,?• ho said.
• "II yoii aremy rival, and I have eaten your " salt, I must leave here at once. And yet I
liked you ro touch. H wo were in Smyrna I would fight you. Now you will have a thou sand opportunities to my one; and I can't kill
my own nncle." •
"I am very muchindobted to you for your forbearance," said this strange wooer, quietly, 4'and As for killing me, I don't think that wouldbesoeasy. 1 am a crack shot and a practised athlete. But it is folly to talk in this way. I am a clergyman, and don't pro ; pose to bring a scandal on my cloth by fight
ing a duel with my own nephew, the mon i itrous young fire eater. Shake hands and stop
this nonsense directly,"
He boid out his hand, and tho young man took it, a smile rippling over his handsome face. "-Uncle James, he said, contritely,
"I'm worse than a Bashi Bazpufe. But—but ? •^but—" .
He turned to the window with a suspicious gulp in his thro&t for so determined a young
duellist.
« T
"I'lie eiaer man wait-neu mm jju
. -here, Oscar," he said, kindly, "there are lots
of things to bo considered when a man falls in
love."
"Ob, yes, I know,"broke in Oscar. "All the jrreybeards meet and talk it over, and go from one formality to another; but when one loves, when one's heart is consumod with a fiery yearning for the woman one worships, when her voice is music, and the rustle of her dross thrills one with wild, exultant longing -and delight; when her presence is life, her absence death; when one tosses slumberloss and calls upon her namo to the stars as they peep through one's lattice, and even the heavens bend down and whisper of her beauty —what do they know of this? To adore her at a distance, to lie sad when she is sad, to delight in her joy, to kneel before her in an ecstasy of love and worship—yes, that is what I under stand by love. Oh, you cold, phlegmatic Hng gliBh, you don't know what love is. Some day your liver becomes wrong—and you fancy it 19 love. Some day you feel bored—and you fancy it is love. Some day you see a beautiful girl, who will go well with the furniture—and you fancy it is love. Oh, yes, yes, yes; the veriest Oreek peasant knows more about love than yon do. Ivove, love, love. Bah'."
He flung up and down the room in an ecstasy of rage, his blue eyes glaring at _an imaginary foe, and his hyaemthine locks rising like the mane of an angry lion.
The Rev. James looked at him curiously. Then the youngster fame up to him.
" TJncle James, I am a brute and a savage. 1 beg your pardon. I am not fit to be in the same room with you."
"Now sit down," said the Rev. James. "Lotus discuss the situation. I haven't the
slightest reason in the world to suppose that Miss L'Estrange even dreams that wo love her. If you like to propose to her you can do so at once, and if sho accepts you it shall he my care to provide for the material happiness of you both. If she doesn't, then I will try my for tune, on the condition that you hear it witii good grace."
" Yon take it very calmly," said Oscar.
"Calmly!" said the Rev. James. "Boy, if I once let myself go, the torrent of my love would drown your puling passion in ah instant. I have never loved before, and now love means
life to me."
Oscar thought of two or three previous little experiences of his own.
Now that he closely inspected his uncle, tlio Rev. James didn't look so very old. He was slim and tall, and the dreamy look had quite vanished from his eyes,
A "horrible fear struck chilly at tbo young man's heart. He had never cried for the'moon so earnestly before; ho felt that the Rev. James, for all his quiot, self-contained ways, was a dangerous rival.
Cissy suddenly opened the low window and walked into the room.
" Whatever is the matter?'' she asked, with » startled glance.
" Oscar has something to say to you," said the Rev. James. " I will leave you until lie has spoken."
It dawned upon Cissy at once what was about to happen. She turned very pale.
" If Mr. Van Heidenstein has anything to say to me," she said, '"it must he in your presence."
Oscar name forward.
•* If I have anything to say,"' he cried. "Cissy (may I not call you Cissy?) I love you."
He came up to her with outstretched hands, a look of eager longing in his beautiful ryes. Cissy turned whiter than before.
" It is very good of you," she said, almost inaudibly, "but it never can bo, Mr. Van Heidenstein."
She did not look in the direction of the Rev.
James, but stood with downcast eyelids and tightly clasped hands, like a beautiful statue, the flowers she had held strewn around bor on the floor.
The young man burst into a torrent of grief Stricken and fiery reproaches.
"I cannot bear this," said Cissy ; and Van Heidenstein rnahed from the room.
Then the Rev. James came forward, and took her bands and put them on his heart. She had revealed her secret.
"Cissy," he said, "tell mc that I am not mistaken."
She burst into a passion of wiid weeping.
"I was so tired, so tired," she said, "and you are so strong. I knew it from that first evening we sat and talked together, and now my heart is no longer frozen, I Jivp again. ' Stop, hear me. I loved, and they sent my boy-lover away from me, and he died. And at nights he would come to mo in the moonlight, and reproach mo for having sent him away, until I nearly went mad. And then, and then ." i
"And then?"
"I came here."
She crept to his heart as a tired bird to its nest. The room swam round, and she would have fallen. When she recovered, Miss Prissy was kneeling beside her in her own little
room.
" My dear, I know all," she said.
Cissy flung her arms round the sweet old lady's neck.
" And you forgive rue?" she asked.
" My dearest child," and they mingled their tears together.
^*Syoul»»vo»of«^?^fBhoa8k^:AOTl6ver that« vening»8 tbey^rollcailohgtb rough the: Peacock garden benfcatb tbo'pale jraytS fft *W msi^ tBb^ ^ lToa^ Bo ^maa^ andatcad ifefefc,Ahd £trbng,'*ad I«m so vveakatid fodli'eh<
;J5^Su^tipfeara?'?-V-'^' . Xt..;LX ""-?* '-1^
'? ^cboed, -wondOTBgly. " Tbeai
jfle claapod her ia^his^ftms. " Fears ^e.~
cried. ?',; - ?'!,
Oh that this kiss, and these wound annt could
prove, , . - . ?
Howntteiiy I love yen, oh nay loveV
And Gissy<was satisfied. r
Tim Enp. ?